The Venice Code (7 page)

“Is there a problem?”

Roberto looked at Vincenzo, then at Marco. “Should the need arise, we are willing to enter the compound and join you. You shouldn’t concern yourself with our lives.”

Marco smiled. “You are both brave men, and I appreciate that. But should the need arise for assistance from your swords, I fear it will already be too late for us, and by the time you arrived, you would be sadly outnumbered, facing them alone, for we shall already be dead. You must survive so you can try to retrieve the idol another day. Should we fail, more will come, I am certain.”

Roberto frowned, but nodded his acquiescence.

Marco lowered his head, gripping the cross around his neck. “Now we pray.”

Giuseppe bowed his head, his hand encircling his own cross as his thoughts turned not to his God, but to the crystal icon that had haunted his dreams and reveries since he had heard of it.

And again visions of a laughing crystal skull played over his eyelids, sending a shiver down his spine, the ominous feeling that tonight may very well be his last almost overwhelming.

Wellington Hospital, London, England

Present day, one day after the kidnapping

Detective Inspector Martin Chaney shook in his bed, his hands gripping the rails, sweat pouring off his forehead, soaking his pillow. In fact his hospital robe was sticking to his entire body as perspiration erupted from his pores, his muscles clenching and unclenching, his head tossing back and forth, his face contorted in a mixture of agony and fear.

Suddenly his eyes opened and he gasped, leaping forward to a sitting position. He quickly surveyed the room, finding it empty, momentarily a little disappointed that his former partner and still good friend Reading wasn’t passed out in a chair somewhere.

He needs his rest too.

He sat up in his bed for several minutes as he made sense of the flood of memories demanding attention. Skulls, tattoos, secret societies, initiations, a vacation in Egypt, the discovery of an impossible tomb, the attack—

The message!

Suddenly everything was clear, everything that had been forgotten now remembered.

And he knew exactly what he had to do.

Outside the Red Mosque, Karakorum, Mongol Empire

March 29
^th
, 1275 AD

Giuseppe released his arrow, intentionally pausing by counting to three in his head so he didn’t mess up his shot in the rush to get his next arrow from his quiver. His master had no such hesitation, already having another arrow in place before Giuseppe even reached for his next. The two targets at the gate collapsed as if felled by the same arrow, the second two freezing for a moment, then they two falling as the arrows of Roberto and Vincenzo proved true.

Marco jumped to his feet, rushing toward the southern wall. Giuseppe pushed himself to keep up, his eyes on the courtyard the entire time. Three of the bodies remained still, but the fourth, one of the new arrivals, had begun to crawl toward the tower. Giuseppe saw a second arrow suddenly embed itself in the man, putting an end to his suffering, and the threat he may attract others.

As they neared the wall their view of the courtyard was blocked, but so far no one had appeared. Marco stopped at the wall, dropping to a knee, cupping his hands. Without slowing, Giuseppe jumped onto the hand then used the push his master gave him to easily grab onto the top of the wall, swinging a leg over and straddling the stone. Reaching down he grabbed his master’s left hand and pulled him up then rolled over to the other side, dropping to a crouch, his bow at the ready.

But there was no need. The four bodies still lay in the dark, as yet undiscovered. But those inside would probably be expecting the relieved guard to arrive, and at any moment someone may come looking for the missing men.

Marco rushed to the side of the Red Mosque, its tower looming overhead, at this distance appearing impossibly high. His master’s plan might work, but there were so many assumptions he wasn’t sure he had the same level of faith Marco at least portrayed. The design of the mosque up close confirmed what his master had suspected—and thankfully it worked to their advantage. The red stone that clad the structure had decorative white stones that jutted out creating a foothold every arm’s length, ringing the tower, from top to bottom.

Marco didn’t hesitate, removing his gloves, slinging his bow over his back and beginning the long climb to the top. Giuseppe began to follow but was waved off.

