Chapter 3: Secrets of the Vatican
Rome, Italy.
"Is this your first visit to the secret archives?" Luchino asked Neal.
"Yes, although I've been to the Vatican library, I've never had admission to the private collection."
Neal had met Mozzie and Luchino at the entrance to the library after his appointment with Claudia. Luchino was a slight man in his fifties with long curly hair swept off his face and a trim goatee. His amiable face seemed to be constantly enjoying a private joke. The secret archive could be considered one of them. Private would be a better word for them as they contained papal records not readily available to the general public. Unlike the breathtaking beauty of the Vatican Library's Sistine Hall, the secret archive was a dark tomb of seemingly endless miles of shelving units filled with documents and manuscripts.
The cleric's face crinkled into a smile. "And it is a disappointment, yes?"
"The true treasures are in the vault," Mozzie pointed out.
Neal watched Luchino for his reaction. As a librarian who specialized in medieval manuscripts, he would know, and his only reaction was a slight shrug which was probably enough to keep Mozzie's conspiracy theory alive.
But Neal was here not to discuss vaults but to learn about a certain Mafia boss. "My contact with the Carabinieri told me they suspect Nardone could be connected to art heists but because of his prominent status they've been forced to tread warily. Is there any other information you can provide us about him?"
The ends of his mouth drooped into a frown. "I was told the rumor about the Dante manuscript from a priest who'd heard it during a confession. Because of the sanctity of the confessional, there is little I can share with you. From the way the penitent was described, I suspect he worked for Nardone. He was suffering from kidney failure and passed away a week later."
Mozzie's face oozed sympathy. "He wished to atone for his sins, a natural emotion. His conscience may have been burdened by other crimes."
"You speak truly, my friend."
Had this turned into a game of charades? Neal could play along and decided to toss another Hail Mary. It was the Vatican, after all. If a miracle was to occur, this was the proper venue. "I heard about a Caravaggio painting that was stolen from a church altar in Palermo in 1969. The Mafia was suspected of being involved. It was a horrific crime with the painting cut out from its frame. The painting has never been recovered. I would imagine such a burden would weigh as heavily on one's soul as a Dante manuscript."
Luchino shot him a sharp look. "Whoever would hide a Dante undoubtedly would be equally interested in a Caravaggio. They could justify their crimes by thinking they were patriots preserving the works for later generations."
"There was a theft of a work by a Florentine artist, Lorenzo Lippi, from a museum in France last year," Neal continued, keeping his tone even. "Our hypothetical patriot may have also considered it an act of liberation."
Luchino shrugged. "Such is the vanity of the world." He paused at one of the shelving units and traced his finger along a row of what appeared to be official records. "The villa owned by Signor Nardone dates back to the 1500s. The original construction was carried out during the time of Pope Clement VII. The villa may have served as a papal summer retreat."
Mozzie's nose twitched at the reference. Neal knew what he was thinking. That pope had been one of the Medici. Any connection to that famous Florentine family would ignite Mozzie's flames.
Luchino turned to face them. "Have you ever heard of the secret passages within the Vatican? Fascinating structures, many of them date back to the Renaissance."
Mozzie wet his lips and attempted to look nonchalant. "I wonder if Nardone's villa might be similarly endowed."
Luchino shrugged. "I have no idea, but if you're curious about the building, you should check out the resources of the Laurentian Library in Florence. It was built by the Medici and houses many of their historical records."
Secret passages, a mystery concerning a Renaissance pope, a Mafia crime lord . . . Operation Checkmate might need to move to the backburner.
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"Slow down, Neal," Peter protested. "You're saying Nardone not only has a Dante but also potentially two other masterpieces in his possession?"
"Luchino as much as confirmed it," Neal insisted. He called Peter immediately upon returning to the pensione.
"Simply because the villa may have secret rooms doesn't mean it's being used to store Mafia loot."
"But someone has to have those paintings. Why not Nardone?"
"Are you sure you're not guilty of confusing him with Santa Claus?"
"No, and I bet Claudia won't either," Neal said, keeping his huff barely audible. "Was Travis able to insert a tracker on my painting?"
"He finished it yesterday. No one will be able to detect it. It was fortunate the painting was on a wood panel. If it had been on canvas, the chip would have been much more difficult to conceal. Don't worry. Wherever the painting is taken, we'll find it."
"I know you will." That painting held a special significance for him. He'd painted it while he was held captive by Ydrus. He'd kept his sanity by imagining he was painting Sara. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have allowed it to be used as bait, but there hadn't been adequate time to prepare anything else.
"When will you leave for Florence?" Peter asked.
"Tomorrow morning."
"You'll have two days before Sara arrives to focus on art, right? Nothing extracurricular?"
