The Priest and the Gondolier

By Mervyn Nel

The Priest and the Gondolier is a fascinating new novel by Mervyn Nel. Venice experiences a series of art heists. Paintings are stolen from museums and art galleries. Chief Superintendent, Gina Rossi of the Italian Police and Harry Wilson, an art expert who does freelance work for Interpol in the United Kingdom are commissioned to investigate. 
As their investigation deepens, Harry suspects that someone within Gina’s department is providing the thieves with confidential information. Though they are often in agreement on how to take the investigation further, at times they see things differently. They receive help from two unlikely sources. The first is from Father Mancini, an elderly priest who translated an ancient manuscript from Latin into Italian and the second is from a middle-aged gondolier, Sergio Alfano, who in his youth was Europe’s foremost art forger. Together they devise an ingenious plan to trap the thieves. 
Destined to be a literary classic, The Priest and the Gondolier will take your imagination on a fascinating journey through the beautiful city of Venice. The author will guide you through its intricate lanes and canals, letting you see the real, “La Serenissima” or as stated in his own words, a means to experience Venice from a perspective that is anything but ordinary.

Mervyn Nel graduated from the University of Johannesburg with a national diploma in Personnel Management and Industrial Psychology. He has since become a full-time South African author who after the successful publication of his most recent novel, ‘Theft from Delos’ he left the corporate world to pursue his passion for writing. Mervyn has penned several articles for mainstream magazines, in addition to which, between 2005 and 2012, he wrote short stories, plays and poems for learners between the grades of two and twelve whose home language was not English but who wished to be taught in English as their first language. 
When he is not writing, Mervyn takes pleasure in being out in nature or enjoying time with his two beloved two cats in his garden in Weltevredenpark, the place he calls home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gruppo Albatros Il Filo
• Release date: Apr 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9791220140843

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Venetian Lagoon

Venice, Italy

Sunday – December 13

A powerful motorboat approached the bleak outline of the Chioggia inlet. Tonight the barrier was down and

Captain Beretti skilfully steered the boat into the lagoon. Chioggia was one of three floodgates that had been erected by the Venice Water Authority to prevent the Lagoon from flooding.

The moment the captain encountered the calm water of the lagoon, he increased power and the bow of the boat rose. 

Feeling the increase in speed, Ricardo excused himself from the two men with whom he had been in conversation and joined the captain at the wheel. Staring into the impregnable mist, he adjusted his clerical collar and pulled his cassock tightly around his body. 

A thick cloud of mist slowly drifted across the lagoon taking on the appearance of gigantic sails of long-forgotten ships from a time when Venice was still the maritime capital of the world. The mist was carried in on an icy wind that blew off the Adriatic Sea.

The mist is exceptionally dense tonight, said Ricardo.

777777

The conditions are ideal as there won’t be many tourists out sightseeing in this weather, said Captain Beretti. 

Yes, the fewer inquisitive tourists there are, the better it will be for the success of tonight’s operation, said Ricardo.

"Do Giovanni and Luca know which paintings to take? We cannot afford another error like last time when one of the paintings Giovanni took was the incorrect one. Luigi was furious. 

Anxiously, Ricardo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It was an innocent mistake. All we had to go on was a description of the paintings. We had no photographs to identify them with.

Captain Beretti’s expression hardened. Errors like that do not only make Luigi angry, they also make him suspicious. Do you remember when the Morelli brothers stole two additional paintings by the renowned Renaissance artist, Sandro Botticelli? Those paintings were not on Luigi’s list. The brothers sold them for personal gain. Unfortunately for the Morelli brothers, the buyer they sold them to did not keep them in his private collection as he had said he would. Instead, he took them to London to have them appraised. As a result, Luigi found out. I’m sure you can remember what Luigi did to the brothers as a warning to everyone else. 

Ricardo shuddered at the memory and he tightened his grip on the railing. I remember Captain. I assure you, Giovanni and Luca have memorised every detail in the photographs of the paintings we are to steal tonight. Captain Beretti turned and studied the rugged profile of Ricardo There are to be no further mistakes.

