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

murmured. And, at that precise moment, the tall, thin Brother Martucci slowly approached Dante.
    Nicholas waited, letting himself do no more than watch. He knew step by step exactly what they were going to do, even what they were saying and what each was feeling. He waited for them to walk back up toward the mausoleum, and he moved further into the brush to follow without being so obvious. He studied Dante, who was a bit taller than Martucci, with light brown hair and an athletic build. Nicholas admired his elegant demeanor, his body language so clearly Mediterranean, just like the monk’s. In his curiosity, Nicholas blew his cover. Then he realized that when Dante saw him, he would take him for just another American tourist. He left the shelter of the trees and went straight to the cemetery exit. He had to be ready to follow Dante, had to find a way to approach him. But how? Dante was one of the most powerful men in Italy. Or he soon will be. I’ll be a journalist , Nicholas decided. He still had his New York Times ID from his stint as a columnist until two months ago.
    He hailed a cab. “Please, wait just a moment,” he told the driver, hoping to be understood. The taxi driver apparently understood English. He started the meter and waited patiently. “Follow the Maserati, please. From a distance.”
    Nicholas felt the driver’s gaze. For a moment he thought the man would refuse, but he complied. The Maserati headed toward downtown Rome and stopped on a narrow street. The monk got out, and the car proceeded. It did not stop until they came to Villa Contini, on the outskirts of the city. After passing through the entrance with the stone lions, Nicholas saw from a distance that an iron gate closed behind Dante’s car. He wondered where it, as well as the watchtower he now observed, had come from. The manuscript had not mentioned them.
    “I need to speak with Mr. Dante Contini-Massera. I’m from the United States. I work for the New York Times ,” Nicholas explained to the guard.
    “Do you have any ID?”
    Nicholas pulled out his Times badge and passport. After scrutinizing them, the guard looked squarely into Nicholas’ face as if to memorize his features.
    “Do you have an appointment?”
    “No. But could you ask if he will see me? I need to return to the States tonight.”
    “Just a minute.”
    The guard returned to the sentry box, and Nicholas saw him talking on the telephone. After a long while, the man returned to the taxi.
    “All right. Mr. Contini-Massera will see you. Wait just a moment.”
    He returned to the guard house, and soon the metal gate opened.
    They wound down the tree-lined drive, and there before them rose up Villa Contini, the mansion Nicholas had seen in his mind’s eye so often over the last couple of days. The driveway ended in a roundabout, and in the center there was a large stone sculpture of a woman pouring water from a jug. The statue gave the place a picturesque air. The taxi paused at the front door.
    “Would you mind waiting? I have no idea how long I’ll be, but it will be quite difficult for me to get out of here without a car.”
    The driver glanced at the taximeter and then looked back at Nicholas. “ Va bene, signore .... I’ll wait for you here.”
    “Thank you,” Nicholas replied, climbing out of the car and heading toward the entrance. The enormous carved front door opened before he even rang the bell.
    “Good afternoon, please come in. The master will see you in a few moments. Please follow me.”
    The luxury of the house overwhelmed Nicholas. He followed the butler into a parlor that seemed more like a museum than a normal part of family life. He sat in one of the armchairs and waited for what felt like an eternity. Nine minutes later, Dante appeared at the door.
    “Hello, Mr. Blohm. Tell me, how may I be of assistance?”
    Nicholas was paralyzed for a few seconds. There standing before him was the very real character from the manuscript. He stood and held out