Chapter Twenty #3
“When I saw the name Damascus, I thought it rang a bell, but I couldn’t place it.
Then I saw Diogenes. Those two names together—that meant something to me.
Diogenes and Damascus. Not a natural pairing.
But your mother…she used to talk about them.
Yesterday, I drove back to Benevento, went through all her notes and records.
Nothing. I told myself it was a coincidence. ”
He felt in his pockets, took out a cigarette, and lit it.
“One more name,” he said. “Scroll to the next picture.”
Nikki found it. “Zosima.”
“Zosima was a monk in Palestine in the fifth century,” he said.
“Beatrice connected those names: Diogenes, Damascus, and Zosima. Three names. They shouldn’t go together, should they?
Two points…two names…they can be a coincidence.
But all three? It’s like celestial navigation—three stars to tell you where you are! ”
“What does it mean?” Nikki asked.
He shook his head. “Your mother knew things.”
“What things?”
He squinted and looked across the street while he sucked on his cigarette. “This was after Adriano…. She thought that he…”
He didn’t finish, only shook his head.
“Tell me,” Nikki pressed.
Raoul seemed suddenly older. He slumped in his seat.
“They caught the boys who killed him,” he said. “Stray bullet. Manslaughter. They went to Poggioreale.”
Nikki clenched her teeth and didn’t say anything. She nodded.
“Beatrice didn’t think Adriano’s death was an accident,” he said.
Nikki was suddenly cold. Her father’s face seemed to retreat—flattening into an abstract image.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
He sighed. “You two had your own problems,” he said. “You fought like tigers. Then, after you went to London with Izzy, it seemed like you’d finally found some peace.”
“What did Mom believe?”
“You know how your mother could be…obsessive. I couldn’t talk her out of it. She thought the official investigation was a cover-up. She investigated on her own—talked to people, asked questions.”
Nikki’s mind raced.
She thought of Beatrice after Adriano’s death—distraught and vicious, incapable of her usual compulsive planning and analyzing.
“She never gave up,” he continued. “I stopped listening, I think. I didn’t mean to—but I did. I regret that. Beatrice saw things I couldn’t.”
He put out his cigarette and lit another.
“I can’t find her records. She kept everything—big files—on a shelf in our bedroom.
I asked if I could put them into storage.
She never let me. I don’t know where they are now.
Maybe at your place. That’s where I remember those names: Damascus, Diogenes, and Zosima. ”
They walked back in silence.
—
As they approached the gate to her building, Nikki spotted her brother and his new Dutch friend, Mac.
Raoul waved. “Good! You made it!”
“What are you doing here?” Nikki demanded.
Gianni shrugged. “Babbo said you were going through Mamma’s things. Thought I’d have a look.”
She stiffened. She didn’t want Gianni in her home, especially not with Mac. But Raoul was already leading them through the gate, and up the stairs.
“I can’t have you here,” she protested. “I need to leave for work soon.”
“We won’t stay long,” Gianni said, then laughed. “What’s with the laundry?” He pointed to her clothesline. “You wear anything besides black T-shirts and hoodies? What are you, a twelve-year-old boy?”
Usually inured to his jabs, Nikki nonetheless tensed in annoyance.
“Fuck off,” she said.
“Gianni, be respectful,” Raoul scolded indulgently.
Mac chimed in with, “What a great old building. So much character.”
“Mamma bought it in the seventies.” Gianni’s voice oozed with nostalgia. “I have so many memories here.”
Nikki rolled her eyes.
“What memories?” she challenged. “We lived in military housing. Mom kept renters here.”
Gianni shrugged. “Fond memories.”
—
Inside, Gianni helped himself to coffee, rifling through the kitchen and shouting for Nikki to tell him where she kept the sugar and to ask if she had biscuits.
Nikki snapped, “Don’t fuck up my kitchen. You have ten minutes.”
She darted towards her bedroom.
—
To her irritation, Mac followed her into the narrow hallway.
“Hey, Nina,” he said. “Do you have a moment?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I need to get to work.”
But he didn’t leave. Instead, he drew in closer.
“You’re plugged in around the neighborhood, aren’t you?” he asked.
So near, she saw his pores and the flare of his nostrils, and smelled his breath—onions and fish.
“What do you mean?”
He leaned against the wall and smiled.
“I mean…a smart, beautiful woman like you. Doors would open.”
Nikki blew out. “What are you getting at?”
“Have you thought about leveraging your access?”
“What?”
“You see things,” he coaxed. “…know things. You could help a lot of people out if you share what you know.”
He brushed fingers lightly against her arm. She recoiled.
“You should leave,” she said.
—
Rapidly, angrily, she prepared for work.
At 14:20, she returned to find everything in disarray—neatly organized stacks upended. Papers scattered. Gianni shuffled through a pile of old photos.
Mac, thumbing the contents of a manila folder, smiled at her.
“This is a great location,” he said. “Center of the city. Good access. Good lookout points. Good security options.”
“Yeah,” said Nikki. “Time to go.”
“Hey.” He leaned in. “Your father says you need my help with biometrics. Facial recognition.”
“I don’t want your help,” she said. “Everyone needs to leave. I’m going to work.”
Raoul, deep in a notebook, didn’t look up. “Go ahead. I’ll lock up when we leave.”
“You don’t have a key,” Nikki reminded him, then, turning to Gianni and Mac: “You need to go.”
Gianni, who seemed not to hear her, guffawed. “Check this out.”
He held up a photo of the two of them as children at the seashore. Eight-year-old Nikki had built a sandcastle, while a scrawny ten-year-old Gianni with a bush of curly hair stood over it with a grin and a bucket of water.
“What a little chunker you were,” Gianni said.
Her father exhaled loudly.
“Give me your key, Nina,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll make a copy. You should have more copies.”
Nikki hesitated. Had he been alone, she might have agreed, but no way was she leaving Gianni and Mac unsupervised.
“If I give you my key,” she told Raoul, “you’ll need to meet me at midnight after my shift.”
She watched his face as he did the calculation. Her early-bird father sighed, and stood.
—
Despite her best efforts, it was another twenty minutes before she herded them out.
At the door, Mac made a show of chivalry, holding up her jacket and bag.
“Maybe we should have dinner and talk things over,” he murmured.
Nikki snatched her things from him.
“No.”
—
As she drove them down the stairs, she noticed Gianni carrying a plastic grocery sack stuffed with papers.
She asked about it, and he yanked it out of reach.
“You got the whole house,” he whined. “And you’re griping about me bringing home a few mementos?”
She didn’t have time to argue.
Beside her, Raoul was talking. “Just give Mac your photo. He can access NATO facial recognition databases.”
“I don’t want his help,” Nikki said.
“Don’t be unreasonable,” he said. “In intelligence, you need as many allies as possible.”
“He’s not my ally,” she said.
“Well,” he said with measured calm, “may I share the photo with him?”
Nikki sighed. “Do whatever you want.”