Prologue
The bay was serene and quiet, the only sound the ceaseless beating of the waves against the sheer cliffs. Across it, along its northern curves, the lights of the sprawling city of Naples twinkled from afar, like diamonds on marine-coloured velvet, climbing up the slopes of Vesuvius, who towered like a silent threat above the bay, the gaping crater cold for many decades now, but for how long? The suburb of Ercolano, but four miles from the crater as the gull flies, was built on lava frozen to solid rock that encased the sunken city of Herculaneum. To the southeast, the ruins of Pompei lay under silver moon and pale stars, a memory of ages long past, a remnant of sudden doom, embedded in a small plain that once again rose up to rocky hills in the south, hills that formed the peninsula of Sorrento with its pale, steep cliffs, and further on the isle of Capri.
A small, dark shape stood on the edge of a cliff, in the shadow of a lemon tree. The faint fragrance carried from the lemon copse behind it on a gentle breeze filled the night air. And yet the figure did not turn to regard it. It was watching the sea beneath it, only occasionally gazing out towards Naples, or towards line of rocky islands leading northwest from the smaller bay of Pozzuoli on, barren Procida and green Ischia. The breeze rustled the leaves above it, but the figure remained where it was, a shadow amid deeper shadows.
After a while a small point of light blinked three times somewhere to the left, along the arm of the cliff. Immediately the small figure raised its hand that was clenched around a thin torch and answered the signal. Then it turned very suddenly and slipped off into the copse, the grass muffling the sound of its feet. Where the first light had flashed, all remained dark now, but after a short while there was a splash at the foot of the cliff, not very loud, but still audible above the sound of the waves. Then the peace of night returned.
Some time later, only a little further to the east, by the side of the dusty Via Sorrentina, a dark open sports car was waiting, half hidden by a curve of the road. From the thicket a small, slim shape emerged, carrying a large bundle over its back. It flicked something, and the lights of the car glowed in response. Hastily the bundle was deposited in the boot, and instead the small figure retrieved from it what looked like a large piece of cloth. Then it weaselled forward, sat down in the passenger seat and waited, watching the road.
Very soon another figure stepped out into the moonlight, equally slender, but a lot taller. Stripped to the waist, the newcomer carried what seemed to be a bundle of clothing in his hand.
Immediately the small figure climbed out of the car again and tossed the dry cloth to the other, who caught it easily and tossed back his own wet bundle in exchange. There were no words spoken. The small figure quickly stored the other bundle in the boot as well while the newcomer hastily rubbed himself dry before throwing the towel into the driver's seat and sitting down in it. His small companion was back on the passenger seat in no time, pulling the door shut behind him, and the car started, driving out onto the road.
After a mile, past the village of Vicolo Equense, the road returned to the shore again and followed its course. There were no other cars to be seen. The dark car travelled fast, following the road for another two and a half miles, until it forked off above another quiet town. The sign by the roadside read Castellammare di Stabia.
The car stopped at a sheltered place beneath a tunnel mouth, its motor fell silent, its lights went out. Then the taller of the two figures got out and rummaged in the boot. Soon he returned with a small box in his hand, climbed back in and pulled the door shut behind him.
And then a clear soprano voice was heard uttering a muffled, yet jubilant sound of joy, speaking for the first time. "We did it, partner!"
"Yes", replied a deeper voice quietly. "We did it."