"Just ordinary stuff like eating and sleeping," Neal assured him.
"That's not as comforting as it should be. What will Mozzie be doing?"
"Burning the midnight oil in a library designed by Michelangelo. Luchino believes Mozzie may be able to find plans for Nardone's villa."
"Rumors of secret rooms and passages must have Mozzie in their grip. Tell me he's not going to sneak inside."
"He's not going to—"
"Damn it, I knew I phrased that wrong. I can't control what he does, but I can pull the reins on you. This is an FBI and Interpol sanctioned operation. You convinced us to pursue it. You will not sneak inside, no matter how hard Mozzie works on you."
"You have my word," Neal promised, stifling his inner kid who was wailing his displeasure. It was time to be an adult, especially since Peter was getting much too skilled at wrecking his deflections.
"Good. You were the one who argued to go to Parma to keep up appearances. How would it look for the thief who supposedly stole the Da Vinci to be caught casing out his mark's villa?"
"I promise not to ruin your Christmas. Give my best to El."
"And ours to Sara. See you in six days."
Neal suspected Peter was tempted to continue the lecture, and if he knew how upset Neal's inner kid was, he'd be justified. Was there a way Neal could foist the scamp onto Mozzie for him to deal with?
That evening Neal and Mozzie took the train to Florence. The wine reception at Nardone's estate wasn't for two days, giving Mozzie time for his research while Neal continued his art studies. Neal had originally planned to stay at an inexpensive pensione then move to more luxurious accommodations when Sara arrived, but Mozzie argued against it. His reasoning was that if anyone was monitoring Neal, he should live up to his image as a high roller, and naturally Mozzie would want to stay at the same place. With Mozzie offering to pick up the tab, Neal was happy to comply.
Neal had picked the Antica Torre Tornabuoni to be his and Sara's Christmas hideaway. The tower-hotel was a historic building with the original construction dating back to the 1300s. Neal had selected a room sufficiently high in the tower that they could see the Arno River from their balcony. The art museums Neal was interested in, as well as the Laurentian Library, were all short walks away.
With the sting several days off, Neal could relax and devote himself to art. When a winter snowstorm caused Nardone to cancel the wine reception, he could afford to be philosophical. Even Mozzie's disappointment was tempered.
On the day of Mozzie's departure for Venice, they had lunch at a ristorante on the Piazza del Duomo with a magnificent view of the Christmas tree in front of the cathedral.
"Neal, I'm getting soft," Mozzie said with a sigh as he dipped a slice of crusty bread into the osso bucco. "I should be hiding in Nardone's vineyard. I could be casing his villa while disguised as a snowman."
"I'm glad you're not. I'd rather not eat alone, and honestly, you probably wouldn't have discovered anything."
"You don't think that, like Mole in Wind from the Willows, I would have tripped on a door knocker to a secret passageway?" He smiled. "Perhaps not. Still, I wish the books had been more forthcoming."
Mozzie had unearthed a few texts referencing the villa, and he'd been able to confirm that the villa had been used by Pope Clement VII, but there was nothing to indicate secret rooms.
"We mustn't be discouraged," Mozzie continued.
Who was discouraged? Not Neal. Sara was due to arrive in a few hours. He swallowed another bite of delectable pappardelle with duck sauce and let Mozzie ramble on, assisted by the occasional encouraging nod.
"The information I was able to glean was telling. The renovation in the early twentieth century was extensive. Fortunately for us, the blueprints had to be registered with the group responsible for overseeing Tuscany's historical sites. No secret room was displayed in the plans."
"I see that look. Why aren't you disappointed?"
Mozzie absently twisted the silver rings on the fingers of his left hand as if they were an abacus. "I found it instructive that Nardone paid far more than the estate's appraised value when he purchased it in 1989."
"Perhaps he was in a bidding war with a hotel chain," Neal suggested.
"Possibly, but what was it that made Nardone consider the estate so valuable?"
"The secret room?"
Mozzie nodded. "That's what I believe. I looked up a report of a wine reception that was held at the villa in the fall. One of the guests remarked on the extensive wine cellar in the basement. There's no mention of a wine cellar on the blueprint plans which were made at the time of the restoration—"
"—because it wasn't touched," Neal finished, growing excited.
"Exactly. If I were looking for a secret room, that's where I'd start." Mozzie sighed longingly. "I should return to help you with the search."
"We'd have to explain your presence to the Carabinieri," Neal reminded him, "but I'd love to have you along."
He hesitated then sighed even more deeply. "I'll have to pass. My soul has been corrupted enough by so many dealings with the suits. I'm not yet prepared to damage it further."
