As he fell, he collided with his companion. It gave Cosimo a crucial advantage, and he lunged forward. But even off balance, his adversary was agile and determined. He avoided Cosimo's thrust and counter-attacked.
Cosimo felt a burning pain in his shoulder. Stumbling back, he collided with a stone pillar. His attacker's face was suddenly visible under the hood; a long nose, a beard and bright black eyes. Then Cosimo saw the tip of a sword appear through the man's robe. It kept coming, smeared in red. The man looked down in shock at the metal protruding from his chest. He fell forward. Cosimo had no time to step aside and the hilt of the man's sword crashed down on his head. Mid-Atlantic, present day The Gulfstream G500 broke through the cloud line and soared into the open expanse of blue sky. The view was like a winter scene snow globe just before it is shaken. Luc Fournier placed a glass of chilled Cristal on the armrest of his massive leather chair and began to mull over a recent rare failure. Two days earlier he had been on the verge of securing a large consignment of nuclear reactor parts for some Iranian friends when the operation had been blown wide open by MI5, who had seized the shipment in international waters. The cargo hold had contained more than ten million pounds worth of specialist equipment, equipment he had paid for. Naturally, nothing led back to him or his organisation, but such mishaps were potentially damaging to his reputation, and his reputation was his most valuable asset. Fournier's mobile beeped to indicate a text had arrived on his private number, one known to very few individuals. He picked up the phone and read the message: SKY NEWS, SOMETHING U SHOULD C. He clicked a remote and a wide screen lit up. He increased the volume.
'First reports indicate that the cell was a crucial link in a massive operation. Anti-terrorist officers believe the total haul is more than two kilograms of the deadly biochemical agent. It remains unclear tonight exactly how the material was to be used. Theories abound, but it will probably be some time before an accurate assessment can determine how this weapon could have been deployed or indeed who the likely targets might have been. One thing is certain though. Coming as it does just two days after MI5 cracked a similar cell dealing in nuclear technology, the police and the security services are claiming a second important victory in the intelligence war against terror. This is Victoria Manley in London..
Fournier stabbed at the remote with barely suppressed fury then threw it across the aircraft, watching it rebound from the door and bounce along the carpeted floor.
Chapter 18
Venice, present day Leaving Dino beside the prone form of the gunman, Edie and Jeff raced back to the canal. The launch was there and the new chauffeur was pulling Roberto's body out of the water and into the boat. 'Is he alive?' Edie yelled.
The driver didn't answer. Roberto lay on his back. His shirt was stained red, and Edie could see a gash in his left arm, blood pouring from it. His face was blue, his lips white. There was no sign of life.
Edie pumped his chest and breathed into his mouth. Still nothing. She pumped again, then clamped her mouth to his a second time. Suddenly Roberto's head jerked and water gushed out of his mouth, soaking Edie's dress. His eyes snapped open. 'Quick… the hospital,' Edie cried. Jeff leapt back on to the path. The chauffeur ran to the wheel, engaged the throttle and spun the launch in the water.
Watching the boat roar away, Jeff dashed towards the alley. He had almost reached it when a black shape loomed up out of the darkness and knocked him into the wall. The cloaked figure disappeared into a narrow covered pathway between two houses.
He could hear a low moaning coming from the alleyway. He sped across the cobblestones to find Dino slumped against a wall. His breath was coming in laboured gasps. 'Dino… you're hurt.'
His friend was clutching his abdomen, and his clothes were drenched in blood. 'Jeff,' he muttered.
Jeff scrambled for his mobile and dialled the emergency service. 'You saved our lives,' he said. Dino's eyes flickered open, and he smiled weakly. 'Medics will be here soon…' Dino started to shake.
Jeff pulled off his jacket and laid it over Dino. 'Hang on. Please, just hang on.'
He leaned closer when he saw Dino pulling at a silver chain around his neck. 'Jeff, you must have this. You are my only friend.' The chain snapped. Dino shoved it into Jeff's hand and an oval silver locket fell open. Inside were two small photographs, one of a woman with jet black hair. The other picture was of a young girl with brown eyes. She was perhaps six or seven years old and smiling a gappy smile.
