Claire Gulliver #03 - Intrigue in Italics (10 page)

“But I have to see if anyone made it out. I have to know.”

Claire nodded, understanding Kristen’s need. “I know, but everything is chaotic now. They need a little time to sort it all out. Why don’t we go back to my hotel and put on the TV. I’m sure they will be reporting on this. Then later you can call the authorities and tell them who was there and find out what happened.” She tugged on Kristen until she turned and followed her docilely down the street.

Later Claire stood glumly at the window, watching the still billowing smoke. It was obvious the fire fighters were waging a battle with the flames. Kristen was lying on the bed, a cool wet towel draped across her forehead, a cup of cooling tea forgotten on the table beside her.

Claire had needed a bracing cup of tea and thought Kristen would benefit from one too. Luckily the hotel catered to English guests, so it kept tea kettles and supplies in each of the rooms. They didn’t talk. What was there to say? Kristen was still crying. While her sobs had diminished, the tears still oozed from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. She couldn’t seem to stop, but she said the wet cloth helped her head.

Abruptly she sat up. “There, turn it up.” She listened intently and repeated in English for Claire. “No survivors from the two buildings. Four people on the street were killed and sixteen more were injured from debris, some seriously.”

She turned and looked at Claire. “If you hadn’t found me I would have been one more casualty.” She looked as horrified as Claire felt. This time Claire cried too until she finally went in the bathroom to get a damp cloth for her own head.

Kristen had attempted to call the authorities on two different occasions but the lines were apparently jammed with calls. Now she stood up and gathered her things announcing she was going home; she would try to call the police again later. It wasn’t until she realized she would have to walk, having parked her bike as usual in the storage room at the store that Claire realized her bike was also gone. She groaned. It would take a lot of effort to explain this to the bike rental shop. She suspected she had bought the bike.

Since Kristen was determined to go home, Claire decided to go with her, feeling responsible for her now that she had resurrected her, so to speak. She wanted to make sure she made it home safely. But before she turned off the television Kristen put up her hand to stop her. Her face drained of color as she looked at Claire.

“It was a bomb. They said it was a bomb in that little alley we use between the two buildings. It’s like the bombing of the Uffizi a few years back. Someone parked a car full of explosives right next to the museum and detonated it. Luckily, it was at night so no one was around at the time.”

Claire felt the blood drain from her face as what Kristen said registered. “But I parked my bike in that alley.” She shook her head trying to clear it. “And there wasn’t any car there. In fact the alley is so narrow I don’t think a car would fit there.”

Abruptly she collapsed on the edge of the bed. “There were only some bikes. And there was the bike with the big box on the back. The guy with the brown suit left it there. I saw him.”

Stiffly she turned to Kristen, forcing the words out. “I might have seen it. The bomb!” She shook her head hardly able to believe what she was thinking. “It was that guy on the street in front of me. He had a box fastened to the rear of his bike.” She closed her eyes a minute. “Wait, wait I don’t think I saw the box yesterday. No, he couldn’t have had it yesterday; I’m sure I would have noticed.”

“Yesterday, what do you mean? You saw the same guy yesterday?” Kristen was staring at her with very wide eyes.

Claire nodded. “It would be hard to miss him. I was waiting for you on my bike. I was going to catch up with you and see whether or not it was really you. But after I pulled out into the traffic, he cut right in front of me to get behind you. I had to apply my brakes and they’re very touchy, so over I went. I didn’t see him after that, but I’m sure I would have noticed the box. I certainly recognized him today when I saw him.”

“Where was he today?” Her voice had a little catch in it that caught Claire’s attention.

“On the street, a few bike lengths behind you.” Claire was thinking. “But you don’t think...?”

Kristen sat down, taking off her backpack again. “I don’t know what to think. Let’s talk this through. Tell me everything.”

So Claire went through the sequence again. This time she mentioned everyone she had seen more than once on the street before or after Kristen passed.

“What do you think?” she asked Kristen.

