Red, White and Dead Part 29

Elena shook her head fast, so fast that her perfect chestnut hair ruffled, and she squeezed her bown eyes closed. "You must get away from me. I bring nothing but tragedy. You must leave before something happens to you."

And with that, Elena turned and ran.

I tried to follow her, but my mind couldn't catch up with my feet. My mind kept seeing that blood pooling, running in rivulets across the ancient floor. I shook my head to try and dispel the images, but they wouldn't go away. I stumbled over the cobblestones, falling on one knee. I stood, couldn't get myself to run. I took a few halting steps in one direction, then another. I had no idea what to do. I had no idea what just happened. In the distance, I heard the splashing of the Trevi.

Run, Iz. Let's go!

Finally, I got my head to connect with my body and I ran in the direction of the noise. At least there would be people there.

Once I reached the piazza, I stopped at the sight of the huge white fountain, of the water, clean and light blue, splashing almost gaily. It all seemed an insult to my father. I turned and dodged up a small alley, not knowing where I was running. Rome, if you don't pay attention, will lead you in nothing but circles, and soon I was lost. And yet it seemed fitting, since my search for my father had led me in nothing but a circle. He'd been dead when I started, and he was dead now.

46.

"C all her again," Maggie said.

We sat across from each other on the hotel beds, both of us wide-eyed, our skin white with fear.

I hit Redial again for Aunt Elena's number, let it ring, then hung up. I shook my head. "She's still not answering."

I'd finally found via Giulia. By that time, it was night. When I'd gotten to the room, Maggie was curled up against the headboard, talking to Bernard on the phone.

She was laughing at something, her tiny giggle filling the room. When she saw me, she said, "Oh my gosh, she's back." She threw back the covers and knelt on the bed. She was wearing a pale green nightie that made her look like a little girl. "How did it go, Iz?"

When I didn't answer, her eyes swept my face. "Call you back," she said to Bernard.

Maggie had gotten dressed by now in a pair of cuffed jeans and a T-shirt that read Chicago Fire Department. "This is scary," she said. "This is awful. Who killed him?"

"Maybe he shot himself? Is that possible?" I wanted to cry. I felt so bad for the father I didn't know. "Maybe the Camorra killed him. Maybe they found out he was still alive. Or maybe he had done something so awful he couldn't live with himself. Maybe he was still with the Camorra, like really with them."

"But if he was still Camorra, he would have to be a ruthless guy, so why kill himself?" Maggie stared up at the ceiling, as if willing answers from the heavens. "Unless maybe he knew you were here..."

"Why would that matter?"

She looked back at me and seemed to hesitate, as if considering whether to speak. "Well, if he knew you were here, and he knew you learned that he had been in the Camorra, and he was still in it, still a bad guy, and he thought you were going to find out, maybe it gave him an attack of conscience."

"So it would be my fault?"

"I'm not saying that. I'm just throwing out a possibility."

I nodded. I couldn't be irritated at Maggie. I needed the truth now, and only that. "Well, here's another question-shouldn't we tell the police?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Because, Iz, it seems like anytime you've told someone something, scary stuff happens. I mean, you asked questions at the antimafia office, and next thing you know we're in Naples getting chased by those guys with guns. You asked Elena questions, and she told you your father was alive, and now he's...he's dead."

I winced.

"Sorry. I'm sorry to just say it like that, but I have to be your lawyer here, too, and I just don't know who you should trust. I don't know who we should talk to."

I looked down at my hands, crossed on my lap. "I have to tell someone. Or I have to do something." I raised my head again and looked at Maggie.

Her face was creased in concentration. "Here's the thing. But what if the cops think you were involved somehow? In Italy, if they suspect you of a crime, they can hold you for up to a year without charging you."

"If he killed himself, there's no crime. So why would they charge me?"

"What if he didn't kill himself? What if someone else did, or if they think it wasn't self-inflicted for some reason? You're the one who found him. If they suspect you for a second, it's your word against...I don't know whose, but it won't look good." She shrugged. "Think about that college student who was arrested in Italy. Her roommate was killed, she found the body, and then they charged her with murder. There's also the issue of this legal system. Aside from stories like that, I don't know the Italian system. I couldn't represent you. I wouldn't even know who to call to do that."

"Mags, I've been suspected of murder once this year. I don't think that's going to happen again."

"I don't know, you've got some crazy energy going on lately. You've had a lot of weird stuff happen to you."

We both went silent. There was no arguing with that point. Another brutal truth.

"I can't just leave him there," I said. "I have to go back."

Maggie slumped down onto her bed, her elbows propped up behind her, and looked at me. "You realize that will only multiply the crazy-weird energy."

"What would you do if you were me?"

She studied me. "If I were you, I'd go back. And if I were me, I'd go with you."

47.

M aggie and I left the hotel. Relative quiet reigned in the city since there was a soccer match in play, and everyone in the restaurants and bars was glued to TVs. I led Maggie through the streets, consulting a map over and over. Every time a goal was scored, a collective shout would ring through the city-Roma!-and each time it startled me, made my breath stop.