'Jeff, my friend. I don't need it. I'll be seeing my girls very soon, very…' Jeff had no idea how long he sat there next to Dino's body. Then suddenly strong arms were lifting him roughly and someone was yelling in his ear. Two police officers forced his arms behind him and clamped handcuffs on his wrists. Jeff protested, but they ignored him. He was frogmarched to the canal where two police launches and an ambulance bobbed in the water. As he was led to the first of the launches he caught sight of a trolley being wheeled towards the ambulance.
The questions went on for two hours. What was he doing with the dead man? How did he know him? Where was the gun? Had he been working alone? What was his motive? But then, as he was about to be led away to a holding cell, he was released. A witness, a resident from an apartment in the tiny street in which Dino had died, had come forward. They had seen everything from the time Jeff and Edie had been cornered until the arrival of the police. The mysterious gunman had shot Dino at close range and then ran off just as Jeff was returning to the alley.
All through the interrogation Jeff had been worrying about Rose. There was no offer of police protection; the officers who had interviewed him still seemed convinced he was involved in some way, but they had nothing to hold him on. He had been allowed to make one call to Roberto's, but no one picked up. After that he had been forced to switch off his mobile. Leaving the station, he turned it back on and tried again. This time Vincent answered almost immediately and reassured him that Rose was safely asleep. His second call was for a water taxi, and ten minutes later he was speeding into the Grand Canal close to Ferrovia. The Ospedale Civile, the main hospital serving the islands of the Rialto, looked like many of the other beautiful, well-preserved buildings crammed together with such elegance in the heart of Venice. Eight centuries earlier, in the days of Doge Renier Zeno, it had been built to house one of the six important confraternities in the city and was known as the Scuola Grande di San Marco. Through the central arch of a triptych flanked by trompe l'oeil panels depicting scenes from the life of St Mark, the elders of the district had passed to and fro performing their civic duties. Close to a millennium later, water ambulances drew up alongside the building. Under the same archway, trolleys were wheeled through Perspex doors to enter Accident and Emergency. Once inside, the place looked much like any other Western hospital, and at one o'clock on a Sunday morning during Carnivale, when Jeff arrived there out of breath and feeling sick to the stomach, it was an utterly depressing place.
He found Edie sitting in an out-of-the-way corner of the waiting area close to a soft drinks machine. A modern metal-framed window covered with an aluminium blind separated her from the ancient campo beyond. They embraced and he could see she had been crying.
'He's still in theatre,' she said, as Jeff collapsed in the chair beside her. 'What did the doctors say?' 'Nothing.' 'Dino'sdead.' 'Dino?'
'The man who saved our lives. He was a homeless person, a beggar. I'd known him for ages.'
'I'm sorry,' Edie said softly and grasped Jeff's hand.
A trolley slammed through the doors. Two paramedics in green overalls were trying to calm a man who was thrashing around, attempting to pull tubes from his arms and rip off an oxygen mask. Jeff ran his fingers through his hair, took a deep breath and stared down at the floor feeling utterly wretched. There was a quiet cough and he looked up.
'Signor Martin, Signorina Granger.' Aldo Candotti was staring at them, his hands clamped behind his back. 'I need to speak with you.'
He escorted them along the hall to a plain r
oom with a table, a few uncomfortable chairs, bare walls in off-white, a striplight in the high ceiling, a concrete floor. Candotti gestured to Edie and Jeff to take seats.
'You understand I have a job to do and I need answers to some very perplexing questions. Signor Martin, Signora Granger, last time we met, in the room of the unfortunate Mario Sporani, I said I was concerned for you because people kept getting themselves killed when you were around. Now we have another corpse on our hands.'
Edie sighed. 'Deputy Prefect, do you not think we would like to help you? We were at a party at the Gritti Badoer. We had a few drinks and left together at about eleven o'clock. As we walked away, a gunman in carnival disguise chased us. Roberto was shot.'
'Yes, yes, I have spoken with the officers who picked up Signor Martin. Some crazed assassin chased you halfway across Venice. Then you were saved by a gallant beggar who just happens to be a friend of yours?' 'I've given a detailed statement,' said Jeff. 'And you have no clue who this gunman is?'
