As Caitlyn tapped away, Alicia and Russo wandered the aisles, threading in and out of the great columns and always watching. Above, the other levels overlooked them and made it harder to guarantee safety, but the pair made the Gold Team as secure as they could. Crouch stood apart, wrestling with his idea that a clue must exist inside the basilica as much as the latest revelation about Naz’s death. Their boss checked every statue, every mosaic, and came up with nothing.
More than an hour passed, the minutes ticking away. It was Caitlyn who finally made a breakthrough.
Studying page after page of information and retaining as much as she was able, she came across an article that amazed her. On reading she rose and waved to the entire crew, ignoring Crouch’s look of anger that clearly shouted: Discretion!
“I’ve found something,” she said, unable to keep a note of excitement out of her voice. “This façade,” she pointed, “is split into two orders, all overlooked by the copy of the quadriga of St. Mark. The Horses. Now listen—‘the thirteenth century marble facing . . .’ ” she clearly emphasized the date. “ ‘. . . includes several sculpted Byzantine slabs. Two of them are portrayals of the Labors of Hercules. Hercules with the Boar of Erymanthus from the fifth century and another from the thirteenth century’.” She paused, staring at Crouch.
“I like it,” he said shortly. “In particular that the entire façade dates from after our Hercules probably arrived.”
Caitlyn stood up. “We’re all aware of our time limitations. Let’s go.”
The team reacted to her abrupt air, marching toward the façade she had pointed out. Crouch gave her a look as he turned, one of gratitude, which she also took as part apology. Trouble was, she couldn’t stay mad at her benefactor for long. He was just too well respected and had already helped her beyond measure.
The first sculpture they looked at depicted Hercules with the Hind of Cerynea and the Hydra of Lerna; the legendary figure grappling with and wrestling both. Alicia squinted hard.
“He’s not wearing much is he? Doesn’t look like Dwayne Johnson to me. Or Reece Carrera for that matter, our pet movie star. Not that I’ve ever seen either man’s family jewels. Yet.”
Caitlyn tilted her head. “Family jewels?”
Alicia laughed and glanced at Healey. “Are you two really that bloody young? How about beanbag? Knackers? Clappers?”
Russo leaned in, saving Caitlyn. “She means ‘bollocks’.”
Caitlyn caught on, then retorted in double-time. “She usually does.”
Alicia grinned, studying the slab even harder. “So. What we have here is a half-naked dude in the middle of a fight—”
“His labors,” Caitlyn put in.
“Yeah, whatever. But what you don’t have is anything else. No background. No clues, love. Unless the Hydra or the Hind mean anything?”
“Third labor,” Crouch recited from memory. “Instead of slaying monsters, which Herc had already proved he could do, they made him catch the Hind which was faster than an arrow.” He thought about the reference. “He chased it for a year through Greece, Thrace, Istria and Hyperborea. It was a defiant moment for him. He eventually let the Hind go, alive. I see nothing in this carving that helps us.”
Alicia turned away, the piece already forgotten. “And the other?”
“Hercules with the Boar of Erymanthus. The fourth labor. Hercules captures the boar and returns it alive, but the tale is generally accepted to portray how Chiron surrendered his immortality to the great man. A tale of how the Centaurs died.”
Crouch chewed his lip, considering the facts. Alicia studied the sculpture. This time, Hercules carried the huge boar over his shoulders and appeared to be threatening a man, his tormentor, with it. Again there were no other images to consider, no hidden words or depictions.
“They say pictures convey a thousand words,” Alicia grunted. “Well, these sculptures “portray two, maybe three. And I am totally—”
“No swearing in church, Alicia,” Russo said. “I’m sure you’re already booked into Hell when you die so no need to make it worse.”
“She’s right though,” Crouch looked around, disappointed. “Our best clues point to nothing. Nothing at all. Look people, we’ve been tramping around in here for hours now with nothing to show for it. How about we take a break?”
“With our competitors so close?” Russo asked.
