The Florentine Cypher: Kate Benedict Paranormal Mystery #3 (The Kate Benedict Series) (20 page)

Constanza peeked into the room. “More coffee?” she asked. We all said no. I was impatient to hear the rest of signor Gardi’s story.

“Then just a year after the war ended, I fell ill,” he said. “The doctor said it was TB and that I didn’t have long to live. So I decided it was time to wipe the slate clean. I managed to locate your grandfather through the war records office and I arranged for a courier to take the book to him. After that, I went to a sanatorium in Florence, where I was treated for my illness. It was rudimentary care compared to what the doctors can do now, but I’m not complaining. I’m still here, so they must have done something right.”

He paused, crumbling a biscotti on his plate but not eating it. “It’s odd,” he said. “I recall so much more about that time than any events of last month or last year. It was the excitement, I suppose, that imprinted those memories on my mind— and the fear. I remember being afraid much of the time.”

He sighed, his eyes unfocused, perhaps contemplating his past.

I was wrestling with the concept of a memory from seventy years ago. My memories didn’t even span three decades.

“Anyway,” Gardi went on. “I spent weeks in Florence in a ward full of men like me, all thinking we were going to die. Some of them did, of course. The man in the bed next to mine used to prattle on about a vault full of treasure hidden somewhere in Florence. He was sure that if he could find it, he could pay for better treatment and get well. We thought he was deranged, you know. A lot of men were after the war. To be struck by illness on top of all the suffering and pain they had endured for so many years was a blow that some of them couldn’t deal with. There were a few suicides while I was there. I was too much of a coward to take that way out. Just as well, huh, considering I’m over ninety now and still going.”

The old man laughed until his eyes watered. “Where was I? Oh yes, the vault full of treasure that the patient next to me kept talking about. One day someone came to visit him. A stranger, well dressed, a Florentine, judging from his accent. He wore a peculiar gold ring with a symbol on it. I noticed it because I was well enough to be up and about that day, and offered to bring in some coffee for the visitor. The hospital staff didn’t do that kind of thing. Still don’t. Anyway, the symbol on his ring was of flames with the letter C in the middle. It looked just like the key in the leather pouch that I’d found inside the book.

“Well, I was curious, so I hung around as close as I could and heard them talking about a vault. The stranger mentioned the word ‘Custodians’ and said they were a charitable organization and had lost much of their assets during the Nazi plundering, and it was his job to locate them. They would offer a reward to anyone that could help them. I didn’t like the look of him and I didn’t believe his charity story. That patient died two days later, which I thought was odd, but the medical staff were so overworked that no one took much notice. So after I got better and was home again I began to ask around and learned a little more about the Custodians.”

I leaned forward and patted his hand. “I’m so glad you recovered. You have a beautiful family.” I glanced towards the door where the children had gathered again. They hid their faces, giggling.

“Yes,” said Gardi. “I was lucky. My wife, God rest her soul, was a wonderful woman, more than I deserved. She died a few years ago.”

“So did you find out anything about the Custodians?” Claire asked.

He looked at her for a few seconds as though he’d forgotten who she was. “Not much. An old wartime friend worked for the Italian intelligence services after the war so I contacted him and he said he’d help me. I think he liked the idea of doing something useful and a little clandestine. He was one of those who missed the war. Daily life in peacetime was very dull by comparison. He had access to some archives, and was able to find out that the Custodians were a highly secretive group who had a vault full of old art and some other artifacts hidden somewhere in Florence. You know that Florence is built on top of the ancient Roman city of Florentia? There are miles of Roman foundations running under the medieval streets. I always enjoyed that thought, one civilization building on the ruins of another, hiding the past’s secrets.”

“So you think the vault is in Florence?” I asked. “Underground somewhere?”

The old man shrugged. “Maybe, but I have no idea where. If indeed it even exists.”

“Did your intelligence friend find out any more?” asked Claire. “Anything about the Custodians? Who was the man with the ring? Were you ever able to identify him?”

Gardi shook his head. “No. My friend did what he could, but I got the impression that he was warned off. He suddenly stopped talking to me. We met for lunch just once after that and he was scared, wouldn’t talk about the Custodians with me and told me to drop it, that it would be dangerous for my family and me.”