Jeff held Candotti's gaze. 'I have absolutely no idea.' Candotti snorted.
'Deputy Prefect,' Edie said. 'Believe me when I say I feel like I've been sucked into some sort of nightmare during the past few days. Until last week I was leading a quiet life in Florence, doing my work. The biggest problem I faced was ensuring my infrared spectrometer kept working and my titrations were accurate. Since then, my uncle has been murdered and I've had my life threatened, more than once.'
Candotti turned to Jeff. 'And you, Signor Martin. Was your life a model of normality also?'
He shrugged. 'I wasn't being shot at, if that's what you mean.'
Candotti stood up suddenly, his face contorted with anger and frustration. 'God alive!' he exclaimed. 'I've a good mind to sling the pair of you in a cell until you find something more interesting to tell me.' 'I'm sorry,' Jeff said. 'I wish we could help.' Candotti took a deep breath and got to his feet. 'Very well. I cannot force information out of you, although there are times when I wish I could. But I feel I should remind both of you that you are guests in our country. Your position is, shall we say, delicate? You are withholding information pertinent to this investigation, and I want that information. I may not have offered you a carrot tonight; but believe me, next time, I'll be coming with a very, very big stick.' After Candotti slammed the door behind him, Jeff and Edie returned to the chaos of the Accident and Emergency ward barely exchanging a word, each lost in thought. An hour ticked slowly past before a young doctor in a spotless lab coat strode over with a clipboard in his hand.
'You're Signor Armatovani's friends, yes?' He took a seat opposite them. 'He has been very fortunate. One bullet shattered his left humerus and lodged in his shoulder. It took some time to remove and there has been quite serious nerve damage. The second bullet passed right through him. By sheer luck it missed his spine and every vital organ. There was some internal tissue damage, but that has been patched up. We expect a complete recovery.' 'Can we see him?' Edie asked. 'He is still unconscious and we'll keep him that way for at least eight hours to help the healing process. If I were you I'd go home, get some rest. Visiting hours start at midday. I'm sure your friend will be delighted to see you tomorrow afternoon.' Outside, the campo was eerily quiet. Once more, fog had drifted in from the lagoon, shrouding everything in a gossamer veil. Jeff looked at his watch; it was 2.15 a.m. 'Come on, it's not far to my place.'
There were few street lights in this district. Edie shivered and Jeff put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.
They turned off the main thoroughfare into a narrow lane that led to a junction. Jeff kept glancing back around them. Ahead, they could see the faint shimmer of a narrow canal and a footbridge; lines of washing were strung out on each side of the passageway. A scrambling sound from their left made them both jump. A scrawny tabby emerged from the foggy shadows, gave them a contemptuous glance and ran off. 'Shit!' Jeff exhaled heavily and laughed.
A few minutes later they reached the Ducal Palace. Here a few late-night revellers were wandering about and a small group of well-lubricated locals stood under the Torre dell' Orlogio arguing noisily. Jeff and Edie strode on through the walkway on the north side of San Marco, cutting down a narrow passageway that led to the apartment entrance.
After Jeff had let them in to his apartment, Edie threw herself on to one of the sofas and yawned. Jeff busied himself with coffee cups and the espresso machine.
'You know, I've been thinking…' Edie said. 'How could Bruno, who died in 1600, direct us to a clue about Vivaldi who was born over a century later?'
'Precisely, Watson,' Jeff said. Somehow, to focus on the mysterious trail of clues was a welcome distraction from the horrors of the evening. 'The only possibility is that Vivaldi, or someone associated with him, knew of the Bruno clue and changed it. Just as Bruno changed Contessina de' Medici's clue on San Michele.' 'But why?' 'Maybe he was a member of I Seguicamme.'
'It's possible, I guess,' Jeff replied. 'Roberto said the group fizzled out, when was it? The late eighteenth century?' 'And when did Vivaldi die?' 'Not sure exactly, 1740s, 1750s?'