But I made my feet continue to move. "I can't believe this. I can't believe this." I kept saying that mantra over and over.

"Stop, Iz," Maggie said gently.

I stopped the mantra, but different words rolled out of my mouth. "I had him. Or I almost had him, and now he's dead. Just like that."

Maggie eyed me.

"In some ways I think it's worse than losing him when I was a kid."

She reached out and touched my arm.

I stopped in front of a brightly lit but empty clothing store. I waited for Maggie to say something profound, one of those things that only a best friend can say to put things straight.

She nodded, said nothing.

A tick, two, then three went by.

A roar leapt out of the doorways and into the street as another goal was scored or maybe one blocked.

Maggie still said nothing.

I nodded back.

We both knew there was nothing she could say.

When we got there, the Trevi Fountain was still crowded, although less so. I guided Maggie past it, down the tiny side streets until we reached that plain doorway, the one that looked as if there was nothing behind it, certainly nothing exciting. Nothing dead.

I turned to Maggie. "Are you ready?"

She shrugged.

I studied her. Eyebrows drawn together, forehead creasing, she looked more stressed than she usually did at work. And Maggie was always stressed at work.

I touched her shoulder. "Mags, you don't have to do this. I have to do this, but you don't."

She shook her head. "I'm with you."

"Some vacation, huh? Getting chased through a hotel by those guys and now this?"

In an exaggerated way, she lifted her shoulders and let them drop. "Girl, you forget that I usually represent guys who own TAR 21s, so a couple of handguns don't freak me."

"What's a TAR 21?"

"An Israeli a.s.sault rifle. So, really, all this stuff..." She pointed, made a circle with her finger as if including all of Rome, all of Italy and everything that had happened so far. "Nah, this doesn't faze me."

She was lying. We both knew it. It was one thing to represent the bad guys from the safety of a designer suit, your grandfather's office or the heavily guarded confines of Twenty-sixth and Cal. This-this-was something different. But I was afraid to say that, to speak the truth, because I might lose her. And I didn't know if I had enough b.a.l.l.s to go down there, into the depths of that place, by myself. But my father-my father-was there.

I turned, and as I'd seen Elena do, I reached up and pressed the fist-size k.n.o.b at the top right of the door. Nothing happened. I tried it again. Nada.

"She did it just like this," I muttered.

But maybe she'd done something else, too, or triggered the opening mechanism some other way?

I tried again, pushing the side of my fist down with all my might.

A soft whoosh came from the door, and then click. Just as Elena had done, I pushed opened the door with the flat of my hand, and we entered the white marble foyer. The coolness inside was a bitter contrast to the still muggy night. It felt like a tomb. Sconces flickered but barely.

I went to the keypad and pushed the numbers and letters Elena had used. V-I-C-T-O-R-I-A 0618, and the door clicked open.

"What was that combination?" Maggie asked.

"My mom's name, and the day they got married."

"Wow. He still loves her."

"Yeah." For the first time since I'd seen the body, a crop of tears grew up from my belly, breaking through my heart, and shoved themselves into my throat. A few made their way to my eyes.

I pushed the tears away with my fingers. They felt hot, alive. "Let's go."

"What is this place?" Maggie asked as I led her through the aqueducts, sinking farther and farther into the earth.

I told her what I'd learned from Elena.

When I found the last gangplank, I led Maggie across it. I felt an intense sense of vertigo but ignored it completely. At the iron door at the end of the gangway, I halted. I didn't want to see that sight again. And yet I couldn't just stand there. I grabbed the round knocker in the middle of the door and pushed it open.

48.

"W e found her again," La Duca announced.

"Great." Dez said, as if it were par for the course, as if he wasn't completely relieved. "Where is she?"

"Roma, but that's all we know. Our contact who was following them seems to have dropped off, hasn't checked in."

The duke kept talking. He said it didn't appear that the McNeil girl had any plans to leave Italy anytime soon. And then he dropped a bomb. "We have information," La Duca said, "that her father is alive."

"You're kidding-" Dez started to say, but he halted, then corrected himself so that his words were one of an a.s.sociate of the duke's, not an employee. "When were you apprised of this?" he asked calmly.

"A few days ago. And from what we can tell, he has been trying to sideline the System the whole time. He has been working for the antimafia office against us for all these years."

Dez felt remorse for a second, then embarra.s.sment. They hadn't even told him. "Why didn't you mention this to me?"

"We didn't need to involve you."

Dez sat down at his desk. We didn't need to involve you. That wasn't good. Even though he was in Chicago, an ocean away from them, he needed to be an integral part of the business. He was the United States boss after all. He needed to be updated on all this, so he could properly wield his power. But he couldn't tell the duke that.

He was just starting to formulate his response when the duke spoke. And his words changed everything.

"But we need your help now, my friend," La Duca said, although the word friend didn't sound particularly friendly. "But you will only be able to help us if you can do so fast."

49.