Very impressive. Remind me to go shoplifting with you in happier times.
To business: Bring the merchandise to the Medici crypt at the San Lorenzo Basilica. Tomorrow, noon.
I hope your skill in acquiring this item is matched by your punctuality in handing it over. Tardiness will not be tolerated.
Vesper One
“What about our hostages?” Hamilton yelled at the phone. “What about Reagan?”
“We can’t text him back,” Dan said grimly. “His location is blocked.”
“Dude’s asking a lot,” Jonah observed. “How does he expect us to cough up the swag until he cuts loose our people?”
“He’s got hostages,” Hamilton reminded him. “We’ve got nothing.”
The thought of Phoenix melted the expression of cocky defiance on Jonah’s famous face. “If they hurt the little guy —”
Amy wished she had something encouraging to say, but they were at Vesper One’s mercy.
And she was very much afraid that he had none.
CHAPTER 10
The Basilica of San Lorenzo was located in Florence’s main market district. In the middle of the day, the narrow streets were crowded and progress was slow—especially for the long stretch limo provided by Jonah’s Italian record company. With the car mired in traffic and the church’s towering dome in view, the four Cahills abandoned their ride and ventured out on foot.
The “Medusa” was wrapped in a voluminous lawn bag in Amy’s arms, but Dan was still nervous. All of Italy was looking for that thing — the whole world, really. Was it just his imagination, or were a lot of eyes turning their way? Maybe it was Jonah. Even with dark shades and the brim of his baseball cap pulled low, the famous face still seemed familiar.
The roar of powerful motors assailed Dan’s ears. Six large Harley Davidsons were coming down the road, their black-jacketed riders weaving in and out of the creeping vehicles.
What motorcycle gang goes cruising in a traffic jam?
The thought had barely crossed his mind when the choppers were all around them. Before Dan’s horrified eyes, the lead biker reached out and shoved Amy to the street. As she went down, a second rider wheeled around her opposite flank and wrenched the parcel from her arms.
“Hey!” Dan hurled himself at Amy’s attacker, but in that instant, a third Harley blocked his way. A leather-clad stiff-arm shoved him back and he tumbled over the hood of a slow-moving taxi.
Two more motorcycles jumped the sidewalk, streaking past on the curbside. A boot kicked out, tripping Jonah from behind. Hamilton tried to fight back, but his punch slammed into a hard helmet. He shouted in agony, grasping swelling knuckles.
Amy was on her feet again, running full speed. The package was far ahead now, tracing a serpentine escape path through the snarl. A few seconds later, the gang disappeared around a corner. Dodging pedestrians and food carts, the four Cahills barreled after the rapidly fading engine noise.
Amy pounded around the corner and pulled up short. “Where’d they go?”
Dan plowed into her from behind and bounced off, gasping. “Keep running!”
“No use, cuz,” wheezed Jonah, his shades lost, his famous eyes wild. “They’re gone.”
“No fair!” raged Hamilton. “Those guys ripped off what we rightfully stole!” He thought of what this might mean for Reagan, and his anger deflated to despair.
“Back to the limo!” Dan panted. “We’ll search the whole city!”
Amy shook her head in resignation. “No.”
“They’ve got the painting!” Dan raved. “It’s the only thing we can trade for our people! For Nellie!”
“We’ll never find them,” Amy said desolately. “They’re probably already in a basement somewhere, realizing they’ve got what every policeman in Italy is looking for.”
There was a terrible silence as the gravity of the situation sank in. They had failed Vesper One. What would happen now? Their enemy had promised again and again to kill a hostage.
Who would it be? Alistair … Natalie … Ted … Phoenix …
Jonah winced as if in physical pain.
Reagan …
A tear pooled in the corner of Hamilton’s eye.
Fiske … Nellie …
The Cahills’ sibling radar had saved them so many times before, but at that moment, there was nothing to communicate but utter powerlessness and black, black despair.
