by Belle Ami
“Of course, I’m a professional. Everything is with the ammunition.”
“Just checking, we don’t want to leave any fingerprints or hair follicles.”
“Have you forgotten about boot treads? We’ll have to make sure we don’t leave any boot or tire treads.”
“We’ll burn the boots when we get back to the farmhouse.”
Enrico looked at his boots and shrugged. “Not the first time I’ve done that.”
“Come, help me. Let’s do a last-minute check on everything.” Alberto strode to the trunk and opened the green duffel bag. He pulled out a carton of cartridges and then unzipped the nylon bag covering the high-powered hunting rifle. Sliding the bolt open, he loaded five bullets, and closed the bolt. He lifted the rifle and aligned his eye with the telescope and panned until he sighted a hare about one-hundred yards away. He slid the safety lever off, took a deep breath, released a bit of air, and held it. Slowly squeezing the trigger, he fired.
Alberto laughed. “Too much rifle for such small game, but good target practice.”
“You haven’t lost your touch, cousin, nor your emotional detachment. A true hunter.” Enrico grinned.
“This Leonardo da Vinci painting is the rarest and most important game I’ve ever hunted. We nab it and we’re on easy street.” He glanced at his watch. “We need to get moving. I want to give us enough time to find a safe place to observe Caine’s house. Once we’ve positioned ourselves and we see him leave, we’ll have to move fast.”
“Precision timing is key,” Enrico rubbed his hands together. “I believe the German should be leaving Munich very soon.”
“His flight plan is listed for twelve o’clock,” Alberto said.
“Have you come up with a solution to what we do if the girl refuses to take us to the painting?”
Alberto pulled a container out of his jacket pocket and opened it. Inside were three filled hypodermic needles. “I plan on drugging her with truth serum. Questioning her will be easy and she’ll have virtually no memory of what happened.”
“Does that include sex?” Enrico grinned lecherously.
“If everything goes to plan, you’ll have time to satisfy your lust. We both will.” He looked up at the sky and the dark clouds that lay on the horizon. “Good thing we packed those waterproof rain jackets; there’s a storm coming. A blessing for our endeavor. Nothing like rain to extinguish any and all evidence of a crime.”
Alex showered and dressed, sat on the edge of the bed. Angela lay curled on her side, a smile of contentment on her lips. “You smell delicious,” she purred.
He brushed his lips over hers, feeling the spark of electricity that never failed to arouse him. “Come on, get up and get dressed. We need to go into town and pick up a few things and get gas.”
“Please, can I just stay here with the dogs? I need to get myself together.” She raised her hands in supplication. “Please?”
“Under one condition only. You need to know how to use the Glock. It’ll only a take a few minutes.”
Angela’s eyes widened. “Now? You’re going to show me now?”
He grinned. “It’s either that or I’m going to jump back in this bed and make love to you again.”
“If you do, I’ll never make it through dinner tonight with Max.”
“Then up you go.” He stood, took her hands and pulled her up out of the bed. He ran his eyes over her naked body. “Put something on or I won’t be able to concentrate.”
“No worries there, I’m not too keen on the thought of shooting a gun in my birthday suit.” She pulled on her jeans and a plaid red and black flannel shirt. “Better?”
“Not really, you could be dressed in a burlap sack and you’d still be sexy to me.” He opened the drawer and pulled out a Glock 19, 9-millimeter Luger. “Okay, I’ve already changed the grip to better fit your hand and I’ve loaded the magazine. There are fifteen bullets in here and an extra magazine ready to load.” He pushed the release and the magazine popped out. “Here you try it.”
“Like this?”
He watched her execute the exchange.
“Perfect. Do it again.”
Again, she deftly removed the magazine and reloaded it. “Okay, I think I’ve got it.”
