The Vatican Rip Read online

  ‘Very well. I’ll put you through.’

  As the clicks went I wondered what the hell you call them. Monsignor? Sir?

  ‘Hello?’ a distinguished voice intoned gravely.

  ‘Er, hello, ah, Reverend; I want to speak to the, er, bishop in charge of the Vatican City security.’

  ‘Cardinal Arcellano speaking.’

  I closed my eyes and put my forehead against the cool wall for a moment before asking him could he please repeat that.

  Five minutes later, my mind numb from the shock, I made it across the Via Candia, turned right among the barrow stalls displaying shoes and leather goods. Immediately on the left is the best bar in Rome. I reeled in, went through to the back and sat.

  The girl brought me a glass of white wine and a cappuccino.

  ‘And one for that old lady,’ I told her, nodding towards the far corner.

  ‘Grazie, Signor,’ old Anna wheezed.

  ‘Prego, Signora,’ I said back. It was our signal we’d pulled the rip.

  I’d never seen tears in Anna’s eyes before. Women always surprise me. But then so does everyone else.

  That afternoon I did two things, bushed as I was. Anna and I became lovers, and I phoned Adriana. I realized at the time one thing was stupid and the other profoundly wise. To this day I don’t know which was which.

  Chapter 26

  Piero came on the line. There was no time left for mucking about, so I owned it was Lovejoy wanting to speak to Adriana.

  ‘Where are you? If you’re still in Rome—’

  ‘Sod off, lackey,’ I said, bone weary. ‘Get her.’

  ‘Lovejoy?’ Adriana sounded breathless, not as furious as I’d expected.

  ‘It’s me, love. Listen. I’ve been held up.’

  ‘Darling. Are you all right? Do you need—?’

  ‘Nothing. I’ll contact you tomorrow. I have to see you.’

  ‘Darling. Just tell me where and I’ll come . . .’

  There was more of this. In a daze I broke off and floated home to Anna’s. Adriana was lovely in that spectacular Roman way I was coming to worship. And when she rose up so fragrantly to meet me swathed in the opulent creamy linen of her bedroom—

  ‘You fucking swine!’ Anna went at me, spitting and scratching.

  ‘Eh?’ I ducked among the furniture. ‘What are you on about—?’

  ‘You poisoned Carlo! Cretino! Assassin!’

  Poisoned? I moaned. Don’t say I’d got the dose wrong, not after all this. She raged after me. ‘He’s in hospital again!’

  ‘Put that knife down, you old lunatic!’

  I had to belt her before she would stop. She sobbed uncontrollably on the couch. I was so utterly tired, but credible lies were called for. My strong suit.

  ‘It wasn’t me, love,’ I said. ‘He’d had a whole pint of Scotch and threw up. I merely turned it to my advantage.’

  ‘Is that true, Lovejoy?’ she sniffed. With her aged make-up running uncontrollably she looked horrible.

  ‘Honest,’ I lied. ‘Cross my heart and hope to – er, honest.’

  ‘Poor Carlo.’

  Well, quite. I argued persuasively, ‘You know what he’s like, Anna. By tomorrow he’ll believe he pulled off the whole rip single-handed.’

  ‘That’s true.’ She dabbed her face, making things twice as bad. ‘Only . . . Lovejoy. If you didn’t dose Carlo with that stuff, what was it for?’

  ‘Last-minute varnish,’ I lied. There was no answer to that. ‘It’s my secret,’ I said as coldly as possible, to freeze her off. ‘We’re allies, Anna, but if I let on to you exactly how . . .’

  The dear bird jumped to a woman’s favourite conclusion in the pause and breathed, ‘You are afraid that would be the end of our partnership?’

  ‘Not really afraid,’ I said nobly. In fact my greatest craving was to get shut of this maddening old crone and her goonish brother.

  ‘I see,’ she said, looking at me in a new way.

  I cleared my throat after a year’s uncomfortable silence. ‘I’d, er, better have a lie down,’ I said eventually. ‘I’ve more night work ahead.’

  She rose then and crossed to the dressing-table. ‘Shower while I make up your bed.’

  When I came tottering blearily back her alcove curtains were pulled aside. My couch wasn’t made up at all. Uncaring, I reeled towards it, clutching my towel round my middle.

