Leo had gone to bed early, while Morelli and Lev had stayed up late. Before going to bed, the two men had joined a group of Swiss Guard officers at a long wooden table in the farmhouse kitchen-drinking coffee, playing cards, and listening to the reports on TV about the mysterious virus that had swept through central Italy, leaving thousands dead in its wake before flaming out like a blazing torch dipped in water.
In a replay of the viral onslaught that took New York by surprise, the majority of people in the affected region had remained healthy, while others had died a horrible death within hours of exposure. On the surface it appeared as though the virus had run its course, but many families continued to huddle in their homes and pray as specialized biohazard teams from the World Health Organization descended on the Italian countryside looking for clues to the identity and origin of the deadly pathogen.
So far, the only thing they knew for sure was the fact that they were dealing with a virus that seemed to change the way it affected its victims. Unlike the Ebola-like symptoms seen in New York, the virus seen in Italy had acted more like a neurotoxin against the body’s central nervous system, but in both cases the method of infection remained a mystery.
The Italian outbreak had apparently started in the suburbs of Rome and headed north, cutting a swath through the regions of Umbria and Tuscany before finally ending its rampage on the outskirts of Florence. For the past twelve hours, no new cases had been reported, and news that the virus stopped just as suddenly as it had started brought cries of cautious relief across the entire European continent.
In Portofino, the picturesque seaside village was slowly awakening to the fact that they had been left untouched by the shadowy specter of a pathogen that had suddenly faded into oblivion-but for how long? The world had now been hit twice by an engineered virus that affected its victims differently on two separate continents, and no one knew when the mysterious virus would once again spring to life somewhere else on the globe and take thousands more to their graves.
Early the next morning, Morelli awakened, grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen, and walked outside to breathe in some fresh country air. Sipping his coffee, he squinted in the bright sunlight and surveyed the rolling hills surrounding the farm. He noticed that, sometime during the night, more vehicles had arrived at the farm, and with them had come a large detachment of men who were standing around in their combat fatigues next to a grizzled-looking Swiss Guard captain.
Morelli ambled up to the group and spoke briefly with the captain before drinking the last of his coffee and walking back to the farmhouse. Once inside, he spotted Leo sitting at the far end of the dining room table, happily dealing out a new hand of cards to a depressed looking group of men. Biting his lower lip, Morelli was barely able to keep from laughing when he realized that the men seated around Leo had unwittingly subjected themselves to a game of poker with the cardinal, a man who was known to beat world-class players on a regular basis.
As a young boy growing up in central Pennsylvania, Leo had watched his father and uncles gather together every Friday night under the glare of a bare light bulb hanging above the kitchen table. There, after they had all spent an exhausting week working deep in the local coal mines, they would drink and laugh and play poker into the wee hours of the morning. The game had always fascinated Leo. He had loved watching the way his father’s left eye twitched imperceptibly when he was holding a winning hand, a clue that his father’s opponents never seemed to notice. That single observation had taught him an important lesson in life, because just like in poker, life was full of imperceptible nuances that a keen observer could use to his or her advantage when they lacked solid information and had to make a key decision based on instinct alone.
Having a relaxing hobby like poker challenged Leo’s mind and sharpened his powers of observation, so despite his busy schedule doing God’s work, he continued to follow the careers of professional poker players who traveled the international poker circuit. He always knew when a well-known player was visiting Rome, and as soon as he found out where they were staying, he would dispatch a formal invitation for a friendly little game. But as rumors of his skill began to spread within the poker community, Leo soon discovered that many of the visiting players he had beaten in the past were suddenly becoming very creative in their excuses as to why they were unable to meet with the famous cardinal for an evening of poker and fine wine at the Vatican.
Lev glanced up from the table at Morelli. “Did you know about this?”
“Know what?”
“That the cardinal is a card shark. He’s a hustler and you never warned us.”
The humbled Swiss Guards all nodded their heads.