“Better they hit us in a coffee shop than here.” Crouch shrugged.
Caitlyn looked around the despondent crew. We failed. They had failed Naz, failed Sadler, failed themselves. “There’s nothing upstairs?” she pressed. “Near the Horses?”
“It’s all stone and marble,” Crouch said. “No secret rooms that I can see. No disguised entrances. No floor marks where a statue might occasionally be dragged out on display for the privileged to view. We’ve by no means searched this entire place yet, but I’m also thinking that that’s an impossible feat. My contacts have said they may be able to get us a night in here but even that may take some time to arrange.”
Caitlyn fell in line as the group carefully and despondently exited the church. Nobody needed to mention their desperate need to conclude all this. Riley and Kenzie could be out there among the milling crowds, watching them even now. She actually thought Crouch’s idea a sound one—they couldn’t wander the halls and hope for the best. Somebody, one of them, had to come up with a plan, a breakthrough, a new development.
Were the Hercules sculptures adorning the façade really useless?
“Maybe it’s in the legend,” she said aloud. “The Labors. Maybe we should research them some more.”
“We will,” Crouch said. “But it could be any of the other balls we are juggling right now too. In particular, Dandolo. That clever old blind man knew exactly what he was doing as Doge of Venice and he most definitely won’t have squandered such a magnificent treasure.”
Caitlyn stopped in the piazza, casting a glance backward. The spirits of the famous Horses of St. Mark watched her, dripping in history, awash with memories of olden times. What secrets did they yet hold?
“Y’know,” Alicia said at her side. “There are horses like that on top of the London Hippodrome too.”
Caitlyn laughed. “Yes, I know, but not exactly steeped in so much history.”
“I mention it only because most people don’t look up. Most Londoners wandering Leicester Square don’t realize the horses are there.”
“And there,” Crouch walked momentarily backwards, pointing even higher. “Stands St. Mark, flanked by six angels, above a large gilded winged lion. His symbol and the symbol of Venice.”
“We get it,” Russo said. “The dude’s important.”
“Yet another reason to believe the most important lost statue in history is right here.” Crouch winked and led the way.
FIFTEEN
Alicia settled at the small round table with an iced Maple Macchiato in one hand. Their chosen table afforded them a clear view of the street outside, some ten minutes’ walk from St. Mark’s Square. The soldiers among them were feeling a little somnolent from all the sightseeing.
Alicia said as much. “I think I need more than a drink, guys. All this aimless walking makes me more tired than a rapid action battle.”
“I have to agree.” Crouch stretched his legs and looked drained. “Time for a break.”
“So speaks the relentless tomb raider.” Alicia smiled affectionately. “Your life’s dream has been to inspect dusty old churches.”
“In a manner of speaking—yes. Ancient treasure doesn’t find itself. And it’s not always easy. If it were there would be nothing left to find.”
“Perhaps we should be looking from a different angle,” Caitlyn speculated.
“It’s not always there either. It’s already been looted or destroyed,” Healey spoke up. “Hence the reason most people don’t bother looking.”
“You saying we’re on a wild goose chase?” Alicia pounced on the young man’s intimations.
&nbs
p; “I dunno. We were inside for three hours and have nothing beyond two boring old Hercules sculptures to show for it. Don’t forget we have other problems on the way.”
Alicia nodded, looking over to the food counter. Already Caitlyn and Crouch were tapping away on their tablets, comparing local information with what they already knew. Alicia sipped at her drink, enjoying the distinction between sweetness and ice, water and coffee. Russo, sat beside her, kept his gaze fixed on the picture window.
“No matter where we go,” he said, “what we do. Our job, our deeds, always follow us.”
“Because we’re soldiers?” Alicia asked. “Or people?”
“Soldiers first. Always.”
“So how do we stop running?”
Russo’s gaze shimmered with alarm. He didn’t move his head, but his next words were clearly carefully chosen. “We make the decision to. And stick by that decision no matter what happens.”
