The Venice Code (3 page)

And this little tidbit into history and world politics had him enthralled.

“What is it, Master? What was the reason?”

“It appears that the locals, pagans and Saracens alike, had turned to idol worship.”

Giuseppe’s head jerked back, the very thought of it abhorrent, the worship of an idol heresy, a sin and violation of one of the Ten Commandments.

“What kind of idol?”

“Some crystal carving. The Khan isn’t certain what it is, except that it was brought in by a trader who claimed it had great powers. The city administrator purchased it and later claimed it spoke to him. At first it was his inner circle that began to worship the idol, then word spread through the servants of its power, and soon much of the great city had devoted themselves to this false idol. When Kublai Khan returned from an expedition to the north, he found the mosques and temples abandoned, the famous Silver Tree missing from the city square, and instead a temple in its place with a crystal form at its center. Troops once loyal to him held him back and he was forced to retreat from the city.”

“The Khan was defeated?”

Giuseppe’s heart slammed in his chest. If the Khan was defeated by the followers of this pagan idol, what hope did this tiny expedition have?

“No, but he was forced to retreat. He returned in force, sacking the leadership, but not before the skull was hidden away somewhere. It wasn’t until recently that the Khan learned where it has been hidden, but everyone he sends to retrieve it is met with suspicion, and the idol is never found.”

“What can we, I mean you, with all respect, Master, hope to do that the Khan couldn’t?”

“As Europeans, we will be met as scholars. It is hoped that we will be able to gain access to it through the local priest. Apparently he knows where it is located from time-to-time, it moved regularly to keep ahead of the Khan’s soldiers.”

“What does he want with it?”

“He wants it removed then transported to the Holy See in Rome. Apparently the city’s economy is now failing, worshippers looking for answers from the idol rather than from themselves, leaving their duties and businesses to decline in favor of seeking blessings from this crystal figure in the hopes of instant gratification.”

“Does it work?”

Marco recoiled at the question. “Of course not! What kind of Christian are you?”

Giuseppe’s chest tightened, his face slackening at the thought of insulting his master. He opened his mouth to apologize when a grin spread across Marco’s face.

“You should see your face, my brother.” Marco reached forward and slapped Giuseppe’s shoulder. “I asked the same question of the messenger. All he would say is that enough rumors of it working have spread that the truth no longer matters.”

“You said he wants it sent to the Holy See. Why?”

“I personally think he’s too superstitious to destroy it himself. If I had to guess, he hopes the Church will deal with it for him.”

“Will they?”

“I’m certain they will. I can’t see the Pope being scared of some crystal carving. I could see him saying some prayers over it though, just in case!”

Marco made the sign of the cross, silently apologizing for the subtle insult to the Holy Roman Church’s leader. Giuseppe did the same, rewarded with a smile from Marco.

“In all seriousness, this is a dangerous journey as we’ve already seen, and that had nothing to do with our ultimate purpose. First we must reach the city, infiltrate it, meet with the priest, find the idol, overwhelm its guards, exit the city with the idol, and escape its worshipers’ pursuit.”

“It sounds impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible, my brother, as my father and uncle proved with their first journey. Nearly impossible? Absolutely. I suspect we may not survive the attempt.”

“Then why do it? Why not let the Khan take care of his own problems?”

Marco smiled, shaking his head. “Giuseppe, we must. A great trust has been placed in our family by a greater man. For us to deny his request would be to dishonor our family name forever. If we fail, we die with honor, and that I can live with. But if we succeed, we shall go down in history. And in time, no one will forget the name Polo.”

A strong gust of winter wind howled through the cave opening, the fire almost forced out, only small blue flames able to resist the wind battling it. Giuseppe covered his mouth with his hand so he could breathe, then suddenly the wind stilled inside, the fire springing back to life, and he found himself sitting alone, his master having risen.

“Let us sleep, brother, for tomorrow we have a difficult journey.”