“I don’t want to think about it. It would just be too horrible if I caused this mayhem.”

They sat staring at the television trying to absorb the implications of what they were thinking.

At last Kristen said, “Well, I won’t be going home. That would be too big a risk. I’m going to assume I was uncovered and act accordingly.”

“What will you do?”

“I’m leaving town. I’ve got to get out of here right away. That time someone bombed the Uffizi, they closed the city down. None of the buses, trains or even cars could get in or out. I need to get out now before that happens.”

“But where will you go? How will you be sure you’re safe?”

Kristen shrugged. “I can’t be sure, but I have some disguises and I’ll try to find somewhere to light until I can connect up with my controller.”

Claire nodded, then making up her mind she said, “I’m going with you.”

Kristen moved through the crowded train station with purpose despite the confusion milling around them. Claire glanced longingly at the taxis waiting outside the exit, but Kristen crossed the street without a glance in that direction. Claire wasn’t surprised after Kristen’s “too easy to be remembered,” comment in Florence. They had walked to the train station when the buses along their route never arrived. They assumed the buses were held up in the traffic jam around the bomb site. Fortunately the train station was less than two miles from her hotel.

Now, almost seven p.m., it felt later. Claire was hoping the hotel they picked from her guidebook would have room for them. Kristen inserted some coins in a blue machine, which spit out two pieces of cardboard. These turned out to be passes for the bus which came along shortly after. It wasn’t a long ride before Kristen signaled her they were at the stop they wanted. Claire was amazed at how much easier traveling was with someone familiar with the customs and at ease with the language. She didn’t say a word as she followed Kristen off the bus. They had decided it would be prudent if Claire didn’t give away her American origins, thinking two Italian women on a weekend holiday would be much harder to trace, if, in fact, anyone was trying to trace them.

Now they paused on the curved street running uphill from the edge of Il Campo, Sienna’s central piazza.

“I think we should go directly to the hotel and try to book a room, because if they’re full, it may take us a while to find an available one. Then we can eat. What do you think?”

Kristen nodded her agreement. “According to this map it’s up that way; I think only a couple of blocks.”

Kristen still looked pale and her now dark brown, short hair altered her looks substantially. That, plus the dark circles ringing her eyes, made her look older and very tired. Claire imagined she was probably looking even worse. She didn’t have Kristen’s youth to help combat the ravages of stress.

Despite the stress and the shock, Kristen had calmly gone about making ready to flee Florence after declaring her intention. Claire watched with awe as she pulled a pair of scissors and a package of hair dye from the bottom of her backpack. It didn’t take her long to alter her appearance. Then she gathered up the red locks from the bathroom floor, the empty dye packaging and tied it up in a bundle, announcing, “We’ll dump it along the way.”

And when she couldn’t dissuade Claire from coming with her, she then supervised the packing of Claire’s backpack. As they left the hotel and turned in the key, Claire told the clerk she would be away for the weekend; shook her head sadly at the clerk’s comments on the bombing and then quickly left. Kristen had warned her, if she didn’t tell them she was to be gone, they would think the worse when she didn’t pick up her key for a couple days. It would be very awkward if the authorities were looking for her and even worse, Claire’s mother might become alarmed when she couldn’t reach her.

The hotel they had selected had a very nice, albeit small, lobby. Kristen signed them into their last vacant room, handing over their passports and talking to the clerk in rapid Italian. The hotel was housed in an ancient building built into a hill incorporating part of the old wall of the town. Apparently the bottom floors of the building going down the hill were private homes. The first three floors above the lobby were business establishments and the hotel was housed on the upper floors, which had been added more recently. The elevators from the lobby only stopped at the floors the hotel used for rooms, breakfast and lounge. Their room on the eighth floor looked over part of the old wall and down the hill. Claire stood at the large window, but could only see dim lights and an inky sky.

“Don’t unpack anything,” Kristen cautioned. “From now on we take these packs with us everywhere.”