“That’s it?”
“Yup.”
“You make it sound easy, Russo. I’ve been skirting that easiness my entire adult life.”
“Myles,” Russo shot a fast glance her way, “is anything with you ever easy? No. Expect the worse.”
“Will do, Cap’n.” She gave the soldier a mock salute and went back to nursing her macchiato. Crowds drifted past the finger-stained glass, many with cameras swinging from their necks or fingers. More tapped on cellphones as they walked, uncaring about who they agitated. Several sat or crouched against a far concrete wall, taking a break from the dog-eat-dog world of exploration. The crowds inside the coffee shop ebbed and waned, first full to standing room only and then emptying out before another onslaught. As the day wore on the masses thinned and the light faded. Crouch and Caitlyn gave up more than once.
“All right, here’s another idea,” Caitlyn said for the fourth time that hour. “How about we take it back to the beginning. Lysippos. Then Alexandria and Constantinople. What’s our only other constant until then?”
Crouch shook his head. “I already mentioned this. It’s the Horses, of course. The bloody, silly Horses.”
“Calm down, boss,” Russo rumbled. “Won’t get anywhere with a grump on.”
Alicia took her seat again at that point, having visited the food counter, and unwrapped a roast chicken sandwich.
Caitlyn nodded, eyeing the meal hungrily. “Yes, but beyond that we know nothing. Well, here’s an interesting fact. They’re one of the most often stolen and recovered treasures in history.”
“What? Are you kidding? You mean they were stolen again? After Dandolo?”
“Well, for a brief period, yes. First stolen by Constantine, then Dandolo. And then once more—they were also stolen by Napoleon.”
SIXTEEN
“Napoleon?” Crouch echoed. “Are you kidding? That means—”
Caitlyn nodded, interrupting in her eagerness. “Yes, they were taken from St. Mark’s Basilica in 1797 and installed in Paris.”
Russo turned with a raised eyebrow. “So how’d they get back here? Galloped, did they?”
“When Napoleon was defeated in 1815 the conquering allies returned them to Venice.”
Alicia grunted. “Not Constantinople? I bet that irked.”
“No doubt, but here they stand. And the good news is they’ve not been stolen since.”
Crouch looked over at her. “Are you suggesting that Napoleon, enamored enough to dismantle and remove the Horses, might also have found the Hercules and stolen that too?”
“Why not? If he knew the provenance of one he’d have known the other. If the Hercules was hidden he’d have grasped its importance pretty quick. He spent time in Venice and he was a bona fide conquering hero like Dandolo and the Roman Emperors before him.”
“But we have no proof,” Crouch stressed. “The trail is still cold. What we need to find is something tangible.”
“Well, history states that Napoleon captured Venice and took plunder. He kept the Horses for eighteen years until Wellington defeated him. France then ceded the Horses back to the Venetians. So, did Napoleon originally keep the statue for his private collection as Dandolo no doubt did?”
“That’s not proof,” Healey pointed out.
“No, but the statue has now hit its own quiet point in history. The trail is cold. We have to somehow prove Napoleon took it to Paris.”
Crouch rose and wandered over to the food counter as Alicia finished her sandwich. “Hate to say this, guys,” she said. “But you’re grasping now.”
Caitlyn shrugged. “Hey, we failed at the basilica. Where else do we go from here?”
“Their reasoning is true,” Russo said unexpectedly. “It must have cost Napoleon enormous effort to remove those Horses. He would have taken the superior treasure too.”
Alicia spotted the man moving toward Crouch immediately. She rose quickly even as Crouch wheeled toward him, and then they both paused.
“Ah.” Alicia said. “This could be awkward.”
Crouch smiled as the man approached.
“Beware of false prophets,” he said.
Crouch nodded. “Always am. Thanks.” And turned away.
The man pointed to the board that hung around his neck. I am the way, the truth, and the life, it said. The words of Jesus Christ.
