The Spear of Atlantis (Wilde/Chase 14)

by Andy McDermott

  He had to keep going. He swam on, trusting Jared to follow even with the shock of his close call.

  He reached the intersection and turned right. He still couldn’t see the sub, or even its strobe. Matt had probably guided it to the opening already, not realising the swimmers had stopped . . .

  He suddenly became aware of a noise over the rustle of the bag – the growl of an outboard motor.

  He looked around to see a boat coming straight at him, a propeller slicing through the water beneath it—

  Eddie kicked downwards, flattening himself into the muck and trash on the canal bed as the craft swept right overhead. The prop’s churning wake lashed at him, threatening to rip the bag.

  Then the boat passed.

  Forcing himself not to take a relieved breath, he looked back to find Jared. The Israeli had also gone to the bottom.

  Eddie set off again. If Matt had stopped the ROV at the opening to wait for them, he should spot its light. But if he had already taken its cargo inside . . .

  And there was now another danger, growing with every passing moment. The two close encounters had between them taken only forty seconds, but that was over half a minute extra that he would need to hold his breath – and his body was already demanding more air.

  He kept going, each stroke more tiring than the last. How much further? It couldn’t be more than sixty feet, but it felt like sixty miles . . .

  A flash of light, off to his right. The sub.

  He turned towards it, suddenly reinvigorated. Another flash, closer. Thirty feet, twenty, and then he saw the boxy ROV, right in front of a dark rectangle in the wall.

  Ten feet. Five – and he reached the sub, which obligingly moved aside. Matt must have realised the swimmers hadn’t kept up and turned to look for them. No time for gratitude, though. A sickly fire was rising in his chest, his lungs desperate to expel foul air. He pulled himself through the gap into the darkness beyond—

  Something stabbed at his stomach.

  A stub of severed chain-link stood a couple of millimetres proud of the grille’s frame, but that was enough to gouge into his wetsuit like a claw. He felt the neoprene stretch, then tear. If it cut his skin as well, there was no telling what might infect the wound . . .

  He drew his stomach muscles as tight as he could, forcing himself upwards. The wetsuit kept stretching . . . then snapped free.

  Eddie dragged himself into the cellar. The moment his feet were clear of the opening, he surfaced and clawed at the suffocating bag. His gloved fingers slipped over the plastic, unable to find grip. He clenched both fists, scrunching it up, and pulled with all his remaining strength.

  The bag tore open.

  He almost choked in his rush to exhale, then drew in a deep, whooping breath. Something bumped against his legs: Jared. He moved to let the Israeli surface beside him. The younger man breached the surface, ripping away his own bag and gasping for air.

  Eddie trod water until he was able to speak. ‘You okay?’ he wheezed.

  ‘Yeah,’ was the breathless reply. ‘Let’s not do that again.’

  ‘Might be easier than getting into the building,’ the Yorkshireman cautioned. The chamber was dark, but enough sickly light came through the submerged opening for him to pick out the steps. He swam to them, trudging gratefully to solid ground.

  Jared followed. Behind him, Matt’s ROV surfaced. The Mossad agent detached the zip-lock, and the little sub bobbed in acknowledgement before heading back towards the canal.

  ‘Everything still dry?’ Eddie asked.

  Jared pulled off his gloves, then unsealed the bag. ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Thank God. Might make people a bit suspicious if we walk around stinking like we just came out of a sewer. Which we kind of did.’

  ‘How do we get out?’

  Eddie rummaged in the bag, producing a torch, which he switched on, and his phone. He pointed the former towards the top of the steps. ‘There’s the door – but it’s bolted from the other side.’

  ‘Which is where Olivia and Macy come in?’

  ‘Yep. Better tell ’em we’re here.’ He sent a brief text message to Olivia, then took out the rolled-up clothing. ‘So now we get changed – then hope a seven-year-old and a ninety-three-year-old can pull off the next part of the plan . . .’

  The atmosphere inside the Scuola Grande di San Rocco was very different from Olivia and Macy’s previous visit. During the daytime it was a haunt for lovers of Renaissance art, but they were vastly outnumbered by tourists, treating it as simply another tick on the checklist of Venetian attractions.

