Foucault's pendulum - Umberto Eco [262]
To grasp this whole story—melodramatic to begin with—and to make the police swallow it, another story had to be assumed, even more outlandish. Namely, that the Plan, which we had invented, corresponded in every detail, including the desperate final search for the map, to a real plan, which had already involved Aglie, Rakosky, Rachkovsky, Ragotgky, the bearded gentleman, and the Tres, not to mention the Templars of Provins. Which story in turn was based on the assumption that the colonel was right. Except that he was right by being wrong, because our Plan, after all, was different from his, and if his was true, then ours couldn’t be true, and vice versa, and therefore, if we were right, why had Rakosky, ten years ago, stolen a wrong document from the colonel?
Just reading, the other morning, what Belbo had confided to Abulafia, I felt like banging my head against the wall: to convince myself that the wall, at least the wall, was really there. I imagined how Belbo must have felt that day, and in the days that followed. But it wasn’t over yet.
Needing someone to talk to, he telephoned Lorenza. She wasn’t in. He was willing to bet he would never see her again. In a way, Lorenza was a creature invented by Aglie, and Aglie was a creature invented by Belbo, and Belbo no longer knew who had invented Belbo. He picked up the newspaper again. The one sure thing was that he was the man in the police drawing. To convince him further, at that moment the phone rang. For him again, in the office. The same Balkan accent, the same instructions. Meeting in Paris.
“Who are you, anyway?” Belbo shouted.
“We’re the Tres,” the voice replied, “and you know more about the Tres than we do.”
Belbo took the bull by the horns and called De Angelis. At headquarters they made difficulties; the inspector, they said, was no longer working there. When Belbo insisted, they gave in and put him through to some office.
“Ah, Dr. Belbo, what a surprise!” De Angelis said in a tone that suggested sarcasm. “You’re lucky you caught me. I’m packing my suitcases.”
“Suitcases?” Was that a hint?
“I’ve been transferred to Sardinia. A peaceful assignment, apparently.”
“Inspector De Angelis, I have to talk to you. It’s urgent. It’s about that business....”
“Business? What business?”
“The colonel. And the other thing... Once, you asked Ca-saubon if he’d heard any mention of the Tres. Well, I have. And I have things to tell you, important things.”
“I don’t want to hear them. It’s not my case anymore. And it’s a little late in the day, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I admit it. I kept something from you years ago. But now I want to talk.”
“Not to me, Dr. Belbo. First of all, I should tell you that someone is surely listening to our conversation, and I want that someone to know that I refuse to hear anything and that I don’t know anything. I have two children, small children. And I’ve been told something could happen to them. To show me it wasn’t a joke, yesterday morning, when my wife started the car, the hood blew off. A very small charge, hardly more than a firecracker, but enough to convince me that if they want to, they can. I went to the chief, told him I’ve always done my duty, sometimes went beyond the call of duty, but I’m no hero. My life I’m willing to lay down, but not the lives of my wife and children. I asked for a transfer. Then I went and told everybody what a coward I am, and how I’m shitting in my pants. Now I’m saying it to you and to whoever’s listening to us. I’ve ruined my career, I’ve lost my self-respect, I’m a man without honor, but I’m saving my loved ones. Sardinia is very beautiful, I’m told, and I won’t even have to lay money aside to send the children to the beach in the summer. Good-bye.”
“Wait, I’m in trouble....”
“You’re in trouble? Good. When I asked for your help, you wouldn’t give it to me. Neither would your friend Casaubon. But now that you’re in trouble... Well, I’m in trouble, too. You