"Janet will be glad you're staying with her." Mozzie was taking the evening train to Venice to meet his girlfriend. "When was the last time you took a break to celebrate Christmas?"
"With a woman? Don't ask. And try to remember that as a Wiccan, I don't participate in religious ceremonies. Instead, Janet and I intend to indulge in the pagan rites of mistletoe and various other Yule traditions. Convey my best wishes to Sara along with my thanks for the gift she sent me."
"You got an early Christmas present?"
"Please, Neal. Weren't you listening? It's a Yule gift."
Neal waved away his quibble. "What did she give you?"
"The best gift of all—something intangible. Sara spoke with a friend who's an agent for scriptwriters in the U.K. She'd sent him several of my scripts for Yellowface, the Masked Avenger, and he's agreed to represent me."
"Do you have any project in mind?" Neal asked, delighted at the news. Sara had mentioned her plans to him. He suspected she had a welcome ulterior motive and that was to distract Mozzie from illegal activities.
The short feature Aidan had produced last year about the adventures of the endangered yellow-faced bee had spawned a new outlet for Mozzie's creativity. His script for that project had been his first attempt. From there he'd branched into fanfiction with the Arkham Files stories. Neal wasn't surprised to hear television was now an alluring siren.
"Sara's encouraged me to write a Doctor Who script," he confided. "A few nights ago, when I was working on the next Arkham Files story, an idea presented itself to me which is worthy of being explored."
"You once told me con men never died," Neal said.
"Our smiles just fade away. I remember it well."
"Perhaps we have a new option where, like the Doctor, we can regenerate ourselves."
Mozzie nodded with all the gravitas the remark deserved. "I'll take that under advisement."
Neal intended to put any thoughts of cons or stings on the shelf starting this evening. Sara's flight was due to arrive in a few short hours, and for their first Christmas as a couple, they couldn't have picked a better location. The following day passed in a whirl of boutiques and clothing stores. Neal and Sara had promised not to buy presents in advance so they could shop together for each other.
The Christmas markets were filled with seasonal delicacies for nibbling. They took a break from shopping to sip mulled wine while watching skaters perform traditional dances on the outdoor ice rink. They didn't have a Christmas tree in their room, but they didn't need one when Florence had thoughtfully provided illuminated trees throughout the ancient city.
That night in the tower, with the lights of Florence twinkling below them, Neal didn't feel like he was in the clouds but floating among the stars.
They awoke on Christmas morning to find it had snowed during the night. The ancient city had been transformed into a gingerbread village coated with white frosting. Neal ordered room service for breakfast and they had their coffee in bed, from where they could admire the view through the French doors.
"I haven't felt a place so filled with magic since I was a child at Disneyland," Sara said. "And that was pure fantasy. This is real." She slipped her arm around his waist. "You and I are together. I've been swept into my own fairy tale, and my prince has come to visit me in my tower."
Any statement like that required a prolonged kiss. When they broke free, he said. "Your prince senses a secret to be revealed. You know I grew up in St. Louis but you never told me where you lived."
"I just did," she protested. "I lived in a land of wonder with princesses and animals who could talk. Compared to your life, I was in another kingdom."
Was Sara serious or was she speaking metamorphically? "You lived in Anaheim?" he guessed.
She nodded. "Mom was a seamstress for the costume department. Some of my earliest memories are playing in the workrooms. The company was kid-friendly as you might expect. They had on-site daycare. My childhood was filled with dancing, songs, and fireworks."
"That's where you developed your love of fireworks!"
She smiled. "They bring back memories of watching the display over Cinderella's castle."
"Till your castle in the clouds came crashing down to Earth," he said, gently squeezing her hand.
"That's the trouble with dreams. They don't last." She hesitated a moment. "This is a secret I haven't told anyone else. After Dad left, I gave myself a pretend father and named him Walter after Walt Disney. You believed the image of your father was real. I knew mine wasn't."
"For your alias in Hungary, you picked Walters as the surname."
She nodded. "It was a tribute to the magic he brought into my life. When Mom died, I was ejected out of the magic kingdom"— she leaned her head on his shoulder—"until, that is, you let me enter your realm."
"This is no dream," he said, kissing her. "It's time for us to wake up and enter reality. We don't need to build our lives in the clouds. Life on Earth will be even better."
"That's what I'm counting on." She turned to face him. "Is this a good time to discuss your mom? All I know is she's in WITSEC, but if you'd rather not go into it, I understand."
"No, I want you to know." Why had he delayed so long in talking about her? Was it guilt over not having reached out to her? Sara would give anything to have her mom back. He'd given up on his. Even with all the issues, he should have done more. He could hear Noelle's voice in his head that he shouldn't blame himself for her twin sister's problems, but it was hard not to. Not the stuff for Christmas discussions, although in a way it was. Noelle's birthday was yesterday. Her sister had been born a little later, on Christmas Day. He'd talked with Noelle yesterday on her birthday but he couldn't call his mom.
