55

  Florence: 12 June

  Conti walked into Grimaldi’s office, closed the door and lit a cigarette. ‘You said it was urgent.’

  ‘Don’t look so glum,’ said Grimaldi.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I? We aren’t exactly making progress, are we?’

  ‘I just had a phone call from Istanbul: Colonel Riza.’

  ‘Complaining, no doubt, that we let the big fish slip through our fingers when we almost had him in the net, and can’t seem to nail Gambio? We are becoming the laughing-stock of European law enforcement.’

  ‘That’s a little harsh.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I do. In fact, the colonel thanked us for an important lead …’ said Grimaldi, trying to placate his friend. He knew just how dejected Conti had been since he’d discovered that the man who got away after shooting Tristan was none other than Raffaele Bangarella, the notorious Archangel of Palermo who had once again outwitted everyone. Despite all efforts by the authorities to find him, the man seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

  And Gambio’s arrogant self-confidence during the recent interview hadn’t helped either. One explanation was that Bangarella had already been killed by Gambio and his body disposed of, never to be found, which would explain Gambio’s cocky behaviour. Deep down, Conti was hoping it wasn’t so. He desperately wanted to get his hands on Bangarella and expose him as his wife’s killer.

  However, with pressure from above to go easy on the Ars Moriendi ‘players’, and Prince Khalid having left the country with his entourage, protected by diplomatic immunity, the entire investigation seemed to have stalled. Once again, the bad guys appeared to be winning.

  ‘What lead?’ demanded Conti, inhaling deeply.

  ‘The call was all about one man.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I’ll tell you as soon as Haddad and Cesaria get here. I asked them to join us.’

  ‘Oh. That important, is it?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  As if on cue, Haddad and Cesaria entered the room and looked expectantly at Grimaldi.

  ‘You had a call from Colonel Riza?’ said Haddad.

  ‘Yes, about this …’ Grimaldi pushed the photograph – showing Belmonte, Amena and Nazir boarding Gambio’s plane in Istanbul – across his desk towards his curious visitors.

  ‘You said earlier it was all about one man,’ interjected Conti, becoming impatient.

  ‘Correct; this one,’ said Grimaldi and pointed to Belmonte in the photo.

  ‘Belmonte?’ said Conti, surprised. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Not Belmonte; Bangarella.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Conti, looking perplexed.

  ‘The man here in the picture is Raffaele Bangarella, currently going by the name of Belmonte, the man behind the red Ars Moriendi mask, who shot Tristan and got away.’

  There was silence as everyone stared at the photograph.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Conti, his voice shrill.

  ‘Belmonte is Bangarella; absolutely no doubt about it, and he’s with Bahadir in Istanbul right now.’

  Conti looked at Grimaldi. ‘Are you sure?’ he almost shouted.

  ‘Absolutely. Just been confirmed,’ replied Grimaldi. ‘Fingerprints.’ He then calmly gave a step-by-step account of what Colonel Riza had just told him about the extraordinary events in Istanbul earlier that day.

  For a while, Conti gazed at the photograph without saying anything, the cigarette between his fingers turning to a column of ash. ‘Good God,’ he said at last, ‘can you believe this?’

  ‘Once you look at it closely, without all the emotional stuff getting in the way, it all begins to make sense,’ said Grimaldi and then lit one of his small cigars. ‘The real question now is this: what are we going to do about it?’

  ‘I will have to return to Istanbul at once,’ said Haddad, ‘and talk to Riza. His jurisdiction; his country. As you know, there’s a much bigger picture to all this, involving the Americans and counterterrorism. It seems to me that Bahadir and Gambio are in this up to their necks. But I’m sure they are pulling the strings here, not Belmonte.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Grimaldi, turning to Haddad. ‘And I have some interesting news for you, Naguib, that may have a bearing on all this.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Where are Amena and Nazir right now?’ asked Grimaldi.

