by Taylor Buck
“Michelangelo?” Chester asked.
“Not born yet,” replied Jack. “Remember, this would have been the early Renaissance—before Lorenzo the Magnificent, before DaVinci, Michelangelo, Titian or Raphael. It was Cosimo’s era. It would have been one of the earlier masters—someone known for their knack to work with bronze… the medium used to create the very bust we’re looking for.”
Jack looked up at Chester with a smile.
“You know who it is…” Chester said, seeing a flash in Jack’s eyes.
“Process of elimination,” Jack said and continued writing down names. “It could be only one of 3 people. In the early to middle 15th century there were 3 sculptors that stood head and shoulders above the rest—Ghiberti, Brunelleschi and Donatello. Each had ties with Cosimo and all 3 had been commissioned by the Medici at various times. However…” Jack stood and walked over to the wooden balcony overlooking the village of St. Moritz below. He saw smoke billow out from a nearby chimney and watched it dissipate into the cold air. “Ghiberti would have been quite old by the time Cosimo commissioned the bust… and Brunelleschi would have actually been dead by that point. That only leaves us with one man—the grandmaster of bronze sculpture and the creator of the original David…”
“Donatello.”
“It makes the most sense,” Jack replied. “Donatello was actually one of Cosimo’s closest companions. If you trace the history of Cosimo’s residency in Florence… his exile and return… it matches up almost exactly with that of Donatello’s. In fact, they were such good friends that they chose to be buried beside each other. You see Donatello relied on Medici support to create his works of art. He ultimately thrived as an artist by being associated with the family.”
“So,” said Chester with a determined gaze. “The icona is a bronze bust of Plato created by Donatello, which is actually the key to an ancient treasure…”
Jack nodded and looked off. A smile grew across his face.
“What?”
“It’s nothing,” he replied. “It’s just that Kathleen would be beside herself to know that this thing exists.”
“What? The key?”
“No,” Jack said, “the bust. The fact that there is a lost work of art by Donatello that the world is oblivious to. Donatello is her favorite.”
“Well, it’s great we know it exists,” Chester added. “Now we just need to find a way to get it.”
“Yes,” Jack said running his hand through his hair anxiously. “The question is… how is this thing a key? And what does Plato have to do with all of this?” He tapped the screen on the tablet and they studied the scan of the bust again. The image was maximized, filling the screen to the corners.
“Scientia…aere…perennius,” Jack recited the words. “Knowledge. More lasting than bronze. But what does that mean?”
Chester tilted the image’s axis so that they were able to study the bust from underneath. As soon as the pixels shifted and enhanced, another inscription suddenly appeared clearly across the bottom. Jack caught his breath as he inched toward the screen, hovering his index fingers above the letters.
“The Roman numeral four,” he said.
Along the bottom of the bust was a Roman numeral IV, engraved above a small latched door. The outline of the compartment was faint but noticeable enough to determine from the scan.
“And look! There’s something else… a hidden drawer or something,” Chester pointed out as he enhanced the new angle. As the object was further focused, a faint form of another shape came into view—this one almost instantly recognizable.
This time it was Chester who caught his breath.
The faint silhouette of an object was highlighted on the screen, inside the drawer-like compartment situated underneath the bust. It was a sign of assurance that they were on the right trail—
A key.
A key shape with a meticulously crafted blade and bow was set under the base of the bust. The bow, or flat part used to hold the key, displayed an ornate pattern of circles and interlocked shapes. The blade, which slides into the keyway of the lock, was a modestly fashioned letter M, placed at the end of a round rod.
“Of course!” Jack exclaimed. “The key is within the bust. No interpretation needed. The icona is—a literal key.”
“Whoever took the bust must have known this already,” said Chester. “But who would do this? I mean, how could someone already have known about the key? There are only a select few people who had any knowledge of Kathleen and Foley’s disappearance.”
Jack began pacing around the wooden balcony. Typically, walking or pacing somehow helped him arrive at a solution easier. “We still have no idea what the key opens or where the treasure even resides. Unless they know something we don’t…they’re still going to have to figure out where the key leads,” said Jack.
“Knowledge, more lasting than bronze…” Chester said deep in thought.
“And four… but 4 what?” asked Jack, thinking aloud. “What does the number 4 have to do with any of this?”
Chester shook his head.
“Is this the forth bust out of a series of others made like it? Could there be 4 keys? Or even more?” Jack said, wrestling the riddle.
“Maybe there are 4 locations to the treasures and each key opens up its respective site,” offered Chester.
“I guess it’s possible,” agreed Jack. “So where do we go from here? How do we determine where the treasure lies? Say we had the key in our possession… where would we go about looking for the treasure?
Chester scowled. “Well, we would need to think about where the Medici might hide something like this. Where would Cosimo have stored something that meant so much to him?”
“One place comes to mind,” replied Jack. “The Medici had their own palace in downtown Florence. It was extremely protected and highly fortified. It would be the most likely spot, if we were to take a shot in the dark.”
“Yes. The Via Larga,” said Chester. “We already scanned the main palace to search for signs or hidden rooms and such. We came up with nothing.”