  Now, though, the museum was hosting one of its regular private functions, and its visitors were more than mere sightseers. The lectures it hosted by globally renowned figures drew an elite audience from all over the world. As a result, security had been bolstered, the pair having to pass through a cordon and a metal detector before being allowed entry.

  Once in, the air was more upscale cocktail party than art gallery. The guests – Macy was the youngest by about three decades, and even at ninety-three Olivia was not the oldest – were more concerned with networking than appreciation of Tintoretto. Macy regarded everyone nervously, holding her great-grandmother with one hand while the other clutched the trikan. ‘Where are we going, Grams?’

  ‘Let’s find Gregorio,’ Olivia replied. ‘This way.’

  They went up to the next floor. Macy glanced towards the door they had passed through to reach Pinto’s office. As before, it had a security guard stationed at it, but he seemed much more alert than his predecessor. ‘What if he doesn’t let us through?’

  ‘He will, don’t worry.’ But the elderly woman was hiding her own concerns. She had been in the field with Eddie before, but that had been a matter of escape and survival. Walking into potential danger was another thing entirely.

  A quiet buzz from her handbag. She took out her phone to see a text from Eddie. Just one word: Go.

  ‘Is that from Daddy?’ Macy asked.

  ‘Yes, it is. They must be in the cellar, so now we’ve got to get them out. Do you remember what to do?’

  Macy nodded, holding up her toy trikan unhappily. ‘It’s going to break, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m sure your father will buy you a new one. Oh, there’s Gregorio.’ She spotted Pinto amongst a cluster of people in front of one of the paintings.

  ‘The bad man’s with him,’ said Macy, worried. The little crowd had formed around the evening’s guest of honour, Gideon Lobato. Three large suited men stood at a respectful distance: the billionaire’s bodyguards. The white-clad man did not seem remotely comfortable in the close proximity of so many others, his expression suggesting he wanted to spray them all with an antibacterial – or pesticide.

  ‘You have to pretend that we don’t know he’s bad,’ Olivia told her as they headed across the room. ‘We don’t want to scare him away.’ The thought had occurred that her mere presence might make Lobato suspicious, but the plan depended on her speaking to Pinto, and she guessed he would stay clamped to his VIP guest like a limpet.

  That proved to be the case. When the Italian saw her, he waved for her to join them rather than come to greet her. ‘Ah, Olivia! Ciao, bella! And Macy, too. Ciao, piccola.’

  ‘Lovely to see you again, Gregorio,’ said Olivia, kissing his cheeks. ‘And Gideon, hello.’

  ‘Mrs Garde,’ said Lobato. He was clearly unsettled by her arrival. ‘I did not expect to see you.’

  ‘I told you, Gregorio is a good friend. And your mentioning that you were coming here inspired me to see him. Not that I need any excuse to visit Venice.’

  Lobato eyed Macy. ‘And you brought Dr Wilde’s daughter with you?’

  Olivia’s tone became sombre. ‘I thought it best to take her mind off everything that’s happened.’

  ‘I see. And . . . her father?’

  ‘In Spain, dealing with the police. He’s trying to bring my granddaughter home safely.’

  ‘I would imagine that might no
t be for some time. Several years, perhaps. I do not know the Spanish sentence for robbery.’

  ‘I’m sure that whatever Nina did, it was for the best of reasons,’ Olivia replied, prickling. ‘She has saved the world several times; she knows what she’s doing. I expect she’s preventing some megalomaniac from obtaining a dangerous archaeological relic.’ Her eyes were fixed on his.

  He didn’t even blink. ‘A megalomaniac? Highly unlikely.’

  Pinto gave Olivia a concerned look. ‘Your granddaughter is in trouble?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘She’s Nina Wilde, the archaeologist.’

  His eyes widened. ‘She is your granddaughter? I saw in the news that she stole something from a museum in Spain!’

  ‘As I said to Gideon, I’m certain she’ll be vindicated. But it has been . . . very distressing.’ Her voice quavered, and she wobbled a little, supporting herself on her cane. ‘For Macy, of course, but also for me. Knowing your granddaughter is on the run, being hunted by the police for something she didn’t do, is terribly stressful. Terribly . . .’

  She staggered, then crumpled to the floor.