When the Vesper phone chimed, they all jumped. Amy was trembling as she drew the device out of her pocket.
The small screen displayed two words:
Package received
“That’s impossible!” Hamilton exclaimed. “How could the package be received when we never made the drop-off?”
Light dawned on Dan. “That was the drop-off! The Vespers didn’t want to tell us where they’d be, so they set us up to get swarmed!”
“Slick,” commented Jonah.
“Very slick,” agreed Amy, rubbing a bruised hip. “Who are these Vespers?”
The abandoned gas station had been closed and shuttered for many years, but the service bay rattled open in perfect working order to admit the lone motorcyclist. The biker dismounted, pulling down the door behind him. He removed his helmet, and curly hair tumbled free.
Casper Wyoming had been named for the location of his parents’ most successful bank heist. He had been born into crime and had also made it his life’s passion. It was far more satisfying to steal a single dollar than to earn fifty by honest means. He had quickly risen through the ranks of the Vespers. Someday he intended to be Vesper One.
But until that day, the current Vesper One was expecting his report.
He reached into the green garbage bag and pulled out the shield-painting that the Cahill kids had stolen. The image took his breath away. Such perfect ugliness! Caravaggio would have made an excellent Vesper. Few could match this artist’s skill in creating pure horror.
Casper Wyoming had devoted his life to it.
What a shame that this magnificent artwork was too famous to sell! But of course its value to the Vespers went far beyond mere money.
He held the shield upright and turned the face away so that he was examining the backing. His spine stiffened, and he drew in a sharp breath. This was not the “Medusa”! This was a fake!
He was distracted by the clatter as the service bay door opened to admit a second motorcyclist, her helmet under her arm. The woman was young and blond, with slight features and a face that was very nearly angelic.
Casper held up the “Medusa” and then flipped the artwork around, revealing the back.
The newcomer’s sweet smile slowly resolved itself into a diabolical grin. Treachery meant consequences. It was the Vesper way.
Someone was going to pay.
The mood inside the holding cell had gone from shock to fear to frustration, settling at last into a kind of resigned boredom. The determination to discover the nature of their captivity and to escape was as strong as ever. But they had made absolutely zero progress.
They did not know the identity of their captors. They did not know where they were being held. Ted insisted that he sometimes heard voices beyond the walls. The others believed him — his hearing seemed more acute due to his lack of sight. But so far, he had not been able to make out a single word, or even an accent.
At first, their plan had been to make a break for the door the instant the next hostage was delivered. But Phoenix had been the final arrival. Since he had been deposited on the floor, the walls of the cell had been their entire universe. Except for the dumbwaiter, which sent down meals and fresh laundry, they had no contact whatsoever with the outside world.
Yesterday, Reagan had climbed into the dumbwaiter, hoping to be hauled out as dirty dishes. She’d sat there for a solid hour before giving up. Their next meal had been a pitcher of water and a loaf of stale bread.
“Don’t get me wrong — I hate these guys,” was Nellie’s opinion. “But when it comes to running a prison, they know what
they’re doing.”
Fiske nodded sadly. “They have certainly put a great deal of effort into isolating us completely. We have been here several days and have learned nothing.”
“Several days?” Natalie repeated. “I think I’ve missed my hair appointment.”
“We’ve got bigger problems than your bad hair day,” Nellie said irritably.
Reagan slammed her fist into her palm. “I can’t stand it that we’re just sitting around like helpless idiots!”
“It’s very wearing,” Alistair agreed, his right arm twitching. He felt incomplete without his walking stick. “Still, there’s nothing for it but to wait until something happens. We can’t act — we can only react. The next move belongs to our captors.”
At that moment, the panel swept aside. Reagan did not hesitate. She ran headlong at the opening. The first thing she saw beyond the walls of their prison was a large hunting crossbow—the kind that could fell a buck at three hundred yards. It was pointed at a patch of skin between her eyes; range: eighteen inches. She backed away from the weapon and the masked jailer wielding it.
