bans were actually enforced. 'Better bomb than I thought. Artistry is not confined to painting and sculpture.'
Lang believed him.
They got off at different stations, since the police, if the two inspectors reacted in time, would be looking for two men rather a single traveler. Jacob at Termini, where they had paid a porter to keep a watchful eye on their suitcases. Lang went on to Tiburtina, from where he would take an Appian Line bus to Venice, cross over into Slovenia and, eventually, to Vienna and a flight to Paris and then home.
XIV.
Excerpt from the next day's International Herald Tribune:
Explosion Rocks Rome Landmark
ROME-A building at the headquarters of the Order of St. James, internationally known as the Knights of Malta, was destroyed yesterday in a blast that killed the grand master and a number of full-time rank-and-file members.
The order's headquarters, known as a 'priory,' was filled with members visiting Rome for the every-fifth-year election of leadership and members of the supreme council. Fortunately, all the visiting members were attending a function at the Vatican at the time of the explosion or the casualty list would have been far greater, according to a spokesman for the order who declined to be identified.
Also unharmed were three members of Rome's police force who were on the premises at the time. The police declined to state why they were present.
The same spokesman for the order attributed the explosion to a leaking gas main.
The Order of St. James became known as the Knights of Malta…
XV.
472 LaFayette Drive
Atlanta
A Month Later
Lang and Gurt stood on a grassy lawn, looking at the house. Lang thought it had vaguely Victorian lines; Gurt saw something slightly more contemporary. Either way, it was typical of Ansley Park, Atlanta's upscale, midtown neighborhood where mansions of frame and shingle were as common as Craftsman cottages. Built in the first decades of the last century, The Park, as it was known to its residents, featured towering oaks, winding streets, a number of parks and grassy squares and a small-town atmosphere. You always knew your neighbors and they always knew your business.
Lang had spent a lot of time at his sister's home only a short distance away. Janice and Jeff, her adopted son, had loved the area. Lang had often thought if he ever had a child of his own, this would be a good place to live. Now he had a son who had already made himself at home on the swing set in the backyard before the final papers had been signed.
The condominium at Park Place had sold for somewhat more than Lang had anticipated. The new buyer loved the fixtures, those that had actually been paid for and installed. The deliveries from Home Depot, as far as Lang knew, continued. Lang suspected the decline in the price of the company's stock might well be attributable to the sizable inventory overflowing Park Place's storage space. For certain, any needs for his future residence would be fulfilled by Sears, Lowe's or some other vendor that did not view itself as a cornucopia of unordered and unwanted merchandise.
'It is good, no?' Gurt said.
Lang reached out to take her hand. 'It is good, yes. Manfred seems to like it.'
'Few European children have a room and bath of their own.'
'Neither does Manfred, not unless he can get Grumps to sleep elsewhere.'
Neither spoke, enjoying the euphoria of travelers who have finally managed to return from a long and perilous journey. The homely shingled two-story was surrounded on three sides by a porch, the roof of which ran just below the upstairs windows. The effect was of the house having the beetle-browed expression of the genetically witless. But then, the sheer ugliness of most of the neighboring houses gave the area its unique character. Still, it had a certain cozy charm that had infected both Lang and Gurt. They had not debated buying it; they both knew this was home the minute they walked in.
Behind them, a car door opened. As one, they turned to see Francis climbing out of the church's six-year-old Toyota.
'Hi! Was visiting parishioners and thought I'd stop by!'
Lang smiled. The chances of overwhelmingly white, protestant Ansley Park inhabitants leaving their million- dollar homes to attend a Catholic church, mostly black, poor and in south Atlanta was a stretch, even for the wildly liberal views professed by many of the residents.
Francis was meddling. Lang had no doubt his friend had his and Gurt's best interests at heart, at least as the priest perceived those interests to be, but meddling nonetheless.
Lang and Gurt exchanged glances, knowing what was coming.
Francis, hands behind his back, joined them in viewing the house. 'A fine place for Manfred to grow up.'
Silence.
The priest cleared his throat. 'Exactly when do you two plan to get married?'
Deeper silence.
Undeterred, Francis cleared his throat again and continued. 'It would be difficult but I might, just might, be able to get a special dispensation to allow me to perform the ceremony. I mean, with neither of you being practicing Catholics…'
'There's no one I'd rather have marry us,' Lang said.
'If we got married,' Gurt added.
'But you must.' Now Francis was facing them. 'Think of your obligation to your son. You want the other children snickering behind his back when he starts school? Do you want-'
'If I wanted a husband, it would be one who does not bring danger to his family,' Gurt said with finality. 'A man who doesn't become a target.'
The remark was patently unfair. Danger had followed Lang like an unwanted stray dog. He had never sought trouble. Well, almost never. Besides, Gurt enjoyed the thrill of life-and-death action as much as he.
Motherhood, he thought, had changed her viewpoint, a she-bear protective of her cub.
But he kept his mouth shut.
Francis looked from one to the other, well aware of the facts. 'Suppose both of you disavow violence, promise each other to live like normal people?'
Boring people.
Gurt shrugged nonchalantly. 'If he so agrees, so will I.'
Lang wasn't sure he had heard correctly. 'You mean you'll quit working for the agency, come live permanently in the United States?'
Gurt grinned, the first evidence she was enjoying the exchange. 'With a rich husband I should work?'
Francis touched his clerical collar, a gesture of which he was unaware. 'Good! Then it's all settled.'
Lang was far from sure but hoped so. He wasn't, as they say, getting any younger and a little peace and quiet might even do him some good. And spending every day with the two people he loved more than anything was a prospect of nothing but joy.
His BlackBerry chimed as though to remind him of the real world outside Ansley Park. Without taking it out of his pocket, he turned it off.
The real world could wait.
