The Angel of Milan (16 page)

             
“I thought we would talk awhile to become acquainted before having lunch,” he said, as he pored a glass of wine from a decanter for each of us.

             
“Yes, of course, I would be most happy to do that.”

             
I found the leather chair facing him to be comfortable, and the posture it provided not the least bit awkward for a direct conversation. The seating was apparently carefully chosen for its purpose. I wanted to study the man before discussing the main topic of the meeting, namely, the Atonement Lot. From what Alessandra had revealed in the garden, I thought she might be a key to revealing more of the man.

             
“I wish to compliment you on both the charm and persuasiveness of Alessandra in extending your invitation. She has also been most gracious and entertaining in the garden while we awaited your arrival.”

             
“Thank you, I will be sure to tell her of your compliment, and I am also pleased that you feel that way.”

             
Well, that didn’t hit a nerve. I saw no particular reaction on the man’s face as I studied it. I was sure the mention of her name would elicit some emotion. I was wrong. He changed the topic quickly, but I don’t think it was because he was uncomfortable discussing Alessandra.

             
“Adama, I am to understand that your scholarly position at the Vatican provides much world travel in the performance of your service. It must prove an interesting life with much fulfillment.”

             
“Yes, it does, but I am surprised that you know anything of my vocation. It is not the type of work that attracts much attention outside of Rome.”

             
“Oh, on the contrary, I for one am always fascinated by the discoveries of archeology, particularly where biblical conformations are concerned. Although, I will admit that I find it discouraging at times when the reports of these finds are suppressed by governments for political reasons.”

             
He was baiting me to disclose my position on such issues.
Very well
, I thought.
Let’s see where it leads. If I take an opposing view, maybe I can scratch down to the emotional level of the man.

             
“Oh, I don’t know, Victorio, don’t you think that sometimes it is in the greater interest to conceal information that may cause more unrest in the world?”

             
“Hardly. It has been my experience that all things are better brought into the light. Secrets breed distrust and anger, ultimately leading to violence. The more one conceals, the more one must persist in dishonesty until the deceit is all-consuming. Do you not agree?”

             
He was right, of course, but I pushed back a bit and see what would happen.

             
“No, not particularly. Men are reactionary creatures, given to thoughtless response to truths that either confirm or reject their beliefs. Cannot ignorance be preferred over chaos?”
That should do it
, I thought.
Now he will defend his position with conviction.

             
“Adama, you don’t believe that any more than I do. I can hear it in your voice.”

             
“That’s true,” I said, with a smile. “I was just trying to get a rise out of you to get a peek at the inner man.”

             
“I understand, but it is not necessary. What you see is what I am. It is not in my nature to hide anything from anyone.”

             
Interesting
, I thought.
If he is telling the truth he may be the first honest man I have ever met.
Then, of course, his wealth and position would make it easy for him to express his true feelings. Who could cause him injury?

             
“Please, Adama, salute,” he said, raising his glass to me.

             
“Certainly,” I replied, “Salute Victorio.” As I raised my glass to my lips I couldn’t help thinking that I liked this man. I had expected a confrontational meeting—a test of wills at minimum, but he was accommodating and disarming to say the least. Still, we hadn’t really gotten down to business yet, had we?

             
The wine was as I expected, pleasant to the pallet and clearly expensive. However, I sensed that it was not selected to impress. It was merely a part of the accoutrements that surrounded this man. I was beginning to accept Dinard’s sensible description of him rather than the irrational ravings of Burtuchi and Giovanni. Maybe I was being naïve, but my skeptical nature was put to rest for the moment. I found myself enjoying our conversation. For the next twenty minutes, we discussed everything from current events to the economics of Milan. Still, I wanted to get to the purpose of the invitation.

             
“Victorio, Alessandra assured me that we had a common interest to discuss. I am sure that you as well as I would like to move on to that interest.”

             
“I am sorry you are so impatient. I was enjoying your company, and the wine. Very well, but first allow me to have lunch served, then we will talk.”

             
He picked up a small silver bell that was set in front of his place setting; gently ringing its pure, sweet sound. Within seconds, a wait staff appeared through a side door and began placing trays of food on the sideboard against the wall. Their service was impeccable, plating perfect potions of medallion beef, asparagus and roasted red potato on each plate. Once we were served, they immediately left the room as they had entered, without a sound.

