Cold Tuscan Stone by David Wagner (ebook reader for pc and android TXT) 📗

from Volterra, Rick. Without boring you with details, I’ll say that the type of material, the carving quality, and the iconography all indicate they must have been found in a tomb near that city. So we’ll concentrate our efforts on Volterra. Once pieces leave the country, it is far more difficult to get them back. I received word this morning that one may have surfaced in Bulgaria. That is very disturbing.”

“But what do I have to do with it?”

Beppo shifted away from the desk, his jacket opening to show the brightly colored silk tie and tailored shirt. A foulard which matched the tie was casually but carefully tucked into the jacket pocket. His elegant wardrobe indicated that working for the ministry hadn’t cut Beppo off from the profits of the family business.

“The other day I remembered your connections.”

Rick was puzzled. Connections? His Italian uncle, the policeman? But how would Beppo have remembered that from high school?

“What do you mean?”

“Well, your connection with New Mexico.”

Rick blinked.

“Let me explain.” Beppo opened a drawer and pulled out a small card which he passed across the desk. After reading it, Rick became even more confused.

“A commercial art gallery in Santa Fe? I’ve been there, but now I’m completely lost.” He handed the card back.

“Rick, stolen antiquities appear in the Santa Fe art market, mostly from South America, but there is the occasional piece from Italy. We have worked with this dealer in the past, and they have always been very cooperative. I called them yesterday and they agreed to help us again for this case.”

“Still not with you, Beppo.”

“Simply put, Rick, we’d like you go to Volterra and pose as a buyer for the gallery.”

“Me?” Not what Rick had imagined. Not even close. A few documents translated, some interpreting for a visiting English speaker, but not undercover work.

“It would be like this: You are a friend of the American gallery owner, and since he knows you are now living in Rome, he’s asked you to go up to Tuscany to look into some possible purchases to export back to New Mexico. The gallery’s interested in alabaster pieces, as well as a few fine works of art, especially sculpture in the classical and Etruscan style. All legitimate, of course. You would also carefully leak the news that you might be in the market for some genuine artifacts. Volterra being a relatively small town, the word would get out and you would be approached by the men who have found the tomb with these urns. At least that’s what I think will happen.” Beppo settled back in the chair and watched his friend’s reaction.

Rick immediately thought of his Uncle Piero. Wouldn’t he love this? As the favorite nephew, Rick was the only one in the family Piero ever talked to about his work. Rick ate it up, but his mother didn’t, worried her brother was trying to steer her only son into a police career. Much too dangerous a profession for an Italian mother to accept without a fight. When Rick dined with his uncle after moving to Rome, always at the same restaurant, the subject was inevitably the crime of the moment. Overhearing snippets of conversation, the waiters at first assumed Rick was a younger police colleague. But when the true relationship became known, they noticed how similar the two men at the corner table were. It went beyond physical traits—lanky frames, kind eyes—to their gestures, the serious way they always studied the menu, and the even more serious way they both studied any attractive woman who entered the room. When Rick wrote his weekly email to his mother he never failed to mention seeing his uncle, though without the details. She may have gotten the idea that the two met at Mass.

“I don’t know, Beppo. I’d have to think about it. Do you really believe it could work?”

“I sure as hell hope so, since it was my idea and I managed to sell it to my boss.” His smile was forced. “Not that my reputation within the ministero is anything you should consider before making your decision. But we must move as quickly as possible, and naturally you’ll have to get some detailed briefings here at the ministry before you drive up to Volterra. So do think about it, though please, not forever.”

Rick was thinking, all right. What first came into his head was finally visiting Volterra. In all the years he had spent in Italy as a kid he had never been to this famous hill town in western Tuscany. Rick’s father, the New Mexican, loved to explore new places in Italy but his job at the embassy didn’t allow that much time off. And Rick’s mother, the Italian, usually insisted that those precious vacation days be used to visit her family around the peninsula. There was an aunt in Tuscany, but she lived in the south east part of the region. Volterra, in the west, was always on the “to visit” list for the Montoya family. Going undercover for the Italian government would certainly make him an unorthodox tourist. How would it work? As if reading Rick’s mind, Beppo spoke.

“We, of course, would pick up all your expenses, and would also be in contact with the police in Volterra to keep an eye on you.” Rick’s eyes widened slightly and Beppo added quickly, “We don’t expect any trouble. It is our experience that these traffickers avoid violence at all costs. It would just be a precaution.”

Beppo stood and straightened his jacket.

“How about some lunch? I have a favorite place a few blocks away, and their specialty is Roman artichokes. It’s on me, by the way.” He reached into another drawer and pulled out a book, passing it to Rick. “This is an excellent volume on the Etruscans. Pallottino is still considered the best, and I’d like you to have it even if you decide not to take up this offer.”

“Thanks, Beppo.” He flipped through the pages and came to a photograph of