Another captor appeared behind the first, also masked. But instead of a bow, this one carried a small snub-nosed pistol. Holding it out in front of him, he approached the hostages.
Fiske stepped forward. “Put that thing away, and we can talk about this like civilized people.” He was shoved aside and went sprawling into the rack of jumpsuits.
The jailer pointed the gun at the nearest captive—Natalie. The girl was so frightened that she could barely manage to shrink away from him.
“No.”
The word resonated from all around them, as if the cell itself were a speaker. The hostages looked about in shocked bewilderment. The voice was electronically distorted, almost robotic sounding, yet the authority was unmistakable. The jailer with the pistol froze instantly, awaiting instructions.
“Not her,” the voice boomed.
“Who, then?” he asked the four walls.
“Suit yourself.”
It happened so quickly that no one had a chance to move defensively. With lightning speed, the jailer pointed the snub-nose at Nellie and squeezed the trigger. An earsplitting crack resounded in the small enclosed space.
Nellie clutched at her shoulder, her face twisted with pain. Dark red blood trickled out between her fingers. Before the horrified gaze of her fellow prisoners, she crumpled to the floor. Alistair rushed to her aid.
In a fury, Reagan flung herself at the attacker. Her action cost her dearly. The guard with the crossbow smashed the shaft of the weapon against the side of her head. She went down, stunned.
Both jailers backed out of the room. The wall swept shut behind then.
Phoenix and Natalie clung together, crying.
Ted stood up, helpless and bewildered. “What just happened?”
Fiske was closest to Reagan and hurried to help her up. “Very brave, my dear, but very foolish.”
Alistair knelt beside Nellie and touched her neck, feeling for a pulse.
CHAPTER 11
The four cousins hadn’t yet ordered a single item off La Rotunda’s menu, yet their table was piled high with all the specialties of the house.
“Thanks, yo. ’Preciate that,” the famous Jonah Wizard said graciously as the chef personally delivered a steaming platter of gnocchi.
“Signor Wizard!” the man gushed. “Such an honor to welcome a renowned television personality and recording artist!”
“And movie star,” Jonah added helpfully. “Did you catch Gangsta Kronikles yet? Don’t wait for the DVD.”
“Of course, of course!” the chef exclaimed. “We will always remember this glorious day!”
“Me, too. Great chow.” The visiting celebrity knew that this quote was going to appear in the next diners’ guide, along with a new house specialty, probably called Gangsta Gnocchi.
They were tucked into a corner table to provide Jonah with a degree of privacy that he never got anyway. Patrons were constantly peering over at them, snapping pictures, and paparazzi hovered outside the big front window. It was a circus that the star was used to.
“Free food!” mumbled Hamilton, his mouth full. “No wonder you’re rich. You don’t have to pay for anything.”
“Since when is it free?” Jonah demanded. “If I don’t leave a crazy big tip, it’ll be all over Europe that the Wiz is a cheapskate! They’ll seat me behind the soundman from the penguin movie at the Oscars!”
“Enough,” said Amy impatiently. “Let’s give a thought to what we’re doing here.”
With the heist complete, and the drop-off made, there was nothing left but to wait for the news that their hostages had been released. No one knew what form this would take. Would they receive a text from Vesper One directing them to a rendezvous point? Or would the call come from one or more of the seven, declaring themselves to be free? Would they still be together or scattered all around the world?
All cell phones were fully charged and on the table amid the plates of antipasto and osso buco. Halfway around the world in Massachusetts, Sinead, Ian, and McIntyre were in the comm. center, awaiting word. Gideon, the Cahill satellite, hung poised in orbit, ready to relay any and all information.
“What’s taking so long?” Dan asked impatiently. “We gave them their ugly painting. All they have to do is open the door and let everybody out.”