  ‘Lorenza’s grandparents have kindly taken them in,’ said Cesaria. ‘They are staying at their villa right here. But they are desperate to get back to Turkey. I think Amena wants to return to the camp to work, and so does Nazir.’

  ‘Not surprising after all that’s happened,’ interjected Conti.

  ‘Well, the opportunity to do that may just have presented itself in unexpected ways,’ said Grimaldi, obviously enjoying himself. ‘And they may not have to go back empty-handed …’

  ‘Care to elaborate?’ said Conti.

  ‘I will. And you are all in for a big surprise. I just received a call from Gambio’s lawyer.’

  ‘Rarely good news,’ observed Conti.

  ‘This may be an exception …’

  ‘Let’s hear it.’

  After the meeting with Grimaldi, Cesaria drove Haddad straight to the villa above the Boboli Gardens on the other side of the river. Tristan had been discharged from hospital the day before. He was recovering at the villa under the watchful eye of the countess, and being fussed over by Lorenza’s grateful grandparents. Amena and Nazir were there too, waiting for their future to be decided. The countess knew that Amena had saved Tristan’s life. She had promised to do everything she could to help Amena and Nazir get back to Turkey. Jack had suggested she turn to Haddad to somehow make this possible.

  The countess greeted Haddad and Cesaria in the entrance foyer and took them straight to Tristan’s room on the first floor.

  ‘How’s the patient?’ asked Haddad.

  ‘Holding court; come and see.’

  Tristan was lying in a huge four-poster bed facing a dormer window overlooking the gardens. Amena sat on one side of the bed. She was holding Tristan’s hand and taking his pulse. The grandmother sat on the other side and was rearranging Tristan’s pillow to make him more comfortable. Nazir and the grandfather stood at the foot of the bed, listening to Tristan telling a story.

  ‘And then, I was told to go to this bridge, see, and …’ Tristan paused as Haddad and Cesaria entered the room. ‘Great to see you!’ he said and tried to sit up, just to be gently pushed back down again by the grandmother.

  ‘I can see you are in good hands,’ said Haddad, smiling, ‘and in much better shape than the last time I saw you in hospital.’

  ‘I may never leave here,’ replied Tristan cheerfully, watching Haddad out of the corner of his eye. ‘Not because I can’t, but because I may not want to.’

  ‘Hardly surprising,’ said Cesaria.

  For a while, Tristan just looked at Haddad intently without saying anything, the sudden silence turning the mood in the room quite tense. ‘You didn’t come here just to pay me a visit, did you?’ asked Tristan quietly.

  Extraordinary. How does he know? thought Cesaria, watching Tristan.

  ‘You are right. I come with some news and it concerns Amena and Nazir,’ said Haddad.

  Amena looked at Haddad, her heart skipping a beat as fear narrowed her eyes.

  ‘What kind of news?’ asked the countess.

  ‘Good news. Jack would call it news with echoes of destiny.’

  ‘How intriguing,’ said the countess.

  ‘We can all do with some good news,’ said the grandmother and stood up.

  ‘Amena, when I brought Tristan to you after he had been shot, I thought he would die.’

  Amena nodded, wondering where Haddad was going with this.

  Haddad turned to face Tristan. ‘I was surprised you were still alive when I held you in the police car. You had lost so much blood. But despite all that, Amena kept you alive until the ambulance arrived. How she did this was truly remarkable. Only a gifted healer could possibly have done so. Amena, do you remember what you said as we put Tristan into the ambulance? It would not have been possible without—’

  ‘Yes, the operating theatre, of course,’ interrupted Amena. ‘Without that, Tristan wouldn’t be here today.’

  ‘Exactly. And what I’m about to tell you has to do with that operating theatre.’

  ‘In what way?’ asked the countess.

  ‘Gambio’s lawyer called Chief Prosecutor Grimaldi this morning. Cesaria and I were there. He told Grimaldi that the mobile operating theatre had been donated to Médecins Sans Frontières and instructed him to hand the rig over to the organisation as soon as Forensics had finished with it.’