I assure you Captain; there won’t be any mistakes, not tonight or any future night. 

For your sake, I hope so.

The sound of the two powerful outboard engines was muffled by the mist. 

There is one thing that puzzles me though, said Ricardo.

Yes?

There is something peculiar about the paintings that Luigi wants us to steal.

What is peculiar about them?

As you know, I am not an art expert yet I can’t help but notice that none of them are Rembrandts and Picassos or paintings by any known artist, for that matter.

Where are you heading with this line of thought?

Nowhere, I’m just puzzled, that’s all. If you think of it, the only common denominator among the paintings we have stolen thus far is that none of them are signed by the artist. There are far more valuable paintings in the museums and art galleries in Venice that we could steal. 

Captain Beretti tightened his grip on the wheel of the boat. You are heading into dangerous territory so allow me to give you a piece of advice. In our line of work, too much knowledge is not always a good thing.

I understand but we are taking an enormous risk to steal seemingly worthless pieces of art when there are so many more valuable paintings that we could be focusing on. Doesn’t that surprise you?

No, it doesn’t. My job is to get you in and out of the lagoon. I was hired because of my skill as a boatman and also for my intimate knowledge of the hundreds of canals that crisscross the numerous islands in the lagoon. You, Giovanni, and Luca were hired because of your athletic ability and knowledge of bypassing complex security systems. As far as I’m concerned, that is all we need to know. Now, I urge you to focus on the task at hand. We are approaching Saint Mark’s Basin so go and instruct Giovanni and Luca to get ready.

As Ricardo made his way to the back of the boat, Captain Beretti switched off the navigation lights and gently decreased power. Silently the boat glided towards the mouth of the Grand Canal. This was not the first time he had made this trip and if all went according to plan, tonight’s journey would not be his last. Last year, he and the team had stolen nine paintings from the museums, churches, and art galleries that were situated on the islands of the lagoon. This year so far they had stolen two paintings from the list that Luigi had provided them with. They only carried out the heists in December and January when Venice was cold, wet, and shrouded in mist. Fewer tourists were out at night, shipping was suspended due to poor visibility and the impenetrable mist provided them with a high degree of cover.

Returning to the back of the boat, Ricardo said, We’re entering the canal so from here on, no one is to speak. You have scouted the gallery for three days so you are familiar with the layout and you know which paintings to take. Fifteen minutes is all we have been allotted to get in and out or Captain Beretti will sail without us. 

The two men nodded and strapped on their backpacks.

Ricardo checked his watch. It was one-thirty. They were on schedule. The residents of Venice would be soundly asleep.

Beretti gently increased speed and they sailed up the Grand Canal. Silently they sailed past the grand facade of the Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute, its imposing dome barely visible in the mist. As anticipated, there were no other boats on the canal. 

A moment later the mist-shrouded outline of Ponte dell’ Academia came into view. Beretti cut the engines and the boat slowly glided to the bank of the canal where Ricardo jumped off and fastened the mooring line. The moment the line was securely tied, Giovanni and Luca jumped off. The dark surface of the canal smelled of oil and salt.

Silently, Giovanni and Luca followed Ricardo up a cobbled lane. A fine drizzle fell and Ricardo pulled his biretta down lower on his head. The three men stopped in front of the San Giorgio Art Gallery and Ricardo gave a final glance up and down the lane. At that hour, the cobbled lanes were deserted. 

Giovanni opened his backpack and took out a length of rope that was fastened to a grappling hook. Stepping back, he swung it. There was a faint clang as it caught on the roof. Tugging on the rope to ensure it was securely hooked, he nimbly climbed up. As soon as he was on the roof, Ricardo and Luca followed. Using a metal bar, Giovanni pried loose a roof tile. 

From their earlier surveillance of the gallery, they knew there were only two guards. One sat in a small enclosure near the gallery’s door monitoring the CCTV security cameras while the other randomly patrolled the upper floor. The more valuable masterpieces were on the ground floor and therefore the CCTV cameras only covered the rooms on that floor. What the men were after was on the upper floor. Their only hindrance was the guard who periodically patrolled the rooms. 