Giuseppe leapt to his feet and walked deeper into the cave, his master shaking the shoulder of his uncle, waking him to take the next watch. Giuseppe prepared Marco’s bedding then retired himself, visions of crystal demons haunting his dreams, the repeated image of a laughing crystal skull waking him throughout the night.

Wellington Hospital, London, England

Present day, one day after the kidnapping

Professor James Acton held his fiancée’s hand as they walked down the hall of Wellington Hospital. His hands were clammy, which was uncharacteristic of him, but he hated being here, not because of a fear of hospitals, but because he felt it was his fault the man they were visiting had been a long term guest of the facility.

Professor Laura Palmer squeezed his hand. “Are you okay?”

She knew him so well she could sense his unease. He squeezed back and glanced at her, her auburn hair loose today and hanging over her shoulders, her alabaster skin brilliantly white and flawless, at least in his eyes. He knew she was showing the odd line around the eyes, the signs of aging unavoidable as she lived the life of an archeologist, her skin baking in the dry heat of desert dig sites, her body exposed to the rigors of running for her life on far too many occasions, bullets, rockets, bombs and plain old knives and spears trying to end her time on this world.

And his too. Their introduction and romance had been a whirlwind, but over the past few years he had finally found true love for the first time in his life, and he had never been happier, despite the innumerable attempts on their lives. The pair of them seemed to be a magnet for danger, but through it they had met each other and made some dear friends despite their ordeals.

And one of those lay in a hospital bed at the end of this hall. Detective Inspector Martin Chaney of Scotland Yard. He had been shot several months ago at Laura’s dig site in Egypt trying to protect them and had slipped into a coma due to the massive loss of blood. His former partner, who was also at the dig site, INTERPOL Special Agent Hugh Reading, had held a vigil at Chaney’s bedside every spare moment he had, talking to him, yelling at him, bargaining with him, all to no effect.

Until recently.

Three days ago Chaney had awoken, much to the shock and delight of Reading who had been insulting Chaney’s choice of football clubs when, according to Reading’s phone call Acton had received two days ago, the “most glorious grunt you had ever heard” erupted from their friend and soon after he was talking and moving all his limbs.

Acton had immediately boarded a plane to join Laura who was lecturing at her university in London. She had waited to see Chaney, wanting to give him some time to recover and also to share the excitement with her fiancé.

“I wonder how he’s doing?” asked Acton as they neared the door.

“I talked to Hugh last night and he said that other than the memory loss, he seems to be fine, just very weak.”

Acton frowned as he knocked on the door. “Hopefully his memory will return.”

“The doctors say it’s fifty-fifty.”

“He’s a tough cookie, I’m betting on the odds being better than that.”

The door opened and Acton found himself bear hugged by an ecstatic Reading, who then exchanged a more gentle one with Laura.

“’Bout time you two got here!” he cried, waving them into the room. “Look who’s here!” he said, turning to his old partner. Chaney was sitting up in his bed, propped up on pillows and the bed adjusted to a near seated position. He had a food tray in front of him with various pale looking offerings, and a huge smile on his face as he saw them enter.

“Hey Buddy, how the hell are you?” asked Acton as he rounded the bed, hand out.

Chaney extended a hand and shook Acton’s—rather weakly Acton felt—then exchanged cheek to cheek kisses with Laura.

“Yes, Martin, how are you?”

Chaney pushed the food tray away.

“Apparently much better than I was last time I saw you both, though this food they’re trying to force upon me is bloody awful and I’m convinced is designed to put me back into a coma.”

Reading roared with laughter, clearly delighted his friend was almost his old self.

“Tell me about the memory loss,” said Acton, perching on the side of the bed. “What
do
you remember?”

Chaney frowned. “It’s strange. I remember all of you, but not how we met. I don’t remember the dig in Egypt, or even deciding to go there which apparently was at least a couple of months before we actually went.”

“Are you remembering any bits of it, or is it a complete blank?” asked Laura who had sat in the lone chair.

