Storming Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  The man loosened his grip slightly as he looked toward the disembodied voice. Taking advantage of the distraction and screaming like wild banshees, Nanda and Shanti raced forward, plunging their knitting needles into the intruder and pulling Kate out of his grip. He stabbed Nanda in the hand, but she got the knife away from him. Kate saw a gun clatter to the floor and spin under the hall table. He screamed as Paloma and Leona joined in, hacking at him with their needles like he was a Voodoo doll.

  Chills ran down Kate’s spine at the outpouring of rage on the assasins. But she understood. When she was young, she’d fought back and killed a man who’d attacked her. Kate looked down at the men who now lay motionless in the lake of blood in the corridor. These women had no tolerance for evil entering their safe haven and killing their caretakers.

  Kate snatched her phone out from under the table, but Lampani wasn’t on the line. She could see that the call time was still ticking away, so he’d put her on hold, probably getting help on another line. She held the phone to her ear, waiting for him to come back, then went to look in the dayroom where the women had retreated, moving about in various states of shock and blood-spattered dishevelment.

  “Ladies, please stay here.”

  “Shouldn’t we go to the staff?” Nanda asked.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Paloma said. “They’re all dead.”

  “Maybe not,” Shanti said while holding tissues to Leona’s neck.

  Nanda wrapped a towel around the gash in her hand and then reached for Paloma. “Here, let me help you, you’re bleeding.”

  “That’s not my blood. I didn’t get cut.”

  Kate kept the phone pressed to her ear as she raised her voice, “Shanti, go upstairs to check on the children and the other women.”

  Lampani came on the line, startling her. “Kate, are you there?”

  “I’m here. What the hell took you so long?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. We’re outside. Your night guard is dead. I need you to buzz us in.”

  CHAPTER

  21

  After Salvio filled the vessel, he immediately showered away the cloying musky scent that lingered, and then found himself too energized to sit around the safe house. There was work to be done. Benjamin was out hunting Petrosino, Mateo was hunting Vincenzo, and he felt sidelined. There’d been no news from Bernardo in France, and Rajim hadn’t checked in from the women’s shelter, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He donned his Saudi disguise and grabbed a stiletto in its clip-on sheath from Mateo’s room. He left the safe house, walking past Parco Savorgnan toward his palazzo. He was going to clean out his safe.

  When he got near his home, he walked past policemen frantically talking into cell phones and walkie-talkies. He passed close enough to hear that units were being called in response to an attack underway at the women’s shelter, with multiple fatalities. He was relieved that Rajim had killed the cow and, with this police diversion, he’d have no problem getting into his office.

  He kept to the shadows on the far side of his palazzo and slipped unseen down the stairs and through the secret passage under Il ponte Diamante. He pushed on the door leading into the house, but it wouldn’t budge. She thought she could lock me out of my own home?

  He turned around in the dark and felt his way along the rough wall of the passage. Halfway back to the bridge, he found the narrow niche he’d explored as a child, and found he could still squeeze through. Once inside the cramped stone alley, he followed it through inky darkness in the direction of the house and felt his way carefully up a set of stairs so worn they were scooped in the center. Water rats scurried at his feet, and he stumbled a few times. He felt unstoppable and excited, but he could have done without clearing curtains of thick spider webs with his face.

  Arriving at the portico, he tried the brass handle of a door to an old conservatory. It wouldn’t budge. I’ve had enough of this. He stooped down, picked up a chunk of loose paving stone, and whacked the pane of glass nearest the door handle. When the shards fell inward, he cleared away the broken glass and reached his hand in to work the lock. It was no longer a pivot latch. He needed a key to open it from the inside. She replaced this lock?

  He ticked over his current situation. If he made noise down here on the far side of the palazzo, no one on the calle could hear him. His wife was dead, the police were swarming to her shelter, the old butler was practically deaf, and his valet was so spineless, Salvio should kill him on principle. He stepped back, lifted a bigger chunk of loose flagstone from the floor of the portico, staggered under the weight for a scary moment, and then used it to smash through the center of the glass door.

