The Lost Relic Read Online Free PDF

yachts dotted white on the glittering waters. He meandered on for a few more kilometres and then found an ancient fishing village just a little to the north of Mondragone, unspoilt by the tourists, where he pulled over. He checked his phone for any messages from Brooke. There were none.
    After a few minutes of wandering the crumbling streets he found a restaurant that overlooked the beach – a quiet family-run place with small tables, chequered tablecloths and a homely menu that almost compared with the delights of
Casa McCulloch
. The wine tempted him but he drank less than a full glass before moving on.

Chapter Seven
    Normally, nobody would have known or cared where the van was going. It was an ordinary Mercedes commercial vehicle, dirty white, battered and rattly with SERVIZI GIARDINIERI ROSSI in faded letters on its flanks. One of a million vans that came and went every day and attracted no attention. There was nothing remarkable or unusual about the driver and the two guys sitting up front with him in the cab, either. Their names were Beppe, Mauro and Carmine and they all worked for the small firm based outside Ánzio that sold garden supplies and landscaping materials. Their last job today was hauling a load of ornamental slabs and edging stones to the Academia Giordani, the art school place out in the sticks where they’d been delivering a lot of stuff lately.
    At just after four in the afternoon they were heading down a narrow country road that was deserted apart from a black Audi Q7 behind them. It had been sticking with them for a few kilometres, and every so often Beppe glanced in his wing mirror and scowled at the way the big SUV was hanging so close up his arse. Mauro was smoking a cigarette and content-edly enjoying the peace before he’d have to pull on his work gloves and get down to unloading the heavy stuff in the back. In the window seat, Carmine was brooding as usual.
    Without warning, a pickup truck lurched out of a side road thirty metres ahead and Beppe’s attention was snatched away from the irritating Audi behind them. He braked sharply. Mauro was caught unawares and spilled forwards in his seat, his cigarette falling into his lap.
    ‘Son of a—’
    The pickup rolled out across the road and then, inexplicably, it stopped. There was no way to drive around it. It was a chunky four-wheel-drive Nissan Warrior, five guys inside. Beppe honked his horn angrily for them to get out of the way, but the only response was a flat stare from the driver. His window was rolled down and a forearm thicker than a baseball bat was draped casually along the sill. This was a guy with at least a decade of serious toil invested in the weights room. The width of his jaw hinted at steroid use. His eyes were hidden behind mirrored wraparound shades, but he appeared to be gazing calmly right at the van.
    ‘What the fuck are they doing?’ Mauro said.
    ‘Out the way, moron!’ Beppe shook his fist, fired some abuse out of the open window, and when that didn’t elicit any further response he threw open his door and jumped down from the cab. Carmine and Mauro exchanged glances and then got out and followed. The pickup truck doors opened slowly and the two guys in front stepped out and began to walk over. The driver towered head and shoulders over his passenger. Mauro swallowed as they got closer.
    ‘Hey, fuckhead. Can’t you see you’re blocking the road?’ Beppe shouted at them. Carmine and Mauro prepared to back him up as the pickup guys kept on approaching. Road rage, Italian style. This wasn’t the first time for them. But it wasn’t just the size of the big guy that was unsettling. It was the way all the pickup guys looked so completely calm. The three still inside the vehicle hadn’t moved a muscle, seemingly unperturbed by what was happening. Beppe’s stride faltered just a little as he drew closer. ‘So you going to move that truck out the way or what?’ Maybe negotiation was better than outright