“Now this is the release that unlocks the safety. Once you press it you’re ready to fire. Spread your legs so you’re balanced and extend your arms out straight, locking your elbows.” He got behind her and positioned her. “Look straight down the site and gently squeeze the trigger. Don’t worry the safety is on. When you actually fire, there’s going to be a recoil and the muzzle will pop slightly. Just keep squeezing the trigger and breathe. Aim for the largest part, the center of mass, the chest.”
“I can’t do this Alex.”
“Sure you can. I know right now it seems impossible, but if you’re threatened, I know you’ll do what’s necessary. Hopefully, you’ll never have to use it.” He took the gun from her and placed it back in the nightstand drawer. “Okay, you know where all the panic buttons are, and you have the dogs. I’ll be right back.”
“Go. I’m going to make some coffee and shower.”
He put his arms around her. “I’d much rather shower with you. Hopefully, you’re going to remember where Sophia hid the damn painting and we can get on with our lives.”
She tilted her head up and kissed him. “I have a feeling it’s going to be soon.”
Reluctantly, he let go of her. “Okay, I’m out of here. Hasta La Vista, baby. Back in a flash.”
Chapter 22
Montefioralle, Italy
August 17, 2018
Alberto and Enrico, dressed in camouflage, watched the gates to Casa de Sole swing open. A red Ferrari revved its engine and exited, its tires crunching on the gravel. When the Ferrari had disappeared from sight, the two men ran from the brush on the other side of the road, through the gates. They crept close to the house. Enrico pulled his cell phone from his pocket and waited.
Alberto put his hand on Enrico’s arm, stilling him. “Let’s make sure the detective is far enough away before we set it off. Just in case. We want the authorities to be investigating a deadly crash and nothing else.”
The Ferrari picked up speed taking the curves, tires squealing. If the newscaster’s voice hadn’t grown louder he wouldn’t have heard it. “German industrialist Maximillian Jaeger’s private jet crashed in a field outside of Florence. Initial reports have confirmed there are no survivors. Jaeger, a world-renowned real-estate tycoon, was also the founder of treeHouse, one of the most popular online vacation rental websites in the world…”
The newscaster’s report continued, but Alex’s brain drowned out the report. He was reeling. His last conversation with Max playing in his brain—
Angela!
His foot hit the brake, but there was no response. Fuck! He couldn’t think, his racing pulse pounded in his head. He fought to hold the out-of-control Ferrari on the road, but the steep incline and pull of gravity had him careening downward. In the back of his mind, all he could think about was Angela and the danger she was in.
Sweat poured down his face. He was going to die and there’d be no one to protect Angela. He automatically stomped on the brake hoping for some response, but there was none. The next turn was sharp and the car swerved, losing traction with the road. The wheels lifted and the Ferrari nearly flipped. A momentary straightaway gave him a second of respite and he tried downshifting, but the gears were locked. The car dropped down on the road with a crunch and the squealing sound of metal scraping pavement made his stomach churn.
An eerie voice whispered in his head, in Italian. Saltare dal cavallo.
What the… fuck? Jump from the horse? On top of everything else he was hearing voices. Barely managing to keep the out-of-control Ferrari on the road, he unsnapped his seatbelt.
He knew the next turn woul
d be his last. He fought to push open the door against the wind and force of gravity.
Taking a leap of faith, he flung himself out of the car, covering his head and tucking his body inward as he smacked the pavement like a rubber ball, bouncing and rolling to a stop. Laying for a few minutes, he tried to calm his racing heart and catch his breath.
Cursing, he stood on wobbly legs, a searing pain sliced through his left shoulder. A moment later, a massive explosion lit the sky. If he hadn’t leaped from the car, he would have been toast. The world slipped away from him as a curtain of black enveloped him…
He and Andy, his best friend, were laughing as they drove their armored Humvee back to base. They were returning from a routine day on patrol, monitoring a village not far from Kandahar. And then all hell broke loose. The Humvee hit an IED and their vehicle flew into the air, exploding. Andy lay dead, pieces of him scattered all over the road. Alex had been thrown from the vehicle and lay in the dirt with a severely wounded leg, broken ribs, and a chunk of shrapnel lodged in his arm. They medevacked him to a hospital for emergency surgery. The last thing he remembered from that day was Andy’s face just before the explosion…
Alex woke up with a gasp at the burning pain. It felt as if a soldering iron had been plunged into his shoulder.
