Chapter Thirteen #3
“Then you will learn. The first will be easy because Lorenzo truly does have a passion for motorbikes.”
Of course. The first time I met him at Pensione Galli, he had a crash helmet with him, and his stylish motorcycle was parked outside the bar.
Romano has several more chores to complete before we head back to Eagle House late in the afternoon.
On our way back, we pull up outside the apartment of the woman preparing my new identity.
Romano tells me to stay in the car and is gone barely five minutes before returning.
When he climbs back into the driving seat, he hands me two documents—a Danish passport in burgundy red and the new navy-blue UK version.
I turn to the pages that hold my recent photograph and notice slightly different ones have been used.
“Congratulations. You have dual citizenship. Guard these with your life. Your new identities contain all of your biometric information. As we near the house, make sure you wear your woollen hat and your sunglasses, and keep your head down. I want to see the reaction of Mrs Bellacci and Lorenzo when they meet the new you for the first time.”
When we arrive at Eagle House, Mrs Bellacci must know we have returned because as we pull up, the front gate opens.
Romano leads us around the outside of the building until we reach the kitchen, where he tells me to remain outside.
Sprinklers are already watering the grass as the sun casts deep shadows across the lawn.
“Teresa, Lorenzo,” I hear Romano say from inside before he speaks something in Italian and ends with my new name. “Come in, Aksel.”
On cue, I rip the hat and step into the kitchen to find Mrs Bellacci and Lorenzo standing warily on the other side of the table. Mrs Bellacci breaks into a smile, but Lorenzo’s expression is priceless. His mouth hangs open, his eyes darting about my face and body.
“Gabriel?” he asks, quietly.
Romano is about to respond, but I pip him to the post.
“Not Gabriel. I am Aksel. From Denmark,” I reply. “Don’t you remember me, Enzo? We are old friends.”
“Santo cielo!” says Mrs Bellacci, chuckling, her hand clasped as though in prayer beneath her chin. “I would not recognise him. He could be Lorenzo’s brother if he had one.”
Lorenzo remains spellbound until Mrs Bellacci barks something in Italian to him. He nods before heading out the back door, leaving us alone.
“As you can see, we have had a busy day and accomplished much,” Romano says to Mrs Bellacci.
“Can I suggest we all begin referring to him as Aksel rather than Gabriel to help us get comfortable with his new identity? And he should stay with Lorenzo in his quarters, as his guest. It would not be appropriate to put him in a room in the main villa without the consent of Signor Redbrick, who, as we know, left us in the middle of the night a number of days ago.”
“What about my things?” I ask Romano.
“While you were gone, I cleaned out your room,” says Mrs Bellacci. “There is nothing left to link you to him. But I have kept a plastic bag of toiletries and underwear. I also have your money and handgun. Everything else has been removed, in case anyone comes looking for you. For him.”
“I see. Thank you.”
“Welcome to Italy and to Eagle House, Mr Larsen,” she says in Russian, still smiling as Lorenzo returns to the kitchen. “Enzo has a surprise for you.”
Once again, Lorenzo’s eyebrows crinkle as he takes me in, but this time the displeasure fades quickly when he slaps a book down onto the table, then folds his arms in triumph.
Now it’s my turn to be surprised. The unassuming book with an oddly dramatic title in large letters on the cover—something about a slot machine and a broken test tube—is unmistakably an autobiography of Salvador Edward Luria.
I am sure I noticed the book on the shelf, but being one of the few with a dust jacket, I dismissed its significance.
“Have you checked inside?” I ask him as I reach for the book.
Lorenzo appears less sure now and shakes his head as he uncrosses his arms.
“No, I found this in the same bookcase as the other you found. But on a lower shelf. I thought I would help you while you were gone. But I did not look inside because I do not think I will understand this kind of writing. Is this the book you are looking for?”
I open the pages and look inside the front and back covers, but find nothing remarkable.
When I turn the book over and shake the pages, a small white envelope, the kind used to accompany flowers or gifts, drops out and clunks onto the table.
There is something solid and metallic inside, like a coin.
When I pick up and examine the front, I see a string of carefully written letters in Albert’s distinctive handwriting,
cwqlgtdsucuskwafysjsyw
“What is this?” asks Mrs Bellacci, peering over my shoulder. “The nonsense scribblings of a child.”
“Never. Not with Albert. This is a code I need to break.”
I carefully open the envelope and tip the pouch upside down. A bronze key clatters out onto the table.