The Florentine Deception (22 page)

“What about Ronald? Is Ronald Lister okay? He was shot. I think he was shot. I didn't see.”

“I don't know. He was in a different ambulance. But he didn't look good.”

“And Khalimmy? What happened to him? Tell me they caught him. Or better, killed him.”

“I don't think so,” said Steven, shrugging. “The way the police were questioning me, it sounds like they're still looking for him.”

“Does Hillary know?” I asked, the blurriness abating. I noticed a pitcher on the bedside table and motioned for Steven to pour me a cup of water.

I downed the cup and handed it back.

“No way. I told her I was meeting you to go through more videotapes.”

“I see the patient is recovering nicely!” came a voice from the door. A sixtyish woman with wiry graying hair, a genuine smile, and funky seventies glasses walked into the room and straight to the heart monitor.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Fife?” she asked, still staring at the LCD display.

“Not bad. I'm still a little hazy from whatever you're pumping into me.” I lifted my right arm to highlight my many dangling tubes.

“That's saline.” She smiled. “Salt water. You're probably feeling the sedative from earlier. It should wear off soon. That, and you took a nasty smack to the head.”

“Is it bad?”

“Your MRIs are in Radiology right now, but I'm guessing you'll be fine after some rest. You were
very
lucky. The bullet just grazed your shoulder and took off the top layer of skin. You're going to have a good week or two of discomfort, but it's no worse than a first-degree burn.” She walked over to my bed, pulled a pen flashlight from her pocket, and shined it into my eyes. “Good. And your vitals all look good as well.”

I opened my mouth to speak.

“But,” she interjected, seemingly anticipating my question, “I'd like to keep you overnight for observation, at least until we get your MRIs back. You should be able to leave sometime tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I acquiesced. “Do you know how Ronald Lister is doing?”

“Ronald Lister?” She hesitated. “Oh, the other gunshot victim from El Segundo?”

“Yes.”

“Not well.” She shook her head. “He lost a lot of blood before they could stabilize him and went into a coma. He's out of surgery and in the ICU now. They're giving him a forty- to fifty-percent chance of surviving.”

“Oh God. I hope he recovers.”

“Yes, let's hope so.”

Chapter 35

“Thanks for coming early,” I said. I ushered Steven into my new home's entryway, then closed the door and spun the deadbolt.

“No problem man,” he said, patting me on the back. “You feeling any better?”

“Physically, I'm fine,” I said, heading down the hall. “Mentally, I'm a wreck.”

Steven followed me into the kitchen and took a seat in one of the folding chairs.

“You're worried Khalimmy's going to come after you.”

“The police spent two hours questioning me yesterday. They've got no idea where he is. But that's only part—”

“Alex, he's probably halfway to Cairo by now. The cops know who he is, where he lives, and probably his blood type. You really think he's a threat at this point?”

“Yeah, I do.” My fingers tightened on the grip of Gennady's Ruger. “But, it's not just that. That's only part of the problem.”

“What do you mean, part?”

“I mean that the Russians are after the Florentine too.”

“What?” Steven closed his eyes to think. “You mean because of that Russian spyware we found on Richard Lister's computer? Aren't you jumping to conclusions? That's pretty thin.”

“I wish it was,” I said, briefly recounting my run-in with the Russian in Khalimmy's basement.

“Whoa, there was another guy in the house?”

“Yeah, before you came.”

“And he was after the diamond too?”

“Yes and no. Ronald said he asked for a flash drive—he implied the Florentine was digital.”

“A flash drive? Like one of those portable USB drives?”

“Yeah.”

“I don't understand. So it's not a diamond?”

“At this point,” I shrugged, “I've got no clue.”

“What the hell? Why didn't you tell me this at the hospital?”

“Honestly, I was pretty out of it from the meds. I really didn't put everything together until this morning.”

“Anyway,” he shook his head, “go on.”

“What if the Florentine isn't a diamond, but something much bigger? I don't know, like intelligence secrets.”

“That's speculation,” he said, shaking his head.

“I know, but let's say that's what it is,” I pressed. “Then we're in deep shit.”