  ‘Grams!’ Macy cried, horrified. Gasps came from those around her.

  Lobato stared at the fallen woman in confusion. Pinto, however, was quicker to respond. ‘Olivia!’ he said, crouching. ‘Are you all right?’ He signalled to the security guard, who hurried over. ‘Veloce! Chiama un’ambulanza!’

  ‘No, no,’ Olivia insisted, straining to sit up. ‘I’m all right, Gregorio. Just . . . a moment of dizziness. I’ll be fine. Perhaps . . . perhaps if I could lie down for a few minutes?’

  ‘I will take you to my office,’ said Pinto. He spoke to the guard in Italian.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. The two men carefully brought her to her feet.

  ‘Are you okay, Grams?’ Macy asked, stricken.

  Olivia leaned closer. ‘I’m fine, my dear,’ she said – then, when she was sure nobody else could see, winked at her. ‘Now, let’s go to Gregorio’s office. And don’t forget your toy.’

  Comprehension blossomed on the young girl’s face, followed by a smile that she fought to conceal. ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Good.’ Olivia took Pinto’s hand, holding her cane with the other. ‘Thank you, Gregorio. Follow us upstairs, Macy.’

  Pinto offered apologies to his guests, then he and the guard walked Olivia and Macy to the stairwell door. Lobato watched them go, struggling not to recoil as the other guests closed in around him.

  The guard opened the door to let Olivia and Pinto through. Macy trailed behind, fidgeting with the trikan. She looked down the stairs, seeing the cellar door below. A moment of hesitation, fuelled by fear of being caught . . .

  Then she reached over the banister and dropped the toy.

  It hit the tiles two storeys below with a loud crack of plastic. ‘My trikan!’ she cried as both Italians turned. ‘I dropped it, I dropped it!’ Remembering what she had to do, she ran down the stairs after it.

  ‘No, wait!’ called Pinto, reluctant to have an unaccompanied child haring around the building. He turned to the guard to tell him to go after her—

  ‘Oh!’ gasped Olivia, wobbling. Her escorts hurriedly steadied her. ‘I’m sorry, I felt dizzy again.’

  ‘Are you sure you are all right?’ Pinto asked. ‘I can still call an ambulance.’

  ‘No, don’t be absurd. I just need a few minutes off my feet. And,’ a small smile, ‘a drop of Casavecchia would help enormously.’

  His own smile was wider. ‘Ah, as always, an ulterior motive.’

  By now, Macy had reached the bottom of the stairs. She looked up. Both men were still concerned with her great-grandmother, but she only had a few seconds to complete her task. She reached up to the bolt and pulled—

  It didn’t move.

  The door’s weight was pressing the bolt against its rusty staple. She tried again, harder, but barely shifted it, and the attempt produced a metallic squeak. Another fearful glance up. Pinto’s shoulder was visible above the railing. If he turned his head, he would see what she was doing.

  ‘Macy!’ Eddie’s low voice rumbled from behind the door. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I can’t open it!’ she replied in a desperate whisper. ‘It’s stuck!’

  ‘Hold on.’

  She didn’t know what he was going to do, so she glanced up again. Olivia was talking to Pinto, but it was no longer enough to distract him. He started to turn . . .

  The door drew more tightly against its jamb as Eddie pulled at it. ‘Try now!’

  Macy tugged the bolt again – and this time it popped free.

  ‘Macy, are you all right?’ Pinto called. He leaned over the banister –

  She just barely managed to whip her hands down. ‘I – I,’ she stammered, before coming up with a response. ‘It’s broken! It broke!’ Pieces of the toy trikan were scattered around her.

  ‘We’ll get you another one,’ said Olivia. ‘Have you finished down there?’

  It took Macy a moment to understand the question’s dual meaning. ‘Yes, yes,’ she said, collecting the plastic fragments.

  ‘Leave them, do not worry,’ Pinto told her. ‘I will send someone to clean them up.’

  ‘No, no, it’s okay, I’ve got them,’ she gabbled. If anyone came down the stairs and saw the unlocked bolt, they would either close it again, or open the door and find her father. ‘I’ve got them all.’

  ‘Good lass,’ came a whisper from the door. ‘Now get back to Olivia, quick!’

