The Reincarnationist

The sound startled him, although he was expecting it, and he jerked forward in the chair. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t pick up on the first ring. He put the bookmark back in the book and closed it. Listening to the second ring, he took a satisfying breath. He’d waited for this for so long.

Lifting the receiver, he held it up to his ear.

“Yes?”

“It’s done,” said the man in heavily accented Italian.

“You’ll proceed to the next step?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

He was ready to hang up, but the man spoke quickly. “There’s something I should tell you.”

He braced himself.

“We had a small accident, and—”

“No. Not on the phone. Report it through your contact.” He hung up and stood.

People were fools. He’d explained a dozen times how important it was that nothing revealing be discussed over the phone. Anyone could be listening. Besides, it didn’t matter if there’d been a small accident. Accidents happened, didn’t they? What mattered was that the stones were almost in his possession, at last.

Chapter 8

“Are you hurt?” Josh asked the professor.

“No, stunned, not hurt.”

He was on his back, lying on the mosaic floor, at the foot of the ladder.

“Here, let me help you. Are you sure he didn’t hit you?”

“It was so odd, looking up into the barrel of the gun, it was like looking into the night. Except a night as big as all the nights I’ve ever known. As big as all the nights Bella has slept all these sixteen hundred years.”

Rudolfo was having trouble straightening up; he was favoring one side of his body.

“Are you sure you are all right?”

He nodded. Concentrated. Frowned. And then looked down at his stomach.

The professor was wearing a dark blue shirt, and until that moment, in the low light inside the tomb, Josh had missed the spreading stain. But now they both saw it at the same time.

As carefully as he could, Josh pulled the professor’s shirt away from his body. The wound seeped blood. Snaking his fingers around Rudolfo’s back, he checked for an exit wound. He couldn’t find one. The bullet was still inside him.

Meanwhile, the professor kept talking. “Good timing for you,” he said. “If you hadn’t been in the tunnel you would be bleeding like a pig, too, eh?”

Except, Josh thought, if he’d been quicker, he might have prevented this. Hadn’t he thought this before?

“Bad timing for me,” the professor rambled. “I would have liked to have lived long enough to find out if what Gabriella and I have found … Find out if what Bella has been protecting all these years … is … is … as important as we think.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.” Josh put his fingers on the man’s wrist, looked at his own watch and counted.

“If I’d had a daughter …” the professor said, “she’d be just like her … tough as nails … with that one soft streak. She’s too much alone, though … all the time alone… .”

“Bella?” Josh asked, only half listening. The professor was losing blood too quickly; his pulse was too slow.

Rudolfo tried to laugh but only managed a grimace. “No. Gabby. This find … Her find … Something no one believed existed. But she was as cool as … What is your expression … Cool as … What is it?”

“Cool as? Oh. Cool as a cucumber.”

Rudolfo smiled faintly; he was visibly failing.

“Professor, I need to call for help. Do you have a phone?”

“Now we know … dangerous … what we found … . You’ll tell her, dangerous… .”

“Professor, do you have a phone? I need to call for help.”

“Did he take … all of the box, too?”

“The box?” Josh looked around and saw the pieces of it on the ground. “No. It’s still here. Professor, can you hear me? Do you have a phone? I need to call for help. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“The box … is here?” The idea seemed to buoy him.

“Yes. Professor, do you have a phone?”

“Jacket. Pocket.”

Finding the phone, Josh checked for a signal and then dialed 911. Nothing. He stared at the LED panel. 911? Why did he think the number would be the same in Italy?

He hit zero and was connected in seconds with an operator.

“Medical emergency,” he shouted as soon as he heard another human voice, hoping the words were similar enough in Italian for her to understand. They must have been because the woman said sì and switched him over. While he waited he wondered what he would do if the next operator didn’t speak English. But that turned out to be the least of his problems.

“Yes, I understand. An ambulance. Where is your location?” the next operator asked.

An address. A simple thing, really. Except Josh had no idea where he was. He looked down; the professor’s eyes were shut.

“Professor Rudolfo? Can you hear me? I need to tell them where we are. An address. Can you hear me?”

No response.

Josh explained what was going on to the sympathetic woman on the other end of the phone. “He’s not responsive. I’m afraid he’s dying. And I don’t know where we are.”

“Are there any landmarks?”

“I’m sixteen feet under the ground!”