Read Costa 08 - City of Fear for Free Online

phantasm, or a hideous dream:
The genius and the mortal instruments
Are then in council; and the state of man,
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection.”
    The president’s sonorous voice echoed around the vast hall.
    “‘We shall be called purgers, not murderers,’”
the American murmured, in what Costa took to be another quotation from the play.
    “They were murderers,” Sordi grumbled. “Nothing else. Killers delivering a promise of what was to come. A warning that we would spend a little time in shock and then wake up to the truth: There was a bloody insurrection in our midst, one started by these monsters.” His eyes blazed. “We believed we’d missed the last part.”
    A series of mug shots appeared, two men, a girl, none of them much more than twenty. Happy, bright-eyed, smiling for the camera.
    Rennick picked up his narrative.
    “Students from the University of Viterbo, working at the Villa Giulia as part of their Etruscan studies course. From what your people put together afterwards, these three got hypnotized by their course leader, a junior academic named Andrea Petrakis. Born in Tarquinia, in theMaremma, to Greek parents who’d lived in the area for a decade or so. Petrakis was twenty-two years old when the Frascas were murdered. He was something of a prodigy. Got his university degree when he was seventeen. Seemed set to become an expert on Etruscan matters. Then …” Rennick grimaced. “The Etruscans originated from Greece. Perhaps Petrakis felt some bond with them. He seized upon their fate as a way of explaining how he felt about Italy at that time. Petrakis was very reticent for one who seems to have made such an impression on those around him. We have no background, no record of real relationships, except with those in his group. No girlfriends, boyfriends, nothing. His parents didn’t mix much, either. A reclusive family. All we have is this.”
    It was a blurry photograph of an unsmiling young man with long, dark wavy hair. He was gazing into the camera with a fixed, aggressive expression, very much in control, standing next to the girl from the earlier photograph. A pretty kid, she was staring up at him with an expression that might have been adoration. Or, perhaps, condescension. It was difficult to tell.
    “One picture,” Rennick went on. “They worshipped him for some reason. Maybe politics.”
    “What kind of politics?” Costa asked.
    “The politics of lunacy,” Campagnolo burst in. “These people from the seventies. All of them. Left, right … they were insane. We spent twenty years burying these madmen. Why are they back now?” He stabbed a finger at Sordi. “You take the risk here, Dario. On your head be it. You steal from me my power.”
    “Only for a few days,” the president replied carefully. “In line with the constitution—”
    “I am the elected leader of this country!” the prime minister roared. “They voted for
me
, old man. Not
you.”
    “The constitution …”
    “Screw the constitution!” Compagnolo’s dark, beady eyes roved the room. “I have a long memory. Do not forget. Sordi cannot maintain this position for long. If any misfortune should happen, I shall ensure the blame goes where it should.”
    “Ugo,” Sordi pleaded. “It’s important you understand this situation.”
    The prime minister stiffened with disdain. “I do not need to understand that which I cannot control. Send me a memo.”
    Then he got up, cast his eyes around the room, and marched out, the same way he’d entered.
    “I apologize for that little scene,” Sordi said when the man was gone. “Palombo. Brief the prime minister in person, afterwards.”
    Costa had barely noticed. He was still trying to understand what they’d been told.
    “What did the Blue Demon want?” he asked.
    “Revolution?” Rennick guessed. “A Marxist state? A fascist one? We don’t know, any more than we understand why they should name themselves after some