The Path to Forever

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Rome, Italy

Dani

MARCO AND I LANDED in Rome early the next morning and were met at the airport by Marco’s friend Joel Isaacson. Based on Marco’s description, I was prepared to meet a large man. I was not, however, prepared for the ebony giant who said, “Hello, runt,” to Marco, lifted him off of the airport floor in a hug, and kissed him wetly on the forehead.

“Hello, yourself,” Marco said. “Now put me down, you big bully, and let me introduce you to Dani.”

When Marco had been lowered to the floor, he said, “Dani, this is Joel Isaacson. Joel, my partner Danilo Rosati.”

Joel looked me up and down and held out his arms to me.

“If you try to pick me up and kiss me,” I said, “I’ll kick you in the balls.”

He chuckled and accepted my proffered hand. “Feisty little guy, aren’t you? I like that. You’re a bit of a hunk as well; your pictures don’t do you justice.”

While Joel and I shook hands, Marco said, “Dani, I forgot to warn you that this guy fancies himself a comedian.”

I looked at the two of them, now standing side by side, and said, “How many people at that prep school called you guys Mutt and Jeff? How tall are you, anyhow?”

“Quite a few, but none of them ever did it a second time,” Joel said. “I’m six feet six and, anticipating your next question, I hate basketball.”

“Good to meet you at last.”

“Don’t believe him for one minute, Dani,” Marco said. “A basketball scholarship paid for his college education.”

“You guys have any checked luggage?” Joel said.

“What you see is what we have,” Marco said. “Everything else was shipped ahead. You sent me an e-mail last week announcing its arrival.”

“That I did. What are we waiting for? I have a car and driver just outside.”

We followed Joel out of the airport concourse, which was no mean feat given that he was a foot taller than we were and had a stride to match his height. When we were outside, Joel produced a cell phone and made a quick call. A few minutes later, a Mercedes sedan driven by an attractive black woman pulled up and stopped. The trunk popped open and Joel stowed our bags in it, and closed the lid on them. He indicated that we should take the backseat, and he got into the passenger seat beside the driver. As the car eased away from the curb, he made the introductions.

“Marco and Dani, your driver today is my lovely wife, Claire. Claire, the guy immediately behind you is my old roommate Marco, and the other guy is his partner Dani.”

“Good to meet you guys at last,” she said. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t take my hands off the wheel in order to shake yours. The Italians drive like maniacs, and I have to keep an eye on traffic.”

“No problem,” Marco said.

“Ditto that,” I said. “I’m surprised that you and Claire haven’t met, Marco.”

“Don’t you remember?” Marco said. “We were invited to the wedding, but it was in California and I was ass-deep in my internship at Johns Hopkins at the time. Interns don’t get that much time off. So, Joel, how far is it to your place?”

“About twenty klicks,” Joel said. “In this traffic, perhaps forty-five minutes.”

“Are you guys hungry?” Claire said.

“After that breakfast in first class?” Marco said. “I don’t think so. What we really need is a long, hot shower.”

“No problem,” Joel said. “We’re gonna give you guys the rest of the day to relax, because tomorrow we hit the ground running.”

“That’s true,” Claire said. “We’re going to give you the best tour of Rome anybody ever had. We’ve both taken a few days off for this occasion.”

“Yeah,” Joel said. “They won’t call me in to work unless somebody tries to assassinate the ambassador or the Pope.”

THE ISAACSON’S HOME turned out to be a small but elegant villa. Marco saw my look of surprise and said, “I forgot to tell you—Joel played professional basketball before he went into the spook business.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Joel said, “and before you ask the next question, I’ll answer it for you. I blew a knee halfway through my third season, and that ended my career.”

“That’s true,” Claire said, “but fortunately for us, Joel had allowed some smooth-talking salesman to sell him a ton of disability insurance.”

Marco and I spent a delightful week with Joel and his wife. They’d been based in Rome for several years, and seemed to enjoy showing us all of Rome that they considered worth seeing. At the end of our week with them, Joel drove us to an auto rental office where we’d reserved a car. As we headed north in the rental car, Marco said, “That was a great week, but after a while, I do get a bit tired of being relentlessly entertained.”

“Yeah. No argument there.”

WE ARRIVED IN Spoleto in time for lunch, and spent the afternoon searching for the village of my grandparents. Sadly, my original assertion was correct: it was little more than a wide spot in the road. Making matters worse, there were no remaining members of my family to be found. Every name my grandmother had given me proved to be a dead end—many of them literally dead. Evidently they’d all moved on, died, and/or emigrated.

The next morning, we got an early start and arrived in Pisa with plenty of daylight left to see the sights. Over the course of the next week, we visited Milan and Florence. After that, we headed for the town in which Marco had been conceived.