“Was that part of the initial scan of the city?” asked Jack.
“Actually no,” answered Chester. “That building was left out. Apparently it’s owned privately now and the owners weren’t keen on us poking our robots around their property. However…” Chester trailed off. “We went ahead and checked anyway.”
“You did?”
“It was Foley’s idea,” Chester answered quickly. “Once the vault was discovered, he wanted to check any other obvious locations. The Medici palace seemed the first likely candidate to find something of value. He ran some bots around the perimeter and got a scan. It didn’t turn up anything, though.”
“Were any of the other villas scanned?”
“Now that I think about it, there was brief mention of scanning a few more spots in the city. Forlino made reference to it when he spoke of continuing the dig. This was after TerraTEK pulled funding, though.”
Jack cursed loudly and slammed his fist against the table, sending the napkin sketch to the ground. “I knew it! It’s only obvious,” he said clenching his jaw tight. “It’s Forbes.”
“But Forlino said—”
“I know what Forlino said. But even when he said it… I didn’t believe him. Think about it…” Jack said growing red, “Forlino brought Forbes in to finish the dig, but first he had him uncover whatever it was that Kathleen was looking for in the Alps.”
“What about the accident?” Chester asked. “Do you think Forbes had anything to do with that?”
“I certainly wouldn’t put it past him! He’s a disillusioned mercenary. Anything getting in the way of money is simply collateral damage.”
“Then we need to speak with Forlino about this,” said Chester.
“No, I have a better idea,” said Jack. “We speak with Forbes directly. I happen to know someone in the surveillance field that can track anything on earth.” Jack gave Chester a hard stare.
; Chester looked sternly at Jack, knowing that he was being pressed.
“And another thing, Chester,” Jack said. “I didn’t tell you this, but I overheard Forlino speaking with Gabriela before we left last night. They were talking about the Medici letters. She asked him about me. He told her not to worry. He also said something about them rightfully owning the treasure…
“Treasure?”
“Yes,” Jack said with a strange look on his face. “And then they… kissed.”
“They what?” Chester blurted, nearly spraying his lager across the table.
“I know, it’s very strange,” Jack said, “but I unmistakably heard kissing.”
Chester wore a disgusted look on his face. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll locate Forbes and see where he’s at. Maybe he’s involved… maybe he isn’t.” Chester shook his head in amazement. “You know, someday I’d like to hear what this guy did to get you so rattled.”
Jack stood up from the table and drained the last of the suds. He placed the empty mug down and fixed his gaze on Chester. “Some things are better left in the past, amigo.”
“Fair enough,” said Chester. “It’s your business anyway.” He stood up to leave. “Get some sleep, Jack. You need rest. I’ll call in the favor to TerraTEK tonight. Forbes won’t be able to hide from us.”
“I know he won’t,” Jack agreed. “Good night, Chester.” Jack wandered off to his room.
Night came. Jack stayed up for a while, experiencing his usual evening restlessness. He was thinking through the clues they had uncovered. Sleep never came, even though he needed it. The stress seemed to be catching up with him. Chester noticed it too. Ever since he had brought up Morgan Forbes, Jack had become visibly determined to find out his involvement—which seemed increasingly possible after Jack received a text from Chester in the middle of the night. It displayed Forbes’ present location as of an hour ago.
Siena, Italy.
Based on Forbes’ location, it went without saying that Jack would want to pursue him immediately. There was no easy exit this time. Flights out of Engadin began at 6 am. They made arrangements to leave first thing in the morning.
They were going back to Italy to find Morgan Forbes.
CHAPTER 23
SIENA, ITALY
SEPTEMBER 9
“GRAZIE, THANK YOU. This is good, right here.” Jack motioned for the driver to pull over.
The sun was just beginning to rise as Jack Cullen and Chester Allen pulled up outside Siena’s massive city wall. After arriving by plane from Switzerland they hopped aboard an inbound shuttle headed for the city. As soon as they stepped onto the street they instantly became absorbed into the sea of tourists flocking downtown to the city center.
“Oh. I forgot to mention,” Jack said tossing the duffle bag over his shoulder, “it may be a challenge finding him.” He pointed up at a massive sign hanging above the street. Il Palio. All around them, large banners and ornately decorated flags adorned the village streets and marketplaces. Jack couldn’t help but concede the irony in the timing of their arrival. After all, finding Forbes in Siena couldn’t have come at a worse possible time. The city was bustling with an eager frenzy—anticipation for the coming events was spreading like wildfire as the town prepared for their most important event of the year… Il Palio de Siena.
Twice a year, the city shut down for a week to commemorate and pay tribute to a tradition that has lasted for over 800 years. Il Palio is a horserace that takes place within the city’s square-shaped Piazza del Campo. It began during the Middle Ages as a way of entertaining the townspeople. The Piazza del Campo’s outer perimeter is sectioned off and a thick layer of dirt is laid on the ground as a track for the horses to run on. A few days before the race, the Piazza is transformed into a large square shaped racetrack. On the day of the race, people fill the inside of the Piazza to its maximum capacity, elbowing and shoving their way to the front of the crowd in order to get a glimpse of the rider they support. Ten horses with riders compete, each horse representing a contrada or animal, which in turn signified a region of the town in which people rooted for. This support inspired a long legacy of competition within the townspeople and made for a thrilling day of friendly rivalry within the old city.
