Ana sat upright. ‘Okay. The best way to help her is to prove she had nothing to do with stealing the marker.’
‘Easy. Just tell everyone you were hired to set her up.’
A mocking look. ‘And then I would be arrested in her place. But if we could make Lobato confess . . .’
‘The Dhajanis’d call off the hunt and you’d get your own back on him,’ Eddie concluded. ‘Okay, that’s a good start.’
‘But we would have to reach him. And he could be anywhere in the world.’
‘I don’t know where he is now,’ Eddie said, an idea taking shape. ‘But I know where he’s going to be. He’s giving a talk in Venice in a few days.’
‘We might be able to catch him there, yes. But I do not know the city.’
‘Olivia does. She even knows the guy in charge of the place where he’s doing the talk. If he can get us inside . . .’
‘Where is Olivia? And Macy, is she with her?’
‘They’re both in Spain. I spoke to them while you were unconscious. If we get over there, Olivia can tell us more about Venice.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Bit late now, though. We’re better going first thing in the morning.’ He gave Ana a suspicious look. ‘That’s if you’re still here in the morning.’
‘Where would I go?’ she objected. ‘I was living in Mexico, but my payment for this job was supposed to get me out of there. And I can’t go back to Brazil, so I am . . .’ She threw up her hands. ‘Screwed.’
Eddie still had his doubts, but he nodded. ‘Okay. We’ll get over to Spain tomorrow, then sort out a flight to Italy. And then we’ll find Lobato. You can do whatever you want to him – but only after Nina’s off the hook. Deal?’ He held out his hand.
She regarded it with uncertainty, then shook it. ‘Deal.’
‘All right. Hope you like Cornettos, ’cause we’re going to Venice.’
17
Seville
Wearing her floppy hat over her newly cropped hair, Nina hesitantly emerged from the hostel.
There was no SWAT team waiting for her, which was a good start. She didn’t know if her previous day’s escapades had made the news, but if they had, the hostel’s owner didn’t seem to have heard.
She wasn’t prepared to assume he would remain in the dark. She had brought all her belongings with her rather than leave them in the room. It was a risk carrying a priceless Atlantean artefact, but not as much as returning to the hostel to discover the cops had staked the place out.
She headed for the city centre. Not having a phone made navigation harder, but she had at least found a tourist brochure with a street plan at reception. She still didn’t know exactly where to go, and it took the better part of an hour before she found what she was looking for: a large bookstore. There was a Spanish edition of the book she wanted, which would have suited her purposes just fine, but as luck would have it, there was also a selection of recent English titles – and the one in question was on display amongst them.
Treasures of Atlantis, by Nina Wilde.
She felt vaguely embarrassed about buying a copy of her own book, but of more concern was that someone might recognise her even with her changed appearance. Not only was she a public figure, but her photo was right next to the barcode.
Her concerns came to nothing, though. The young woman on the till barely gave her more than a glance. The book was rung through, along with a pocket English–Spanish dictionary. Nina had already used the latter, haltingly asking: ‘Me puede decir dónde encontrar una tienda de artesanía?’
The woman regarded her as if she had just landed from Mars, but gave her directions she eventually managed to understand. The art and crafts store was on the other side of Seville’s centre; a walk away, but she had plenty of time. ‘Graçias,’ she told the assistant, setting out for her next destination.
Eddie and Ana had reached a destination of their own: Algeciras in Spain.
The Yorkshireman had been mildly surprised that the Brazilian had been as good as her word and not slipped out of the house in the night. Payback was clearly a strong motivator for her. After thanking Karim and Maysa – and giving the Moroccan some money to compensate for the trashing of his restaurant – they had taken an early ferry to Tarifa, then a cab for the fourteen-mile journey to the port town.
They met Macy and Olivia in their hotel. Macy was delighted to see her father again, Olivia relieved, though her reaction to Ana was less approving. ‘What is she doing here?’ the elderly woman demanded. ‘You told me she framed Nina!’
‘She did,’ Eddie replied as he hugged Macy. ‘But Gideon Lobato paid her to do it.’
