Read Online The Fallen Angel by Daniel Silva - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daniel Silva
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subject of the Etruscans—a mysterious people, deeply religious but rumored to be sexually decadent, who treated men and women as social equals. Highly advanced in the arts and sciences, Etruscan craftsmen taught the Romans how to pave their roads and construct their aqueducts and sewers, a debt the Romans repaid by wiping the Etruscans from the face of the earth. Now little remained of their once-flourishing civilization other than their tombs, which is precisely what they had intended. The Etruscans had fashioned their homes of transitory materials, but their necropolises were built to last forever. In the rooms of the dead they had placed vessels, utensils, and jewelry—treasures that now were displayed in the world’s museums and in the drawing rooms of the rich.
After completing the tour, Gabriel and Chiara dutifully returned the map and headed out to the parking lot, where Gabriel dialed Roberto Falcone’s number a second time. Once again, there was no answer.
“What now?” asked Chiara.
“Lunch,” replied Gabriel.
He walked over to the kiosk and bought a half-dozen premade sandwiches in plastic wrappers.
“Hungry?” Chiara asked.
“They’re not for us.”
They climbed into the car and headed back to Falcone’s villa.
9
CERVETERI, ITALY
W ITHIN THE FRATERNITY OF W ESTERN intelligence, Gabriel’s fear of dogs was as legendary as his exploits. It was not an irrational fear; it was supported by a vast body of empirical evidence gathered during violent encounters too numerous to count. It seemed there was something in Gabriel’s very appearance—his catlike demeanor, his vivid green eyes—that caused even the most docile of dogs to revert to the feral, prehistoric beasts from which they all had sprung. He had been stalked by dogs, bitten by dogs, mauled by dogs, and, once, in a snowbound valley in the mountains of Inner Switzerland, the Alsatian guard dog of a prominent banker had broken his arm. Gabriel had survived the attack only because he had shot the dog in the head with a Beretta pistol. Gunplay was surely not the preferred option here in Cerveteri, but the current agitated state of Falcone’s dog meant that Gabriel would not be able to rule it out entirely. The shepherd’s mood seemed to have deteriorated in the hour since they had last seen it. There was only one reason to keep such a disagreeable creature—Roberto Falcone was obviously hiding something on his property, and it was the dog’s assignment to keep the curious at bay. Fortunately for Gabriel, it appeared the animal had been mistreated, which meant he was ripe for recruitment. Thus the large bag of sandwiches from the café at the Etruscan necropolis.
“Maybe you should let me do it,” said Chiara.
Gabriel gave her a withering glance but said nothing.
“I was just thinking—”
“I know what you were thinking.”
Gabriel turned into the property and headed slowly up the pitted gravel drive. The dog set upon the car instantly—not the passenger side, of course, but Gabriel’s. It galloped alongside the front tire, pausing every now and again to drop into an aggressive crouch and bare its savage teeth. Then, when the car came to a stop, it launched itself toward Gabriel’s window like a missile and tried to bite him through the glass. Gabriel regarded the animal calmly, which incensed it even more. It had the pale yellow eyes of a wolf and was frothing at the mouth as though it were rabid.
“Maybe you should try talking to it,” suggested Chiara.
“I don’t believe in negotiating with terrorists.”
Gabriel sighed heavily and removed the plastic wrapper from one of the sandwiches. Then he cracked the window and quickly shoved the sandwich through the gap. Six inches of Parma ham, fontina, and bread disappeared in a single ravenous bite.
“He’s obviously not kosher,” said Chiara.
“Is that a good sign or bad?”
“Bad,” she replied. “Very bad.”
Gabriel slipped another sandwich
After completing the tour, Gabriel and Chiara dutifully returned the map and headed out to the parking lot, where Gabriel dialed Roberto Falcone’s number a second time. Once again, there was no answer.
“What now?” asked Chiara.
“Lunch,” replied Gabriel.
He walked over to the kiosk and bought a half-dozen premade sandwiches in plastic wrappers.
“Hungry?” Chiara asked.
“They’re not for us.”
They climbed into the car and headed back to Falcone’s villa.
9
CERVETERI, ITALY
W ITHIN THE FRATERNITY OF W ESTERN intelligence, Gabriel’s fear of dogs was as legendary as his exploits. It was not an irrational fear; it was supported by a vast body of empirical evidence gathered during violent encounters too numerous to count. It seemed there was something in Gabriel’s very appearance—his catlike demeanor, his vivid green eyes—that caused even the most docile of dogs to revert to the feral, prehistoric beasts from which they all had sprung. He had been stalked by dogs, bitten by dogs, mauled by dogs, and, once, in a snowbound valley in the mountains of Inner Switzerland, the Alsatian guard dog of a prominent banker had broken his arm. Gabriel had survived the attack only because he had shot the dog in the head with a Beretta pistol. Gunplay was surely not the preferred option here in Cerveteri, but the current agitated state of Falcone’s dog meant that Gabriel would not be able to rule it out entirely. The shepherd’s mood seemed to have deteriorated in the hour since they had last seen it. There was only one reason to keep such a disagreeable creature—Roberto Falcone was obviously hiding something on his property, and it was the dog’s assignment to keep the curious at bay. Fortunately for Gabriel, it appeared the animal had been mistreated, which meant he was ripe for recruitment. Thus the large bag of sandwiches from the café at the Etruscan necropolis.
“Maybe you should let me do it,” said Chiara.
Gabriel gave her a withering glance but said nothing.
“I was just thinking—”
“I know what you were thinking.”
Gabriel turned into the property and headed slowly up the pitted gravel drive. The dog set upon the car instantly—not the passenger side, of course, but Gabriel’s. It galloped alongside the front tire, pausing every now and again to drop into an aggressive crouch and bare its savage teeth. Then, when the car came to a stop, it launched itself toward Gabriel’s window like a missile and tried to bite him through the glass. Gabriel regarded the animal calmly, which incensed it even more. It had the pale yellow eyes of a wolf and was frothing at the mouth as though it were rabid.
“Maybe you should try talking to it,” suggested Chiara.
“I don’t believe in negotiating with terrorists.”
Gabriel sighed heavily and removed the plastic wrapper from one of the sandwiches. Then he cracked the window and quickly shoved the sandwich through the gap. Six inches of Parma ham, fontina, and bread disappeared in a single ravenous bite.
“He’s obviously not kosher,” said Chiara.
“Is that a good sign or bad?”
“Bad,” she replied. “Very bad.”
Gabriel slipped another sandwich
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