“They’ll probably move them around,” Amy reasoned. “You know — disorient them so they can’t pinpoint where they were held, or the people who were holding them. That would take time.”
“Eat something,” Hamilton suggested, slurping pasta. “The steak rocks!”
“It’s veal,” Amy informed him.
When the chime sounded, the frenzy to grab at cell phones created what looked like a food fight at the table.
Amy snatched up the Vesper phone.
“What does it say?” Dan prodded. “Are they out?”
The four huddled together over the small screen.
Consequences. n.: The punitive payback for an act of treachery or wrongdoing.
The painting is a fake. These are the consequences:
Below the message, a short video began to play on the screen. It was the scene from the Vesper holding cell — Nellie’s shooting.
Amy and Dan watched in horror as their former au pair went down in a heap.
“No —” Dan whispered.
“Oh, man,” moaned Jonah, for once at a loss for something hip to say. “I’m really sorry, you guys. I’m totally down with how much she meant to you.”
Hamilton nodded in silent agreement and looked away from the screen when his sister was bludgeoned with the crossbow.
Focus, Amy ordered herself. Don’t lose it. But she could feel the tears coming. More, she could think of no reason why she should try to hold them back. She cried softly, and it took every ounce of her willpower not to scream her grief and outrage.
Don’t cry, kiddo.
It was Nellie’s voice that came to her, trying to soothe her. The effect was so real that she actually glanced up, almost certain that Nellie would be standing there in the restaurant, ready to take charge. How often had the au pair softened the blow for her and Dan over the years?
This time she had needed them, and they had failed her.
The voice was still there: You worry too much, kiddo. Everything’s fine.
But nothing was fine. Nothing would ever be fine again. How were they going to live without Nellie?
She looked at Dan and could almost see him receding into that dark place he’d been visiting more and more lately.
“Why is it,” he said faintly, “that sooner or later, everybody we love dies?”
Amy made no reply because she knew that if she opened her mouth the scream would still be there.
When they’d last seen Nellie, she’d been aglow with the prospect of cooking school in Paris: So long, you two. I hope I can trust you to stay out of trouble for a few weeks.
Th
e Cahills had actually been a little insulted.
Say your good-byes carefully, Amy now mourned. You never know when it’s your last chance.
Hamilton’s bark snapped her out of her reverie. “Wait!”
Amy came back to reality and focused on the smartphone’s monitor. The other hostages were gathered around Nellie in a state of excitement.
Dan inched closer. “Are her eyelids moving?”
Jonah was on his feet now, cheerleading. “Get up, babysitter! Up! Up!”
“Come on!” added Hamilton.
Amy crossed her fingers and toes and prayed.
The four watched as Reagan and Alistair slowly raised Nellie to a seated position. Her face was even paler than usual, her features contorted in agony. But she was clearly alive.
Amy let out a breath and realized for the first time she’d been holding it.
“Yeah!” shouted Jonah, twirling the much larger Hamilton around the restaurant in a victory dance.
The other diners looked on in amazement. This wild display was hardly the public image of too-cool-for-school Jonah Wizard.
“What’s the matter?” Hamilton challenged. “Haven’t you ever seen a happy rapper before?”
“Movie star,” Jonah amended as the two cousins sat back down.
On the Vesper phone, the video ended, to be replaced by the words:
Still in the land of the living … so far …
Dan bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means they shot her in the shoulder to send a message,” Amy reasoned in a shocked monotone. “The next bullet could be through her heart.”
“Well, message received,” Dan quavered. “I honestly thought —” His voice caught in his throat.
Amy reached over to touch his clenched hands. “Me, too.”
“Can I say something?” ventured Hamilton, much subdued. “How could that painting be a fake?”
“Must have been insanity in the gallery,” Jonah reasoned. “Any chance the real deal got swapped with one of the copies?”
“No way,” said Amy firmly. “Hamilton threw it straight to me and I dropped it out the window. The ‘Medusa’ we gave them was the one from the wall.”
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