“Cover my exit!” hissed Marco, reiterating the part of the plan Giuseppe didn’t agree with. The idea his master should execute the most dangerous part of the plan alone was insane, at least in Giuseppe’s mind. He returned to the ground and fell back toward the western wall, edging ahead so he could see the main entrance.

Still nothing.

He watched his master quickly scale the side and within minutes he was already halfway up. A change in the light at the entrance had Giuseppe drawing back on his bow, the appearance of a soldier stepping out into the cold triggering the release of his arrow. He readied another as the man dropped in his place, a second arrow hitting him at almost the same time, the knowledge Roberto and Vincenzo were still outside providing him with some comfort.

The body lay unmoving and undiscovered, but that wouldn’t remain true for long. A split second decision, perhaps a stupid one, had Giuseppe rushing forward toward the door. He reached it within seconds, peeking inside and seeing no one. He grabbed the collar of the downed guard and pulled him around to the side of the tower, then sprinted back toward his assigned position.

A voice called behind him then cut off with a groan as the thump of two arrows followed by the sound of their victim collapsing to the ground caused Giuseppe to spin only halfway between the tower and wall. As he rushed toward the body in the hopes of clearing it away and out of sight, he glanced up to see his master disappear through the uppermost opening, the speed of which he had cleared the structure impressive.

A shadow in the door and a shout sounding the alarm had Giuseppe arcing to the left, drawing his bow and loosing the arrow as soon as the target was in sight, a seventh guard down, his mental math of the ever evening odds providing little comfort since two of their available swords remained at a distance.

If only we were four! We would stand a chance, especially with God on our side!

Shouts from within were heard followed by the pounding of feet on the steps as the remaining soldiers rushed to their comrade’s aid, hopefully numbering no more than the six of the original thirteen they had been promised. Giuseppe drew two arrows, splitting them on either side of his bow, and as the first man came around the corner and burst into the courtyard, he held his fire, a second quickly joining the first.

He loosed the arrows, the first one taking out its target, but the second missing by an embarrassing amount, this shot one Giuseppe had never really tried beyond having some fun.

And it had never worked.

Apparently God does not guide my
foolish
hand tonight.

He swung his bow over his shoulder, drawing his sword from its sheath as the second man advanced, yelling for the others to join him as he drew his own blade.

He dropped as an arrow pierced his neck, the blood spurting out in a rhythmic pulse as he gurgled an unheard warning to his comrades. Giuseppe still wished the extra two swords were at his side, but for the moment, his Master’s plan was working. And if the intelligence provided by the young Roberto and Vincenzo were accurate, there should be only four men left. Again sheathing his sword and retrieving his bow, he fired his final arrow, removing the tenth man, when a chorus of shouts erupted from inside the tower, near the top.

A chorus that sounded like far more than three men.

The sound of swords clashing echoed through the openings of the stairway and Giuseppe felt his chest tighten as he realized his master had been discovered. Cries from above had him frozen, then as the swordplay continued, he realized his master must still be alive, bravely battling his enemy, while his slave stood, doing nothing.

Giuseppe charged forward just as a group of men numbering at least half a dozen poured from the entrance, looking for accomplices. Giuseppe skid to a halt, shooting his final arrow. He was about to draw his sword when he turned to see the first four victims near the gate, not thirty paces distant. Two arrows streaked silently into the courtyard dropping two more of the men as Giuseppe turned and sprinted toward the bodies. As he reached the nearest one, the one who had crawled, he yanked the two arrows from the corpse, spinning as he placed a used arrow in position, taking aim at the first man.

He let his fingers open, the sinew snapping, sending the arrow through the air at an impossible speed, embedding itself in the belly of its unsuspecting victim. As the body crumpled to the ground he fired his second shot as another pair of arrows from his partners outside hit their targets. He scrambled toward the next body, pulling at the arrow buried deep in the man’s shoulder, but it snapped.