A boy wearing a blue and white striped jumpsuit costume carrying a long, multi-colored baton ran swiftly by Jack. Bells hung from his jacket and the round beret atop his head. He was being chased by another boy dressed similarly who had a large red panther embroidered across the back of a royal blue jacket.
“I feel like we’re in a different century,” Chester said.
“We do look a little out of place,” Jack replied.
“Here,” said Chester, grabbing a peasant cap from a street vendor. “This most certainly would’ve been your wardrobe during that time.” He placed the raggedy hat on top of Jack’s head and stood back to look at him. Chester paid the clerk. “A souvenir,” he said laughing.
“Hey, thanks,” Jack replied with a tip of his brim. “So what is the name of the hotel Forbes is staying at?”
“The Palazzo Donatello.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Coincidence?”
“You think there’s a tie-in there?” Chester asked.
“Let’s just say things are effortlessly falling into place.”
The two men waded through the crowd and pressed into the center of the city. Once they reached the downtown plaza, they stopped to take in the scene.
“Unbelievable,” Jack said.
The Piazza del Campo’s massive courtyard vaguely resembled the shape of a rounded gumdrop from a topographical perspective. It was framed all around by brown brick buildings of varying heights. A heavy shadow was cast far into the center of the plaza by a tall clock tower that stood 88 meters in the air. The tower, known as the Torre del Mangia, was built in the 14th century and had been the tallest building in Tuscany at that time. It was created as a symbol of authority and prosperity to the people of Siena and over time, the clock tower became a recognizable figure of Sienese culture, acting as the identifying characteristic in most postcards and magnets sold as souvenirs in town. The celebration the city was preparing for was in honor of the clock tower’s 700th birthday. The Sienese residents were resurrecting the Palio de Vilo for a third time this year—unusual since they typically celebrated it twice a year. A third ceremony only existed when the city was celebrating a momentous occasion. The clock tower’s birthday, it seemed, was just such an occasion.
The plaza was brimming with people. Jack and Chester had arrived a day before the race and the crowds were so dense they found it difficult to stay together.
“It should be down this alley,” Chester shouted over the crowd as he looked at his map.
They turned down Via Fontebranda and weaved through the oncoming traffic until the crowd began to thin out. After a few more blocks, they found themselves standing under an old sign with white letters that were flaking off like bark on a birch tree.
PALAZZO DONATELLO
“This is it,” Jack said.
“So what are you planning to do?” asked Chester.
“I have an idea,” he replied and began walking up to the door.
Jack stepped through the hotel doors and entered the lobby. The building had the appearance that although extremely old—it had been recently renovated. The walls were orange stucco and the lobby was quaint. Replicas of Donatello’s bronze sculptures, Faith and Hope, were positioned to the left and right respectively of the reception desk. The bronze statue of the woman on the left had a voluminous garment draped around her body as she held a cup in her left hand. Jack knew the cup to signify the Eucharist, symbolizing Christ’s forgiveness of sins. The woman on the right looked up to the heavens with her hands raised in a sign of reverence—her face cherubic and pure, divinely constructed by the grandmaster’s hands. Despite the artistic adornments, it was not an upscale hotel by any stretch of the imagination and seemed a peculiar place to hole up for a billionaire.
“Welcome to the Palazzo Donatello, how may I help you?”
“Hi,” Jack said flashing his blue eyes. “I’d like to book a room for the night, please.”
The girl smiled politely and tucked her hair back. “I’m sorry sir, we have no vacancies at the moment. During Il Palio our rooms sell out very quickly. Unfortunately we are completely booked.”
Jack nodded. “I see. Yes, I should’ve known better.” He turned around to leave, and then stopped. He turned, scanning the walls and ceiling. “This is a lovely hotel. What year was it built?”
The girl looked back at Jack with a blank stare. She didn’t seem to register the question.
“This hotel is a tribute to the famous artist, Donatello. It must be quite an old building,” Jack said attempting to coax an answer from the young lady.
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “That is correct, sir. The structure dates back to the 14th century. It was originally a common area for artists like Donatello, Ghiberti, di Turino and della… della…”
“Quercia,” Jack replied.
“Right,” the girl answered bashfully. “della Quercia. They all stayed here while working in the Battistero.”
The Battistero di San Giovanni, to which the young receptionist referred, was an important commission in the early 1300s. Besides being an iconic monument, it is observed as a pioneering milestone in architecture—since it was created during the early years of the Renaissance’s influence. The gothic façade contrasted by the interior baptismal font with bronze gilded panels and shining marble tabernacle clearly helped pave the way for Tuscan artists ushering in a new way of exhibiting their skill. Donatello’s influence on perspective is apparent in the bronze panel of Herod’s Banquet. An important commission because he worked on the Battistero during the late years of his life.