The Tower by Valerio Massimo Manfredi Read Free Book Online Page A

afraid of losing the young man’s interest. ‘However,’ he said, lifting his index finger, ‘that’s not to say I can’t help you. You see, I need to see Father Antonelli myself, regarding a matter of certain library funds that I am responsible for. I was meaning to call the Father General of the order this very evening to request a meeting. If I can arrange this, I may be able to ask Father Antonelli to see you as well.’
    ‘You’d be doing me an immense favour,’ said Philip, without managing to hide a touch of scepticism.
    Father Boni nodded, then said, ‘Father Antonelli was always a very private person, even when he was in good health. I imagine that he would want to know the reason for such a request on my part, especially now that he is suffering from such a grave illness. I’m sure you understand . . .’
    ‘Naturally,’ replied Philip. He admired the man’s ability to move his words as carefully as pawns on a chessboard. ‘You can tell him the truth. That Desmond Garrett’s son asked to see him to learn what was said ten years ago, when he and my father saw each other here in Rome, and what the true object of my father’s research was.’
    ‘Do forgive me,’ said Father Boni, ‘but it’s hard to believe that your father told you nothing at all about his research. I wouldn’t want to arouse Father Antonelli’s suspicion. As I told you, he’s quite a reserved man.’
    Philip betrayed a barely perceptible twinge of impatience. ‘Father Boni,’ he said, ‘you’ll have to excuse me, but I’m not used to this subtle verbal sparring. If there’s something you want to know, ask me straight out and I’ll answer. If I can’t, I’ll be glad to explain the reason why.’
    Accustomed to the tortuous, diplomatic tones of curial discourse, Father Boni was embarrassed at first and then irritated at this brash young man, but he restrained himself. ‘You see, Garrett, we’re speaking of a man who is very ill, weak, racked by pain, a man who is facing the mystery of death and eternity with the fragile forces he has left to him. Vague . . . curiosities may well seem distant and practically meaningless to him.
    ‘I seem to remember hearing that your father had discovered the key to reading a very ancient language, older than Luvian hieroglyphics, than Egyptian or Sumerian. I imagine that this was the interest he had in common with Father Antonelli, who, as you will know, was an expert epigraphist. You realize, of course, that we too are extremely interested in the key for interpreting this language . . . We do not want all Father Antonelli’s efforts to go to waste with his death, which unfortunately seems near. Especially since, as you tell me, your father, the only person on earth who may have been privy to this knowledge, has disappeared. There, I’ve said what I know. It might be helpful if you would let me know what “sign” your father has sent. Perhaps, if we combined forces . . .’ He paused, without concluding his thought.
    ‘I hope to see Father Antonelli quite soon,’ he continued, ‘and you have my word that I will attempt to arrange an appointment for you as well, but if your father has revealed something more to you, something that might help us and convince Father Antonelli to receive you, I’d ask you to let me know about it. That’s all. As you can see, I’m only trying to assist you.’
    ‘Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to be rude,’ replied Philip. ‘Allow me to be frank: I had the impression that you were trying to see my cards without revealing your own. What you’ve told me, instead, is very interesting and explains a number of things. It’s possible that knowledge of this language you speak of may have been essential to the research my father was conducting on the Book of Genesis.
    ‘As far as the sign, the clue that I’ve spoken of, I’m afraid there’s not much to tell. On my honour, Father. All I have is a book, a scientific study that my father wrote