‘Gideon? That appalling little man, I knew there was something shifty about him! Why?’
‘We don’t know. But we’re going to make him tell us.’
Olivia gave Ana another cold look. ‘We? Why would she want to help you?’
He put Macy down. ‘Because rather than pay her, he sent a load of goons to whack her. She’s kind of peeved.’
‘Quite understandably,’ Olivia replied, raising her eyebrows. ‘So how are you going to make Gideon talk? Actually, I don’t want to know. Rather, how are you going to find him?’
‘We’ll catch him at that talk in Venice.’
‘Ah, at the Scuola. Of course. I can try to get Gregorio to help.’
‘That’s what I was hoping. If you could give him a call—’
‘A call?’ said Olivia. ‘A personal visit would be more effective. Gregorio and I are old friends, but I won’t be able to twist him around my little finger – certainly not over the telephone.’
Eddie shook his head. ‘No, I need you to take Macy back to New York.’
‘We can’t go home without Mommy!’ Macy protested.
‘I want to get you somewhere safe.’
‘No, no!’ she cried. ‘We can’t go without her! You’ve got to find her!’
‘That’s what I’m going to do, love. I’ll go to Italy, talk to Lobato and find out where your mum is. Then everyone’ll know she’s not in trouble.’
‘Ah . . . about that,’ said Olivia, almost with resignation, as she held up a newspaper.
Eddie couldn’t translate the Spanish headline, but the two pictures of his wife, one a publicity headshot and the other security footage of her running through what looked like a museum, told the story all too clearly. ‘Oh bloody hell. Now what’s she done?’
‘It would appear,’ Olivia told him, ‘she stole an exhibit from the archaeological museum in Seville.’
He took the paper for a closer look. Nina was holding a disc-shaped object: the second spear marker. ‘You’re kidding me. She was supposed to tell them to put it in a safe!’
‘I suppose it’s one way to make sure the thieves couldn’t get their hands on it.’
‘Great. So the Dhajanis are after her, and now the Spanish are after her!’
‘What’s going to happen to Mommy?’ Macy asked, trying not to cry.
‘She’ll be fine,’ her father insisted, hoping he was being truthful. ‘Like I said, I’ll make Gideon Lobato admit he’s the real bad guy. And I’m sure she’ll have a really, really good explanation for why she robbed the museum.’
‘If you’re going to Venice,’ said Olivia firmly, ‘you’ll need me to come with you. No, don’t argue,’ she went on as he started to object. ‘I know the city well; it’s one of my favourite places on earth. And I’m sure I’ll be able to convince Gregorio to admit us to Gideon’s talk. It’s the only way you’ll be able to get close to him.’ She squeezed Macy’s hand. ‘And if I’m coming to Venice, Macy will have to as well. You can hardly send her home alone.’
Eddie knew she was right; it was his only opportunity to reach Lobato. And Olivia’s knowledge of the city and friendship with the head of the Scuola might be invaluable. ‘Okay, we’d better get organised. Lobato’s giving his talk the day after tomorrow, so we’ll need somewhere to stay, and we’ve got to sort out flights . . .’
‘Oh, ours are already arr
anged,’ Olivia said, with a little smugness. ‘The cruise company is paying for us to fly to wherever we want to go next. First class, at that. We just have to let them know the destination. I’m afraid you and Ana will have to travel in coach, though.’
‘All right, you can stop enjoying yourself now,’ Eddie told her. He regarded the newspaper’s front page again. ‘Just hope we get to Lobato before Nina steals the Spanish crown jewels!’
Further thefts were not on Nina’s mind. Instead, she was examining a picture of something that had already been stolen: the first spear marker.
She was at one of Seville’s newer, and stranger, attractions. Its official name was the Metropol Parasol, but locals knew it descriptively as Las Setas – ‘The Mushrooms’. It was a huge, curvaceous wooden lattice straddling La Encarnación square, acting as both a viewing platform across the city for those venturing to its highest levels, and a sunshade for those below.
