The Venice Code (17 page)

“What the hell was that?” he asked, having to admit he was impressed.

“Tunnel. Most of our safe houses have at least one. Gets us out of a lot of jams.”

“I guess so.”

Mitch turned in his seat.

“Now, how about we see what’s in that envelope.”

Grant nodded, his chest tightening as he eyed the envelope for a moment, then tore open the end. Tipping it, a key fell out on his lap. He picked it up and looked at it.

Mitch held out his hand. “How about I take that.”

Grant refrained from frowning, knowing he had no choice but to comply. He handed over the key then pulled out the letter. He looked at Louisa and he knew she understood his pain. She squeezed his leg and nodded, her lips pressed firmly together to prevent them from trembling, her eyes glistening with tears ready to escape down her cheeks.

He unfolded the letter and began to read. Almost immediately tears poured from his eyes and he had to wipe them dry to focus.

My son,

If you are reading this, then I am dead. But more importantly, an essential undertaking of mine is incomplete. I know this may seem heartless, but the fact I am entrusting this most important task to you should demonstrate how important you are to me, how proud I am of you, and how much I trust you.

I am a member of a secret organization called the Triarii. I won’t explain it here to you now, and it is critical you mention it to no one. After following my instructions, those you will meet will explain it to you. I have, in my possession, an important artifact that must be delivered to my friends in the Triarii. Below is an address for a storage unit where I have left important documents, and most importantly, the artifact.

You must, using a burner phone, or some other means that can’t be traced, call the number below and arrange to meet one of the members of the Triarii. If he’s lucky, my friend Mitch Reynolds will still be alive. Ask for him personally. When you meet him, you will note that he has a tattoo on the inside of his left wrist, exactly like the one I have, and a scar across the top of his right hand.

Give him this letter, and follow his instructions. And ask him any questions you may have about me and the Triarii.

I love you, son, and have every faith that you will carry out my final wishes as ably as I know you are capable of.

Yours,

Dad

Grant dropped his hands to his lap, looking out the window as the farms whipped by. He held his breath, trying not to sob as he struggled for control of his emotions. He felt Louisa’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, infusing some level of comfort into him.

Wiping his eyes, he turned back to the others. “Here,” he said, handing the letter to Mitch. “I was supposed to contact you. The address for a storage locker is at the bottom.”

Mitch smiled, a genuine smile Grant felt, his eyes conveying sympathy for what Grant had just gone through. “I told you we were friends.” He turned to face the front, grabbing the GPS and punching in the address from the letter.

“Good,” said Chuck. “We’ve been heading in the right direction. Should be there in ten.”

Mitch turned back and looked at Grant then Louisa.

“Don’t worry, it’s almost over.”

Grant nodded, his feelings mixed. Simply handing over his father’s life work, no matter how insane it might sound to him right now, just didn’t feel right. He looked at Louisa, terror still written all over her face, and he knew he had to get her to safety, his decision made for him.

Horseshoe Lane, Potomac, Maryland

Present day, one day after the kidnapping

“Here they come,” said Dawson, pointing ahead at two black SUV’s racing toward their position. He activated his comm as he started the engine and pulled a U-turn back onto the road. “Bravo Two, Bravo One. I want team one on the front of the house, team two to the rear, enter through the front on my mark. Unknown number of hostiles, two friendlies on site—one Grant Jackson, the other a Hispanic female, mid-fifties. Remember, we’re here to rescue hostages, shoot to kill is authorized, over.”

Dawson brought the SUV to a halt and jumped out as Red acknowledged the instructions, his SUV rounding the house as the other, Sergeant First Class Will “Spock” Lightman at the wheel, quietly came to a halt behind them. The doors opened, Spock, Trip “Mickey” McDonald and the massive Leon “Atlas” James exiting, leaving their doors open so no one inside would hear them slamming shut.

Using hand signals, Dawson directed Mickey and Atlas to the corners as he, Niner and Spock rushed the porch. Over the comm he heard Red’s voice. “Bravo One, Bravo Two. In position, over.”

“Bravo Team, Bravo One. Execute in three-two-one-Execute!”

