The Venice Code (20 page)

Reading grunted. “Jericho. Isn’t that in Israel?”

James shook his head. “Sort of. It’s in the West Bank.”

“Bloody hell, of course it is,” cursed Reading, throwing his hands up in the air. “What is it with you two?”

“I don’t know,” replied James. “My life was pretty good until I met you. Then all this shit starting happening to me.”

“I think that’s the other way around, mate.”

“Shall I finish?” asked James.

“Please.”

James winked at Laura then returned to the screen. “
‘Forgive me brother for having failed you. Your faithful servant, Giuseppe Polo.’
”

Acton straightened, glancing at Laura’s phone. “Did you get it all?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Giuseppe?” murmured Teufel. “That must be the same slave he taught the code to, the one mentioned in the letter I read. And for a slave to call his master ‘brother’! Why, it’s almost unheard of!”

“They must have been very close,” agreed Laura. “We know from Marco Polo’s will that upon his death he granted freedom to a Tartar slave. Perhaps he treated his slaves well.”

“But ‘brother’? That is an equal. That is familial. And to use the family name? Very out of the ordinary,” said Teufel. He pointed at the phone. “You will of course send me a copy of that,” he said, handing her a business card with an email address.

Laura nodded. “But I must ask that you not share its contents with anyone until you hear from me.”

“Who would I have to share them with but you?” asked Teufel, his shoulders up, palms facing upward.

Laura had an odd feeling, as if there was some hint of deception on Teufel’s part. She quickly swiped her thumb and put the phone in airplane mode, killing its communications capabilities, then sent the email containing the text, leaving it in the Outbox.

“I’ve sent it but it looks like I have no signal in here. I’m sure you’ll receive it as soon as we get outside,” she said, smiling. She picked up their half of the scroll, returning it to her satchel and extended a hand to Herr Teufel. “Thank you so much for seeing us on such short notice.”

Teufel smiled, clasping her hand in both of his. “You have no idea how happy you have made me today, Fräulein. A decades old mystery for me, and a centuries old mystery for the world, has been solved.”

As they headed for the front entrance, Laura leading a slightly brisk pace that had the men scrambling to keep up, Teufel offered them tea.

“On any other day that would be delightful,” she said as she opened the door, “but today we are on a tight schedule.”

Suddenly James grabbed her arm and yanked her inside, slamming the door shut. Her hand jumped to her chest in an attempt to calm her suddenly racing heart.

“What’s wrong?” she cried.

“We’re not alone.”

The Holy See, Rome

September 9
^th
, 1296 AD

One week after Bartholomew delivered his message to Marco Polo

Marco Polo sat in his carriage outside the gates of the Holy See, his meeting with Pope Boniface VIII cancelled, and not to be rescheduled. It was made quite clear to him that any letter delivered almost fifteen years ago to Pope Martin IV was either disposed of or lost, there having been five Popes in that span of time. He had argued, pled, even threatened, but it had been no use. He was shown the door and sent on his way, his half of the scroll never to be married with the other half, the secret his beloved Giuseppe died protecting never to be revealed.

He ordered the coachman to proceed, and with a flick of the reins they began to roll forward, the cobblestones shaking the carriage slightly, their rhythmic clacking lost on Marco as he settled into a deep depression. He stared out the window at the masses, then closed his eyes, his head resting against the padded side, tears pouring down his cheeks as he pictured his beloved brother, Giuseppe, and how heartbroken he must have been failing in his mission, a mission that he had sent him on.

If it wasn’t for you, he’d be alive.

He shook his head, gripping the cross that hung around his neck.

No, if it weren’t for that blasphemous crystal idol, he’d be alive!

And at that moment, he swore to God that if he ever laid hands on it, he’d destroy it himself, it already having taken so much from him. Death followed the skull, of that he was sure. Father Salvatore, Brother Vincenzo, Angelo, Bartholomew, and of course Giuseppe. All dead before their time due to the evil that was the skull.