  ‘Here, Lovejoy.’ I felt her guiding touch on my arm and collapsed on her bed. She looked down at me, her make-up gone and only her lovely young face hovering. ‘You’ll sleep better here than on that old couch. Are you very tired?’

  ‘Done in.’ My vision blacked. ‘What are you doing?’ My towel had gone and a smooth lissom body was moving alongside my exhausted hairy neck.

  ‘You need keeping warm, Lovejoy.’

  Actually I didn’t, but when your hostess offers you tea it’s rude to refuse. And as it turned out I wasn’t as tired as all that.

  ‘That you, Arcellano?’

  ‘Where the hell have you been, Lovejoy?’

  It was my old friend all right. ‘Pulling the rip.’

  That shut him up, for about ten seconds. ‘You what?’

  ‘You heard.’

  Another pause, then much quieter: ‘Lovejoy. Are you serious or drunk?’

  ‘Serious.’

  ‘But it’s impossible.’

  ‘Was.’ We both listened to heavy breathing.

  ‘So you’ll deliver—’ But he was uncertain!

  I cut in. ‘No, Arcellano. No nice long trips to Bonn. I deliver here, in Rome.’

  ‘You’re off your head.’

  ‘In the Colosseum. Exactly at sunrise. No sooner, no later.’

  ‘Lovejoy.’ His sibilant voice made my skin crawl. ‘Lovejoy. If you’re planning to work a fixer, I’ll have you crisped. You do understand?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ I told him. ‘And if I find you skulking in ambush when I arrive at the Colosseum, Arcellano, I’ll take to the hills.’ I put a whine of anxiety into my voice. ‘I want no trouble.’

  ‘Very well, Lovejoy,’ that voice purred. ‘I’ll be there.’

  Alone, Arcellano. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  I walked the half mile to Patrizio’s garage. I had remembered to bring the keys to Adriana’s workshop so Valerio and I could nick the winch and bring it over in his van. I walked quickly. It was already dark, and I still had work to do.

  Chapter 27

  As the first sun ray touched the high rim a cool breeze wafted through the Colosseum’s gaunt stone honey-comb. Fawns and dark browns started stuffing the blackness out of sight among the pits and arches. A pale midnight blue appeared above the jagged edge of the great interior. All around me the huge crescents were thrown into relief.

  I sat there like a nerk, daintily at breakfast on top of one of the great masonry teeth which protruded from the floor of the vast arena. Even the most suspicious-minded crook could see I was alone, unaided and completely vulnerable.

  I had been there an hour, perched on my stone block. Anna’s white tablecloth fluttered indolently in the stirring air. My elbows on the coffee table and the coffee almost gone. What dregs were left in the cup were now stone cold. I was only saving them for effect.

  Getting the table up had almost proved too much for me and Valerio. Patrizio and Anna had sussed out the entire Colosseum at four a.m., reporting all clear in whispers. Apart from one sleeping old drunk and the inevitable prowling cats, the place was empty. I made Patrizio and Anna promise to leave once I was in position. Anna was all for staying and taking on the universe with me. I refused to explain, saying it was all part of the rip. I felt utterly alone.

  The sky lightened. Rectangles of pastel blue began to appear, stencilled out of the enormous brown stone rim above me. I shivered, half wanting the sun to reach down into the enormous bowl and warm me but too frightened to wish really hard. When it rose, Arcellano would come. Some murderers come alone. Others come with a
band of assassins. I knew which sort Arcellano was.

  A distant bus revved up and chugged out into the streets. First sound of the day. A few moments later a car came close, changed gear, droned away to silence. Nearby a cat stretched, scaring me to death by suddenly being there. I calmed myself as best I could by rehearsing my movements. Arcellano would send his goons to go over the Colosseum inch by inch. I’m not that dim. With a little luck – and the speed which my terror would lend me – I’d be off out of the whole frigging mess with the speed of light. I looked down and along the sandy ground across to my left. There, half the arena’s width away, was the spot where Marcello’s broken body had lain. My eyes lifted, as casually as if I were idly waiting, to where my pulley and beam overhung the stonemason’s area. The massive stone block which hung suspended there did not even stir in the cool shifting air. I swallowed. It represented safety, but the bloody thing looked miles away. I’d have to run that far, dodging among the vast blocks.

