The Parchment by Gerald T. McLaughlin Read Free Book Online Page B

from the Holy Land. If the document you found has a high salt residue, it would further corroborate its authenticity.”
    Michellini nodded to Visconti. “Don't worry about Jim. We'll bring the parchment to Tre Amici at 10 o'clock.”

    Finnergan rang Cardinal Barbo's office late that evening. His voice sounded tired. “Your Eminence, the Israeli Prime Minister will not release the last five gunmen. He's under tremendous pressure from the extreme right wing. They want him to avenge Eilat. He appreciates the extra negotiating time, but he can't make any more concessions. Letting all the Hamas terrorists walk out of the Sepulchre free men is politically out of the question. I'm sorry, Your Eminence. I tried.”
    Barbo was disappointed but not surprised by what Finnergan said. “Then it's up to the Americans. They have one more day to find some way to convince the Israelis.”

    Bielgard and Michellini arrived at Tre Amici Restaurant ten minutes early. Visconti was already talking to the captain. When he saw the two professors, Visconti hurried over to greet them. Michellini nervously gripped her briefcase.
    “Ah, my friends — the corner table is ours.”
    As they sat down, a waiter appeared from inside the restaurant with a plate of steaming pasta and a bottle of Bardolino.
    Visconti signaled the waiter to pour the wine.
    “Unfortunately, I have some bad news. Professor Baldini called on my cell phone with his apologies. His youngest son was taken to the hospital — a car accident. We'll have to meet with Baldini tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow! When?” Bielgard was visibly roiled by the change in plans.
    “Baldini suggested eleven in the morning at my office. In the meantime, let's enjoy a good meal and good wine. I have asked the waiter to order for us.”
    After their meal, the waiter brought espresso and biscotti. Bielgard and Michellini soon made their excuses and stood up to leave. Visconti also rose to his feet but did not leave the table. “My cell phone is full of unreturned calls. I will have another espresso and answer them. Until tomorrow at eleven.”
    As Bielgard and Michellini left the restaurant, Visconti nodded to two men at a nearby table. They followed the Americans along Via Piacenza to Via di San Marco. As the professors tried to hail a cab on the busy thoroughfare, Visconti's men walked up to them. One grabbed Bielgard. The other shoved Michellini and pulled at the briefcase in her hand. Her high heel shoes caught in the pavement and still grasping the briefcase, she tumbled to the ground. When her assailant reached down for the bag, Michellini kicked him in the groin. While he was doubled over in pain, Michellini struggled to get up. The second assailant, who had thrown Bielgard to the ground, grabbed Michellini's arm and twisted it behind her back. She screamed in pain and dropped the briefcase. One of the men picked it up, and they disappeared into the crowd.
    The assault had occurred so quickly that, by the time Bielgard understood what had happened, Michellini was already on her feet. “I'm okay, Jim. Get those bastards.”
    Dodging through traffic, Bielgard ran after the two assailants. Michellini followed him out into the thoroughfare. Motorists slammed on their brakes to avoid hitting them. A panel truck swerved to the right, careening into several cars. Drivers jumped out of their vehicles and started shouting. The ground was strewn with glass from shattered headlights. A student carefully maneuvered his Vespa through the angry crowd. Without looking in his side-view mirror, a burly taxi driver pushed open his door and hit the passing Vespa.
    The cab driver got out of the taxi with a conciliatory look on his face. “It was an accident. Troppo traffico.”
    “Cornuto!” The student growled back the insult.
    “Figlio di puttana!” The taxi driver could not resist responding in kind. Angered by the suggestion that his mother was a prostitute, the student kicked the door of the taxi.
    The