Marco swore that no more lives of his loved ones would be lost to the cursed idol. He looked at the scroll, still gripped in his hand. He was tempted to destroy it right then and there, but it was the last thing that Giuseppe had written, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, when he reached home, he would hide the scroll with his private papers so no one else might be tempted by its contents.

He opened his eyes and looked out the window to the heavens, praying that no one else should ever seek the crystal idol, lest they too suffer the fate of so many good men.

And resolved there, once and for all, to undertake one final journey.

Teufel Residence, Munich, Germany

Present day, two days after the kidnapping

Acton peered out the window at the new arrivals. Three SUVs with at least four men in each were emptying out front. His mind raced as he evaluated their situation. Outnumbered four to one. Soon to be surrounded. And no weapons. How the hell they knew they were here was a completely different question that could be worried about later. He turned to Teufel.

“Is there another way out of here?”

Teufel shook his head. “No, but the lab is a safe room.”

“Then let’s go!” urged Reading, herding the other three toward the basement stairs. The doorbell rang, which Acton thought was quite civilized of their besiegers. It was quickly followed by hammering on the door as they all bottlenecked at the basement door, Teufel taking the steps one at a time.

Acton heard something toward the back of the house and looked down the hallway to see two faces peering through a rear window then the smashing of glass. The last Acton saw was a boot crossing the window sill. He closed the door to the basement behind them as Teufel finally reached the bottom step, shuffling toward the safe room.

“They’re inside!” yelled Acton as he looked for a lock, finding none. The door opened to the outside so there was no point in trying to block it or brace it; they would simply pull open the door. He looked for something to give him a better hold than a slippery metal doorknob.

Nothing.

As he gripped the knob he looked down and saw Teufel finally get into the decontamination chamber, shaking his head that the old man hadn’t let Laura go first.

Chivalry dies in the face of death?

Acton frowned.

And he seems to be moving a lot slower than when we first arrived.

Again the thought of how they were found reared, but he pushed it aside, an idea suddenly occurring to him. He undid his belt buckle and pulled his belt off as he heard heavy steps coming down the hall. He looped the belt back through the buckle then hooked it over the door knob, pulling it tight. He then wrapped the other end of the belt around his wrist, leaning back and using his body weight rather than just muscle power to hold the door.

Looking down he saw Laura enter the chamber, Reading still at the foot of the steps. He turned to Acton. “Why don’t you let me take that?” he asked, ever the peace officer.

“Because I’m faster and stronger than you?” said Acton with a wink as he felt the door jerk, the first attempt made. Acton saw Laura step out of the decontamination chamber. “Your turn!” said Acton before Reading could defend himself.

Reading frowned then after a split second of indecision jumped into the decontamination room as the door continued to rattle, but never opening more than an inch. Acton split his attention between the door and Reading’s progress, his wrist in agony as the belt tightened further. Suddenly the door jerked open and a large knife appeared, slicing into the belt.

Acton spun his arm, releasing the grip his belt had on him, sending those pulling at the other side tumbling backward. He jumped down the steps then into the decontamination room just as Reading exited to the other side. As he was blasted with air he saw a man rush down the steps, gun extended, followed by several more. There was a beep as the cycle completed and he stepped into the room.

“How do we lock it?” he yelled, looking at Teufel.

“The red button,” he said as the first man ran toward the decontamination entrance.

Acton looked and saw a large red button to the right. He pushed it and an alarm sounded, the clicking of several locks being heard. The man grabbed on the door entrance and pulled, but couldn’t get it to open. He raised his weapon and pointed it at the glass. Acton stepped back as a shot, muffled by their enclosure, was fired.

Nothing.

The glass, or whatever it was, held, barely a mark on it.

“What is this place?” asked Reading.

“It’s a panic room,” answered Teufel. “Bullet proof, bomb proof—at least small bombs—with its own power supply, air filters, water and food. We can stay here for days if necessary. They will eventually tire of their failures and leave.”

