House of Acerbi

gas that spurted from hidden vents running under both sides and at the rear of the vehicle.

The people pushing on the sides immediately fell back. Reaching up, they covered their burning eyes with their bloody hands just as a whitish foam spewed from their mouths and their bodies began to shake with fits of coughing. Only those in the front of the vehicle had not felt the effects of the teargas, and after a brief retreat, they returned and began jumping on the bumper and crawling up on the hood. Francois quickly reached under the dash and pulled a second lever. Immediately, an invisible wall of focused sound hit the people in front, causing them to grab their ears and back away to escape the ear-shattering sound that seemed to pierce their bodies.

Without waiting, Francois stepped on the gas and smoked the tires. The crowd in front of the vehicle screamed and cursed as the SUV shot forward, narrowly missing some who were still trying to block their way forward. From out of nowhere, a rock smashed against a side window just as a man jumped on the hood and pressed his twisted face against the windshield. For a brief moment, the crazed man’s eyes locked with those of the occupants inside as he clawed at the glass. Francois made the sign of the cross and pushed the accelerator all the way down. He swerved the vehicle from side-to-side as their speed increased, until finally, the man on the hood lost his grip and slipped over the side, crashing against the pavement with a thud.

Peering into the vehicle’s side mirrors and back through the blood-streaked rear window, the stunned men inside the SUV shuddered at the sight behind them as the mob began to turn on itself. In a bizarre scene that could have been taken from the pages of Dante’s Inferno, the crazed and shrieking victims were now tearing at one another in a horrific and mindless tableau of bloodthirsty mayhem.

Lev tried to calm himself by taking deep breaths as he leaned back in his seat. “My God! What just happened back there?”

Francois increased their speed. “I’m afraid the pathogen has arrived in Italy.”

CHAPTER 10

The Villa in Israel

Reclining in a weathered beach chair, the blinding reflection off the white sand dunes caused Ariella to squint as she looked out at the contrasting blue of the Mediterranean Sea and stroked her husband’s tanned arm. The two had just returned to their little beach house from a morning swim after John had speared a sizeable string of red snapper for supper.

She smiled to herself as she studied his calm face in the chair beside hers and thought back to his first attempt at spear fishing, when he had proudly captured a five-inch-long mackerel. “Would you like some orange juice?”

John opened his eyes. “That would be great … thanks.”

Turning his head, he observed the lithe form of his lovely wife as she stood and walked toward the small, wood-shingled beach house her father had given them the year before as a wedding present. After she disappeared past the transparent curtains blowing from the sides of the open French doors, he turned his attention back to the sea, causing him to marvel at how much his life had changed in less than a year.

For a mile in either direction, the land along this stretch of coastline belonged to his father-in-law, Lev Wasserman. Shortly after Ariella was born, Lev and his late wife, Carmela, had purchased two hundred acres here along the beach with the intention of building a small farming cooperative safe from the constant terrorist bombings that plagued Israel’s cities.

From his seat on the beach, John could see the dim outline of his father-in-law’s immense house in the distance. Set at the end of a long paved driveway, the enormous Mediterranean-styled villa was the centerpiece of the farm. Three stories high, with white stucco walls and a red-tiled roof, the villa was set back from the beach, connected to the sea by a rickety boardwalk that ran through sugar-white sand dunes and tall palm trees to a sparkling blue swimming pool at the back of the house.

The entire compound was run much like the communal kibbutz Lev had been raised on, except in this case he retained ownership of the land. Scattered around the property, twenty smaller houses were tucked in among the vineyards, orchards, and planted fields that made up the farm. These single-family dwellings were used mostly by professors and graduate students, who lived there free of charge in exchange for providing security, growing the community’s food, and taking care of the villa. The community also owned several vehicles that were available for everyone. They were used mostly for going to school or shopping or just a night out on the town.

People of various ages could be seen walking around the property, the most noticeable being the young men and women of the villa’s security force dressed in olive-colored shirts and matching shorts. From the beachfront to the gatehouse to the fields, these dedicated young people could be seen everywhere, patrolling the property with radios and automatic weapons slung over their shoulders.

It was on this very beach the year before that John had first laid eyes on his wife after he and Father Leo had escaped from Rome when they were being chased by a group of rogue Vatican security men led by an evil priest who had long since disappeared.

Returning from the house with the orange juice, Ariella settled into the chair next to John. The breeze from the sea whipped strands of long brown hair across her face and over her eyes, forcing her to pull it back and hold it off to the side as she fixed her young husband with a look that made it obvious to him that her next words had been planned out in advance.

“So, John, when are we going to have a baby?”

John continued staring out to sea as he sat his glass of orange juice on the small table beside him.

He’s not getting off that easily, Ariella told herself. She twisted around in her seat and faced him full on. “Did you hear what I just said?”

John reached up and scratched his beard before adjusting his sun glasses with both hands.

Ariella leaned in closer. She had to give him credit for his ability to feign deafness.

He’s good-but so am I.

“How do you like the new futon we bought in Tel Aviv?”

“What?”

“I asked what you thought of the new futon.”

“It’s great. I love the red color.” An intuitive sense of dread was working its way up from his stomach into his throat. “Why do you ask?”

“Because if you don’t answer my question right now, you’ll be sleeping on it tonight.”

There it was.

“I thought we discussed this last month. Didn’t we both agree to wait at least two more years before we made an attempt at parenthood?”

“You know it’s what I want.”

“Oh … now I’m a mind reader.” John instantly regretted his words. Sarcasm-a sure ticket to the futon.

He glanced over at a pair of liquid brown eyes blinking back at him … eyes he had fallen in love with the moment he had first noticed them that day on the beach in front of the villa.

“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to sound like a jerk. It’s just that I still have another year of graduate school. I’d kind of like to keep any outside distractions down until I graduate.”

Ariella’s eyes narrowed at him.

Oh man, I’ve really stepped in it now.

“Did I just hear you refer to our future children as distractions?”

Just take me now.

“You know very well what I meant, Ariella.”

“There are always going to be distractions, John. Life is full of distractions. My father always told me that managing them successfully is the key to success. You’re the ultimate boss. You rule the distractions. They don’t rule you.”

“Your father is a very wise man, and I think he’d agree that now is not the time to be bringing a new baby into the world.”

“You’re worried about the virus. That’s it. Am I right? You think we’re all going to die?”