'I'm very sorry, but there is nothing I can think of.'
Perlmutter tented his fingers and said, 'Martinez comes across in his writings as a man of great ego. I would be surprised if he did not keep a journal of his day-to-day activities. It would be wonderful if such a book existed and we could get our hands on it. Perhaps at the state archives in Seville.'
Signora Maggi was only half-listening. She was reading a sheet of paper that had been tucked into the box with the other records. 'This is a list of all the manuscripts in this box. Apparently, one of the doc- uments was taken from this file by a previous curator and sent on to the Venice State Archives.'
'What sort of document?' Perlmutter asked.
'It is described here as an 'Exoneration of a Man of the Sea,' writ- ten by an Englishman, Captain Richard Blackthorne. It was sup- posed to be returned, but there are more than ninety kilometers of archives covering a thousand years of history, so sometimes things fall through the cracks, as you Americans say.'
'I'd love to read Blackthorne's account,' Perlmutter said. 'I'm due in Milan tomorrow, but perhaps I can divert to Venice.'
'Perhaps it won't be necessary.' She took the file into her office, and they could hear the soft clicking of a computer keyboard. She reap- peared after a moment. 'I have contacted the Venice State Archives and asked for a virtual search of the records. Once the document is found, it can be copied and transmitted through the Internet.'
'Well done!' Perlmutter said. 'And my heartfelt thanks.'
Signora Maggi kissed Perlmutter on both fleshy cheeks, and be- fore long he and Nocci were driving through the suburbs of Flo- rence. Exhausted by the activities of the day, Perlmutter took a nap and awoke just in time for dinner. He and Nocci dined on the ter- race. He had regained his gustatory equilibrium and had no trouble downing his veal and pasta dishes. After finishing up with a spinach salad and a simple doici of fresh fruit, they watched the sun go down, silently sipping on glasses oflimoncello.
The phone rang and Nocci went to answer it, while Perlmutter sat in the dark, savoring the smell of earth and grapevines, carried to his tulip nose by a light evening breeze. Nocci appeared a few minutes later and summoned Perlmutter into a small state-of-the-art com- puter room.
Noting his guest's upraised eyebrow, Nocci said, 'Even a business as small as mine must use the latest in communications in order to survive in the global market. That was Signora Maggi,' he said, sit- ting down in front of the monitor. 'She apologizes for the delay, but the document you requested had to be retrieved from the Museo Storico Navale, the naval museum, where it had been languishing. Here,' he said, and rose to give up his seat.
The sturdy wooden chair creaked in protest when Perlmutter set- tied in. He scanned the title page, on which the author declared the iournal to be 'an account of an unwilling mercenary in the service of the Spanish Inquisition.'
Perlmutter leaned forward, stared into the screen and began to read the words that had been written five centuries before.
22
THE BEER TRUCK rounded a sharp curve, and the driver slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting the battered wreck in the road. The car that lay on its side a few yards from the edge looked as if it had been dropped from a great height. Two more wrecks smoldered at the bottom of the drop-off hundreds of feet below. The driver hurried from his truck and peered into the car window. He was surprised to discover that the people inside were still alive.
The trucker called for help on his CB radio. The rescue crew had to use mechanical jaws to extricate the Trouts, and then the couple was taken to a small but well-equipped hospital. Paul suffered from a broken wrist, Gamay had a concussion, and they were both covered with bumps and bruises. They spent the night under observation, went through another exam the next morning and were pronounced fit to go. They were signing out at the front desk, when two men wearing rumpled suits arrived, identified themselves as provincial police and asked to talk with them.
They settled into an unoccupied visitors' lounge, and the Trouts were asked to tell what happened. The senior man was named Mac- Farlane. In a classic good-cop, bad-cop pairing, he was the friendly one who tut-tutted, while his partner, a man named Duffy, was the belligerent officer who tried to pick holes in their story.
After replying to a particularly pointed question, Gamay, who could never be mistaken for a shrinking violet, stared at Duffy and gave him a smile. 'I may be wrong, Officer, but it sounds as if we're being accused of something.'
MacFarlane fidgeted with his hands. 'It's not that, ma'am, but look at it from our point of view. You and your husband arrive in town from out of nowhere. Within twenty-four hours, a fisherman you were seen with goes missing, along with his boat. Then four men are killed in a very unusual accident.'
'Damned bloody death plague if you ask me,' Duffy growled.
'We've told you everything,' Paul said. 'We were on vacation, and went out with a fisherman named Mike Neal, whom we met at a waterfront restaurant. You can check with the bartender. Mr. Neal was looking for work and offered to take us out for a cruise.'
'Pretty expensive cruise,' Duffy sneered. 'The boatyard says you paid offNeal's bill of nearly a thousand dollars.'
'We're both ocean scientists. When we learned about the problems the fishermen had been having with low catches, we asked Mr. Neal to do some survey work.'
'What happened next?'
'We stayed overnight at a bed and breakfast. The next morning, we learned that Mr. Neal and his boat had been lost. We were con- tinuing our trip, when we were caught between two very bad driv- ers driving two very big cars.'
'From what you said,' Duffy said, making no attempt to hide his
skepticism, 'it sounds like these folks were trying to run you off the road.'
'It seems that way.'
'That's what we can't figure,' Duffy said, scratching the stubble
on his chin. 'Why would they try to kill a couple of innocent tourists?'
'You'll have to ask them,' Paul said.
Duffy's ruddy face went an even deeper red. He opened his mouth to respond.
MacFarlane raised his hand to shush his partner. 'Those folks are in no condition to answer questions,' he said with a wan smile. 'But you see, this presents another problem. The young lady here stopped at a general store and asked about a fish plant in town. The four gentlemen who were killed were all employees of the same plant.'
'I'm a marine biologist,' Gamay said. 'My interest in fish is noth- ing odd. I don't mean to tell you how to do your job,' she said, in a tone that indicated that was exactly what she was doing, 'but maybe you should talk to someone at the plant.'
'That's another funny thing,' Duffy said. 'The plant's closed.'
Gamay hid her surprise with a shrug and girded herself for more questions, but just then, MacFarlane's cell phone rang, saving them from another round of the third degree. He excused himself, got up and moved into the hall, out of earshot. A few minutes later, he came back in and said, 'Thanks for your time, folks. You can go.'
'I won't argue with you, Officer, but could you tell us what's going on?' Paul said. 'A minute ago, we were public enemies one and two.'
The worried expression that had been on MacFarlane's face ear- lier was replaced by a friendly smile. 'That was the station. We made some inquiries when we saw the ID cards in your wallets. Just got a call from Washington. Seems like you two are pretty important peo- ple at NUMA. We'll prepare a couple of statements and get them to you for additions and signatures. Anywhere we can take you?' He seemed relieved at the resolution of a difficult situation.
'A rental-car agency might be a good start,' Gamay said.
'And a pub would be a good finish,' Paul said.
On the drive to the car rental office, Duffy dropped his bad-cop act and told them how to get to a pub where
