Camorra on our hands.”
“The Camorra?”
“They’re the mob, the Neapolitan cosa nostra ,” he said softly, not wanting to alarm her. “Lately there’s been an outbreak of carjackings. They go for luxury sports vehicles like the 8C. There’s an international market, all over Europe. It’s often easier to carjack a vehicle with a high-tech alarm system than to steal it off the street. They tried it with this car once before, in fact.”
Amanda felt rattled, despite his calm tone. “That’s not very reassuring. What do we do if they catch us?”
“Don’t worry, cara mia. This bambino can outrun anything.”
Juan Carlos picked up speed, cornering expertly, until they gained a stretch of country road. They were nearing the E841, which the GPS showed as a divided highway. The occasional streetlights had given way to pitch blackness. The headlights in the rearview mirror grew steadily closer.
He shut off the CD player and gripped the steering wheel hard. “Hang on,” he smiled.
The whine of the engine and the shriek of the sport coupe’s powerful braking system ruled out further conversation. Amanda prayed they could make the E841, where more frequent traffic and the presence of toll plazas would make carjacking risky, if not impossible. Whoever was following them, she thought, must have a powerful vehicle to be able to keep up with the Alfa.
A mile short of the E841, they hit a straightaway, and Juan Carlos floored the accelerator, gaining distance from their apparent pursuers. Blurred fencing on each side of the road showed they were in farm country.
Suddenly, just beyond a shallow curve in the road, an apparition ambled into the Alfa’s headlight beams. It was colored dirty white, with light gray shading toward a huge horned head. It stood on stumpy, sturdy legs that inched obliviously toward the broken white line in the center of the road. Whoever wanted to get past would have to veer either left or right.
Juan Carlos turned the wheel deftly and the Alfa raced past, seemingly grazing the bovine’s tail.
“What in God’s name was that?” shouted Amanda, gripping Juan Carlos’s shoulder. They were still traveling almost one hundred miles per hour.
“Oh, that? That, cara mia, was a Romagnola , the Italian version of a Texas Longhorn steer. It must have gotten outside the fence somehow.”
“Johnny,” Amanda said urgently, looking back over her shoulder. “The headlights are gone.”
And, indeed, the rearview mirror was dark. Juan Carlos grinned to mask his relief. “I guess the Camorra got served a fifteen-hundred-kilo steak dinner,” he said wryly.
“That’s terrible,” said Amanda, thinking of the poor beast.
They resumed a reasonable speed. On the E841, once her adrenaline had done the same, Amanda questioned Juan Carlos.
“Shouldn’t we report this to the authorities?”
“Normally I would. But if we go to the police tomorrow, you have no idea about how Italian bureaucracy would tie us up. They’d want endless forms and probably a personal appearance or two, maybe in Caserta or perhaps even in Naples. Your American nationality could add a complication, with the consulate becoming involved. It’s one of the reasons why the Camorra has such a free hand. People simply don’t want the hassle. And the time that a report takes will mean that we won’t be able to work on the scavi.”
“Well, if you’re sure we’re doing the right thing…” Amanda’s voice trailed off.
“Let’s just think of it as an adventure. Benvenuta in Italia ,” he said, turning to her with a grin. “But let’s not tell Silvio and Renata—we don’t want to scare them. It’ll be our secret.” He reached over and placed his hand reassuringly on her thigh.
“Now I owe you for another rescue.” She covered his hand with her own, giving it a squeeze. “I can’t wait to get to work—let’s see if we can arrive in Ercolano in one piece tonight!”
Juan Carlos switched the CD player back
“The Camorra?”
“They’re the mob, the Neapolitan cosa nostra ,” he said softly, not wanting to alarm her. “Lately there’s been an outbreak of carjackings. They go for luxury sports vehicles like the 8C. There’s an international market, all over Europe. It’s often easier to carjack a vehicle with a high-tech alarm system than to steal it off the street. They tried it with this car once before, in fact.”
Amanda felt rattled, despite his calm tone. “That’s not very reassuring. What do we do if they catch us?”
“Don’t worry, cara mia. This bambino can outrun anything.”
Juan Carlos picked up speed, cornering expertly, until they gained a stretch of country road. They were nearing the E841, which the GPS showed as a divided highway. The occasional streetlights had given way to pitch blackness. The headlights in the rearview mirror grew steadily closer.
He shut off the CD player and gripped the steering wheel hard. “Hang on,” he smiled.
The whine of the engine and the shriek of the sport coupe’s powerful braking system ruled out further conversation. Amanda prayed they could make the E841, where more frequent traffic and the presence of toll plazas would make carjacking risky, if not impossible. Whoever was following them, she thought, must have a powerful vehicle to be able to keep up with the Alfa.
A mile short of the E841, they hit a straightaway, and Juan Carlos floored the accelerator, gaining distance from their apparent pursuers. Blurred fencing on each side of the road showed they were in farm country.
Suddenly, just beyond a shallow curve in the road, an apparition ambled into the Alfa’s headlight beams. It was colored dirty white, with light gray shading toward a huge horned head. It stood on stumpy, sturdy legs that inched obliviously toward the broken white line in the center of the road. Whoever wanted to get past would have to veer either left or right.
Juan Carlos turned the wheel deftly and the Alfa raced past, seemingly grazing the bovine’s tail.
“What in God’s name was that?” shouted Amanda, gripping Juan Carlos’s shoulder. They were still traveling almost one hundred miles per hour.
“Oh, that? That, cara mia, was a Romagnola , the Italian version of a Texas Longhorn steer. It must have gotten outside the fence somehow.”
“Johnny,” Amanda said urgently, looking back over her shoulder. “The headlights are gone.”
And, indeed, the rearview mirror was dark. Juan Carlos grinned to mask his relief. “I guess the Camorra got served a fifteen-hundred-kilo steak dinner,” he said wryly.
“That’s terrible,” said Amanda, thinking of the poor beast.
They resumed a reasonable speed. On the E841, once her adrenaline had done the same, Amanda questioned Juan Carlos.
“Shouldn’t we report this to the authorities?”
“Normally I would. But if we go to the police tomorrow, you have no idea about how Italian bureaucracy would tie us up. They’d want endless forms and probably a personal appearance or two, maybe in Caserta or perhaps even in Naples. Your American nationality could add a complication, with the consulate becoming involved. It’s one of the reasons why the Camorra has such a free hand. People simply don’t want the hassle. And the time that a report takes will mean that we won’t be able to work on the scavi.”
“Well, if you’re sure we’re doing the right thing…” Amanda’s voice trailed off.
“Let’s just think of it as an adventure. Benvenuta in Italia ,” he said, turning to her with a grin. “But let’s not tell Silvio and Renata—we don’t want to scare them. It’ll be our secret.” He reached over and placed his hand reassuringly on her thigh.
“Now I owe you for another rescue.” She covered his hand with her own, giving it a squeeze. “I can’t wait to get to work—let’s see if we can arrive in Ercolano in one piece tonight!”
Juan Carlos switched the CD player back
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