Fighting against dizziness and nausea, he lifted himself to a sitting position and then pushed himself to his feet. Staggering to a tree for support, he glimpsed bits and pieces of his car littering the road. The debris made his mind flashback to the carnage of Afghanistan. He shook his head compartmentalizing the past. He knew, without a doubt, the explosion wasn’t from impact. No amateur could have orchestrated such a devastating blast. It was a bomb, set off by an electronic signal. Probably similar to what killed Max. This was a hit and by all accounts, he should be dead. He recalled the whispered voice warning, him to get out of the car. No, he hadn’t said car, he’d said horse. Jump from the horse. Ferrari. Horse. It had to be Giuliano who’d warned him.
I have to get to Angela. Struggling against the agony in his shoulder, he hobbled back up the road toward Casa del Sole, praying he wasn’t out of time.
Angela ambled downstairs, the dogs trailing her heels, to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee. She stood at the sink and gazed out the window, noting the darkening skies. So much for her beautiful day, rain was coming. Finishing her coffee, she filled the dog bowls with food. A loud blast reverberated, rattling the windowpane. Wondering if a thunderstorm was approaching, she peeked out the window again, catching sight of a plume of smoke coming from the bottom of the hill. Alex! She raced from the house, the door slamming behind her.
Heavy arms grabbed her from behind, holding her in an iron grip. A beefy hand covered her mouth, muffling her screams. She kicked and flailed, digging her nails into his arm and elicited a yowl of pain as she managed to slip free. Off like a rocket, she ran as fast as she could, but was tackled and flipped over. The face leering down at her looked familiar.
“Keep her steady while I ready the needle.”
She screamed as another man’s face came into view. It’s him! She began thrashing and wriggling as hard as she could, trying to break the hold of the man who held her.
“My dear Angela,” Scordato said as though they were sitting down to tea. “Don’t make this harder on yourself.” Scordato pulled a hypodermic needle from his backpack and she kicked out, trying to stop him.
“Hold her still, dammit.” He pushed up her sleeve and punched the needle into her arm. In seconds, she stopped thrashing, her body went limp as a rag doll. She fought to keep her eyes open as her vision blurred. Please, God, save Alex.
“Angela, meet my cousin, Enrico. He’s been looking forward to meeting you.”
She spat at them. Enrico slapped her and then squeezed her breast.
She whimpered in reply and cursed at them. Scordato was surprised by her profanity. The truth serum certainly had an interesting effect. He looked forward to how she’d behave when they took turns with her.
“Enrico, there’ll be plenty of time for that later. I only gave her a small dose of the serum. We need to act fast. Now hold her steady.” He lifted her face so she could see into his eyes. “Angela, my dear, it’s so good to see you.”
“Not good to see you.”
“I need you to show me where the da Vinci is.”
She scrunched up her face. “Where’s Alex. I… I have to show him, too.”
“I talked to him. He’s going to join us there.”
“He hates you. So do I.”
“Believe me the feeling is mutual. Which way do we go?”
Angela’s eyes rose to the mountain behind the vineyard. “Way up there.”
“Take us there.” Scordato’s voice was mellifluous and encouraging.
Enrico and Scordato grabbed her under the arms, dragging her up the steep incline. They kept her from falling but their progress was slow.
The trail had steepened and begun to twist. Her gaze shifted from one man to the other. “I think we’re here, I mean there.” She frowned. “You shouldn’t be here. You want the painting for yourself. Greedy!”
Scordato threw his head back and laughed. “I love how honest you are, bella, and yet you’re as weak as a kitten. I’ve forgotten how charming you can be.”