Nina remained on the ground, hiding in plain sight amongst the crowds sitting on steps beneath the great structure. She had bolstered her disguise with a pair of oversized sunglasses, peering over them for an unfiltered look at the photograph of the marker in her book. It had a full page to itself in the large hardback, the text on its surface clearly legible.
Best of all, it was presented at its actual size.
She glanced at her bag, fighting the urge to place the second marker on the book for comparison. But at a glance, the dimensions seemed identical.
As well as the stolen – borrowed, she reminded herself – artefact, the bag also contained the fruits of her trip to the craft shop. Scissors, a scalpel, foam core board, pencils, glue, a ruler, an assortment of thin dowels, and a small but powerful LED torch. She hoped that when combined, they would reveal the secret of the markers.
But first she had to find somewhere to work. Returning to the hostel was now too risky. Her theft – removal for safe keeping! – of the marker dominated the headlines on newspaper stands throughout the city. At least with her hair now drastically changed, the staff at her next hostel might not recognise her.
She squeezed the book into her bag, then stood. A visit to a shop selling Apple products a couple of blocks from the Parasol had given her internet access, letting her write a list of nearby hostels. She set off to check them out.
The first hostel was full, as was the second – but Nina found herself being third time lucky. Luxurious it was not, but it gave her a bed, a small table on which to work, and most importantly, privacy.
She wasted no time. First she traced the marker’s outline on to the foam board and cut it out, then mutilated her book by removing the picture of the first marker. After glueing it to the circle of board, she placed it beside the second relic. Their dimensions were as close a match as she could achieve. Grateful for her recent practice in arts and crafts with Macy, she cut out spaces into which the small pegs jutting from the Atlantean artefact could fit, then placed her home-made marker back-to-back with the orichalcum disc. They slotted together perfectly.
Now came the hard part.
She needed to put a hole through her craftwork in every place where there was one on the photograph – and make sure the angle of each converged at the same point. It would be a tedious and fiddly job, and she had to be accurate. With no way to know which holes were important, she had to duplicate them all.
A small sigh, then she began. One of the dowels matched the holes’ size, so she used the scissors to pierce the photograph and slit the card beneath before aligning the wooden rod and pushing it through. The task was harder than it looked, the polystyrene compressing rather than splitting. She couldn’t risk damaging the replica, so used a pencil’s point to drill through the foam before trying again. This time, it was much easier. She felt for the faint bump where the pencil’s tip had pushed against the other side of the card, then cut it open and pushed the dowel through.
She held the hole up to her eye. It was ragged, but checking it against the real marker, it seemed to be at the right angle to converge with the hoop. ‘One down,’ she said, her sigh much bigger this time. ‘Only . . . eighty to go.’
18
Venice, Italy
The island city of Venice was one of the world’s most popular tourist destinations, millions drawn every year to its beauty and history. But while Eddie was fully engaged in taking in his surroundings as he, Ana, Olivia and Macy approached the Scuola Grande di San Rocco, he was anything but sightseeing. Instead he was looking for positions of advantage, cover, blind spots, escape routes . . . anything he could use in his mission.
He noticed that Ana was doing the same as the group came around the imposing Basilica dei Frari. She may have been a cop rather than a member of Brazil’s armed forces, but elite units like BOPE were effectively paramilitary – and their battleground was close-quarters urban combat in Rio de Janeiro’s favela slums. Her training was finding a new use half a world away.
‘I know Nina is more interested in considerably older history,’ said Olivia, admiring the buildings around the small square they had just entered, ‘but she would love to see this. There’s the Scuola and the church of San Rocco, the basilica, the Leonardo museum . . .’
‘We can crack the da Vinci code once she’s safe,’ said Eddie. ‘This the place?’
The elderly lady was irked by his brusqueness, but chose not to respond in kind. ‘Yes, here,’ she said, pointing.
The Englishman took in the structure. The Scuola Grande was a large, elaborately detailed piece of Renaissance architecture in white stone and pale yellow marble. The main block was technically only two storeys high, but each floor was on such a monumental scale that it appeared to have been built for giants. ‘The bloke in charge is expecting us, right?’