             
“Adama, will you say grace?”

             
I will admit that I was surprised at his request. I had never known men of his position to acknowledge the God that provided them with all they had.

             
“Why yes, of course,” I said, unable to hide my amazement. I bowed my head, noticing that he did not, but instead raised his face up as if looking for something. 

             
“Father of heaven, gracious king of all creation, we thank you for the bounty of this meal, and the company to share it with, Amen.” I thought it best to be brief.

             
The food was, of course, as good as the wine. We passed lunch with pleasant conversation much to my dismay, since I really wanted to get on with what I thought would be a game of cat and mouse. I had still not decided how assertive I would be when we came down to business. Where I generally look forward to being unpleasant with those I consider adversaries, I had no such desire with this man. He was either a genuinely noble soul or an expert manipulator—I was not sure, but shortly I would find out. We placed our utensils across our plates just as the wait staff magically reappeared to clear the table, leaving a bottle of brandy in its place. He
immediately poured for both of us. 

             
“I can feel your anxiety, Adama. Forgive me for keeping you waiting,” he said apologetically. “I thought it best to have lunch first; men are less irritable after the stomach has been satisfied,” he said, with a smile. “Let us now talk of the Atonement Lot, or Seal, if you prefer.”

             
I’ll give him credit for directness once he gets down to business. He caught me off guard and I could feel
my eyebrows raise slightly at his announcement. Well, I was all for it! I have never been one for politics and diplomacy anyway.

             
“So you know about the Atonement Lot and its disappearance?” I asked, rhetorically. “If that is true, then you also know that I have been sent to locate it before it makes its way out of Milan.”

             
“That’s where I can help you, Adama. I am quite sure that I know who has taken it, and where it can be found. However, I wanted to meet you before deciding if I would help you.”

             
“You know who has it?”

             
“I am quite certain. In any case, I am content to let it remain where it is for the time being.”

             
His words hit like a punch in the chest. He said it in such a matter-of-fact way that you could forget that a man was probably killed in the process of stealing the object. I can’t say that I was in the least concerned for Crochi given his perversion for children, but still, the declaration seemed a bit nonchalant for the circumstances.

             
“Did they kill Father Crochi to get it?”

             
“Most assuredly,” he replied without the slightest hint of emotion, “but I am also certain that they were not involved in the theft of the object from the treasury. That was Burtuchi’s doing.”

             
I just stared at him while I tried to assimilate what he had just told me. Was he playing me for the fool or was he just a mad man making up stories? I watched him for a long moment, not sure of what I would say to this revelation. His accusation of Burtuchi’s involvement made no sense. There was no motive I could determine for the cardinal to perpetrate such actions. Del Cielo never changed his expression; he sat as a statue in time. Was he a sociopath? Finally, I determined that this had gone as far as it was going to go. It was time to drop the priestly countenance.

             
“Who do you suspect in Crochi’s murder?”

             
“That is not important.”

             
“What makes you think that you can conceal a murderer without consequence?”

             
“I am concealing nothing, Adama. I am only stating fact, and an honest disclosure to you. Do you really care what has happened to Crochi? I know you do not. Let us be clear though—I had nothing to do with Crochi’s murder. I didn’t kill him.”  

             
I considered what I knew of the way Crochi was murdered. He had been torn apart, a job that Jack The Ripper would have been proud of. It was likely a man as large as Victorio who had done the deed. The human body does not come apart as easily as one might think. Although, why tell me that he knew anything of Crochi’s murder in the first place? Apparently he had no fear of retribution. Then there was the accusation that Burtuchi himself was involved in the theft. I narrowed my eyes to meet his.

             
“You are not telling me all this to amuse yourself, are you? You may find that the price of your entertainment comes high.”

             
“No, Adama, I am not amused, I am grieved.”

             
“What makes you think I will not report what you have told me to the police?”

             
“If Burtuchi wanted to involve the police, he would not have sent you, Adama. Burtuchi has no interest in those outside his circle being aware of any of his activities.”

             
I thought about a physical threat, but somehow I didn’t think he would give up the names he suspected of possessing the Lot so easily. Even if I killed him, how would I ever find it? He seemed to know things where everyone else was clueless. Besides, he was not telling me all this without some other objective in mind. He wanted something.