“I learned long ago never to play poker with the man, especially if money is involved.” Morelli peered over Leo’s shoulder at the cards in his hand. “I have some news that might make you feel better, Professor.”
“What … is Leo bluffing?”
“It concerns the yacht. Apparently, the Carmela has just made a record crossing of the Mediterranean. Francois informed me that they dropped anchor offshore thirty minutes ago.”
“Hmmm … Alex must have really been pushing the new engines.”
Morelli slid down into an empty chair beside Leo and let out a loud sigh.
“Ok, what is it?” Leo said, laying his cards face-down on the table. “You don’t look happy, Anthony.”
“I’m afraid this is as far as I go, Leo.”
“I thought we were all going to Spain together.”
“There’s been a change of plans. With the arrival of the Carmela, you have the entire Bible Code Team here to support you now. Pope Michael needs me back at the Vatican.”
“Actually, I was a little surprised he let you leave in the first place. After all, you’re his most trusted advisor.”
Morelli winked and nodded his head in the direction of the door. Leo caught on and grabbed a cup of coffee before excusing himself and following Morelli outside.
“What’s up, Bishop?”
“Marcus is very fond of you, Leo. He picks his confidants carefully, and I happen to know that he especially values the fact that you possess the kind of mind that can analyze a situation from a unique perspective. You see things others may miss. That’s why our little get-togethers with the pope over the past year have been so important to him. It allows him to bounce ideas around the room with those he trusts in an informal setting away from the pomp and ceremony of his office. But I have a feeling there’s something else … something that only he is privy to, and he doesn’t seem to want to discuss it with anyone else … at lease not now.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not sure, but he’s sending you to Spain for a reason … a reason that he’s chosen not to share with either of us. On the way here, I thought back to a cryptic comment he made last month after a late-night dinner party he held for a select group of friends in his apartment. He seemed troubled that night and surprised both Enzo and myself when he had more than his usual two glasses of wine. We were all laughing about a complaint that had been made about you.”
“About me?”
“Yes. It was quite funny, actually. Enzo received a letter from a group of Vatican nuns. They had written to say that they didn’t think it was dignified for a cardinal of your stature to be whizzing around Rome on a motor scooter. We were all practically rolling on the floor when Marcus got up and poured another glass of wine. His face suddenly turned serious, and he started talking about how dangerous and crazy the traffic was in Rome and how maybe he should forbid you to drive around town on the thing. He then walked to the window and surprised all of us when he muttered something to himself about how your survival and the survival of the Church were somehow linked together. He stood there for a long time, then turned and looked back at us as if he had forgotten that we were in the room. He seemed lost in thought, as if something else was bothering him, then smiled and became his old, easy-going self again.”
“That doesn’t sound like Marcus … I mean, His Holiness. Good grief, I’ll never get used to calling him that.”
“Truth be told, Leo, he prefers his given name in private.”
Leo paused and took a last sip of coffee. “I know. I think he’s almost as uncomfortable in his position as I am in mine. Despite the fact that he’s always had a very fatalistic view of life, he’s always been very protective of his friends. Even as far back as when we were all in seminary together he used to watch over the underclassmen like a mother hen. It’s a quality he’s probably had all his life … it’s in his blood. Now that he’s become pope … a Jesuit pope … he’s become like a military commander looking out for his troops. If you look at the big picture, and I’m talking about the future of the Church in general here, then his statement about my future being intertwined with that of the Church isn’t really all that strange. The College of Cardinals is a pretty exclusive club. We’re the pope’s generals, and the next pope will be chosen from our ranks. Marcus probably just had a few too many glasses of his favorite Merlot that night and was feeling a little overly protective of one of his own.”