“No. If that's what we find, then we just hand it over to the FBI or the CIA and let them worry about it. It's not the end of the world.”

“But what if these guys still come after us? What if they think we still have it? Are you ready to disappear? Go into witness protection? It could come to that.” I felt my face flush. “Then we're fucked!”

“Whoa!” Steven held up his hands. “Whoa! Alex, you're fixating on the worst-case scenario. Yeah, in the extremely unlikely event that it comes to that, maybe. But you're totally speculating.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Look, let's figure out what this thing is before jumping to conclusions. Then we'll have a better idea of what to do. Take a deep breath and relax.”

“You're right.” I nodded. “You're right.”

“It'll be okay.”

“I just wish I hadn't invited everyone over. I'd rather the two of us just figured out what the Florentine is and get this over with.”

“Just chill. It'll be fine,” he said. “And look, the last thing we need is to freak out Hillary or Papa, so just keep quiet. Once we figure out what we're dealing with, we'll work through the options.”

Hillary stepped through the door forty minutes later, a bottle of cheap champagne and a stack of plastic cups in her left hand, and a bag full of Tommy burgers in her right. Papa ambled in just behind her, leaning heavily on his cane; he looked exhausted.

“Hey Alex,” she said, giving me a gentle hug, “feeling any better? Wow—that's some bruise.”

“It's not as bad as it looks.” I touched my cheek. “Thanks for picking up Papa.”

“No problem.” Hillary smiled. “We had a nice chat on the way over. I also explained how you had a little fall during rock-climbing.”

“Alex, let me see your face,” said Papa.

“It's okay, Papa,” I said, smiling at him.

I eased the front door shut.

“Oh, my dear grandson,” he said, gazing up at my cheek, “it kills me to see you in pain. How are you?”

“I'm feeling much better, Papa. How about you? Have you recovered from our little adventure?”

“Oh yes. That was quite something! The guys at the swimming pool aren't going to believe it.”

“Let's hope not,” I mumbled.

“So where's Steven?” asked Hillary. “After all the excitement, I can't wait to see this famous diamond, celebrate, and put this entire thing behind us.”

“Amen,” I said. “Your husband's in the kitchen. And Linda's hopefully going to make it as well.”

“Linda? Then we finally get to meet the mystery girl?” asked Hillary. “You've been holding out on us.”

“Really, we're just climbing friends.”

A minute later, the three of us joined Steven in the kitchen. Papa eased himself precariously into a folding chair, falling the last few inches and nearly toppling. Steven grabbed his arm to steady him.

“I'm all right, I'm all right. Leave me be,” he howled.

“Burger, Papa?” asked Hillary, ripping the grease-stained paper bag down its side.

Papa gazed hungrily at the paper-wrapped burgers—congealing flows of chili were now emerging from the seams of the wrapping.

“Don't tell your mother.” Papa grabbed a burger from the table and tried to unwrap it. After a few seconds of arthritic fumbling, I removed the wax paper for him and put it on a Dixie plate.

“All right, everyone, while you're eating, I'll tell you my plan.”

Hillary withdrew the iPhone from her purse and pointed its video camera at me.

“Shouldn't we wait for Linda?” she asked, tapping its screen.

I looked down at my watch—it was already two.

“She said to start without her if she was late.”

I pulled a large plastic Fry's Electronics bag from the floor and sat it next to my laptop on the card table. “Since Papa's not in any shape to climb the ladder down into the ‘dungeon,' I figured we could—”

“Ah shit, I can climb down a ladder just fine.”

Steven rolled his eyes.

“Pop, I was thinking maybe you could man the headquarters up here. I've even got a video hookup so you can see the action live.”

“I didn't spend an hour in a goddamn freezer to sit up here like a cripple.”

“How about if I stay with you, Papa?” asked Hillary.

“Shit no. I deserve to go down with Alex and see our diamond, and no one's gonna stop me—”

Without warning, Papa grabbed the seat of his chair, leaned forward, and with a motion reminiscent of a leaping frog, jerked from the chair to stand. Before I could grab him, he toppled sideways to the floor. My heart jumped.