Niner yanked the screen door open and Dawson booted open the front door. Spock rushed in followed by Niner then Dawson, Spock breaking left, Niner right, Dawson advancing straight forward.

“Clear!” called Niner, quickly followed by Spock. Red and his team announced the all clear as well as Dawson advanced up the stairs to the second floor, Spock and Niner joining him. Within minutes the above ground floors were cleared. The team congregated at the entrance to the basement.

“The element of surprise is no longer ours,” said Dawson. “Let’s try to negotiate their release.” He turned to Red. “Secure the perimeter. I don’t want somebody escaping out a storm cellar door.” Red nodded and immediately headed out the rear door with two of the team. Dawson opened the door and listened.

Nothing.

Something’s not right.

“Federal Agent. You are completely surrounded. Drop your weapons and send up the hostages, and you won’t be harmed.”

He listened and there was no response. He looked at Niner and motioned for him to follow as he took the first step, his weapon and flashlight extended in front of him, the light off for the moment, not wanting to present a perfect target as there seemed to be lights on in the basement. Each step creaked painfully loud and Dawson knew they were sitting ducks if this turned into a firefight.

But he was going on instinct. He knew something wasn’t right, and he had a gut feeling that this was London all over again. As he reached the floor he found an empty basement, just as he suspected. A shelf to his left was at an odd angle and he rounded it and shook his head.

“What is it?” asked Niner.

Dawson stepped into the open area behind the fake wall and shone his flashlight down the long tunnel to the right as Niner stepped through.

“Aww for Christ’s sake,” cried Niner. “How the hell do you dig a tunnel that big and that long without anyone noticing!”

Dawson pointed at the aging timbers supporting it.

“You do it a century or two ago.” He pointed down the tunnel. “You and Mickey see where it comes out. Radio when you get there. It can’t go too far. I’ll check to see if our eye in the sky spotted anything.”

Niner and Mickey took off at a run down the dark tunnel, their flashlights bouncing off the walls as Dawson examined the basement for any clues. All he spotted out of the ordinary was a cot with a pair of handcuffs sitting on it. Returning upstairs he updated everyone over the comms to stand down, then contacted Control with an update. Colonel Clancy’s voice responded.

“Bravo One, Control Actual. Review of the footage shows two black SUV’s exiting a garage about three hundred meters to your due east, turning north. We’re redeploying our bird to track them. FBI should be on your scene within three minutes. Redeploy to the north, we will feed you directions as we have them, over.”

Dawson motioned for those within sight to rally the troops and join him outside. “Roger that, Control Actual. I have two men on recon down the tunnel. Will retrieve them and redeploy north, out.”

Dawson’s comm squawked and Niner’s voice came in, slightly breathless. “Bravo One, Bravo Eleven. Nothing here. We’re at a farmhouse a few hundred meters to your east.” There was a pause. “Are you picking us up? Over?”

Dawson grinned, as did the others as they climbed in their vehicles.

“Bravo Eleven, Bravo One. You sound kind of winded. Extra PT for you when we get back to Bragg. In the meantime I’ll pick you up, out.”

Dawson gunned his vehicle around the house and across the field behind it, Niner and Mickey in the distance waving. The first set of directions appeared on the tactical computer mounted to the dash. Dawson glanced at it, frowning.

Wherever they were going, they’re probably there already.

Eagle National Storage, Potomac, Maryland

Present day, one day after the kidnapping

Mitch was the first to exit the vehicle leaving Chuck to open the rear doors, the child locks apparently engaged as Grant discovered when he tried to open the door himself. By the time he and Louisa were out, Mitch had already pulled open the door of the storage unit. Grant looked around before entering. They appeared to be alone, nobody at this time of the evening apparently interested in storing or retrieving anything, at least not down this long lane of units.

As Grant stepped inside the neatly organized storage unit, shelves with bankers boxes full of documents lining all three walls, there was one box at the back that appeared different. Shabbier than all the rest, stuck in a corner with two other boxes stacked on top. Mitch pointed.

“If I know your father, that would be it. He’d want to make it unappealing to any thieves.”

