A red light blinked from the bank of radios centered beneath the SUVs dash, signaling an incoming message from the communications center at the Vatican. Francois picked up the handset and pushed the green talk button. “Yes.”
“Have you checked your fuel, sir?”
“The fuel light just came on.”
“We know. We’re receiving data from your onboard computer via satellite. The air pressure inside your left front tire is also a little low, but nothing to worry about at this point.”
“Have you made arrangements?”
“You’re headed toward the coast on the A-12 now. The next town is Carrara. Exit there and you’ll see an AGIP gas station as you enter the town. It has a big yellow sign with the picture of a black, six-legged dog spitting fire.”
“I know those signs well. They’re all over Italy.”
“The station will look closed, sir. The owner is afraid to come out. He’ll be waiting inside to turn the pumps on when you arrive. Just drive off after you fill up … we’ll handle the bill. Oh, and one other thing, Chief. We just heard from the Carmela. She’ll be arriving sometime late tomorrow. We’re making arrangements for you to stay at one of our safe-houses outside of town. Things are getting dangerous for travelers right now, so stay inside the house until the boat arrives.”
“Will do … and thanks.”
“Be safe, sir.”
Just as promised, a sign pointing to the town of Carrara appeared off to their right. Turning off the coastal road, they drove through the deserted town square until they spotted the yellow sign with the six-legged-dog. After they had pulled up next to the pumps, Lev jumped out and grabbed the fuel hose. He shoved the nozzle into the fuel tank, but when he squeezed the handle nothing happened. Looking around, he spotted a man peering at him from inside the station. Probably the owner. The man waved and disappeared behind the counter.
Seconds later, the hose jerked and Lev could hear the most expensive gas in all of Europe flowing into a fuel tank that was almost empty. Throughout the entire European Union, it was well known that the cost of gas in Italy was higher than anywhere else in Europe. A large SUV like the one they were driving would cost a normal person a good portion of their paycheck just to keep it on the road. It was no wonder that the tiny motorbikes one saw everywhere were the favored mode of transportation. Scenes of a man and wife, together with two of their children on the same bike, were common.
As soon as the fuel tank was full, Lev replaced the gas cap and climbed back into the vehicle. They could see the owner lowering the shades inside as Francois started the engine and headed back toward the coastal road.
“That’s a strange logo for a gas company,” Lev said, looking up at the sign as they left the station.
Morelli chuckled. “Oh, the six-legged-dog? I know. I used to wonder about it myself, so I googled it on my computer last year. The decision to use that image as the logo for an oil company has always been a mystery in Italy. It was actually designed for the company in 1952 by Luigi Broggini, a famous sculptor who died in Milan back in the eighties. He never revealed why he chose it, although many have said Broggini drew his inspiration from Greek mythology. The Greeks often used the image of an animal with extra legs to symbolize supernatural strength. Some people think it represents the fire-spitting monster locals have been reporting for years in Lake Gerundo in the Po Valley.”
“I’ve seen the same kind of symbolism in America,” Leo said. “One of our well-known oil companies used the red image of a winged horse. I guess oil company executives have a penchant for mythological beasts, which isn’t too surprising when you think that oil has become something akin to a new idolatry in the twentieth century.”
In the gathering darkness, they turned onto the coast road and saw row after row of closed seafood restaurants, a sudden reminder that they hadn’t eaten all day. Leo began rooting around in the ice chest in the back and discovered some large pastrami and mozzarella sandwiches made with thick Italian bread. Within minutes, they had devoured all of them and were looking for other hidden culinary treasures Francois’s men had stashed onboard. Leo let out a whoop when he found a plastic container full of Saltimbocca alla romana-veal slices rolled with prosciutto and sage. Translated, Saltimbocca literally means jump in the mouth.
From a side road, a black SUV just like the one they were riding in pulled out onto the highway in front of them. A stern-sounding voice with a thick Swiss accent came over the radio.
“Good evening, sir. We are right in front of you. The pope sends his regards. Please follow us.”
Francois turned and looked at the others. “Swiss Guards … they’ve been waiting for us.”
Lev eyed the black vehicle ahead. “Are you sure, Francois?”
“Positive. For one, not too many people drive vehicles identical to this one, and secondly, he used the correct passwords.”
“The pope sends his regards?” As someone familiar with codes, Lev couldn’t help himself. “Really?”
Francois smiled. “Well, our passwords might not be all that sophisticated, Professor, but I happen to recognize the voice.”
“No offense, Francois. I’m just relieved to see we have some backup now.”
“Look behind you.”
Lev turned in his seat and peered back at the darkening road behind them. In the distance, he saw a small white car pass beneath a street light, driving with its headlights turned off. “How long have they been there?”
“Since that mob outside Rome attacked our vehicle on the highway. We try not to leave anything to chance.”
A few minutes later, the black SUV in front of them slowed and turned off to the right. They followed until the headlights from their vehicles illuminated the front of a darkened farmhouse sitting at the end of a red dirt road.
As soon as the SUVs stopped, the lights inside the house began switching on, and Leo and the others could see that the building was already surrounded by Swiss Guard soldiers. Climbing from their vehicle, Leo and the others stretched and looked around.
“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Leo said, “but I’m going straight to bed.”
“Good idea, Cardinal,” Francois responded. “I have a feeling the next few days will be very busy for you.”
Wearily, they all filed into the house as the security men outside began their night-long vigil. Parked along the road under the trees, the small white car that had been following sat with its lights off, waiting for the dawn.