The Angel of Milan (13 page)

             
The news picture was badly yellowed and faded, but it was clear enough to see faces. I studied the photograph intensely—faces and more faces, but nothing unusual jumped out at me. 

             
“I suspect you think I will find Del Cielo’s face from fifty years ago somewhere in this group picture, but I don’t even know what the man looks like.”

             
“Read the caption identifying those in the picture. It says that Ricardo Del Cielo, supposedly Victorio’s grandfather, is third from the left. You will not find him.”

             
I looked at the third man from the left. There was no face, just a splotch of white were the face should have been. I was not impressed.

             
“So what, missing news ink, a reflection of the flash? You think he is a Grigori angel just because his face is white in a photo? I have seen this many times in newspapers. The news print process is cheap and inaccurate. These papers roll off the press at unimaginable speeds, and print errors are legion.”

     I watched his countenance drop as his bubble was burst. This was just something that he wanted to be true no matter how far he had to stretch the evidence. I slammed the folder shut and pushed it back in his chest.

             
“Enough of this, Father Dinard. No more talk of Grigori, demons, vampires, the Loch Ness Monster, or anything else that may come to mind!”

             
He seemed to be thinking deeply again, and I waited for the pronouncement of his thought.

     “Father Adama.”

             
“Yes.”

             
“Just one more thing. What kind of priest carries a semi automatic pistol, and throws people out of windows?”
             

  
“I promise, I will tell you if you die.”

     He actually thought about that for a moment as if he had something to look forward to.

     With much persuasion, I shuffled
Dinard off to his quarters, promising to discuss further in the morning what steps we would take next. He insisted we walk through the kitchen so he could ensure he had put everything away, but his real purpose was to grab a box of crackers to take up to his quarters. I resolved that we all had our sins, and if this was Dinard’s, it was nothing compared to mine. 

6
             
             
             
             
             
             
I had a fitful night’s sleep, tossing and turning for hours. There was little doubt in my mind as to what caused it. I had taken Dinard into my confidence, something I had never done with anyone. It was dangerous to both of us on many levels, and I didn’t want to think of him being in danger. My life was expendable, I always knew that, and I accepted it when I accepted the order of Paladin. Dinard was another matter. I doubted he completely understood the grave consequences he might face.
Damn the wine
, I thought. I knew better than to make any decision while under the slightest influence.

     I shuffled downstairs for breakfast and found myself stalling with a second cup of coffee. I was not sure where to start. For the most part, I had nothing to go on other than Dinard’s observation that Opus Dei was lurking about. I never cared for those bastards. It makes no difference—Opus Dei, Skull and Bones,
11
Free Masons
12
—all secret societies with secret agendas. They made me feel almost clean.

             
For one of the few times in my life, I felt helpless. Everything seemed to be a dead end. There was nothing for it though it was time to go back to work, and the serious business of tracking down those capable of cold-blooded murder. I was sure that if I found Crochi’s killer I would find the Lot. Maybe Giovanni had found something out, and that same person had killed him. In my heart, I knew I would have preferred Dinard’s wishful thinking.
Tracking down demons or the undead
, I thought, laughing to myself.
That would be much more fun.
 

             
I finally strolled up to the piazza, and in desperation for a destination, took a taxi
to the Quadrilatero d'Oro, one of the better-known shopping areas just north of the Duomo. I had no intention of buying anything in this over-priced high fashion district, but it was a good place to walk around and think. The streets were crowded with the local upper crust, and droves of tourists, as usual. I stopped to look in a window sporting a red-sequined man’s dinner jacket. I was trying to imagine who would wear such attire when I noticed the reflection in the window of a woman standing behind me. I sensed that she was looking at my reflection and not at the jacket. I thought I would ignore her, and in a moment she would move on. After an exaggerated pause, I realized that she would not. Turing around to face her, I was confronted with the most extraordinary creature I had ever seen. 

             
I stand six-three, and she was almost tall enough to look me straight in the eye. Her long black silk hair surrounded her perfect face, drawing my gaze into the most extraordinary eyes.  I found myself unable to turn away from the large pools of dark blue that were staring back at me. I focused all my strength on breaking the trance and speaking. She was incredible, and I do not remember being so carnally attracted to a woman before or ever since. It took me a second to form the words to greet her in northern Italian.

             
“Salve, La posso aiutare?