Alicia had no problem with religious views so long as they stayed below the level of fanatical. She nodded at Caitlyn to pass Crouch’s tablet across. “I think the boss is gonna be a while.”
“Beware of false prophets,” the man reiterated, turning to address the entire café now. “Which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.”
Alicia knitted her brows. Russo glanced away from the window. “Is he talking about us?”
“Why, Rob? Are you false?” Alicia’s comment was off-the-cuff, because she was actually thinking about Crouch and his previous statement concerning Beauregard. False prophet? Never.
Russo tapped the table, drawing the man’s attention. “The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.”
“Good quote,” Alicia said, wondering if there was more to Russo than she had previously thought.
“Old quote,” Russo said. “Not mine. And one of the best.”
Crouch turned to them just as the man grinned; just as the café door swung open so violently its glass smashed; just as windows on all sides shattered; just as all hell broke loose in the city of heaven.
War had come to Venice.
SEVENTEEN
Alicia reacted with pure animal instinct. As a razor-edged waterfall rained down to her left, she upended the table and shoved it through the new gap. Two men, already leaping through, smashed head-first into the makeshift weapon, instantly collapsing. Alicia reached down for one of their discarded weapons; Russo scooped up the other. Behind them, Crouch shoved the false street preacher backwards so that he fell over a table. Tourists scrambled aside as he fell, arms and legs pinwheeling. Through the ruined front door came a swarm of operatives, all carrying weapons with barrels aimed at the floor.
Alicia knew that wouldn’t last.
“Down!” she yelled. “Get the fuck down!”
Most of the café’s patrons were already scrambling to the floor. Those who couldn’t or wouldn’t, gawped. Alicia snatched a fleeting glimpse of a man calmly starting to raise his ceramic cup to his lips as the bullets started to fly. Crouch flung himself head-first, becoming tangled among a nest of tables.
Behind the bar, shelves crammed full of cups and saucers, flavored syrups and cafetiéres, all set against a mirrored background for effect, started to bounce and shatter and break. A gleaming, expensive-looking coffee machine fractured down the middle, perforated with bullets. Staff screamed, ducking fast.
Alicia was aware that the assault was happening on three sides, but still the hardest problem here was avoiding civilian casualties. As a third man stepped through the window to her left she put a bullet into his stomach, then grabbed him and spun him aroun
d. Bullets thwacked into his body without ceremony, answering her first question. Russo was down on one knee, aiming high, showering their attackers with chunks of falling ceiling. Alicia used the dead merc as body armor to glance around the corner of the devastated window. Outside, a narrow street was bordered by a small diameter railing with one of Venice’s signature canals lying beyond, the gilded end of a gondola just passing beyond sight. There was a gap of roughly twelve feet to the sheer stone façade of the building on the other side of the canal.
No sign of mercs.
“Out!”
She crouched alongside Russo, signaling to Caitlyn to start crawling underneath the chair legs toward her. Every second that passed brought the mercs a little closer. A bullet shaved the edge of a table beside her. More barrels were starting to swing her way.
Alicia saw their moment of opportunity rapidly closing. She grabbed Caitlyn’s outstretched wrist and pulled hard, employing all her strength to fling the girl toward the jagged gap. Caitlyn squealed but spun outside, jacket snagging on a glass spike.
Crouch heaved another table toward their assailants. It was all about distraction and escape now—they couldn’t match firepower with firepower. A merc coming in from his left had already reached him. Crouch spun fast, ready to chop down at a gun hand but found himself faced by two whirling blades.
Alicia cringed. What the fuck?
One blade chopped into Crouch’s jacket, drawing blood, the other simultaneously spinning across his neck, missing by a whisker. Crouch staggered, shocked and momentarily unfocused. The merc was a woman, of medium build and height and with short-cropped hair—a black stubble. Muscles bulged around her body armor.
Chick means business, Alicia thought and fired off a few rounds in her direction. The clip on her weapon was running low and needed saving.
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