'And he spent most of his life here in Venice, didn't he?' Edie continued. 'So you're suggesting some sort of lineage, that I Seguicamme was a group protecting this Medici Secret that Mario Sporani referred to? That each generation of members felt they needed to improve the clues or make them more obscure?'
'Maybe. But whether or not Vivaldi was involved with I Seguicamme, someone linked with him must have cracked Bruno's clue.'
Jeff came over with the coffees and placed a cup on a low table beside the sofa. Edie lay stretched out, her head propped up on a cushion, gazing up at the ceiling. 'Thanks,' she muttered.
Cradling a cup in his hand Jeff walked over to the vast windows and gazed out at the near-empty piazza. The ornate fronts of the tearooms and the expensive chocolateries were blacked out. The campanile looked like some improbable rocket turned to stone. Running through the events of the evening, Jeff suddenly felt a spasm of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. They had all come so close, so very close… and Dino, poor Dino.
He looked over at Edie. She had fallen asleep on the sofa, her coffee untouched. He smiled to himself. He hadn't seen her like that since college days when she would regularly nod off on a friend's sofa even as the party continued around her. He fetched a quilt from the bedroom, laid it over her and kissed her gently on the forehead.
What was going on? It seemed so hard to get a handle on anything. First it seemed Contessina was the focus, then Bruno, and now Vivaldi. It was like a catalogue of the great and the good, a parade of historical notables. And there seemed to be no connection between any of them except this nebulous reference to a secret society, I Seguicamme, 'The Followers'. Could that be the tenuous link connecting a super-rich first lady, a half-crazed heretic and the composer of The Four Seasons?
Vivaldi; he had to focus on Vivaldi. Contessina de' Medici had led them to Giordano Bruno and Bruno had led them to Vivaldi. Vivaldi was the new key, and the clue he, or someone linked with him had left would lead to the next piece of the puzzle. But he knew nothing about Vivaldi.
He took a sip of his coffee, and at that moment a much better idea popped into his mind. 'Of course,' he said aloud. 'Of course.'
Chapter 19
Venice, May 1410 He was floating. Everything was perfect; he felt no pain. All fear had gone. But most of all, he experienced an overwhelming sense of relief. The pressure had lifted, and with it, all the expectations placed upon him. No one could touch him here in this paradise. No one could insist that he fight. Now there was nothing to fight for, because nothing mattered. He could live like this forever, just floating. It was like being a newborn baby again. And then a face appeared. Was it his mother? She was standing over him. She was calling his name. He felt her soft hand on his cheek, stroking his face, brushing the hair from his eyes. 'Cosimo,' he heard her say. But then her voice grew faint and he was floating again, floating in the warm ocean of happiness he had quickly
come to treasure. ? Tommasini and Niccoli were seated in a small boat at the meeting point, Saint Silvestro on the Grand Canal at the edge of the San Polo district. The night was still and silent. They could see in the distance the lights of the huge houses on the edge of the canal.
Niccolo Niccoli was the first to notice the woman. Wrapped in a long grey shawl that covered her head she was carrying a lantern that threw little light. 'You are Niccold Niccoli,' she said matter-of-factly. He nodded. 'I have an urgent message.' 'From whom?'
'That I cannot reveal. The message is this: your friend Cosimo has the thing you seek, but he is hurt. He is in good hands. A ship awaits you.' And she glanced at the other man in the boat. 'Cosimo's hurt?' Niccoli asked. 'Not seriously.'
Niccoli felt relief flood through him. 'Who are you?'
'I am Caterina Galbaoi. You must let me bring you to the one who sent me. There is no time to waste.'
Ambrogio joined them on the pathway. 'This could be a trap Niccolo,' he said, keeping an eye on the woman.
'It is no trap' she responded, calmly. 'Blood has been spilled tonight. By dawn your friend Cosimo will be wanted for murder. You will all be arrested and tried as accessories. The Doge is a man besieged, and he is cunning. You will have no hope of survival, and all that Master Valiani has done for you will be for nothing.' 'Valiani?' 'Master Valiani is my uncle.'
In a flash, Niccoli drew his sword and had the tip of the blade at the woman's throat. 'Prove it,' he hissed.
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