Roars of anger erupted behind him as he rushed toward the last two men, those originally on guard and eliminated by Marco and himself at the beginning of this entire fiasco. The sounds of swords continued to give him hope for his master, but he was quickly losing it for himself. He pulled the first arrow from a guard’s belly, rolling on his shoulder and onto his knee, his bow at the ready as he fired at the nearest guard, four of them now charging at him. He dropped as Giuseppe yanked at the last arrow available to him but it wouldn’t give. One final yank failed and he tossed his bow aside, drawing his sword as the first attacker arrived almost immediately joined by two others.

He was surrounded on three sides. He kept his back to the gates of the compound, parrying the first blow from his nearest attacker. An arrow skittered across the stone, missing its intended target, but it was enough to cause all three of his enemy to look up for just a moment.

He swung, slicing the belly of his attacker open, his innards pouring out as the man screamed in agony, dropping his sword and instead focusing on pushing his intestines back inside as he quickly bled out. Enraged, his two remaining friends charged forward. Giuseppe parried, shoving the first attacker’s sword upward then dropping to a knee as his blade swung wide and high, then forcing it down and below the man’s guard, slicing his leg in two just below the knee as the final guard rushed in from behind. Giuseppe looked over his shoulder and saw the man’s sword held high over his head begin to drop for the death blow.

Giuseppe leaned forward, still on his knee, his sword carrying through the down stroke interrupted only by the leg it had just sliced through. He twisted his wrists, redirecting his weapon up in a desperate attempt to parry the final blow, when he heard a thump and saw the man’s eyes bulge wide in shock as he fell on Giuseppe’s blade, his own flying from his hands and clattering to the ground. Giuseppe shoved the now twitching corpse off him, freeing his sword with a yank, the body rolling to its side then stopping, an arrow protruding from the back.

Giuseppe jumped to his feet, sword at the ready, but found himself alone, surrounded by corpses, the swordplay at the top of the tower continuing. He pushed himself forward, exhausted from the battle he had just endured, but determined to reach his master before it was too late. As he stumbled toward the entrance to the mosque he readied his sword, trying to catch his breath as best he could.

Plunging through the entrance, he found it empty save the bodies of those eliminated earlier. The stairs that wound around the outside wall of the tower were to his right. He mounted the first step and began the long climb, the sounds above him getting louder as he neared the battle. The stairs were narrow, barely a man wide, which was probably why his master had been able to survive for so long, but the sustained battle must have him exhausted.

As he rounded the stairs he readied his weapon, uncertain when he might encounter the first of the enemy, or how many there may be. It was when he saw the back of the first that he heard the footfalls on the steps behind him, and the realization that he was now surrounded with no hope of escape set in.

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

Present day, one day after the kidnapping

National Clandestine Service Chief Leif Morrison sat behind his desk, reading something on his computer screen as Chris Leroux and Sherrie White sat quietly, waiting to find out why they had been called in. It was strange that they were both here. Leroux was an analyst and Sherrie was a field agent. Usually the two domains didn’t mix enough to be in the same briefing, and with Sherrie being a junior agent, her active status not even a year old, Leroux had to wonder why just the two of them were here.

The Assembly?

The thought of some breakthrough on the mysterious organization he had been hunting for longer than he cared to admit with no success had his heart race a few extra beats. It was his side project, known only to him, the Director, Sherrie and his best friend, Special Agent Dylan Kane. It was Kane that had exposed the organization that he was now under orders to identify the members of, but they were so secretive he had had no success to date.

Except for that one damned message that I’m not allowed to open!

Morrison pushed his keyboard away and turned to the pair of lovers, something Morrison knew of and thankfully permitted. Leroux quite often wondered what he would do if Morrison ordered them to end their relationship since it was against Agency policy.

He glanced at Sherrie through the corner of his eye. He could never ask her to give up her dream. She loved it too much and he had no idea what she would do if she were forced to give it up.

I’d quit.

He could get a job elsewhere easily enough. His computer skills would have him in high demand. In fact he’d probably double or triple his salary almost instantly. His eyebrows climbed slightly at the thought.