Claire nodded, just then realizing she had not really grasped the seriousness of their situation as Kristen, obviously, had.

“Let’s go and have some dinner. When we come back we’ll pick up our passports. They should be through with them by then. And I need to call in. They’ll find out about the bombing...” Her face fell for a moment. “Christ, I pray it didn’t have anything to do with me.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and her voice became a whisper as she said, “How could I live with myself if all those people were killed because of me?”

Claire put her arms around her and patted her on the back. “You didn’t do anything, Kristen. It wasn’t you!”

They stood for a moment, then Claire said, “Maybe you’re jumping to conclusions. This is Italy. There could be a million reasons...”

Kristen nodded. Gathering her resolve she stepped away and went into the bathroom to splash water on her face. Drying it she said, “You’re right. Let’s go. We’ll both feel better with something in our stomachs and a good night’s sleep.”

They had become slightly rowdy by the time they arrived at Cantina Del Nettare Di Etruscan. This was a very modern winery. All the aging casks and fermenting vats were stainless steel. The bottling apparatus was the most modern they had seen. There were no picturesque cellars here, just big modern warehouses with climate control. They were currently in the bottling shed and the guide was explaining the difference their bottling method had on the finished wine.

Millie stood at the rear of the group. She wasn’t used to drinking during the day and, although she had only tasted, the net result was a lot more wine than she was used to consuming. Others in the group had been milling around a bit, some wanting to see the conveyor belt from different angles, some probably just restless as their enthusiastic guide went into excruciating detail about the process. When the guide turned on the conveyor belt, the noise filled the large space. The bottles entered at one end, were filled, then corked and sealed before being labeled and finally packed. The action was mesmerizing.

Millie struggled to keep her eyes open in spite of the noise. She was wondering if she could sneak a few minutes of shut eye on the bus before they reached their final stop for the day. When she rotated her head to stretch her neck she noticed movement behind her. She turned to see what it was.

It was a forklift heading their way. But, she realized with horror, it was moving way too fast. Then she saw there was no driver on board.

Chef Martin stood directly in its path; his back was to the machine as he focused his attention on their guide.

Millie yelled a warning, but it was swallowed in the noise from the machinery. Her heart pounded so violently, she couldn’t breathe. She launched herself at him; her fear gave her a surprising burst of speed. She barreled into his back from the side, the impact and surprise staggered him. Off balance, with her weight on his back, he couldn’t remain upright. He fell to his knees, then on the floor. Millie ended up on top of him, sandwiching him between her and the hard cement, as the forklift rumbled past with only inches to spare. The noise reached a crescendo when the forklift reached the assembly line, its half raised prongs jamming the conveyor belt. Bottles, machinery parts and shouting spectators converged at the joining of the two machines. A worker raced out of the warehouse section and leaped on the forklift. Somehow he managed to turn it off. Just about that time the guide was able to hit the emergency stop button for the conveyor.

A quiet settled with only little pings from the metal parts settling and the crinkling sound of glass pieces still falling. No one moved; they were shocked into immobility.

Millie glanced down at Chef Martin, who twisted around beneath her to look at her with a confused expression on his face.

“Why, Ms. Gulliver, I swear you just knock me over!” His droll comment was so unexpected Millie couldn’t help laughing, breaking the unnatural silence. She flushed as she realized she was still on top of Chef Martin.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Chef Martin. Did I hurt you?” She struggled to stand without damaging him further. Suddenly people, noticing the two of them on the floor, rushed to help.

“What happened?” Antonio asked while he and Sal lifted Millie to her feet.

“Is anyone hurt?”

“Did it hit you?”

Millie shook her head, holding onto the two of them when she realized how unsteady her legs were. Suddenly she was more than aware of her age.

Antonio and Sal led her to the side where a desk and two chairs were placed and sat her down in one of the chairs.

“Millie, what happened? Are you all right?” Ruth rushed to her side.

Michael and George helped Chef Martin to his feet, but he just shook his head at their questions; it was clear he had no idea what had happened.