If they were truly to face reality, Sara needed to know what had gone on, so he told her. He shared anecdotes about happy childhood memories as well as the drinking problems, the abuse he'd suffered from her boyfriend Vance. He explained that for a long time he believed he'd been the cause of her issues. "A couple of years ago, Noelle was my therapist for several months. She helped me accept what happened."
"Was she able to convince you it wasn't your fault?" Sara asked.
He hesitated. This was not the time for concealment, but it was painful to admit the truth. "She did her best. It's something, though, that doesn't go away easily. You had a similar situation when your parents divorced. I suspect it's the same for you."
She nodded. "We both carry wounds. It's time for us to heal each other."
He kissed her. "We'll use some of that Disney magic on ourselves. When we get back, I want to write to Mom and tell her about us. The marshals will probably agree to transmit the letter." He hoped the news would make his mom happy for them.
"Have you told Noelle about us?"
He smiled. "For her birthday, I wrote her a letter explaining the Clueless con and how we were celebrating its conclusion. I sent it to Dressa in advance and asked her to share it yesterday evening."
"Knowing your grandmother, I'm quite confident that the actress in Irene will make a dramatic reading of it," Sara said chuckling. "I wish we could eavesdrop on it."
"Me too. There's one other big secret you need to know," he said, bracing himself. "I have two moms."
Sara's eyes widened in amazement. "I always knew you were special, but really?"
"Yep, it's the truth. I recently learned that Noelle acted as a surrogate mom for her sister. Noelle was the one who gave birth to me." He explained the difficulty Meredith had in carrying a baby to term and the in vitro fertilization technique that was used. "Neither one knew which of the sisters' eggs had been used for the procedure till a little over a year ago when Noelle found out it was hers. That was also when she told me about the circumstances of my birth."
"So Henry is not just your cousin but your half-brother?"
Neal nodded. "I told him in Hawaii last Christmas."
"Giving him even more reason to be protective of you. Who knows the truth?"
"Just Peter and Elizabeth, Peter's parents, Noelle and her family—that includes Joe and his kids, Graham, Julia, and the Caffrey grandparents. It's yet one more secret that has to stay in the closet for now. When I reunited with my relatives, it became a problem for the marshals. It's not a secret that Noelle had a twin, but that twin supposedly vanished and her child with her. As far as the world knows, I'm a distant cousin who resurfaced after many years."
She gazed at him sympathetically. "You're forced to still live a con."
"And it's even more complicated than you realize. To maintain my usefulness for undercover work, I fabricated a tale where I'm not really a Caffrey at all. I faked being a relative so I'd be able to claim a share of the inheritance. I call it the Anastasia con." He winced. "Are you sure you want to hook up with such an unsavory character?"
"That's not the real you," she said firmly. "Don't you dare think for a second that I believe it. Besides you're not alone. Peter's living the con too since he usurped the role Rolf would have played."
"And if you stay with me, you'll become part of it as well." He shrugged. "You knew I had baggage." Even though he was sure his admission wouldn't change how she felt about him, he was anxious for her reaction.
She thought for a moment. "I could play it either way. That I was duped by you or that I was in on it with you." She smiled at him. "I much prefer the latter. We'll be two con artists together." She set her coffee cup down. "But today we don't need to pretend," she said firmly. "You'll call your family in D.C. and wish them a Merry Christmas. I wish I could be on the phone too."
"So do I. We'll make up for it in a few days." Mozzie had provided a phone with a rigged SIM card that would show an unknown international address just in case Henry was doing any last-minute snooping.
Notes: The Caravaggio mentioned in this chapter was stolen from a church in 1969. The Sicilian Mafia was believed to be involved in the crime. In 2018, clues emerged, leading police to hope it would soon be recovered, but so far it remains lost to the world. The Lorenzo Lippi painting is in a collection in Paris. The work depicts a woman holding a mask, and the connection to the theme in this story was too tempting to resist.
Mozzie's comment that con men never die, their smiles just fade away is from the season 2 canon episode "Countermeasures." Penna explains the unusual circumstances of Neal's birth in Caffrey Disclosure. She invented the Anastasia con in Caffrey Aloha to provide cover for Neal so he could associate with his relatives. In this chapter, I covered Christmas in Florence, but you're probably wondering about Henry and Eric in Baltimore. Penna wrote a vignette covering their Christmas. It's called "Holiday Letters."
This week's blog post is about Dante's connection to Caffrey Conversation.
