Free Shrouded in Silence by Robert Wise Page B

chauvinism aside, your wife is a brilliant woman, and I highly respect her. You can't write off what she thought she saw as hysteria. Listen to me, Jack. You need to take her concern seriously."
"I must say, Father, I didn't expect a warning to pay closer attention to what's going on around us this morning. Maybe, I should have reacted more quickly to Michelle."
"When you live behind a church that's famous for being a bone collection, I'd think you'd do well to pay attention to your own carcass, my boy. Life is short enough as it is. We don't want you to wind up down there in the basement with your skeleton on display like the monks from the sixteenth century. That's the word for today from your ol' buddy on the street."
"You're saying that just because we're Americans someone might be interested in giving us the same shock treatment the subway got?"
The priest leaned across the table and pointed his finger. "You've got it! Remember what I've told you."
Jack pulled at his lips apprehensively. "Hmm. Sure. We'll keep our eyes open." He rubbed the side of his face. "One newspaper article could set all of this off?"
"Whoever did this bombing hates Americans. Getting your story plastered across Italy's number one newspaper casts a spotlight on the fact that you're from aboard. Yes, that could make you a target." The priest abruptly stood up. "Think it over, Jack. It's worth the time." With a simple wave of the hand, Father Blake bounded out of the room, walking passed Michelle standing by the door.
Jack could hear him bidding Michelle and Dov good-bye, but Jack stayed by the table. Could this good natured soul be right? Of course, Blake always meant well, but he sounded like he might be only repeating gossip. Nothing reported in the newspapers substantiated his claims of Americans being the actual target of the bombing. Why blast a Roman subway if the terrorists hated Americans? Something just didn't fit right with Blake's story.
Michelle stuck her head in the door. "What'd the good priest have on his mind this morning?"
"Oh, nothing," Jack said. "Nothing at all." He kept staring out the window.

10
 
 
 
D r. Albert Stein muttered to himself and kept examining through his thick glasses the photographs scattered across his desk. "Most interesting." He held one photograph closer to the lamp. "Yes, indeed."
Klaus Burchel stood beside him with a camera, looking, watching, and saying nothing.
Stein held a magnifying glass over one picture, studying it more closely. "Most significant."
Burchel continued to look, making no comment.
"You took this picture directly across the street from the Santa Maria Church?" Stein asked. "Right?"
"Yes, sir."
"And the address on this piece of paper is the apartment the Townsends occupy?"
"Yes, sir."
Stein laid the magnifying glass aside and leaned back in his chair. "More than interesting. How did you find all these details so quickly?"
"Through the newspaper story. I went to the office of Il Messaggero and ran down some reporter named Mario Corsini. I told him I was a biblical scholar and wanted to chat with the Townsends. The man gave me their address without asking a question. I tried the same thing at the Santa Maria Church except that I told them I had an appointment with Jack Townsend at his apartment but lost the address. They wrote out the street location without hesitation. Not bad, huh?"
Stein nodded his head. "Indeed. I know quite well what Michelle Townsend looks like, and this is unquestionably her. Most interesting is that they have offices behind a Catholic church. Townsend must have worked out some agreement with the local fathers to obtain the space."
"I didn't make any inquiries," Klaus said.
Stein reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Flipping a small golden lighter, he took a big drag. For a moment, he held the smoke in, then blew a puff overhead. Lost in thought, he tapped his fingers rapidly on his desk.
"You did exactly what I told you to do and