Claire and I looked at each other. “Did you drop it?” I asked him.

Gardi thought for a moment or two, gazing into the fire. “I didn’t at first, but then I got married, had a child. I had no desire to bring danger to my house. So I gave up, too. Occasionally, I worried that I had involved Captain Hamilton in something bad by sending him the book, but you know how life is. I got busy and had to keep working to support my family. The wartime memories faded, the shooting that night seemed almost unreal. This is the first time I’ve talked of it in a very long time.”

Claire smiled. “We are very grateful to you for sharing your memories with us, and I’m glad that you decided to stay clear of the Custodians. We have every reason to believe that they’re very dangerous. They want this key—”

“Claire, we should be going.” I interrupted her and got to my feet. I liked Gardi and I was feeling guilty that we’d laid a trail to his door. The less we told him the better. If by any chance the Custodians found him he would know nothing that could bring harm to him or his family. He didn’t have an aura. I wanted to keep it that way.

I leaned over to shake the old man’s hand. “Signor Gardi, we appreciate your time. We ought to leave you now to rest. Thank you again for seeing us.”

Claire bent down to hug him. He smiled at her. “I’m glad to think of the captain having a granddaughter, especially such a beautiful one.”

I put on my jacket and picked up my bag, my mind on what he’d told us.

“There was one more thing,” he said with a frown, obviously trying to pull his thoughts together. “What was it? Oh yes, the one thing my friend did find out was that the sergeant, Vanucci, got away.”

Claire and I both gasped at the same time. She stared at Gardi. “What did you say the sergeant’s name was?” she asked.

“Alessandro Vanucci. I think that was it. Of course, we just called him Sergeant. What is wrong, my dear? I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“Vanucci,” Claire said. “That’s Dante’s family name.”

Gardi coughed. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused distress,” he said. His voice was shaky.

“No, no,” said Claire. “It’s not your fault at all. Please, tell us what else you know. You said that the sergeant escaped? Do you know where he went?”

Gardi shook his head. “My friend told me that he got out using the ratlines. You know what that was? A network of escape routes that got hundreds of Nazis out of Europe towards the end and after the war. It is common enough knowledge, I think, that the Vatican was highly involved in running it. Anyway, I heard from my friend that Vanucci had left Italy.

“It bothered me that the sergeant got out. I was surprised that he had the contacts and the money to use the network. Obviously he was more than just a common thief who got caught smuggling. Maybe he was a Custodian himself.”

The old man’s head began to droop towards his chest. Constanza appeared at the doorway. “He needs to rest, but he’ll be so glad you came to see him,” she said. “It’ll be all he will talk about for the next few days.”

Just then Gardi startled himself awake and smiled at us.

“You’ll have to excuse me. I tire easily. I’ll be ninety-three next week, you know. If I make it until then.”

“I know you will,” I said, patting his hand.

The afternoon light was fading and a storm threatened as we left signor Gardi’s house. Slate-colored clouds tinged with purple rolled across the sky above the red-tiled roof. Claire looked back over her shoulder as we let ourselves out of the small iron gate, pausing for a moment. Federico threw away a cigarette butt, stamping on it with his heel.

“Can we walk into town?” she asked. “I need some air to clear my thoughts.”

Federico and I fell into step beside her. I was still reeling from the revelation that Dante had the same last name as the sergeant who’d led the smuggling ring. I could only imagine how Claire must be feeling.

“So,” I said. “That thing about Dante’s name.”

Claire lengthened her stride, forging her way up the hill as though her life depended on it.

“It could be a coincidence,” I said in a weak attempt to console her. In my mind, it was impossible that this could be a fluke.

“Dante is an art dealer.” Claire was walking fast and talking faster. “His name is the same as that of the art-smuggling sergeant. And he knows me. A few too many coincidences, don’t you think?”

We covered another hundred meters at record-breaking pace.

“So why didn’t he kidnap me or kill me or whatever he wanted to do weeks ago?” Claire said. “Why now?”

“Because you have the key now. It’s possible he started watching you when your father first started asking questions about the book. And he’s been waiting since your father died to see if the key turned up. He wouldn’t harm you while you didn’t have it.”