“I’m dreaming about some stuff that just doesn’t make sense that I’m thinking might be memories, but who knows? They could be movies for all I know. Certainly some weird things about glass skulls have to be from a movie.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Hopefully it will all come back otherwise they won’t let me back to work!”

“Don’t you worry about that,” said Reading. “If Scotland Yard won’t take you back, I’ll get you into INTERPOL with me. Much cushier job.”

Acton rubbed his chin, debating on whether or not he should ask the question he had been dying to ask. On the dig in Egypt, after Chaney had been wounded, he had said he had something important to talk to him about, and with Chaney being a member of the Triarii, he had assumed it was about that, but he had never found out what the message was, and much to his surprise, no one else from the Triarii had tried to contact him.

And if Chaney had no idea why he was dreaming about “glass” skulls, then he most likely had no idea he was a prominent member of a two thousand year old organization dedicated to protecting and preserving twelve crystal skulls they thought had special powers.

Acton’s eyes flitted to Chaney’s left inside wrist and noted the tiny tattoo that identified members of the organization to each other. The first time he had encountered these people he had been running for his life, and in a leap of faith, he put himself into their hands. Dozens died, but he and his newly found love, Laura, survived, along with Reading, Chaney’s partner at the time at Scotland Yard. Reading had no clue of Chaney’s secret life, and at first felt betrayed, but eventually came to accept his partner’s alternate existence, if not necessarily agreeing with it.

Acton had been thrust into the secret world of the Triarii when he and his students had discovered a crystal skull at an Incan dig site in Peru. His students were massacred by a Delta Force unit operating under the belief they were terrorists, and he was pursued across the globe before the Delta Force unit disobeyed orders and halted their pursuit. Over the years this group of men that had tried to kill him had helped him on numerous occasions, and he had even stepped in to help them. A bond had been forged between them once Acton realized they had been manipulated, their families threatened every time they questioned their orders by a former member of the Triarii obsessed with possessing the skulls.

He had even found himself thinking of some of them as friends, and he knew they were all eager to make up for their actions. They were good, honorable men, who had been used, and if they had been there the night Chaney was wounded, perhaps they all would have made it out uninjured.

Unfortunately they were too late, and now their friend barely knew who he was. Acton didn’t want to say anything about the Triarii because if Chaney had forgotten something so fundamental about his life, his memory loss must be far worse than anyone either knew, or was acknowledging.

Acton instead turned to Chaney’s recovery. “How do you feel physically?”

“Weak. Ridiculously weak. But each day is a little better. They’ve got me doing physio several times a day, stretching out the muscles and starting to use them again. I was actually able to walk a few paces this morning. Yesterday I couldn’t even stand. Hopefully in a few days I’ll have the run of the place. I’m climbing the walls here and can’t wait to get back to my flat.”

Acton smiled, his head bobbing. “I hear ya. I have no doubt you’ll make a full recovery in no time.”

“Bloody right!” agreed Reading. “He’ll be back to his old self and then I can start getting some sleep in my own bed for a change.”

The door opened and two nurses entered, both of whom looked like they meant business.

“Time for Mr. Chaney’s therapy. I’ll have to ask everyone to leave.”

Goodbyes were quickly made and Acton, Laura and Reading found themselves in the hallway, walking toward the elevators. Acton turned to Reading.

“What do you think?”

Reading shook his head, his face grim.

“If he can’t remember that he’s Triarii, he’s forgotten far more than he realizes.”

“Have you mentioned it to him?”

“No, that was the first hint I had at it. I nearly shat my pants when he called them
glass
skulls.” Reading shook his head again as he pressed the button for the elevator. “Only time will tell I guess.” The doors opened and he held them for Laura then Acton. “How ’bout some food?”

Acton’s stomach grumbled in agreement and plans were quickly made. As they exited the elevator Acton noticed a television flashing to a breaking news report.

Assassinated President’s Son Kidnapped.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered and they all turned to see what he was looking at. On the screen footage showed two bodies lying on the ground, covered by sheets, one with the victim’s left hand still visible.

Clearly showing a small tattoo on the inner wrist.