“I disagree, Leo. It was deeper than that. There was something definitive in his statement. As soon as the virus hit Rome he wanted you out of there. I mean, with so many people dying, the Vatican is practically under siege right now, yet the pope sent his best people to guard us. The captain in charge of all those well-armed men standing over there said he’s never seen so much security for a cardinal before. He said we’re receiving more protection than the pope himself right now. His Holiness values your friendship, Leo, but something else is going on. He’s making double sure nothing happens to you, and it’s not just because you two are friends.”
Leo stared back at Morelli with a blank look on his face. His uncanny ability to read people had failed him this time. He had completely misread the pope earlier when he thought the pontiff had lost trust in him. So that’s why the pope had wanted to speak to the bishop in private. Morelli and Francois had been given orders to watch over him, but why? What was Pope Michael up to?
“What are you two conspiring about? Is it some kind of Catholic plot?”
Morelli and Leo turned to see a sullen-looking Lev Wasserman standing behind them. Morelli grinned back at him and pulled a small yellow box from his coat pocket.
“Here, Professor. This might help to make up for your poker losses with the Cardinal.”
Lev whistled softly to himself as he gingerly opened the box and inhaled the unmistakable and overpowering aroma of twenty-five genuine Cuban cigars.
“Cohibas!”
“Yes. The Church is making significant inroads back into Cuba. Raul Castro gave them to Bishop Hernandez when he was meeting with Fidel last month. Hernandez doesn’t smoke, so he mailed them to me and I’ve been saving them for you ever since.”
“Your thoughtfulness has just earned you a special place in heaven, Anthony!” Lev stepped back and eyed the bishop suspiciously. “What do you want?”
Morelli laughed. “Well, go ahead … we know you’re dying to try one.” They both watched as Lev expertly clipped the end from one of the precious cigars and lit it with a match. Closing his eyes, he exhaled and let the thick, bluish smoke drift upwards around his head and through his hair as his face widened with a huge grin. “I don’t know how to thank you, Anthony. How did you know these are my favorites?”
“I didn’t, but I knew they must be good considering where they came from and who sent them.”
Those entrenched in the cigar world knew that only ten farms in the Vuelta Abajo region of Cuba supplied their best leaves for the Cohiba. That, plus the fact that they are the only brand to use three fermentations-one of many small details that make it one of the finest cigars in the world. First introduced in 1968, the Cohiba was an instant sensation. Back then, the Cuban government was looking for something special. Their cigars were a point of pride, and Fidel wanted the best of the best when it came to giving a special gift to foreign dignitaries. The Cohiba exceeded his wildest expectations, and when word of its velvety flavor spread among cigar aficionados the world over, the new cigar became almost impossible to obtain, making it one of the most expensive and sought-after tobacco products in the world. Needless to say, Lev was ecstatic.
Morelli relished watching Lev’s reaction. The bishop was truly a man who enjoyed giving more than he enjoyed receiving, and those who counted themselves among his close friends quickly got used to receiving little gifts from him for no special reason.
Morelli glanced down at his watch. It was time for him to leave. Not one for long goodbyes, he turned away and walked quickly down the red dirt road to the little white car that had followed them all the way from Rome. Looking back at Leo and Lev, he gave a quick wave before climbing into the back seat. Moments later, the little car had disappeared from sight.
“Nice cigars.” Leo and Lev glanced over to see Francois standing next to them.
Lev sighed as he reached into the box and handed Leander one of his precious stogies. Running the prized cylinder of tobacco beneath his nose, Francois nodded his head in the direction of a group of fit-looking men sporting an array of automatic weapons. “As you can see, one of my quick response teams arrived during the night. I think it’s time we leave for Portofino.”
While Leo and Lev settled into the back of one of the armored SUVs, Francois conferred with the Swiss Guard captain before hopping behind the wheel and starting the engine. Flanked by several additional vehicles full of heavily-armed men, the procession pulled away from the farmhouse and headed up the coast highway toward the stair-stepped houses that made up the seaside village of Portofino.