  I was becoming worried. Time was getting on. I let my gaze move inch by inch round the scagged interior. No sign. No movement. Only one of the cats coughing gently in the gloom directly ahead. The place was dappling swiftly. And the sky blueing, and gold touching the stonework. Soon, visitors would be waking to start the day and there was no way I could cajole Arcellano into a rerun of this meeting . . .

  That cat coughed again. And I remembered the sound. Too late.

  Against the weakening shadows a pale shape was emerging. About as tall as a man, a big man, with a fawn overcoat draped elegantly over his shoulders. And he was laughing. The laugh was short and dry, unvoiced barks like a coughing cat. I glanced involuntarily towards the long sandy run towards my recess. The pale shape saw my glance and began to drift that way. I thought, Oh Gawd.

  I took a sip of coffee dregs to wet my throat and called, ‘Is that you, Arcellano?’ The cup rattled in it saucer.

  ‘Charming tableau, Lovejoy.’

  ‘Coffee, or have you had breakfast?’ It was the best I could do. Everything I possessed had got the wobbles.

  ‘You’re allowed one cigarette, Lovejoy. Before execution.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Arcellano. You owe me. I pulled the rip.’

  ‘Wrong, Lovejoy. My men checked. The Chippendale’s still there.’

  I lifted the edge of the tablecloth to show the pedestal and the rent table’s unmistakable edge. ‘It’s here, friend. Your antique from the Vatican. The one now in the Museum gallery is a forgery. I made it.’

  He thought about that before speaking. ‘Then why no alarms yesterday?’

  ‘Because I made a good forgery. Go and check. I’ll wait here.’

  That cat cough laugh really sounded then, maybe a whole minute. He wiped his eyes, but all the time he was drifting to my left along the terracing. I had to look upwards at a slight angle to see him.

  ‘You bastard, Lovejoy,’ he called down. ‘How?’

  I explained the outline. All the time he was drifting, drifting in the direction I had glanced earlier. The swine suspected that was where I’d try to make my escape. He paused, leaning on the iron tourist rail. I could see him clearly now. With every second the day was rushing into brightness.

  ‘You clever bastard,’ He honestly sounded full of admiration. ‘The old fiddle switch to rip the Vatican. I might have known. A bluff on a bluff.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ I said, all modest.

  ‘They said you were really something, Lovejoy.’ He was chuckling. ‘Robbery without alarms. The only way it can be done. Congratulations.’

  I thought, Here goes. ‘Thank you,’ I said with careful loudness. ‘Captain.’

  I moved my trembling legs ready to leap off the stool and run.

  He paused, tilted his head. ‘Captain? What are you talking about, Lovejoy?’ He waited. I tried not to glance again at the million miles of sand which stretched between the recess and me.

  ‘You’re a senior officer of the Vatican Security guard, Arcellano.’

  ‘You’re insane.’

  ‘You thought up this rip to test the Vatican’s security. On the quiet.’ I let that sink in. ‘So you had a grotty copy made of the Chippendale original. This is that copy.’

  ‘So where’s the real piece?’

  ‘You have it stashed away.’

  ‘And why should I go to all that trouble?’

  I smiled, the thing I least felt like doing. ‘If I succeeded in pulling the rip, you naturally assumed there’d be a gap left in the gallery’s exhibits. Then you could put the real Chippendale back. Nobody would then know there’d been a rip at all.’

  ‘And if you failed?’

  ‘Then I’d be nabbed,’ I said evenly. ‘By you. Your men would have me in clink.’

  ‘Doubtless telling tales, no?’

  ‘Yes, but an improbable tale people would laugh at. You gave yourself away, Captain.’

  ‘Really?’ The bastard was too calm by far. I could feel his two goons smiling in the morning shadows behind me and tried not to look round, to concentrate on this murdering bastard who had now resumed his oh-socasual stroll round the terrace towards my only escape route. ‘Really, Lovejoy? How?’

  ‘A clever geezer like you would naturally want to protect his interests, in case things went wrong,’ I said. ‘Captain Blood put an end to the straight-lift caper, nicking the Crown Jewels from the Tower of London in 1671. Substituting the dud showed your hand.’

  ‘But why should I bother, Lovejoy?’