Giovanni gently slid a ceiling panel aside and peered down into the dimly lit interior. The room was silent and smelled musty. Giovanni gently lowered himself down and then he tiptoed from room to room. Satisfied the guard was downstairs; he gave the all-clear. Silently Ricardo and Luca lowered themselves down. Each man went to a separate room where they cut a painting from its frame. Rolling the canvasses up, they placed them in their backpacks and climbed back up the rope. As soon as all three of them were on the roof, Giovanni slid the ceiling panel back into place and then he carefully replaced the tiles. Eleven minutes had elapsed since they’d left the boat.

Further up the lane, the backdoor to a bar opened. A narrow shaft of pale yellow light spilled out across the pavement. A man stepped out and threw a rubbish bag into a large metal bin. Lighting a cigarette he stared out into the mist. 

As Ricardo and his two accomplices approached the boat, Captain Beretti started the engines. Giovanni and Luca climbed on board and Ricardo untied the mooring line. Throwing the rope into the back of the boat he jumped on board. As unobtrusively as they had arrived so they departed. Within seconds the silhouette of the boat was swallowed up in the mist. 

Did you get the paintings? said Captain Beretti.

Yes, we got all three of them, said Ricardo.

The man outside the bar extinguished his cigarette and went back inside, closing the door behind him. Once more the lane was dark and deserted.

Exiting the Grand Canal, Captain Beretti increased power, and the boat skimmed across the murky surface of the lagoon. As the rain began to fall harder, the bell in Saint Mark’s Square struck two and the residents of Venice slept, blissfully unaware of the ghastly event that had just taken place.

Wandsworth

London, United Kingdom

Harry Wilson sat in the living room of his sparsely furnished apartment on a rainy Sunday morning reading the newspaper when his telephone rang.

Running his fingers through his dishevelled hair, he lifted the receiver. Hello.

Good morning Harry, Charles Taylor here.

Harry, who was still dressed in his nightgown, scowled at the intrusion. He was thirty-five years of age and of medium height and build. He had short brown hair that was prematurely greying at the temples. 

Good morning Charles, how are you doing?

Apart from this awful weather, I have little to complain about. I hope I haven’t caught you at an inopportune moment?

Harry glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was tenthirty in the morning No, not at all. I’m just reading the morning papers. What have I done to deserve a call from Interpol so early on a Sunday morning? 

Harry could picture Charles Taylor sitting in his oversized office, surrounded by phones, files, and cabinets. Charles was a large man in his late fifties. His two children had grown up and left home and Charles filled the void of their absence by burying himself in his work. His wife for the past thirty-six years was devoted to him and she served on the board of various charitable organizations.

I’m sorry about that Harry, but what I have to say has not made the morning papers.

That sounds intriguing, Charles.

Harry had known Charles Taylor for the past fourteen years, ever since he’d begun his internship at Interpol as a young art graduate. After five years he’d left Interpol to pursue a career as an art critic and evaluator at various auction houses. Due to his extensive knowledge of art and his previous dealings with the dark and murky underworld of art forgers and thieves, he’d been retained by Interpol as a consultant. He reported directly to Charles Taylor, a senior agent at the organization. 

I’m afraid that what I have to say is somewhat concerning. This morning I received a call from my counterpart in the National Central Bureau in Rome. There was another art heist in Venice in the early hours of this morning. This time it took place at the San Giorgio Art Gallery.

The world-renowned San Giorgio Art Gallery, said Harry, putting his newspaper down and concentrating on the call.

Yes and given that this is the third heist in Venice this month and the eighth in the past twelve months, they have requested our assistance. Their forensics team will be at the gallery tomorrow morning and I want you there when they arrive.

I worked with the National Central Bureau four times before, once in Rome, twice in Florence, and then again in Milan. They are a competent outfit and therefore I wonder why they require our assistance in this particular matter?

The answer is simple. Do you recall the two paintings by the Early Renaissance painter, Sandro Botticelli that were placed on auction at Sotheby’s and Christie’s about a year ago?