“You think that my father met with him?”

“Your dad’s meeting was in Rome, not Florence, wasn’t it? And Falcone talked about someone in Rome. Does Dante have any connections there?”

“I don’t think so, but who knows.” Her words sputtered out between deep breaths and she slowed the pace a bit, to my relief. I ran a lot, but not usually in leather boots.

“It’s obvious now,” she said. “For months, Dante kept tabs on me, seeing me enough to know what I was doing. After my dad died, he called me almost every day. He asked about Ethan a lot, come to think of it. Where he lived, where he worked, whether he was planning any trips to Florence, as he’d like to meet him. And always so bloody charming, the bastard.”

“Did he ever mention the key?”

“Never.” On her pale skin, the bruise on her cheek was as dark and purple as the clouds overhead.

“The good news is that Gardi’s story confirms that your grandfather wasn’t a Custodian. And his reference to Vanucci gives us a solid lead,” I said.

“A solid lead to Dante, yes. Do you think Dante has Ethan?” Claire paused her exercise drill and turned to face me.

“It’s possible,” I said.

“When we get to Florence, we confront Dante,” Claire said. “We have the key, which we can use to negotiate with him. What do you think?”

“No. We go to the Carabinieri station, and get Falcone’s colleague to help us.”

We were speaking in English. Federico was watching us but he didn’t say anything.

“If we get the police involved, Dante might run,” Claire said. “And if he has Ethan, he might… he might kill him.”

“We should go to the Carabinieri first.” Ever since we’d come to the conclusion that Claire’s father’s death hadn’t been an accident, I’d had an uneasy feeling that Ethan might already be dead. If he were, and we went straight to Dante, we’d be walking into a trap with no leverage.

“We need to get to Florence quickly,” Claire said, striding out again. I hurried after her. When we heard a bus straining its way up the hill behind us, Federico flagged it down and checked it was going to Bologna. We got on and Federico paid our fares while I sat down with Claire near the front. It smelled different from a London bus, with a faint odor of cigarette smoke and garlic, blended with dusty upholstery.

As the bus pulled away with a grinding of gears, Claire grabbed my hand.

“Thank you,” she said. Surprised, I turned my head to look at her.

“It was your idea to come here, to talk to Luca Gardi,” she said. “I thought it would be a waste of time, but it wasn’t.”

“That’s okay.” I squeezed her hand. “I’m just sorry we found out that Dante might be involved.”

Claire’s lip trembled. “Yes, me too. I’m… well anyway… at least we know who we’re up against now. And if he has Ethan… God, I hope he does. It’s a better scenario than any other one I’ve been able to think of.”

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Leo. “I’ve got it!” he wrote. “
Cinquegiùnovedasinistra
.” I stared at it, confused, for a few seconds, my mind still in turmoil from the revelations at Gardi’s house. Then I realized what it was. Leo had broken the code. This was the deciphered text. I sent a thank you to him before giving my phone to Claire.

“Read it,” I said to Claire. “That’s what Leo decoded.” I leaned over to look at the words. “Five down, nine from left.” I translated out loud. I wondered what on earth that could mean.

“How did he do it?”

“I worked on it with him while we were on the train,” I said, going on to explain how I’d found the list of letters in her father’s notebook. “Leo’s a real genius with numbers and he’s taught cryptography, so he knew how to tackle it.”

Claire looked down at her hands in her lap. “I owe you an apology,” she said. “Instead of lashing out at you about auras, I should have been thanking you for being with me, for caring about Ethan, for putting your own life in danger. I’ve been a bitch. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “We’re in this together. It’s going to be all right.”

I wished I believed my lie about things being all right. Claire’s aura was moving even faster now, circles of air spinning over her head. There was no doubt in my mind that death could come at any time. Were we doing the right thing in going to Florence? Dante seemed to be the source of danger to her, and we were heading straight towards him. But Florence was the only destination I could think of. With Federico’s help, we could get into Claire’s flat to retrieve her passport. Falcone’s Carabinieri friend would protect us. And my dad was in Florence. I ached to be home, to be sitting in the kitchen talking with him.