  ‘Because you had the greatest prize of all in mind – a method, Captain. If I succeeded, you’d know how it could be done.’

  He was smiling, the fucking swine, thinking he’d won. ‘And you’ve given it to me, Lovejoy. A method which can be repeated times out of number.’ He grinned. ‘I’m indebted. Now I can drain the whole Vatican, item by item. I thank you. Sincerely.’

  ‘But you murdered Marcello, Captain.’

  ‘Well.’ He spread his hands. ‘He started asking around about Cardinal Arcellano.’

  ‘That was my fault,’ I cut in. ‘I knew no other name for you except that. I should have realized as soon as Marcello sounded suddenly so different, full of urgency.’

  ‘Silly of me to use the honoured Cardinal’s name at that little auction. It seemed just a joke at the time.’

  ‘It misfired, Captain. You had to kill Marcello because of it. Am I correct?’

  ‘Near enough. But it’s over, Lovejoy. Once that table’s out of sight all your evidence has gone, right?’

  ‘You’ve forgotten one thing, Captain.’

  He snapped his fingers. The stockier of his gorillas stepped out of the terrace shadows. A second appeared far over to my left. My exit run was now overlooked by them both. Arcellano made some light quip to the goon, the pleasant way his sort do before knocking somebody off. He turned back to me, a picture of mayhem in classy suiting. His voice was suddenly flint hard. ‘If you mean payment, Lovejoy, you’ll get paid – well paid.’

  I said shakily, sweat stinging my eyes and my voice quavering, ‘I don’t mean that. You’re under arrest, Captain.’

  It should have come out crisp as a western gunfighter’s threat. It came out a feeble warble.

  His famous non-smile was back. ‘I’m . . . what?’

  ‘You heard, piss-head.’

  A car droned by. It didn’t stop. Yet this was the moment Russomanno and his Keystone Kops should have come bursting in with lovely protecting howitzers. There was silence. A cat yawned extravagantly. Arcellano was glancing about swiftly. His two goons had reached inside their jackets. With innate skill they backed against the supporting pillars, fading from the daylight into shadow.

  ‘Get him!’

  I flung myself sideways, dropping to the ground, and was off, keening with fright. I ran like a stag down the narrow avenue of tall stones, hunched and babbling imprecations, begging for my life. Instinctively I weaved, ducking in and out among the colossal rectangles and scuffing the sand. If only I’d trained.
Something plucked the air by my head, clipping stone chips from the masonry. My face stung. A bang, echoing. I heard Arcellano screaming instructions. I could hear footsteps along the terrace.

  Frantic now, I cringed behind an upright slab as a piece of stone exploded at eye level ahead of me. Three cracks sounded. More stone chips. I moaned in terror. The bastards were everywhere. It was all wrong.

  Arcellano should have come down to this level so I could imprison him by my ingenious falling block in that recess up ahead, for the police to arrest at leisure. I ducked into view, saw Arcellano on the terrace, hurled myself back into cover. Two more gunshots, one from behind and to the side. My leg went funny. Bleating with terror I tottered forwards, weaving among the standing stones as fast as my sudden limp would allow. I whined, ‘Please, please . . .’

  ‘Halt! Halt!’

  ‘Get him!’

  Along the stone avenue, with shots going everywhere and people shouting. I glimpsed Arcellano directly against the metal railing. He swung over ahead of me and dropped lightly to the sand, to my level at last. But he carried a shiny slate-blue length in his hand. For a big man he moved like a dancer, soft and easy. I moaned in terror at the sight. He was only twenty yards off and floating like the hunter he was, his teeth bared in a silent hiss. I’d never been so frigging scared of anything or anybody. I limped to the right. More shouts and a small fusillade of echoing shots. Somebody screamed. It wasn’t me, thank God.

  ‘Lovejoy!’ some lunatic yelled, as if I wasn’t out of my skull with horror.

  Gasping, I lumbered along the arena wall and across the straight avenue of standing stones. The bastard was gliding away from me, looking from side to side. I must have made a noise, maybe scraped on a stone or something, because he spun instantly and the blue thing in his hand flashed. The air near me warmed and splinters flicked blood splashes from my face. I tumbled to one side, scrabbled lopsidedly across to the far side where my chain hung. The only place I could go was my recess. My own bloody prison.