  Zelph wasn’t surprised at the Pope’s level of interest in the temple. He’d been asking rapid-fire questions as they ran through the halls, but Zelph kept telling him he couldn’t recall. All the specifics they’d learned from their research were in his notes.

  “We need your notes.” The Pope raised his voice, his heavy Polish accent becoming more pronounced. “Where are they?”

  “In Salvio’s office.”

  “Go get them, immediately,” the Pope ordered just as they reached the doors to the temple. The area was strewn with shoes and clothing, apparently from Alphonso, Raphielli, and the Cardinal.

  “Sì, Holy Father, I’ll go get them. Just take a deep breath, swim under the bridge, and you’ll surface inside the temple. I’ll be right back.”

  Zelph saw Vincenzo throw his jacket on the pile, and was stripping out of his jeans while kicking off his shoes. The Pope kicked his shoes off and dove fully dressed under the water as Zelph ran back down the halls the way they’d just come.

  Salvio jogged out of the abandoned wing and straight to his office. Someone had been spending time and apparently taking meals in here—he could smell spices and grease. He pulled off his head-cover and kaftan as he crossed the room to the tapestry to see how his secret entry had been tampered with. Lifting it to one side, he stared unbelievingly at a modern door installed over his secret entrance.

  He turned around as his valet walked into the office. Guiseppe was halfway into the room when Salvio stepped out from behind the tapestry. The insipid valet looked even more frightened of him than usual. The worthless little man was clicking some device in his hand as he turned to run. Salvio unsheathed the stiletto and intercepted Guiseppe before he’d taken two steps. Jerking him backward he stabbed the valet twice in the abdomen with jackrabbit punches, dragged him deeper into the room, and dropped him on the floor.

  Salvio heard footsteps and looked up to see one of the big long-haired detectives that he’d hired, what seemed like forever ago, in the doorway. He was much bigger than Salvio remembered and much quicker than a man his size ought to be. He was gone again in an instant. Salvio called out. “You! Stop! Vitali! What the hell are you doing in my house?”

  The big bull was tearing off down the hall, hollering, “Dante! Salvio’s inside! Get Guiseppe help! He’s been stabbed in the office! Dante!”

  Salvio ran after the intruder but, for some odd reason, Vitali didn’t run toward the front door. The bull turned down a hall that led behind the formal dining room toward the service corridors and disappeared. Where did he think he was going?

  As Gio got out of the boat at the Scortini’s private dock, Orologio approached him.

  “Don Petrosino, three men went inside. A big man with long hair, someone I would swear was Vincenzo Verona, and an older Catholic official, judging by the man’s attire. No sign of Raphielli.”

  Gio nodded. “You did good. Now go home.”

  The clockmaker left, and Gio motioned for Primo to follow him around toward the old bridge and down into the dark recesses under the house. They hit an impasse under Il ponte Diamante. Unlike when they’d used the secret passage before, the door into the house wouldn’t budge, even when they threw themselves against it.

  “Shit! Why the fuck didn’t I think she’d seal this up?” He turned around in the utter blackness, the mos
s hanging low and growing on every surface, making each step a challenge to keep from slipping into the water. He turned on his phone’s light and shined it back along the narrow ramp. “Quick, back the way we just came. Let’s go to the front door. We’ll get the butler to let us in.”

  They ran up to the formal entrance, where Gio twisted the key in the bell plate and yelled, “Police! Open up!” Dante opened the door, then tried to shut it again in their faces. Gio and Primo threw their bodies against it and the door flew open.

  “You are not the police!” the butler yelled.

  “Easy there, we’re friends. Remember us, friends of Raphielli’s? We saved her last time. Remember? We’re hunting Scortini.”

  The butler changed his tune. “He’s here! Help Guiseppe! He’s in the office!”

  They left the butler at the entrance and ran in the direction of the office. As soon as they got through the office door, Gio smelled the metallic odor of blood. Primo was running top speed and tripped over Guiseppe, who cried out in pain.

