Free Wayward Son by Tom Pollack Page A

this motion.
    “Let’s spend the time before dinner making a list of the equipment you will need, Amanda,” said Juan Carlos. “Then we can send Carmelo to pick up the stuff at the excavation office.” Carmelo was the trusted foreman of the digging team.
    Later, over an aperitif and with the list completed, Silvio explained to Amanda that he had another, more selfish reason for postponing her mission until the following day.
    “As you know, Amanda, Ercolano is a small town. Archaeology takes center stage here, and not only because of the tourist industry. The residents, quite naturally, are always on the watch for what the authorities are planning to do next. There is very little trust on their side. They worry about the town government condemning their homes and businesses for new excavations. Rumors fly. So I’ve done my best to keep this mission low-key.
    “Frankly, we think we have some major finds in store. Nothing quite like this has come to light before, at least during my tenure. The biggest recent bombshell was in the eighties and nineties, when my predecessor Dr. Maggi uncovered all the lava-encased bodies in the marina boathouses. That generated a lot of publicity—not all of it good—so we want to keep a low profile until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.
    “I have planned for us to start early tomorrow morning. On a Sunday, there will be fewer people on the streets. The diggers have the day off. We’ll have only Carmelo and a few expert excavators. We’re nearing the end of the season, but there are still quite a few tourists. We’ll do our best not to attract attention, okay?”
    “Absolutely. I sympathize with your position,” Amanda said.
    The conversation turned to her work at the Getty. She filled Silvio in on the antikythera restoration, taking care not to share anything that would violate the Getty’s confidentiality agreement with the Vatican. Silvio said he had a foggy recollection of the ancient computer, mentioning it had been decades since he last saw it. Amanda noted that Juan Carlos was following the discussion with keen interest. “I guess he has made a full conversion back to archaeology after all,” she thought.
    Dinner at Trattoria Viva lo Re was festive. A strolling accordion player took requests, and even Silvio, who had seemed to Amanda a trifle formal throughout the day, unwound, tapping his foot in time to the music. After the meal, Renata ordered a round of espressos, prompting Juan Carlos to reach into his jacket and extract his leather pocket case of Montecristo No. 2s. Silvio deftly employed his cigar cutter and accepted a light from Juan Carlos’s S. T. Dupont lighter, the distinctive ping from its cap blending with the strains from the accordion. Juan Carlos proffered the case toward Amanda, who politely held up her hand.
    “Thank you, Johnny, but not tonight. I’ll tell you what—if I can decipher the language puzzle, I’ll gladly indulge tomorrow with you, and we’ll celebrate our success!”
    At ten thirty p.m., early by Neapolitan standards, Renata suggested they call it a night. With a final ring of smoke punctuating his words, Silvio concurred, pointing out that they needed to make a six thirty a.m. start in order to beat the first church bell calling early worshippers.
    To her great relief, Amanda slept soundly, even though before nodding off she had a few butterflies in her stomach about the mission—especially when Silvio had mentioned the aftershocks from last month’s earthquake. But the challenge and potential reward were worth the risk. Yes, such an adventure had its dash of danger. But thousands of people—she thought of miners, firemen, skydivers, and spelunkers—operated under hazardous conditions. Besides, she smiled to herself as she drifted off to sleep, exploring this site was probably safer than big wave surfing.

CHAPTER 7
    Near the Nuovi Scavi Ruins—Ercolano
     
     
     
    HER WRISTWATCH ALARM AWAKENED Amanda at five thirty