Shrouded in Silence (36 page)

Jack took her hand. "Out the back door will do just fine." He led her across the living room toward the kitchen. "We're on our way." Jack pulled her closer. " If there was anything I could do to change this situation, I'd do it. I know you're afraid to walk down that dark alley. Fear always remains a highly personal matter for you."

Michelle took a deep breath. "You're right about how personal the journey is. I suppose one of the values of this entire frightening experience has been the growth it has instilled in me. I never thought of myself as being weak, but struggle has made me much stronger. I'm grateful for the progress."

"Score one for our team," Jack said.

"Sometimes I wonder why we're jumping through all these flaming hoops that could devour us when we only want to translate old Bible manuscripts. Got to be a better way to earn a living. Why are we on such a difficult path?"

"It all started back at Tübingen when we were in graduate school. Remember? We dedicated ourselves to help sort out the confusion that permeated the lives of so many students. We wanted to be part of a work that made a permanent difference in the world. We committed ourselves to pursuing the highest purposes that God had for the world. That's what started us down a path that has ended up with this hunt for the authentic ending to Mark's Gospel."

"I guess so," Michelle said.

Jack squeezed her hand. "But it's always that way, my dear. In this world, we have nothing but turmoil. The mere fact that we are doing something worthwhile makes us a target for evil."

"How is it that working on a project that was nothing but good would have lent itself to so much bad? The harder we work at accomplishing a positive result, the more of a struggle we encounter."

Jack kissed her. "But it's always that way, my dear. In this world, we have nothing but tribulation. Remember that little verse in John 16, promising struggle. The mere fact that we are doing something worthwhile makes us a target for evil. When the job is monumental, like biblical work always is, we're only a larger target to shoot at. I think so many terrible things have happened because we're pursuing a goal of supreme value. The bill has been terribly costly because evil repays the value of the good deed with an equal amount of pain."

"The cost has exceeded anything that I could have ever imagined," Michelle said. "Never would I have anticipated such a price. You're sneaking out for artichokes at Dar Poeta without telling me turns out to be absolutely and totally nothing."

"You know that I love watching people walk by because it reminds me that we are all in the same boat. Occasionally I imagine what the strollers must be confronting because none of us is exempt from strife. Often the struggle is registered on the person's face walking by. You can see conflict in the lines around their eyes, their drooping mouths, or foreheads creased with deep wrinkles. I watch them emotionally limp by and know that there are splinters driven into their feet. They've all been stung and have to keep on trudging, not unlike Dov and his family once did. We're all in the same war together. Some of us are trying to climb the mountain; others attempt to push the climbers off the mountain. The truth is that being righteous doesn't exempt us from battles with detractors. In our case, the adversaries are deadly."

Michelle sighed. "Deadly indeed."

Jack kissed his wife again. "We have each other. That's enough. We'll make it."

"I pray so." Michelle squeezed his hand tightly and glanced at her watch. "The hands on the clock are flying, Jack.

"Time to go."

Across the street, Klaus Burchel rolled over on the roof and quickly wound up the wire on his microphone listening device. The open bedroom window had provided perfect contact. His surveillance device had picked up every word, and Stein would be ecstatic with this information.

It was time to move quickly, and he needed to change clothes. Stein would need to be positioned properly when the Townsends emerged from the subway train at the Piazza de San Giovanni. Both he and Stein now knew what this Guido character looked like, and contact should come easy. The Townsends would be easy to recognize with the information he had just picked up.

Tonight would be the night! Old Stein should be able to cash in his chips and take home the jackpot. Before this evening was over, Klaus could fulfill his own agenda. He would turn Jack Townsend into a corpse, just as his grandfather had done with so many in Auschwitz.

48

J
ack Townsend closed the rear apartment door behind Michelle and started down the old, steep staircase creaking with each step. With the lights off, the darkness made it difficult to descend the rickety stairs without slipping.

"There's got to be an easier way to take a stroll than walking down a shaft under the Addams family's house," Michelle said.

"Don't worry," Jack said. "I'm in front of you."

"Yes, and who's in front of you? Get my point? You're the guy who had the broken arm. Another fall wouldn't help you any."

"Listen, I'm totally recovered," Jack said. "Well, nearly."

"Just pay attention to the steps," Michelle said.

"I am. I am."

At the bottom, Jack crouched near the door and peered through the glass pane. "I don't see anybody out there. You ready?"

"This shoulder holster isn't comfortable," Michelle said. "I hate wearing a pistol under my arm. The Walther pistol is small, but it still bothers me."

"Me too," Jack said. "But we've been through so much that we can't take anymore chances."

"Guess so," Michelle said.

Jack turned back to the window. "I can't see anyone out there."