Considered by many to be one of the most beautiful seaside ports in all of Europe, millions of would-be travelers had gazed upon pictures of the tiny Mediterranean village on posters displayed in windows of travel agencies all over the world. One look at the idyllic seaside setting was usually all it took to make customers reach for their wallets and hand over their credit cards as they stared at the poster, hypnotized by thoughts of rubbing elbows with the rich and famous on the Italian Riviera.
Although the harbor at Portofino was too small to accept a super yacht the size of the Carmela, the port was filled with smaller yachts along with brightly-painted fishing boats that appeared to float on air in the clear aquamarine water that lapped at a dock populated with sidewalk cafes. The laid-back, seaside retreat of Portofino was a place where the rich and not-so-rich mingled in a setting untouched by time, drinking and eating late into the night as the velvety sea air filled their lungs with the sweet perfume of the ocean.
After parking on a sloping cobblestoned street, Francois walked with Leo and Lev down to the waterfront. Predictably, the cafes were deserted as a slight breeze ruffled the multicolored umbrellas over the empty tables.
Squinting out at the dazzling harbor, they could see an enormous blue and white yacht pulling at its anchor chain in the softly rolling swell of the sea beyond the protective rock jetty. It was a welcome sight to the weary men who, only the day before, were not sure if they would live to see another sunrise.
“Daddy!” The startled men turned to see a shapely young woman with long brown hair running toward them.
“Ariella! I thought we sent word … no one was supposed to come ashore.”
“John and I brought the speedboat in, Father. You weren’t planning on swimming out to the yacht, were you?”
“I see.” Lev’s futile attempt to look stern brought a smile to Ariella’s face. Ever since she was a child, Lev had learned that his efforts to control his headstrong daughter were met with about as much success as an attempt to shape dry sand.
“Where’s everyone else?”
“On the yacht. John is across the harbor looking to buy some fresh fish for supper tonight … he should be along in a minute.”
“Leo!” Ariella threw her arms around the cardinal’s neck. “We’ve missed you so much. It’s been almost a year since my wedding. Where’s Bishop Morelli?”
“On his way back to the Vatican. Is that John?” Leo pointed to a tanned and shirtless young man who was slowly edging a gleaming white speedboat up against the dock. As soon as he spotted Leo, he jumped from the boat and reached out with an eager handshake.
“It’s good to see you again, sir. Ariella and I have been meaning to come to Rome for the past several months, but the house … school …”
Leo stood back and admired the young couple. They were the closest thing to having children of his own that he had ever experienced. “You two are still newlyweds. You need to feather your nest.”
John grinned. “Come on … hop in the boat. We need to get going. There’s a storm coming and the captain wants to put to sea as soon as possible.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Lev said, looking around at all the empty tables. “I’m not convinced this epidemic is over yet. It’s only a matter of time before it pops up again.”
Ariella shuddered. Looking down into the speedboat, she spotted an empty wire basket lying on the floorboards. “No luck finding any fresh fish for supper, hon?”
“No fishermen. This town is locked up tight. I saw a few people watching me from their windows, but they closed their shutters when they saw me looking up at them.”
Speaking into his radio, Francois hurried over to the group. “I’ll be saying goodbye for now. My men and I need to get back to the Vatican.”
“Thank you, Francois,” Leo said. “We’ll stay in touch.”
Francois shoved a satellite phone into the cardinal’s hand. “Remember, we can get to you wherever you are … we’re only a phone call away.”
As everyone clamored onboard the speedboat, John took his place on a raised seat behind the wheel and turned the key. Immediately, the engine came to life with a muted rumble that grew into a throaty roar as they moved out into the harbor. Inching the throttles forward, the bow rose steadily through the water as John steered the boat out into open water toward the Carmela. Standing behind him on tiptoes, Ariella wrapped her arms around his shoulders and laid her head against his tanned back, her long hair whipping in the slipstream as she closed her eyes against the saltwater spray.