  “Where’s Salvio?” Gio hurried to sprawled the valet.

  Guiseppe groaned. “He ran that way.” He pointed out the door they’d just come through.

  Primo picked himself up, hurried to the window, yanked down a curtain, and did a quick job of wrapping it around the little man like a sarong, pulling it tight. “We’ll get you an ambulance, just hold on. Where’s Raphielli?”

  “La signora and the others are in a secret temple.”

  “A temple? Where is it?”

  “They said they were going to the other wing past the dining room, behind the dining hall passages.”

  Gio ran to find Raphielli with Primo right behind him. If Salvio was inside, he must be heading there, too. Gio bellowed into the halls for the butler or the old maid, “Get an ambulance to Salvio’s office!” and they kept running toward the dining room.

  Raphielli felt instantly calmer when they’d surfaced in the temple. She stayed at Alphonso’s side as they climbed the submerged steps onto the dry marble dais. God help her, as fearful as she was, she was aroused being so close to Alphonso with his muscles rippling and wearing only wet underwear.

  Cardinal Negrali bobbed up in the golden space and swam straight to the dais, his eyes roving everywhere. He seemed to be getting more upset by the second. Negrali said, “Raphielli! You know what this place is?”

  “We did a bit of research…”

  “You did, did you?” He whirled toward her, his eyes furious.

  “Well…” Her throat constricted in fear.

  Alphonso covered smoothly, “We think this place could have something to do with the apostle Paul.”

  Negrali was nodding in an agitated way. He seemed to be angry with her, so she decided not to say anything more about what they’d learned.

  Alphonso spoke up. “Eminenza, even though Salvio isn’t here, we should get back to the main part of the house to wait for Zelph and the others.”

  “The police probably have Salvio by now.” It was a dismissal. He turned on Raphielli. “I hope you have not taken anything out of here.”

  She wasn’t sure how much to tell him, but other than making drawings to do research they had left the place untouched, so she shook her head.

  Vincenzo and the Pope burst to the surface, and splashed their way over to the steps, making their way to the altar.

  “Ciao, Raphielli, Alphonso, Eminenza,” Vincenzo called.

  The Pope climbed the stairs in his stocking feet and, taking one expert look at the golden space, he cried, “Americo! This is the work of Marcion of Sinope!”

  “I see this. Marcionism!” The cardinal sounded furious. “The Boatman’s Alithinían Church, right here in the Scortini Casa!”

  The Pope approached the altar and fiddled with the symbolic items and some hidden compartments as if he were doing an inventory. He withdrew a strange assortment of chalices, large jewels in a rainbow of colors, and some metal items. He depressed a symbol and out popped a scroll, which he opened and consulted for only a moment before he let out a moan and all the color drained from the pontiff’s face.

  “Americo! This is a family tree beginning with Paul. The bloodline goes through Marcion of Sinope to Scortini!” The Pope looked apoplectic. “All this time? But Salvatore and Salvadore were good Catholics! Confidants of my predecessor!”

  Alphonso spoke up. “Sua Santita, as fascinating as this all sounds, we should not be having this discussion in a room without exits. In case no one else has noticed, we’re trapped in here if someone comes at us.”

  Vincenzo put his hand on the Pope’s arm. “I agree, let’s get out of here.”

  Raphielli had been watching the water at the mouth of the bridge, and saw a form coming toward them. “Here comes Zelph.”

  Zelph surfaced yelling, “Salvio! He’s here! Right behind me!” He moved quickly through the water with strong strokes and then waded up the steps to join the group on the dais. They all watched the pool.

  The Pope called out, “Everyone, move together over there away from me.” He pointed to the left side of the altar. He then turned to withdraw something from the altar, and holding it down against his leg, he moved to the right side of the altar alone.

  Raphielli had felt so strong and sure when she was at the hotel, refusing to be frightened out of her city. But her strength deserted her as she watched Salvio swim through the water with eerie speed and surface fully clothed. Her worst nightmare was coming true.