Mitch motioned for the others to retrieve the box as he pulled out his phone. Chuck and Chip opened the box, moving some packing material aside then exchanged grins, giving Mitch the thumbs up.

“We’ve got it…okay, two minutes.” He ended the call and put the phone in his pocket. “Transport is here in two. Transfer it to the case.”

As Chip opened a metal sided case with what appeared to be a custom formed interior, Chuck carefully removed a felt wrapped object from the box and, removing the covering, placed it inside the case—a perfect fit.

Grant gasped.

“It’s beautiful!” he gushed as he approached it. Chip held the box out, still open, so Grant could enjoy his first ever exposure to a genuine crystal skull.

“Yes it is,” agreed Mitch. “This one hasn’t been seen in almost a decade. Feel it.”

Grant’s hand advanced tentatively, almost afraid to touch it. Chip gave him a reassuring nod, and Grant finally made contact, running his fingers over the skull and down the brow.

“It’s so smooth!”

“No detectable tool marks, one piece of crystal, cut across the grain. Impossible even with today’s technology.”

Grant continued to run his hands over the skull, captivated, and as he stared into the eyes, he felt a strange sensation come over him. Every hair on his body seemed to stand on end, a tingling sensation rolling through him as he found himself holding his breath. Staring into the eyes, the world around him lost focus, then suddenly Chip stepped back, snapping the case closed and Grant back to reality.

Outside the sound of a helicopter approaching could be heard.

Mitch extended his hand to Grant as they walked outside.

“Thank you for your cooperation. Your father would have been extremely proud in how you handled yourself.”

Grant shook the man’s hand. “What now?”

“Now we leave you. The keys are in the ignition,” Mitch said, nodding toward the vehicle they had arrived in. He handed Grant the letter. “This is yours. Treasure it. It came from a great man. And if you ever want to talk about your father, call that number.”

“You’re just leaving us here?”

Mitch nodded as the chopper began to land about thirty yards away. “Yes, our job here is done.”

“But what about the plan? To unite three skulls and see what happens?”

“That’s next.”

“We’ve got company!” yelled Chuck. He pointed to the end of the row of containers as two SUV’s pulled up, blocking the lane. Grant spun his head to the other end and found a third SUV come to a stop, men, all in black, stepping out.

Mitch and his team ran to the chopper and Grant found himself chasing after them. Mitch climbed in and looked down at Grant.

“I’m coming with you!” yelled Grant, trying to be heard over the rotors.

“What?”

“I’m coming with you!” he repeated. “I want to see my father’s work through!”

Mitch smiled, almost as if he were proud of his own son for stepping up and doing the right thing. He extended his hand and pulled Grant inside, sliding shut the door, leaving Louisa standing by the entrance of the storage unit, her hands on her cheeks, her mouth agape, stunned at the turn of events.

Grant waved at her and smiled.

Leesburg Executive Airport, Leesburg, Virginia

Present day, one day after the kidnapping

“I got the distinct impression that our hostage was playing for the other side,” said Niner as Dawson hurtled their SUV toward a private airstrip the helicopter had been tracked to.

“I noticed that.”

“Stockholm Syndrome?”

Dawson shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it happening that fast.”

“Me neither, but I’m just an exceptionally handsome warrior, not a psychiatrist.”

“You’re something,” muttered Dawson as they careened around a corner.

“There it is,” said Niner, pointing to an airstrip just ahead and to the left, a private jet taking off as they watched. “Do you think that’s them?”

“Could be,” said Dawson as he tried to shove the gas pedal through the floor. “What I’d give to have my ’Stang right now!”

Niner gave him a look. “Are you kidding me? You’d be babying that thing so much we’d still be sitting out front of the Jackson residence while you buffed out an imagined handprint.”

Dawson chuckled as he turned into the airport, rounding the terminal and racing onto the tarmac, the rest of the team following close behind him. He rolled down his window and using hand signals directed the others to split off in two directions to cover the entire field. Dawson aimed them directly at the helicopter that sat halfway down the field with the same tail number as the one that had carried out the escape.