Sitting next to Lev on the padded seat in the back of the boat, Leo watched the young couple with a mixture of joy and sadness. He felt a great sense of satisfaction that these two had found happiness with each other, but his joy was tinged with sadness at the fact that he would forever have a void in his life. He would never experience the same closeness with a woman. No one would ever hold him the way Ariella held on to John. His only embrace came from his faith, for that was the path he had chosen.
Only a few of the cardinal’s closest friends knew that he fought a constant internal battle with the issue of celibacy and marriage. His rough-chiseled features and intelligent green eyes had attracted more than one woman throughout his life, and for some odd reason, his Roman collar had actually acted as a magnet to some. But despite his yearning to share his life with another, Leo had come to terms with the fact that life wasn’t always fair to those who served. He had always managed to remain faithful to his vows, but in his view, the Church’s demand for priests to remain celibate had condemned thousands of men to a life of unnatural solitude. More and more he was coming to believe that this demand for a life filled with reflective isolation was a throwback to the Middle-Ages, to an unenlightened era in history, when enforcing deprivation on others was power.
Now, in the twenty-first century, as information circled the globe at the speed of light, a new generation of priests had become filled with a fierce resolve-a resolve for change. They had become convinced that the Church’s failure to acknowledge a man’s God-given right to marry and have a family was the one thing most responsible for the scandals that had befallen the modern priesthood.
The year before, when Leo had first met John as a young man considering the priesthood, he had counseled him to choose his vocation wisely due to this very issue. John had agonized between his ambition to serve God as a priest and his desire to marry and raise a family. The matter had finally been settled in Israel when John and Ariella looked into each other’s eyes for the first time. Game over. The Church had lost another promising candidate.
A shadow looming over the speedboat caused Leo to look up as the gleaming white superstructure of the Carmela towered above them. Pulling up alongside the yacht’s dark blue hull, John expertly reversed the speedboat’s engines to keep from slamming into the wooden stairway that descended down the side of the yacht from the deck above. Rising and falling with the swell of the ocean, John tried to steady the small boat while Lev scrambled onto the bow and threw a line to a deckhand standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Up on the bridge, Alex Pappas, the Carmela’s captain, stood against the railing, smoking a cigarette. He looked down on the scene below with eyes that matched the color of the sea he had lived on for most of his adult life. His short black hair contrasted with the stark white uniform he wore with pride, and like his father and grandfather before him, he had followed in the footsteps of generations of Greek sea captains who had guided ships across the Mediterranean Sea for thousands of years.
“Secure that speedboat,” Pappas bellowed to the deckhands below. “We’re starting the engines in fifteen minutes.”
The yacht’s mixed crew of men and women looked up and watched as he flicked the remainder of his lit cigarette overboard and walked back into the bridge. The young crewmembers sprang into action, for they knew that their beloved Greek captain always meant what he said, and that in exactly fifteen minutes, the twin turbines of the two-hundred-and-thirty-foot yacht would begin propelling the huge boat away from the coastline and out to sea.
As the crew took charge of stowing the speedboat below decks, Leo and Lev followed John and Ariella up the polished wooden stairs to the main deck.
“We’re going up to the bridge to watch the departure,” John said. “Aren’t you two coming? The view is spectacular from up there.”
“It’s pretty spectacular from here too,” Lev said, settling back into a cushy lounge chair next to a table under a blue canvas awning. “Tell Alex we’ll be up in a minute.”
Shrugging his shoulders, John grabbed Ariella’s hand and the two headed up some outside stairs to the bridge. Seconds later, a female crewmember exited the aft salon with a tray in her hand. She was wearing the crew’s standard uniform of dark blue shorts and a blue-and-white-striped polo shirt with the name of the yacht, Carmela, emblazoned in gold script over the left chest. Bending from the waist, she set two glasses of sparkling white wine at their table before disappearing back inside.
“I had forgotten how much I loved being on this boat,” Leo said, lying back in a recumbent deck chair next to Lev and gazing out at the harbor.