  Salvio didn’t approach the altar. Instead, he did a sidestroke to the shallow end of the space, stopped when he was in hip-deep water, and produced a stiletto that he held out in front of him. He looked around and started talking excitedly to himself.

  “My golden temple. Water so pure….” His eyes swept over the symbols and he looked grotesquely proud. Then he glared at them. “Look at you all, a sad waterlogged bunch of riff-raff in my family’s holy place.” His eyes fell on her. “Why aren’t you dead yet?”

  Raphielli had never heard him say that he wanted her dead, and it felt like validation. She was standing there with more than enough people to protect her. Salvio was finally going to get what was coming to him. Regaining her confidence, she jutted her chin and stared him down. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Sì, you, standing there with whorish makeup running from your bovine eyes. I can see your underwear. You look like a puttana!” He turned. “Well if it isn’t Casimir Vaskovsky and his pansy Verona. What are you doing in my temple?”

  The Pope calmly considered Salvio, but said nothing. Salvio shifted his attention to the symbols on the floor of the pool. Then he glanced back over at the Pope with a disgusted expression.

  “Now it all makes sense. You’ve never treated me with proper respect because you were trying to keep me down. I’m the son of Paul. You’re just a Verona puppet, a nobody appointed by old men.”

  Negrali pointed to the items on the altar. “Salvio, you are Catholic. What use have you for these things? Of the Alithinían Church? The Boatman was a dangerous heretic.”

  Salvio made a dismissive motion with his hand. “My forefather was not a heretic, old man. Shut up, or I’ll come over and cut that worthless tongue out.”

  There was a big splash, just then and Gio and Primo surfaced, swam to the steps, and stood next to Raphielli. Gio went still, his eyes on Salvio, but he was doing something with his hand.

  “Ah, another adversary? And his sneering son... it won’t be long before you all bow at my feet!” He pointed the stiletto at the Pope. “And you, little man, you’re nothing. I am Scortini! I am the holy child of Sinope. I alone defend the true word of Jesus Christ!”

  Raphielli saw Gio eye the blade in Salvio’s hand, and he drew a gun. Primo did likewise, and they both pointed their weapons at him.

  The Pope had a withering look on his face and he spoke succinctly. “You are an evil, murderous man with a deviant mind, Salvio. The Catholic Church has always, and will always, lead people to God.”

/>   “Who are you preaching to? Certainly not me!” Salvio shouted. “The Catholic Church is nothing more than a parasite that sucks money and preys on humanity!”

  The Pope’s face was red as he raised his voice. “If I were my predecessor, you would have sealed your death warrant with your admission as a follower and descendent of the Boatman. He would have run you through with this sword!” The pontiff flourished a golden sword he was holding.

  “Don’t try to pretend that you’re any different, you sanctimonious—”

  “I do not pretend anything. I disbanded the Vatican’s Alithinían Inquisition.”

  Salvio yelled, “You’re a liar! You still head the Alithinían Inquisition! Those Vatican murderers are still actively hunting the followers of Jesus Christ through Paul.”

  “You are a madman!” The Pope’s voice boomed around the sparkling dome. “I will not undertake a theological debate! You have murdered one of the world’s treasures!”

  “Murdered a treasure? Who? Gabrieli? He was a thief!”

  “Lie!” Vincenzo cried out. “Take that back!”

  “Shut up, faggot!” Salvio yelled.

  “If you believe the Alithinían Inquiry is still active, then what are you trying to achieve?” the Pope demanded. “Now that you are revealed to be a descendant, is your plan to seal your own death warrant? I am on sabbatical from my duties and, as a man whose best friend was offered no mercy by you, I offer you no absolution.” He said the last two words with a finality that was frightening, even coming from an elderly man in dripping vestments. Raphielli was chilled by this change in the Pope, but his words galvanized everyone present.

  Salvio seemed to get more excited. “You think I’m afraid of your Catholic death squad?”