‘Yes, Eddie,’ she said impatiently. ‘I called him while you were buying your map. Which you won’t need – I told you, I know my way around Venice.’
‘We’ll need more than the best routes to the art galleries,’ he said as they entered the towering doorway. ‘But we’ll see if your mate can help us first.’
‘Speaking of whom . . .’ said Olivia as a grey-haired man in his late sixties approached, hands out wide.
‘Olivia!’ he proclaimed, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Mia bella signora, come stai?’
‘I’m very well, thank you, Gregorio,’ she replied. ‘And you?’
He patted his stomach through his well-tailored suit. ‘Very good! I have lost fifteen kilograms. I became vegetarian, you know. It is not fashionable in Italy, but after my heart attack, I decided to leave the fashion to my wife.’
‘And how is Mia?’
‘She is good, thank you. Never puts on a gram, whatever she eats. And she likes meat too much to become vegetarian. I have tried to convince her, but she is my wife – she does not listen to me.’
‘Oh, trust me, Gregorio,’ said Olivia, smiling. ‘A wife always listens to her husband – so she can remind him of something embarrassing he said when it best suits her.’
He laughed. ‘Very true. You have brought friends?’
‘Family, actually. My great-granddaughter, Macy, and her father, Eddie Chase. And his colleague, Ana. Everyone, this is Dr Gregorio Pinto, the Guardian Grando of San Rocco.’
‘Ah, bella, bella!’ said Pinto, crouching to greet Macy. ‘A great-granddaughter? I did not even know you had a granddaughter!’
‘We were estranged – it’s a long story. But we found each other while I still had time.’
The Italian nodded. ‘If you do not have your family, then what do you have?’ He straightened, kissing Ana’s hand and shaking Eddie’s. ‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘We’re staying in Venice for a few days, and I wanted to see you, of course,’ Olivia told him. ‘But I do have an ulterior motive, naturally.’
‘Naturally,’ Pinto echoed with a smile. ‘I have known Olivia for forty years,’ he said to Eddie. ‘She is a most remarkable woman. But there is always a quid pro quo.’ Eddie’s
only reply was a knowing smile of his own. Pinto turned back to Olivia. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I believe Gideon Lobato is giving a talk here the day after tomorrow?’
The Italian nodded. ‘About climate change – a subject close to the hearts of everyone in Venice.’
‘I’ve met him several times; we had dinner a couple of days ago, in fact. A fascinating man. I’d love to continue our conversation, and I know your speakers always meet the guests afterwards.’
‘Usually, yes. But Mr Lobato is a special case.’ Pinto gave her a conspiratorial smile. ‘He does not like . . . people.’
‘Oh, I know. He’s very reserved. But I would still like to see him again. If you could arrange it, of course.’
‘All the seats are taken, but . . . well, I am sure I can do something for you. Quid pro quo.’
‘A donation to the Scuola?’
‘But of course. Tintorettos do not restore themselves.’
‘We know each other so well, don’t we?’ They both laughed. ‘Would a thousand dollars be sufficient?’
‘More than enough. Come, we can talk in my office.’
Pinto led the way through the museum, taking them up a flight of stairs and through high-ceilinged halls lined with paintings. A uniformed security guard stood beside a door, both watching the exhibits and ensuring that members of the public did not enter the Scuola’s private areas. He stood aside deferentially as Pinto and his guests went through.
A short hall beyond led to a staircase to floors above and below; the museum had a wing at the rear that stood taller than its grand facade. Eddie looked down the stairwell. At the bottom was an old wooden door with a heavy bolt. ‘Is that a cellar?’ he asked. ‘Wouldn’t have thought anywhere in Venice would be below ground level.’
‘It is a cellar, yes,’ Pinto replied. ‘But we do not use it any more; it is flooded. The canals were lower when the Scuola was built. Another result of climate change – Mr Lobato is right that we need to act before it is too late.’
The Spear of Atlantis (Wilde/Chase 14) Page 18