Yes, I do. They were sold to an American billionaire named William Jones and the paintings were valued at thirty-two and forty-eight million pounds respectively. The American billionaire purchased them from the Morelli brothers for his private collection.

That is correct and do you recall the condition of sale that the Morelli brothers stipulated to the American purchaser?

Yes, they told Mr. Jones that as he wished to keep the paintings for himself in his private collection as opposed to selling them at auction for a profit; they would sell the pieces to him at a reduced price. However, shortly after purchasing the two paintings, Mr. Jones had a change of heart and put them up for auction. The day they were appraised they came up on the Stolen Art Register as having been stolen from a gallery in Venice. I was not directly involved in the case as I was investigating another matter in Rome at the time.

Your memory serves you well. The Morelli brothers told the purchaser they had inherited the paintings from their grandfather and wished to sell them as they needed the funds to expand their online marketing business. They had gone to great lengths to set up a fake website and to come across as legitimate and well-to-do businessmen. As you will undoubtedly recall, Interpol conducted an extensive manhunt for the two brothers but they had disappeared and the purchaser was out of pocket for a sizeable amount.

I still don’t see how that involves us, said Harry.

The Italian National Central Bureau is now concerned that more of the paintings stolen in Venice could be put up for auction in London and that is where we come in.

"I understand. How many paintings were stolen from the

San Giorgio Art Gallery last night?"

This time it was a sizeable haul. They took three paintings.

The thieves are certainly becoming more brazen. That brings the total number of paintings stolen this month to five if I am doing my math correct.

Yes, and it’s an awful business. As in the previous heists, the paintings were crudely cut from their frames. Whoever the thieves are, they know exactly which paintings they want as none of them are by known artists and that in itself is peculiar. 

What do you mean?

Other than the two priceless Sandro Botticelli’s that were stolen by the Morelli brothers, all the other pieces are by unknown artists.

I see what you are saying and yes, it does sound peculiar. Why have you selected me to assist in this matter? I was not involved in the Sandro Botticelli investigation?

My counterpart in the Italian National Central Bureau specifically asked for you because of your outstanding record in the recovery of stolen art. Your investigations have led to multiple arrests and the recovery of millions in stolen artwork. This has not gone unnoticed by the N.C.B. and besides; you also speak basic Italian. 

I am honoured they specifically requested me but you do realise it is only twelve days before Christmas and I was planning to spend the time with my sister and her husband in the Lake District.

Yes I do and I’m sorry about that Harry, but this matter needs to be dealt with immediately and with any luck, you could be back before then.

I understand the urgency, Charles.

I knew you would and therefore I took the liberty of having my secretary book you on a flight and arrange your hotel accommodation.

When do I depart?

This afternoon. My driver will pick you up and take you to Gatwick airport. Your flight is at four o’clock this afternoon. It is a two-hour and fifteen-minute flight so you should arrive at Marco Polo Airport shortly after six this evening. From there you are to take the Alilaguna water bus to Saint Mark’s Square. There will be no need for you to queue at the ticket office as my secretary booked your boat ticket online and my driver will hand it to you together with your aeroplane ticket. Make sure you climb off at the first stop. Your hotel is two blocks from Saint Mark’s Square. Once again, Harry, I am sorry about the short notice.

That’s quite all right Charles; there is no need to keep apologising. Who am I to report to in Venice and where?

You are to meet with Chief Superintendent Gina Rossi tomorrow morning at the San Giorgio Art Gallery. She is heading up the investigation in Venice. The gallery is a short walk from your hotel and your hotel is conveniently situated two blocks from Saint Mark’s Square. 

I’m sure that I will find the gallery without any difficulty as it is a major tourist attraction.

I know you will and a word to the wise, Harry.

Yes?

Chief Superintendent Rossi may be young but she didn’t get to her level of seniority at such a young age by being idle. She has a reputation for being somewhat of a workaholic.

