Faduma pulled to a halt and I saw an old man with a bolt-action rifle slung over his shoulder walk slowly from behind the house. He wore a flat cap and colorless threadbare clothes. Squinting into the dying sun, which was behind us, his weathered skin and crinkled features spoke of a lifetime spent outdoors.
Faduma talked to him in Italian. I caught the name “Antonelli,” but not much else.
He replied, removing his cap and scratching his head. When he stopped talking, he turned and walked back the way he’d come.
“He says they’ve gone away. He doesn’t know where and doesn’t know when they will be back,” she told me. “But he called Antonelli ‘general,’ which I’m pretty sure means there’s going to be trouble.”
A mob boss in retreat, or on the defensive, preparing for war. Against whom? And why had he marked out all those priests for death? The answers seemed further away than ever, and I felt a sense of disappointment until Faduma spoke.
“I think I might know where they’ve gone,” she said, turning the car around. She registered my surprise. “What can I say? I’m thorough. Don’t worry, it’s not far.”
CHAPTER46
“ANTONELLI’S FAMILY WERE farmers,” Faduma explained as she rejoined the country road.
The announcement didn’t surprise me, given the way he’d talked when we’d had lunch.
It was getting dark and twilight made the olive trees seem weirdly human, their gnarly branches reaching out like old men’s fingers.
“His family owned a lot of land around here. That’s why Antonelli has his estate in these hills. He feels an affinity to this place.”
“How do you know?” I asked, marveling at her detective skills. I had operatives at Private who wouldn’t be able to deliver such extensive background, and even Mo-bot’s trawl of Antonelli hadn’t yielded this level of information.
“I make it my business to learn everything I can about the keyplayers in any investigation. You never know how the pieces will come together. I’ve interviewed dozens of police and underworld contacts about Antonelli, and they all say the same thing: he has a genuine love of the land of his childhood.”
I nodded. He had spoken about the soil and its produce with such pride.
“While his love of the land round here might be common knowledge, what few people know is the location of the family’s original farm,” Faduma said. “Or the fact that Antonelli was born there and considers it his sanctuary.”
“How did you—”
She cut me off. “That source is secret, Mr. Morgan. I hope you will appreciate the need to take proper precautions. To protect my source, not me.”
“I understand.”
“The farm is two valleys over. Antonelli lived there until he was twelve,” Faduma said.
She steered us off the road onto another rough track, and we took a jarring ride, up and down, over a badly rutted surface. Faduma killed the lights as we continued our journey to Antonelli’s childhood home. It seemed darker here in the folds of the hills, and the landscape more rugged.
The track had reached a vantage point overlooking the valley from which I could see the lights of a house below us in a sheltering fold of land. I could tell from the uneven lines of the walls that it was old and not as well cared for as Antonelli’s principal residence, but even at a distance one sensed the building’s grandeur. This was not the home of a poor farmer, and I wonderedwhether Antonelli was the family’s worst villain or whether he was simply following a long tradition.
I was stirred from my thoughts by a sudden, jarring halt. Fatuma slammed on the brakes and veered off the track, and when I peered into the darkness ahead, I saw why.
The track was rising toward the crest of a hill, and there, silhouetted against the night sky, were five men milling around a low stone boundary wall, the outlines of their long assault rifles unmistakable.
CHAPTER47
“WHAT DO WE do now?” Faduma asked.
My mind raced through a range of options and settled on a simple but bold course of action.
“Switch on the headlamps,” I said, taking my phone from my pocket.
“Are you serious?” she asked, glancing nervously at the shapes of the armed men ahead.
“Trust me,” I replied, activating the video recording app on my phone.
Faduma hesitated before switching on full-beam, lighting the track ahead, illuminating the men clustered against the wall. They were dazzled by the glare; a couple raised their weapons blind, while others shielded their eyes. I lowered my window and pointed my phone at them.
