The Manuscript I the Secret by Blanca Miosi, Gretchen Abernathy Page A

give me a couple of hours. Let me make a few calls. You can’t do this to me.”
    “Oh, yes, I can.” He stood thinking for a moment. “I’m going out, Linda. I don’t want to see you here when I get back. And leave your key.”
    He grabbed the manuscript and left.
    He hoped to find the little man at the cemetery, though he had no idea why. That man had no powers over the manuscript. But he could not think rationally right then. He just wanted to talk with the man, tell him about it, share his woes.
    No one was there when he arrived. The bench was empty except for a pigeon who took off as soon as Nicholas approached. He sat down, and his eyes looked in vain for some sign in the spiral-bound sheets in front of him. Suddenly he knew what he had to do. He would write the novel himself. After all, I’m a writer, aren’t I? he thought. But it would be difficult to emulate whoever had invented the story about the chest. Italy...Claudio Contini-Massera, Armenia and the catacombs.... Where could he find the information? Online, of course, but where else? He had to get information. He hoped Linda would not be there when he got home. She had done enough damage already. He felt no remorse for throwing her to the curb. She was the cause of his problems, both before and now.
    He was relieved to see no sign of Linda’s presence when he let himself in the apartment. He went straight to the computer and did the first thing that occurred to him: he typed “Claudio Contini-Massera” in the search engine.
    To his surprise, an entire page of results flashed up.
     
    “Count Claudio Contini-Massera, renowned millionaire entrepreneur, died yesterday, Wednesday, November 10, 1999. His remains will be buried in a private mausoleum, in Villa Contini. His nephew, Dante Contini-Massera, whom many consider to be the deceased’s heir, is currently in Rome and...”
     
    Nicholas could not believe his eyes. The people in the novel that had been written more than three months ago were real; and what was more, they were doing the very things he had read in the manuscript. In other words...the idea flashed loud and clear like a giant neon sign in his head: everything in the manuscript was true . The secret, the formula, the catacombs, Mengele’s research into the formula for eternal youth...
    With his heart nearly beating out of his chest, Nicholas kept reading and found more information about the life of the deceased Claudio Contini-Massera.
    He had to go to Rome. He had to meet Dante and Brother Martucci; he had to finish writing their story. How much did he have in his bank account? He checked online and saw the balance: $3,400. It was not much. And in Europe, it would be even less. He had a few credit cards. He would leave that very night if he could. He could not lose Dante’s trail. He recalled the important date: November 12, in the Non-Catholic Cemetery in Rome.

Nicholas Blohm
    Non-Catholic Cemetery, Rome, Italy
    November 12, 1999 – 10:30 AM
     
    The taxi dropped him off right at the cemetery entrance. Nicholas went inside and passed the time studying the unkempt graves and the hordes of cats that seemed to have taken over the place. He glanced at his watch and headed back to the entrance. Any minute now the silver Maserati would show up and park as close as humanly possible to one of the walls. Nicholas had come straight from the airport to be able to catch Dante and Martucci. He had to fight down a shout of triumph as he heard the soft purr of Dante’s car approaching. He was staring right at the people in his novel. Everything was exactly as he had imagined when reading it. They got out of the car and walked into the cemetery; he stayed about twenty steps behind but avidly studied and took mental notes on the two men ahead of him.
    “Now they’ll stop under a tree, talk, and after a while Dante will back away from Martucci. He’ll sit on a tombstone and grab his head with his hands. Then the monk will go up to him,” Nicholas