  She followed her father’s instruction and ran upstairs. Pinto regarded the broken pieces sympathetically. ‘I am sorry. I hope it was not expensive.’

  ‘Her father thinks anything above a dollar fifty is expensive,’ Olivia told him.

  ‘Ah, yes. The English, they are . . . frugal, yes?’

  ‘And Yorkshiremen particularly so.’ They shared a smile, then Olivia remembered she still had a job to do. ‘Oh, but I do need to lie down.’

  ‘Of course. Avanti,’ he told the guard, who gently supported her arm as they climbed the stairs, Macy behind them. On reaching the top floor, the little girl shot a last worried look at the cellar before following them to the Guardian Grando’s office.

  Pinto unlocked it, then opened the door, guiding Olivia to the chaise longue before going to a cabinet. ‘Please, rest. I will get you a drink. Va bene, puoi tornare indietro,’ he told the guard, who nodded and started back to his station downstairs—

  The moment both men’s backs were turned, Macy darted after the departing guard, whipping a foot into the gap just before the door slammed shut. She clenched her jaw to hold in a squeal of pain.

  Quick, quick! Olivia mouthed. Macy hurriedly produced a wad of folded paper wrapped in black masking tape and stuffed it into the box of the frame’s strike plate. Behind her, Pinto took a wine bottle from the cabinet. She gave the makeshift bung a last push, then retreated.

  The door closed, catch clicking . . . but it was the lock she had jammed. There was no way to know if she had been successful, though – not until Pinto locked it again.

  The Italian turned. Macy gave him an innocent smile, trying to hide the fact that she felt sick with fear. He smiled back, then collected two glasses. ‘Here. I am sure this will make you feel much better.’

  ‘Are you unwell too, Gregorio?’ Olivia asked, smiling.

  ‘I call it prevention. Much better than cure.’ He poured wine into the glasses and gave one to her. ‘Buona salute e benessere!’

  ‘Good health,’ Olivia echoed, giving her great-granddaughter a look of praise over the glass.

  24

  In the cellar, Eddie and Jared had changed into the clothes from the zip-lock bag. The Israeli now wore a dark suit, the Englishman a spy-style black turtleneck. Both outfits were crumpled, but the hope in Jared’s case was that the colour would camouflage the creases.

  Eddie, meanwhile, hoped nobody would even see him to note the state of his clothing. He opened the cellar door a fra
ction, listening as someone descended the stairs. They went through the door above, the murmur of conversation from the galleries briefly reaching the Yorkshireman.

  ‘That must’ve been whoever went upstairs with Macy and Olivia,’ he said. ‘Probably one of the guards.’ He opened the door wider and peered out. The stairwell was empty. ‘Okay, let’s get ready.’

  The two men took out the rest of their gear. Jared collected only a phone. The Englishman, on the other hand, ended up with a small bag holding the gas injector and a couple of other items, plus a large folded canvas sack containing a long skein of rope. He also pocketed his phone and donned a paired Bluetooth earpiece. ‘Think we’re all set,’ he said. ‘Come on, Macy. Do your dad proud . . .’

  ‘How do you feel now?’ asked Pinto, finishing his wine.

  ‘Much better, thank you, Gregorio,’ Olivia replied, sipping from her own glass. ‘I just needed to sit down. That’s the problem with growing old; what you used to be able to do with no trouble starts to exhaust you.’

  Macy sat beside her, swinging her feet with increasing boredom. ‘Can we go now?’

  ‘I think that was a subtle hint that my great-granddaughter may have had enough,’ said Olivia. She used her cane to stand.

  ‘Are you sure you will be all right?’ Pinto asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you. And we should get back downstairs anyway. It would be a shame if I missed Gideon’s lecture – and a terrible faux pas if you did!’

  ‘We still have time,’ he assured her. ‘Come, I will escort you.’

  Macy followed them to the door. Pinto let them through, then closed it and put his key in the lock. A grunt as he had to apply more force than expected, but finally it turned. ‘Now, let us see what Gideon has to say.’ He took Olivia’s hand and led her to the stairs.

  Macy looked anxiously back at the door. The lock had clicked, but she didn’t know if the wad of paper and tape had kept it from closing properly.

  And her father would only find out when he tried to open it.