Cold Tuscan Stone David Wagner (acx book reading .txt) 📖

him to step in and save his skin. Ironically Conti had probably called off the tail right when he really needed one. Whoever this guy was, he had now exposed the undercover work to the very person the ministry was trying to trap. Worse yet, Rick was now in the trap himself. Zerbino’s voice cut through Rick’s thoughts.

“Who are you?” The curator’s weak voice almost cracked.

What the…? But it took Rick only a few seconds to understand the meaning of Zerbino’s question, and when he did he took a deep, relieved breath. Perhaps his relief was a defense mechanism to deal with the situation and he was really frightened. He would leave the self-analysis to another time, alone with his uncle and a bottle of wine. At this point, all that was coming to mind was that he owed his skin to Conti. And this guy, whoever he was, might just be invited to a four course dinner, even at the place with the high prices and small portions.

“My name is LoGuercio. Detective LoGuercio. You’ll forgive me for not showing you my identification card, but my hands are otherwise occupied.” The policeman moved the barrel of his gun slightly, and Rick was now relieved to see that it had in fact been pointed at the space between Zerbino and Malandro, and not at him. “Signor Montoya, come over here please. You two, raise your hands, if you would. I doubt if you are armed, but I must be cautious.”

Zerbino and Malandro stood together stiffly and did as they were told. Rick moved carefully away from them and approached LoGuercio, who now slowly took his left hand off the pistol and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. Still keeping his eyes on the two men, and the gun pointed directly at them, he pressed one of the buttons with his free thumb and put the phone to his ear.

“Commissario Conti?”

Chapter Ten

Suddenly their ear drums split open. It was as if they were standing in the middle of a siren factory on testing day. The harsh sound of the alarms caromed off the museum’s cement walls, trying to blast out the doorways, but met by more of the same howling coming from the other rooms. Flashing lights added to the atmosphere of a prison escape. The noise and flashes came from small fixtures that Rick had not noticed, wedged high in the corners of each room. Fortunately, LoGuercio did not drop his pistol, but when his eyes instinctively darted around the room Malandro bolted for the door and was out before the policeman could recover. Zerbino remained frozen in place.

“Turn off the phone!” Rick shouted. LoGuercio stared at him and then understood, mashing the buttons. As suddenly as they started, the sounds stopped.

“I don’t think he’ll get very far, Signor Montoya, I have men around the outside of the building. And Commissario Conti should be on his way.”

As if on cue, Conti strode into the room, out of breath, with two uniformed policeman in tow. The man’s usually rumpled suit was slightly stained on the knees with dirt. No doubt the steep path down to the cave, Rick thought.

Conti surveyed the scene. “Who is the man we just stopped trying to run out of here? He looked vaguely familiar.”

“Malandro, Commissario,” answered Rick, “He’s the foreman at Landi’s workshop.”

“Of course. He looks almost presentable. Is Landi mixed up in this? If so, it’s even more complicated than I thought.” He saw that Rick was about to answer and raised a hand to stop him. He was in charge now. “And what was all that noise?” He looked at Zerbino, who had lowered his arms to his sides, and smiled. “Your alarm system? Don’t tell me, Dr. Zerbino, that someone was trying to steal your precious Etruscan urns. I hope you were able to stop them, it would truly be a shame to lose even a single one of them.”

Though it was intended for Zerbino, the sarcasm was not lost on Rick. So Conti knew about Zerbino’s scheme; something he saw at the cave tipped him off. Then he understood. Of course, the work on the copies, that was what was going on in the other room of the cave, the part he wasn’t allowed to see yesterday. The conversation now between Conti and Zerbino should prove interesting. LoGuercio, it appeared, had the same feeling of anticipation. He was looking at his boss as he lifted the tail of his jacket to holster the pistol behind his back.

“Welcome to my museum, Commissario, but I would have preferred that your visit had been under different circumstances.” Zerbino held out his hands, palms up, and then clasped them together over his chest. He seemed smaller than he had been before LoGuercio had appeared, as if the air had gone out of him. “I suppose it would be futile to deny what has been going on, since I just finished explaining it all to your intrepid undercover man here. The temptation of riches and so many urns. Who would miss a few of them? And the collectors have such a deep appreciation of their beauty.”

“Every piece is a precious part of the patrimony of Italy,” said Rick. Since he was working for the Ministry of Culture, he felt an obligation to stand up for their mission.

“The patrimony of Italy?” Zerbino returned to his professorial manner in responding to Rick, regaining a few inches of height. “And what is Italy, my dear Signor Montoya? A recent invention of the latest inhabitants of this peninsula, nothing more. This idea that the past belongs on an altar to be worshipped is something unknown to the Etruscans, the Romans, and others who roamed these lands over the centuries. Why should anything of value be locked behind glass rather than sold to the highest bidder? So you see, Commissario, I am merely following the ancient tradition.”

Conti shook his head slowly. “I’ve heard many justifications for crime,” said Conti, “but that