  ‘How extraordinary,’ said the countess. ‘And when is that likely to happen?’

  ‘It’s about to be released,’ said Cesaria. ‘They didn’t find anything incriminating. The rig was clean …’

  ‘Wait, there is more,’ continued Haddad. ‘I have to return to Istanbul straight away – urgent police business – and Grimaldi suggested that—’

  ‘That you drive the rig to Istanbul and take Amena and Nazir with you,’ interrupted Tristan calmly.

  Everyone looked at Tristan, surprised.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Haddad after a while.

  Amena stood up, walked over to Haddad and embraced him, tears streaming down her wan cheeks. ‘We’ll take it back to the camp, you and I, and present it to Dr Rosen. It will save many lives. Is that what you have in mind?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes. You and Dr Rosen saved my life. It’s the least I can do in return.’

  ‘More echoes of destiny?’

  ‘Sounds like it, don’t you think?’

  ‘When are we leaving?’

  ‘First thing tomorrow.’

  56

  Cardinal O’Brien’s Residence, Sydney: 14 June

  Jack and Father Connor were working late. Facing each other at opposite ends of a massive Victorian partner’s desk by the dormer window, they were painstakingly going through the da Baggio family chronicle-maze. Smelling of stale cigar smoke and leather, the large, wood-panelled library with its floor-to-ceiling bookcases was the cardinal’s favourite room in the residence, where he had welcomed not only Church dignitaries, but many heads of state and even royalty from every corner of the globe.

  It was almost midnight and if it hadn’t been for Mrs Kelly’s supply of sandwiches, cakes and numerous cups of tea, the two scholars wouldn’t have eaten anything all day. The task of deciphering the many diverse entries was all-absorbing and required total concentration, leaving no time or inclination to have meal breaks or any kind of interruption.

  Many of the entries were almost illegible, making the text often impossible to read with any degree of confidence or accuracy. This in turn led to speculation and deduction in order to piece together some kind of meaning that made sense. This was further complicated by the fact there were multiple authors and therefore many changes in handwriting and style over the years, often leaving frustrating gaps between entries. Moreover, many entries had obviously been made years after the events, therefore lacking detail, context and continuity.

  However, the most reliable signposts were of course the dates that helped to put some structure around the laborious exercise and work out a loose chronology. Because there was no family tree, names and relationships were also problematic and difficult to establish.

  Just before the grandfather clock in the corner began to chime, announcing midnight, the door opened and the cardinal entered the room.

  ‘I saw the light was still on,’ he said. ‘Must be interesting … you’ve been cooped up in here since early this morning like two conspirators plotting. You don’t mind the intrusion?’

  ‘Of course not, Eminence.’ Jack took off his reading glasses and began to rub the back of his neck. ‘It’s more than interesting, Eminence, it’s fascinating. We have a small window here into an extraordinary family saga spanning more than four hundred years; amazing stuff.’

  ‘Anything useful?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  His curiosity aroused, the cardinal walked over to Father Connor and looked over his shoulder. ‘Can you tell me what you’ve found out so far?’

  ‘Certainly, Eminence. Needless to say, we’ve been trying to focus on Osman da Baggio and his annotated copy of the book. This hasn’t been easy from the start and it took us most of the day to find something concrete about him.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Because as we’ve just found out, he’s referred to as Medicus, the healer.’

  ‘Interesting … an important clue, you think?’

  ‘Absolutely. Osman da Baggio is mentioned only once by name,’ said Jack, ‘in a brief entry dated 1597. All we are told about him is that he was a young man of eighteen, that he escaped from Constantinople and that the sultan’s men were looking for him. That’s all.’

  ‘What, nothing else?’ asked the cardinal, surprised.

  Jack reached for his notes. ‘Not for quite a while,’ he said. ‘For almost twenty years, there’s no mention of him in here at all, which is curious to say the least.’

  ‘However, he reappears in 1617. Only by now, he’s referred to as Medicus,’ said Father Connor. ‘He is married and has two sons.’