Several more shots rang out, the bullets slamming into the transparent walls, loud thuds echoing through the chamber. A grim looking man, a determined expression on his face, his jawline so fierce it looked like it might have more success cutting through the wall than the bullets, circled the chamber they were in, firing at each of the four walls. Acton hoped a ricochet might take him out, teaching the man Einstein’s definition of insanity the hard way—doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

Acton turned to Teufel, who had sat himself in a swivel chair off to the side, but several feet from the glass. He slowly spun in the chair, watching the ineffective progress of the shooter.

“Is there a way to talk to them?”

Teufel nodded, pointing to a panel by the wall. “Press the top button to activate the speaker so we can hear them but they can’t hear us. Press the middle button to activate two way communications, or just press and hold the bottom button to talk like on a walkie talkie. Letting it go turns off our microphone.”

Acton nodded, walking over to the panel and pressing the top button. Over hidden speakers he could hear the sounds of half a dozen men shuffling and muttering, one set of boots slowly clicking around the chamber as their owner gave up shooting.

Acton pressed the bottom button. “What do you want?” he asked, then let go of the button just in case he and his compatriots needed to communicate in private.

A man stepped forward, clearly the leader. He smiled, a smile that must have been so practiced, it seemed genuine.

“Professor Acton. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I’ve heard so much about you and your lovely fiancée”—he nodded toward Laura—“that I feel like I already know you.”

Acton pressed the button, deciding the longer they played along, the longer Reading, who stood huddled with Laura in the rear corner, might be able to make contact with the outside world, he having caught a glimpse of a phone in Reading’s hand. “How can I help you—what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” said the man, his smile widening. “I like you Professor. And I don’t want to hurt you or your friends. In fact, I can guarantee that no harm will come to you. Perhaps a sign of trust.” He bowed slightly. “My name is Mitch Reynolds. My card,” he said, stepping forward and pushing his watch down, exposing the inside of his left wrist.

“Triarii,” observed Acton, his lips pursed. “But not the real Triarii.”

Mitch smiled. “We’re all
real
Triarii, just some of us have a different view on things.”

“So you’re the ones who kidnapped President Jackson’s son?”

Mitch laughed, motioning to one of his men who ran up the steps to the main floor. “Kidnapped is such a strong word, with so many negative connotations.” Two sets of feet appeared at the top of the steps, the first set descending tentatively into the basement, the face hidden by a bulkhead. When they finally came into view Acton gasped, causing the others in the room to look.

Before them stood Grant Jackson, apparent kidnap victim, looking none the worse for wear, and an awkward smile on his face as he stood facing Acton.

“As you can see, Professor Acton, Mr. Jackson is
with
us. He is not our captive, and is free to go at any time. Mr. Jackson has decided to see his father’s work through, voluntarily.”

“If you leave, I promise to tell the authorities that so they’ll stop chasing you,” said Acton, the sarcasm dripping through the speaker. He heard Laura giggle behind him.

Mitch tossed his head back, laughing, soon joined by the others, Grant as well, but if Acton didn’t know better, more for show than anything else.

That guy looks far too uncomfortable to be here voluntarily.

“I love a good sense of humor, Professor Acton, but unfortunately don’t have time for it.” Mitch stepped closer to the glass. “You have found the location of the thirteenth skull. I want it.”

Acton’s eyes narrowed. “How did you find out we were here?”

Mitch waved his hand. “As much as I would like to discuss this situation further, I only have time for what we came for. You have the second half of the scroll?”

Acton removed his finger from the button and turned to look at Teufel, as had the others. He seemed uncomfortable in his chair, suddenly finding his fingernails very interesting. “Check his wrist!”

Reading stepped over and grabbed Teufel’s left arm, shoving his watch out of the way. Reading grunted and turned the wrist so Acton could see.

“Triarii!”

Teufel tore his arm loose, giving Reading an annoyed look, then resumed his pleasant demeanor. “I’m sorry, Professors, but yes, I am Triarii. Always have been, in fact.”

“And you’re part of this breakaway group?” asked Laura.