“I know. I love it too. Sometimes I feel more at home on this boat than I do on land. Still, I can’t help but feel a little guilty sitting here amidst all of this luxury, especially in view of what just happened to all of those poor souls back on the highway.”
Leo took a long sip from his glass and stared out at the water. “Life is for the living, Lev, and we have to press on if we are to have any chance at all of stopping this thing. Now that I think of it, this boat is probably one of the best places in the world to be right now. It’s mobile and easily isolated … a perfect home base for what we need to do. Everything happens for a reason, so we should count our blessings that we have our own little island of safety right now.”
“What you just said reminds me of something I’ve been thinking about since we came onboard. Now that the world is at the mercy of a virus that’s capable of killing millions, we’ve arrived at a kind of crossroads in human history. No one knows where this thing will strike next. Panic will soon rule the cities, and others will be looking for similar places of safety. Untold thousands will be seeking to escape the virus until the threat has passed. I’ve sent word to our people guarding the compound back in Israel to block all access. For now, no one comes in and no one goes out. The same thing goes for this boat except for designated team members who will have to make shore excursions from time to time.”
“I suppose you’re right. We’re going to have to start looking at the world in a whole new way. For all practical purposes, the planet we live on is rapidly becoming a dangerous alien environment.”
“That’s exactly the way we need to start looking at our surroundings when we leave the boat. We have no idea when or where the pathogen will pop up next and what effect it will have on any given population. Of course, in Israel, we’ve always been faced with hostile threats, but according to the Bible, our greatest threat still lies ahead. My wife and I always kept the biblical warnings of Revelation at the forefront of our thinking, especially when we built the villa and the compound surrounding it. I don’t think I ever mentioned this to you before, but throughout the years, I’ve been in contact with other like-minded communities similar to ours in Israel.”
“You mean people have built other compounds like the one surrounding your villa?”
“Most of them were built by friends I’ve known throughout the years … friends who believe as I do. We wanted to create places of safety for our families and friends to go to if something catastrophic occurred in the world. A lot of people scoffed at our Noah’s Ark mentality, and I hate to say it, but a lot of them are probably wishing they had listened to us now.”
“Are they all in Israel?”
“Two of them are. They are both kibbutz-like compounds like the one at the villa. There’s another located near the Aude River in southern France, and two more in America. All of them were started by some very interesting people.”
“I sincerely hope you’re not describing something along the lines of those end-of-world religious cults that seem to pop up in the headlines from time to time … the kind that give the rest of us in the religious community a black eye.”
“Oh, no, they’re nothing like that. They were conceived with Christian belief systems in mind, but there’s nothing cult-like about them. One of the communities in America is quite large. Apparently, one group bought up hundreds of acres of farmland in an area of the country where the local farmers had fallen on hard times. Some of the farmers actually returned to live for free in homes they had lost to the bank. They now run the farming operation while the other residents are involved in outside professions. Everyone owns their own homes and they come and go as they please. They have elected boards and there’s no guru in charge telling them how they should worship. The other one was built by a wealthy businessman in Chicago who bought a skyscraper, gutted it, and had the interior rebuilt to suit their needs. Apparently, he was becoming alarmed at the wholesale change in moral values and the increasing rate of violent crime in the city. The entire building is self-contained … they’re not dependent on anything from the outside.”
“Sounds like a ship at sea.”
“That’s a good analogy, Leo. It’s very much like a ship … a ship in a sea of social and moral uncertainty. They depend mostly on solar energy for their power, grow their own food, and recycle everything. It’s quite an operation. It felt like I was in a model for a city of the future when I was there last year. After my visit, we adopted some of their technology for the farm in Israel.”
“What about the one in France?”
“That one is probably my favorite. It’s a modern-day remnant of an old hippie commune built around the ruins of an old castle. Their fields produce some of the best wine in the world, and like the other communities, they’re totally self-sufficient.”