  ‘What makes you think it’s the same man?’

  ‘Because of what we are told about him,’ answered Jack, ‘here …’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He was born in Constantinople, returned to Venice as a young man, took over the family business from his ailing grandfather and became a healer. Apparently, an outstanding one with quite a reputation …’

  ‘What kind of reputation?’ asked the cardinal.

  ‘His healing powers were thought to be almost miraculous.’

  ‘How fascinating.’

  ‘And dangerous,’ added Jack. ‘Medical ideas and remedies coming out of the heathen East must have caused quite a stir in certain circles at the time, especially within the Church. Progressive, enlightened ideas were often viewed with suspicion …’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Ibn Sina – Avicenna as he’s called in the chronicles – and his famous book, al-Qanun – The Canon of Medicine – are specifically mentioned by name. Apparently, the healer always had this book with him when he saw patients and prescribed remedies.’

  ‘Medicus was in great demand,’ said Father Connor. ‘Especially by the rich and the powerful who could afford his services. And that, of course, included the clergy. There are two events in his life that stand out and are dealt with in some detail.’

  ‘What kind of events?’ asked the cardinal.

  ‘The first took place in 1620. By now, Medicus was in his early forties, a mature man. He was treating a cardinal in Venice who was close to death. All the physicians had given up, expecting him to die, but Medicus managed to cure him. This was seen by some as a miracle, others called it witchcraft. The grateful cardinal whom he saved, later became pope,’ Father Connor said.

  ‘Incredible.’

  ‘Here, I have something to show you, Eminence,’ said Jack, becoming excited. ‘The past is reaching out to us.’ He opened his iPad and retrieved the photo of the restored painting showing Osman da Baggio and his patient.

  The cardinal looked at the painting for a while without saying anything. ‘Are you suggesting this is …?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Yes. Leonardo da Baggio confirmed it. The painting used to hang in the family palazzo in Venice, until it was stolen by the Nazis during the war. They were looking for the book Osman is holding in the picture—’

  ‘The one we want to find?’ interrupted the cardinal.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jack.

  ‘Extraordinary! You are full of surprises, Mr Rogan,’ said the cardinal, shaking his head.

  ‘There is more,’ said Father Connor. ‘And what I’m about to tell you, Eminence, is truly remarkable and has to do with the second event in the healer’s life that I mentioned.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The healer Osman da Baggio – Medicus – befriended Galileo around that time. Perhaps he even treated him for some ailment. One can imagine that two great, enlightened minds had a lot in common. Galileo’s life is, of course, well documented and we know that he promoted the heliocentric theory of Copernicus – De revolutionibus orbium coelestium – which was published in 1543,’ Father Connor prattled on, as people who know a lot about a subject often do. ‘We also know that in 1616, the Inquisition declared heliocentrism to be heretical. All books dealing with the subject were formally banned by the Catholic Church, which still adhered to the geocentric philosophical ideas of Aristotle and Ptolemy. Galileo was ordered to refrain from holding heliocentric ideas. But he ignored the ban and went on to publish his most famous work – Dialogue Concerning the two Chief World Systems – that not only defended, but promoted heliocentrism, which he argued was based on observation.’

  ‘Because the book was hugely popular and obviously at odds with the teaching of the Church at the time, it couldn’t be ignored,’ said Jack, pointing to the pages in front of him. ‘And Galileo was put on trial by the Roman Inquisition in 1633 and found guilty of being “vehemently suspect of heresy”. He was sentenced to indefinite imprisonment and kept under house arrest until his death in 1642.’

  The cardinal held up his hand. ‘Gentlemen … please … we know all this,’ he said, sounding a little impatient. ‘Pray tell me what this has to do with our Medicus?’

  ‘As it turns out, everything,’ replied Father Connor.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Because it would appear the same thing happened to Osman da Baggio.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ asked the cardinal after a while. ‘Are you suggesting he was put on trial by the Inquisition for being a healer?’

 

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