Thanks for the heads-up, Charles. I have worked with those types before and it is never a pleasant experience. Well Harry, all that is left for me to say is good luck and please keep me posted on your progress. Since those two stolen paintings landed up for auction at Sotheby’s and Christie’s, I have had every politician breathing down my neck for the arrest of the Morelli brothers. This may be the breakthrough we have been hoping for.

Replacing the receiver, Harry stepped out onto his balcony that overlooked the River Thames. As he stood watching the Grey Plovers that pranced about in the muddy banks, he made a mental list of everything he needed to do before the driver came to fetch him. First and foremost, he had to contact his sister and let her know of the change in plan. This was not the first time he had to cancel an engagement with her on short notice and given that this time it was over Christmas, he knew that she and her husband were going to be deeply disappointed.               

Chapter 2

Marco Polo Airport

Venice, Italy

Sunday – December 13

An Airbus A319 broke through the low-hanging clouds and gently touched down at Marco Polo Airport. Its wheels shot up an angry spray of vapour as it noisily decelerated down the runway and came to a stop in front of the airport terminal.

Going through customs, Harry followed the blue signs to the water taxi piers. A fine drizzle fell as the veil of night slowly snuck in. 

To his surprise, all the Alilaguna water buses were neatly lined up but no one was boarding them. The terminal was deserted and shrouded in mist. Making his way back to the ticket office, Harry enquired, Buonasera Signore. Are these the water buses that sail to Venice?

Yes they are but they are not running tonight due to the poor visibility, said the clerk pointing apologetically towards the sky.

I purchased my ticket online not knowing about the mist. Is there another way I can get to Venice?

Yes, you can go by train or by bus. The next bus is leaving in twenty minutes. I can exchange your ticket but there is no refund in price.

Thank you.

Here is your ticket but you will need to hurry as the bus departs in twenty minutes.

Leaving the ticket counter, Harry made his way to the bus terminal that was crowded with commuters. The driver placed his suitcase in the luggage compartment and Harry boarded the bus, grateful to be out of the icy wind. Ten minutes later the driver started the engine and they were on their way. 

It wasn’t long and they drove onto the 3850 metre-long Liberty Bridge that connected mainland Italy to Venice.

The further down the bridge they drove, the more the mist unfolded, becoming increasingly denser. It was unlike anything that Harry had seen before. The windows of the bus reflected like mirrors and the driver switched off the interior lights to reduce the reflection on the windshield.

A short while later the bus pulled into the central bus station and Harry climbed off. Going to the tourist information office he obtained a map of Venice. Groaning, he saw that Saint Mark’s Square was on the opposite side of Venice to the bus station. 

Setting out on foot, it wasn’t long before Harry came to the agonising realisation that he was lost in an endless maze of lanes and narrow alleys that all seemed to lead to a dead end at the canal’s edge. Continuously retracing his steps, he studied the map that appeared so deceptively simple. By now the lanes were mostly deserted as the last of the shop owners switched off the lights and locked the doors of their establishments. Lifting his suitcase, Harry climbed the stairs of yet another bridge and wished that he had dressed more warmly as the temperature continued to drop. 

Finally locating his hotel, drenched and cold, Harry checked in and after showering and changing into a dry set of clothes, he went down for dinner. 

Afterward, feeling drained and tired from the flight and the arduous walk to the hotel, he retired to his room where he climbed into bed and switched off the light. Within minutes he fell asleep to the melodic sound of rain gently trickling down. 

Monday – December 14

The following morning feeling revitalised after a hearty breakfast and a good night’s sleep, Harry set off for the San Giorgio Art Gallery. The mist of the previous night had dissipated and a pale wintery sun peered out from behind brooding clouds.

Arriving at the gallery he saw that the area had been cordoned off with bright yellow tape. Beyond the barrier, the place was a hive of activity with Carabinieri walking back and forth. A small group of curious onlookers had gathered and were being held back by a stern-looking constable. 

Approaching the nearest officer, Harry introduced himself. Good morning. My name is Harry Wilson and I am with Interpol. I am to meet with Chief Superintendent Gina Rossi this morning.

The officer looked Harry up and down, seemingly uncertain what to do.

"She is expecting me.