This was getting interesting. Lev had always been an enigma to Leo. He was wealthy and powerful, yet almost overly generous and very protective of those he loved. As long as Leo had known him, Lev had never mentioned any of these self-sufficient, kibbutz-like compounds, or the fact that they all communicated with each other.
Lev stood and pulled one of his new cigars from his shirt pocket and lit it with a match. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Leo, I think I’ll go topside and see how things are progressing. Why don’t you stay here and relax for a while. You look tired.”
“I am. I think I’ve only slept a few hours in the past two days. I’ll be up to join you shortly.”
Leo watched Lev climb the outside stairs to the bridge while he sat back and mulled Lev’s newest revelations over in his head. He was just drifting off into a light sleep when a crewmember walked up and handed him one of the yacht’s satellite phones. “Excuse me, sir. It’s a call from Bishop Morelli.”
“Thank you.” Leo took the phone and pressed it to his ear. “Anthony … is everything ok?”
“Yes, we’re fine. We’re pulled off to the side of the road. Marcus is sending a helicopter for me and Francois. I just wanted to make sure you made it safely onboard.”
“Yes. We’re just getting ready to depart for Spain.”
“Wish I was there. I love that boat.”
Leo smiled. “You know, Anthony, the way your investments are paying off, you could probably afford a boat like this. You could name her something like Church Business.”
“So I could tell people I was off on church business without having to lie about the fact that I was really lying around on my boat somewhere.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re a very devious fellow, Cardinal.”
“I know.”
“I think a purchase like that that might be pushing my vow of poverty a little too far, although I don’t think that’s going to be a problem anytime soon. I took a pretty substantial hit in the stock market this year, along with everyone else. I’m still doing alright, but I’m afraid my contributions to the Church have dwindled lately. If I’m frugal, I might be able to afford one of the Carmela’s speedboats.”
“I’ve always thought that naming the yacht after his late wife was a nice way to remind people of her,” Leo said, looking down at a napkin with the name Carmela printed on it. “It’s a touching tribute to her. She was American, you know. Lev told me a little bit about her when I was in Israel last year, but I don’t think he’s mentioned her more than a couple of times since.”
“Probably too painful for him, Leo. She and Lev met back in the late 1960’s, when they were both students at the University of Jerusalem. Carmela was a devout Christian … that’s part of the reason she moved to Israel. Lev said she loved exploring the Holy Land and the places where Jesus walked. From what everyone has told me, Lev was crazy about her. I don’t think it was much of a surprise to his Jewish friends that he converted to Christianity after they were married. Ariella was their only child. She was only ten years old when her mother passed away, so Lev was left to raise her pretty much all by himself.”
“He must have been devastated when Carmela died.”
“He was. His father left him a manufacturing company worth a fortune, but Lev told me that he would gladly throw it all away if he could spend just one more day with her.”
“I know. Lev’s life has never been about money. I guess that’s why he left the running of the company to his managers while he pursued his academic interests.”
“Well, evidently they’ve done a good job,” Morelli said, “because the company is worth twice what it was when his father left it to him.”
The deck beneath Leo’s feet rumbled with the startup of the yacht’s engines. Holding the phone to his ear, he stood and walked to the railing and peered over the side. Gazing down into the crystal clear water, he saw the rippling image of the sandy white seafloor below.
“He modeled it after the kibbutz he was raised on,” Leo said.
“Modeled what? I think your phone cut out, Leo.”
“Sorry … I was thinking about the villa he built on the coast. He wanted everything on his property to look like the kibbutz he was raised on, including the vineyards, the houses, and the fields around them.”
“Oh, yes, of course. It’s beautiful there. But Israel’s still a dangerous piece of real estate. That’s why people banded together on collective farms in the first place.”
“Did he ever tell you about the other compounds like his around the world?”
“You mean those communes he’s always talking about?”
“Yes, he just told me about them.”