             
“Ah, a Sicilian,” she said in English with an American accent, “the inflection gives you away. My name is Alessandra, and yes, you can help me, Padre.”

             
I was quite surprised that she heard a Sicilian accent. No one had ever detected it before. I showed no expression, and switched to English to continue the conversation. I assumed that she was trying to pick me up, a situation I was not totally unfamiliar with even with my collar turned around. I had no intention of encouraging her further, and remained expressionless.

             
“Yes, miss, what seems to be the trouble?”

             
“Oh, there is no trouble, Padre, quite the contrary. I would like to invite you to lunch tomorrow at my villa on Lake Como.”

             
I studied her momentarily, deciding what absurdity this could be. The boldness of some women always amazes me. They have no modesty or respect for themselves, let alone anyone else. I considered telling her exactly what I thought, but decided it would take too much energy. I decided to turn the other cheek.

             
“I do not wish to be rude, but to continue our conversation would be pointless,” I said, forcing a slight smile. She broke into a most delightful laughter that made her eyes sparkle even brighter.

             
“Ah, you think that I am coming on to you. Under other circumstances you may have been correct, but my motives are quite different at the moment, and my invitation is quite sincere.”

             
I felt myself being physically drawn to her again, and instinctively leaned back, taking a half step away from her. She smiled again and stepped forward, hooking her arm in mine as she turned to face down the avenue.

             
“Please, walk with me,” she said, quietly. Her action was so quick, and unexpected that I found myself stepping in pace with her down the avenue. She had a viselike grip on my arm, holding it close to her firm body. How could she have manipulated me so easily? I determined to pull away gently without making a scene when her next statement almost froze my steps.

             
“Victorio will be so pleased if you accept.”

             
“Victorio?” I repeated.

             
“Yes, Victorio Del Cielo, a most prominent patron of our wonderful city.”
             
             

             
The name set my mind racing to decide what I would say or do next. I had been trying to figure out how I might find him and arrange to meet him, but this was totally unexpected. I thought this might be the break I needed, but not under such unusual circumstances. Was the hunter now the hunted? I was not so willing to place myself at his disposal as easily as this.

             
“Miss, I...”

             
“Oh, please, call me Alessandra.”   

             
“Very well, Alessandra. I have no idea what you can possibly be talking about, and I have no intention of having lunch with you or this, Victorio Del Cielo.”

             
“Do not pretend with me,” she said forcefully. Her expression changed to an almost menacing composure. I was taken aback for a moment.

             
“Accept the invitation, and I assure that you will not be disappointed.”

             
Butuchi’s instructions had been very clear. Stay away from Del Cielo—do not engage him in any way, but I had already determined to disobey his instruction, anyway.

             
My curiosity was now becoming even more explosive. What was it about Del Cielo that made Burtuchi so uncomfortable? I had never known him to be cautious of anyone. I had every intention of finding Del Cielo myself no matter what Burtuchi said. Besides, I was not engaging him, he had come to me. How could I resist now? There was nothing for it but to go along. It was clear that Burtuchi’s expectation of Del Cielo’s intervention was correct, and I was surprised at how easily his beautiful emissary had found me in the shopping district. Spies somewhere, or everywhere, I assumed.
Just as well
, I thought,
better to be on with it and see what I can learn from this Del Cielo.

             
“Very well, I will have lunch with you and your master,” I said in a condescending tone. Her reaction to my snide remark was only discernable in her eyes that seemed to narrow and burn right through me. However, in a fraction of a second she regained her composure, displaying a broad smile.

             
“That is a wise decision. Victorio believes that you share a common interest, and that an exchange of ideas will be of mutual benefit. I will pick you up tomorrow at noon sharp, in front of St. Andrew.”

             
She released my arm as quickly as she had taken it, and was walking away into the crowd. Suddenly, she stopped and turned to me.

             
“Adama, you are being followed. The man with the blond hair and brown jacket.” Without another word, she was gone into the crowd.

             
I quickly turned to look behind me for the man with blond hair. Sure enough, there he was looking directly at me from a few doors down. No matter the man following me, I had more questions for her, and faced her again, calling out to her, but she was gone. I turned quickly back to find the blond man and found that he had disappeared, also. Great, I had lost both of them. That’s what happens when you are double-minded about something. I should have picked one or the other to focus on.