"I guess that's both good and bad. If we can't see them, they can't see us."

Jack cracked the door. "Once we're outside, we'll walk along the wall as far as we can. It'll be black enough to cover us." He turned around and looked into her eyes. "We've got to outfox them at every point. Don't be talking."

"You're the one doing all the jabbering," Michelle said. "I'm just listening."

"Get real, dear. We're about to step into a snake pit."

"Hey, I'm ready to roll. Got my Kid Rock hat on, an overcoat, black pants, and my six-shooter. You'd think I was The Shadow. O-o-o," she cooed.

Jack glared at her. "This is no time for jokes."

"Don't be so hyper. The worst that can happen is that a cop picks up us and writes a ticket for window peeking and carrying concealed weapons."

Jack didn't say anything, but turned back to the door. "Stay close and don't talk. I mean it."

"I won't," Michelle whispered and giggled nervously.

Michelle always gets giddy when she's afraid, Jack thought. She'll pass for a guy walking next to me, but it isn't going to be easy to get out of here and avoid the cops.

Opening the door slowly, Jack slipped around the corner and pulled Michelle after him. The edge of the brick building had been littered with broken bottles and trash. Every few feet trash cans sat against the wall in between old cars parked close to the apartments. By crouching low, they could walk the first twenty feet without anyone seeing them. At the end of the stretch, another building jagged out and forced Jack to walk in the alley.

"Pick up the pace," he whispered. "We need to get out of here."

Michelle nodded.

Jack stepped out, but stayed close to the building, walking with his head bent down. Michelle hustled along at his side.

"Hey!" a man called out behind him. "Just a minute."

Jack froze and looked over his shoulder. Some guy had come out of the shadows behind one of the cars and must have been watching them go by.

"Don't mean no harm," the man called out in Italian. "I noticed you came out of that building that the Townsends live in. Want to get your picture in the paper?"

"Keep walking," Jack whispered to Michelle.

"I'm a reporter and only need a little information," the man insisted. "Could I talk to you for a moment."

Jack shook his head.

"Won't take but a second." The man trotted up behind him.

Jack knew it was a moment of decision he couldn't avoid. The guy might be nothing more than a tabloid jerk, but he was persistent. If the man got in their face, the charade was over. He had to make a decision. All his weight lifting hadn't been only to lift his self-esteem. This was one of those occasions where self-protection was the essence of the situation.

"I just want to ask you some questions about the Townsends. "The reporter hurried around Jack and stopped directly in front of them.

Jack knew if the man identified Michelle, they would be in danger and there was no time left to warn her. He couldn't allow such a slipup.

Leaning into his face, the reporter jabbered. "Just got a few personal questions." The man turned to Michelle. "Wait a minute! You're a woman!"

"I'd suggest you get out of our way," Jack's voice took on a menacing tone.

"My gosh, you're the Townsends!" the reporter blurted out. "This really is a story!"

Jack turned sideways before swinging his fist into the man's stomach with all his might. His hat went flying backward.

"A-a-ah!" the reporter gasped and doubled over.

"Run!" Jack told Michelle. "Get out of here, and I'll meet you at our rendezvous point."

With a swift thrust of his knee, Jack caught him square in the forehead, sending the guy sprawling backward against the brick building.

"Jack, I can't leave you here!"

Swinging another hard right, Jack hit the reporter in the center of the chest. The man groaned, but lunged forward bouncing Jack backward.

"Run!" Jack repeated. "Get out of here."

Michelle turned and started running for the metro.

The reporter grabbed Jack by the lapels on his black overcoat and hurled him into the side of the brick building. He felt the strength go out of the arm that had been broken and knew he was spent. The impact knocked the air out of him and for a moment he crumpled. The journalist jumped on top of him, forcing him to the pavement. Pounding on Jack's back, he pummeled him fiercely while Jack tried to cover his head.

For a second, Jack thought the man would knock him unconscious. Only then did he remember the pistol in his shoulder holster. Reaching across his chest, he pulled out the gun and slammed it into the man's head.

The reporter froze with his fist still in the air before silently slumping to the pavement. For a moment, Jack sat prostrate trying to catch his breath. He didn't hear the sound of anyone coming, which meant their scuffle hadn't alerted the police. Possibly, the cop had taken a break. Who knows? They might be down the street drinking coffee. He pushed himself up and leaned against the building. His adversary hadn't been a pushover. That was certain. Without a little encouragement from the butt of his gun, he might be on the alley unconscious.

Jack picked up his hat and peered around the corner. He couldn't hear anyone running. Michelle must have gotten to the metro station by now and probably was on the train. Pulling the overcoat closer up around his neck, he put the hat back on and started walking toward the same station, trying to look as casual as possible.