“I think he was afraid you would think he was some kind of whacko. Lev grew up on an Israeli kibbutz that was formed for protection against the Arabs. Coincidentally, his wife’s parents were nomadic hippie types, and she was raised on a farming commune in America. Lev told me one time that her parents had moved there so they could grow their own pot. They felt the government was forcing them to associate with drug dealers, which is true when you think about it, and they wanted to be free from that scene. Because of their unconventional upbringing, Lev and Carmela were very much alike, and they instinctively gravitated to each other. The fact that they gathered around them an intellectual and inquisitive group of college professors and graduate students from the university was totally in keeping with their upbringing.”
“I loved it when I was staying at the villa in Israel,” Leo said. “Everyone works together to grow their own food, raise livestock, make wine. No one pays any rent and they all take turns patrolling the property against the threat of terrorist attack … it’s a very communal atmosphere. That’s where all the members of the Bible Code Team live.”
“I know, Leo. I’ve been going there for the past five years … remember? Speaking of the Bible Code Team, have you seen any of them yet?”
“So far, only John and Ariella, but I hear they’re all here on the yacht except for Daniel. He stayed behind in Israel.”
“Tell them hello for me when you see them. Have a safe journey, Leo.”
“You too, Anthony. Take care, old friend.”
Leo hit the off button and laid the phone on the table. The rattle of the anchor chain preceded another shudder beneath his feet as he heard the rising throb of the engines and caught a brief whiff of diesel fuel in the air. Soon, the yacht’s bow was slicing through the water, and the briny smell of seawater had replaced the smell of diesel. Reclining in his chair, he watched the village of Portofino grow smaller in the distance, and within minutes, the wine and motion of the boat had lulled him into a deep sleep.
When he awoke, the sun was setting directly in front of the boat. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, unsure for a moment where he was. Someone had covered him with a blanket. The yacht … of course. He must have been asleep for hours. Looking around, he could see that darkness was already beginning to settle over the wake of the boat. He stood and shook his head to clear his mind. They were headed west. That fits. We’re heading toward the coast of Spain.
Leaning against the roll of the boat, he entered the plush, main-deck salon and climbed the circular, mahogany-paneled stairway until he reached the bridge three floors above. Looking out through a wall of thick windows, he saw the bow of the ship below, rising and falling as it pushed through the oncoming waves. At the helm, Leo saw Alex Pappas, sitting in his captain’s chair studying the darkening ocean with unblinking eyes, his Greek features highlighted by the red night lights and the glow from the multicolored navigational screens lining the console before him.
“Where is everyone, Alex?”
“Hi, Cardinal. Last time I checked they were all gathered around the entertainment area behind the bridge. There was a lot of smoke … Alon is grilling something again.” The captain turned his attention away from looking out at the sea long enough to give Leo a sly wink. “I believe there’s also some wine involved, Cardinal.”
Leo reached out and shook the captain’s hand. “It’s good to see you, Alex. Thanks for getting the Carmela to Italy so quickly.”
“No problem, sir. We upgraded both turbines about six months ago. We’re as fast as any naval warship on the ocean now.”
“How long before we reach the coast of Spain?”
“We’ll be making an all-night passage … I’d say around four in the morning. We’re heading for El Port De La Selva. It’s about fifty miles north of Barcelona along the Costa Brava. None of the docks at that particular harbor are large enough to accommodate the Carmela, so we’ll have to anchor just inside the breakwater and take one of the small boats to shore like we did in Portofino. I’ve been there several times. The harbor has a beautiful crescent beach with clean white sand.”
Alex lifted the binoculars to his eyes and continued staring forward through the bridge windows at the darkening clouds on the horizon. “I’m afraid we’re in for some nasty weather tonight, Cardinal.”
“There you are,” a voice called out from behind them.
Leo turned to see Lev standing in the doorway.
“Come on, Leo … all your old friends are dying to see you.”