“God dammit!” he shrieked, rolling onto his back and rubbing his arm. He sucked in air through his teeth. “Damn it hurts.”

After a few seconds of struggling, I took his shaking hands in mine and helped him back into the chair. He didn't have a chance in hell of making it down that ladder. But how could I go down without him now? And after all he'd done at the hospital? Every fiber in me wanted to open that door and find the Florentine, to get this over with. But I just couldn't do it.

I sighed.

“Whoa—I'm feeling a bit dizzy.” I leaned forward, threw a hand on the table, and placed the other on my forehead. “On second thought, maybe I should stay up here and rest.”

Steven shot me a “you've got to be kidding” look.

“Just go without me,” I mouthed.

“What's wrong, Alex?” Papa asked, genuinely concerned.

“Just feeling a bit woozy from hitting my head, Papa. It's probably better if I rest for now. I don't want to pass out and fall down the ladder.”

“Oh.” Papa frowned. “I hope it's not a concussion.”

“Will you stay here with me?” I closed my eyes and tilted my head back slightly. “I'm worried I might black out.”

“Of course.” Papa's shaky hand grabbed mine and squeezed.

“Maybe that's better. Thanks Papa.” I slowly opened my eyes. “Steven, Hillary … do you think you guys could go down and open the room?”

“We'd be happy to, Alex,” said Hillary knowingly.

After a few moments of faux recuperation, I pulled out a boxed TotCam 3300 wireless baby cam and laid it on the table. “All right, this way Papa and I can see the action. It's supposedly got a one-hundred-meter range, and plugs into a PC so you can watch the video on your screen.”

“You take the cam. Papa and I keep the base station up here. And,” I inserted my hand into the bag and pulled out my walkie-talkies. “Two-way communication, so we can communicate with you as well.”

By the time the burgers had disappeared, I'd powered up the cam, hooked its base station up to my laptop, and completed a quick test.

“Here,” I said, handing Steven a walkie-talkie. “I'll give you the panic room's security code once you reach the door.”

“All right,” he said. “Let's do this.”

“After you, honey.” Hillary gestured toward the library. “The date is Friday, August 26 and today we'll be unlocking the long-awaited subterranean vault. Will it hold the Florentine treasure? And for that matter, what is the Florentine treasure? Or will it hold something else entirely?”

Hillary panned the camera over to Papa. “Papa and Alex will be manning the operations center while we descend below ground level to the steel-encased vault.”

“Hillary, enough with the narration,” moaned Steven. “Let's get this over with.”

“What's with him?” Hillary looked at me questioningly.

I shook my head. She shrugged and took off for the library loft.

“As we've seen,” she continued, “the entrance to the hidden passage can be found behind this second-story bookcase.” Her voice trailed off.

“Do you think there's really a diamond down there?” asked Papa.

“At this point, Papa, I'm not sure what's down there. But we'll find out soon enough.”

“Steven is going down the ladder now,” yelled Hillary.

“When is the,” Papa pointed at the screen, “the, the teletype going to start?”

“Should be just a minute, Pop. They're climbing down the ladder now.”

I depressed the walkie's button. “Papa wants to know when you're going to power up the cam.”

“One second,” yelled Steven.

A minute later, a grainy color image of Hillary's legs filled the screen.

“Pop.” I tapped him on the shoulder; he'd momentarily closed his eyes.

“Da what?”

I pointed at the screen. “There's Hillary coming down the shaft.”

Hillary turned from the ladder, waved, and mouthed something to the camera.

“What'd she say?” asked Papa.

“I couldn't hear either.” I adjusted the volume of the laptop's speakers, then said into the walkie-talkie, “We couldn't hear that. Say again?”

“I just said Hi Papa—” Her voice cut out as a burst of static hit the display.

Steven started down the passage, the baby cam bobbing and panning rhythmically with his footsteps. One of the passage's bare light bulbs filled the camera's lens, temporarily blinding its digital CCD sensor and flooding my laptop screen with an intense white light.