They broke through a thicket of dense growth and the trail ended abruptly. They halted. Ahead was a large granite slab that seemed to rest against the mountain.
“Is this the place?”
She nodded. “You have to press that slab of rock and it will open.”
Scordato gestured to his cousin who did as Angela suggested. Enrico placed his fingers in the groove and the slab gave. He pulled harder and it slid open enough to allow them to slip through.
Dropping his backpack to the ground, Enrico unzipped it and took out a flashlight. He turned in a circle and the beam of light lit the cave.
Spying a lantern on a shelf, Scordato reached for it and handed it to Enrico who lit it and held the light aloft. Against one wall were floor-to-ceiling racks, which held at least a hundred bottles of wine. At random, Alberto pulled a bottle out and studied the label. 1954. “Too bad we can’t take some of this wine with us. It would be nice to celebrate our successful discovery of the da Vinci with your fool detective’s wine, but alas, I’m afraid we’ll have to be satisfied with the painting, alone. Now, Angela, it’s time for you to deliver.”
On the opposite side of the cave she spotted the wine barrels. Inside one of the barrels was the da Vinci. Her stomach did a backflip and the hairs on her arms stood on end. The world around her began to spin. Voices called to her; faces like a deck of cards tossed by the wind, flashed by. It was as if she was inside a whirling tornado, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz she spun downward. Just when her lungs were about to burst, she felt herself step once more into the past…
Florence, Italy
Uffizi Gallery
July, 1944
“Sophia, are you all right? You stopped talking mid-sentence and you look pale.”
“I don’t know what came over me. I suddenly felt as if I couldn’t draw a breath.”
Gerhard put his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “It’s very musty in here. You might be allergic. Do you think you can continue?”
She smiled, taking his face in her hands. “Yes. I wouldn’t think of depriving you of your adventure. I want you to experience the hidden treasures of the Uffizi.”
His eyes drifted to the storage slats that climbed the walls to the ceiling. Hundreds of wrapped paintings beckoned. In the center of the room were canvas clothed sculptures. “Is all of this catalogued?”
She took his hand and drew him to a door. “Come see.” Opening the door, she switched on the lights. The walls were lined with filing cabinets. “These files contain records of the entire collection. Each cabinet is labeled by year, star
ting from the thirteenth century. The Roman and Greek pieces that were in the Medici collection are catalogued separately. “Go ahead and take a look.”
Like a child in a candy store, he eagerly opened the drawer labeled 1490-1512, the period considered the High Renaissance. While he thumbed through the folders studying their contents, she sat in a chair. Perhaps he’s right and I am allergic. Queasiness assaulted her and her hands flew to her belly. Or perhaps this bambino is to blame. She hadn’t told him yet that she was pregnant.
I have to tell him. It isn’t fair for him not to know. One way or another, with or without him, she would have this child. She prayed he would be happy when he found out.
He interrupted her daydream. “Sophia, I’m interested in seeing this piece.” He pointed to a catalogue number. “It’s from Leonardo da Vinci’s atelier. I’m sure it’s something mediocre, but I’d like to see it.”
“May I ask what makes this one so special?”
“Intuition?” He laughed. “Call it my insane obsession with the insignificant output of the greatest but least prolific artist of all time. I’m a treasure hunter at heart.” He extended his hand to her, helping her rise from the chair, trailing behind her into the main storage facility.
She was familiar with the system, having worked on it for two years. “It’s up there,” she pointed. “Take the ladder and bring it down.”
He ascended the ladder and carefully retrieved the painting. He laid it on a work table and unwrapped it. She watched his face light up and followed his gaze.
It was a wedding portrait consistent with the practices of the period. A particularly beautiful example, to be certain. She studied the groom with puzzlement. “That’s odd. Giuliano Medici never married. He was murdered on Easter, in 1478, in the Pazzi conspiracy.”
Gerhard studied the painting. “Clearly that’s wrong. Or maybe the painting was done in anticipation of a soon-to-be wedding. Who do you think the bride is?”