I stare into the camera; my tongue so dry it feels like it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“What is the first line of the Koran?” Black Robe shouts.
I turn, stare directly into the camera then, once more, refocus my attention up at Black Robe.
“Closer,” I whisper.
“What?” he says.
“Closer,” I say. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my voice. I need you to come closer, so you can hear what I’m about to say.”
Lumberjack One behind the camera raises his right hand again, makes a spinning gesture like, It’s okay, just keep going.
With his hand still tightly gripping the fighting knife, he bends at the knees and leans toward me, as if he wants me to whisper the first line of the Koran into his hood-covered ear.
“The first line of the Koran goes something like this,” I say. Then, turning back to the camera, my eyes looking directly into the lens, I bark, “Kiss my Judeo-Christian ass!”
For a beat or two, no one says a word. It’s like the three creeps are dumbfounded by my response. And they are.
Until Black Robe stands tall, but with his eyes still peering down at me.
“What did you say?” he says.
“I said the first line of the Koran is: Kiss my Judeo-Christian ass.” Puckering my lips, blow him a kiss.
Black Robe lets loose with a Darth Vader roar that just about shatters the concrete walls. The lumberjack production team are glued to their lights and cameras, clearly loving the action, the drama, the cinematic glory of their production.
Grabbing hold of my throat with his forearm, Black Robe heaves up against my chin, as if to lengthen my bare naked neck. He’s choking me, but that’s the least of my problems considering the cold steel blade pressed against the flesh immediately beneath my Adam’s apple. I struggle, but he’s too strong, too experienced in this brand of radical terrorist execution.
Oh, dear God. Here it comes, I think. Here it comes. I pray, dear God, it doesn’t hurt. I love you, Ava, I love you. God, make it all go quick, make the pain stop now, just take me, God, just let me die fast …
And then the walls explode.
11
Not the walls exactly, but the four grates located at the top of the four walls. They blow out in a timed explosion, followed by four individuals dressed in black tactical gear who slide down from ropes onto the concrete floor.
Taken by surprise, Black Robe turns, pulling the knife away from my neck. That’s my cue to drop onto my side, cock back my bound legs at the hip, then thrust my Vibram-soled boot-heels forward like a battering ram against his right knee.
I hear the distinctive pop when his knee explodes, followed by a burst of the machine gun fire that evaporates his cranial cap so that he’s dead before he even hits the stone floor. Glancing up in the direction of the cameras, I see both Lumberjacks reaching for their sidearms. But neither gets the chance to pull their guns from their holsters before the multiple rapid-fire rounds catch them at waist level.
Expert shooting from an expert assault team.
When the shooting stops, my ears ring. This is a stone chamber after all, and the sound bounces as opposed to being absorbed. I can hardly breathe. But I’m alive. I’m fucking alive. I barely make out the sound of boots soles through the ringing, when I see one of the black clad soldiers standing over me. A second soldier cuts my ankles and wrists loose and helps me get back up onto my feet.
“Who are you people?” I ask.
The black-camo-faced and night-vision goggled soldier facing me reaches up, pulls his black cap off. Pushes up the goggles.
He’s not a he at all. But a she.
Andrea Gallo.
“You and me, boyfriend,” she says. “We need to talk.”
12
It takes a few moments for the rest of the team to check the place, make sure it’s cleared not only of enemy combatants but also booby traps such as IEDs. But when they return to the stone room, they reveal themselves to be the Poseidon Brothers and even Deputy Inspector Millen. I fully expect the meaty muscleheads to possess the God-given talent to clear a room at will, but I never would have guessed Millen had it in him. I figured him for a desk jockey only. But the man is a killer. Thank God he’s on our side. Thank God they’re all on our side, Andrea included.
“What happened, Chase?” she says, as soon as she has everyone’s attention. “Start from the beginning.”
I start from the start, with the piece of old parchment slipped under my door, the words handwritten on it presented as mirror writing just like da Vinci used, and the sketch that led me directly to the da Vinci Museum. From there, I describe the cranky Dr. Belli and the basement room with the wall-mounted mural of The Last Supper and Jesus’ hair blowing in the wind, indicating a hidden door in the wall.
“The note,” Millen says. “Did you catch a glimpse of the man or woman who slipped it under your door?”
“Not at all,” I say. “I went after the individual, but he or she was already long gone, or very well hidden.”
“The doctor in charge of the museum,” Andrea goes on, “you think it’s possible he’s the one who alerted this ISIS or ISIS-like cell about your interest in the Book of Truths?”
“All I know is, I saw him on the phone immediately after I exited the store,” I explain. “My guess is if you’re already aware of two separate parties interested in the da Vinci cave, it would make sense there’d be others. Good and bad.”
Andrea shoots a glance at Millen. He nods.
“I’ll come clean, Chase,” she says. “We’ve been suspecting for some time that ISIS might be making a play for the cave also. That’s why we brought them up earlier during the briefing. But we couldn’t be sure how organized they were. How capable. Of course, that means, like us, they need the Book of Truths.”
I glance at the Poseidon Brothers standing by the open door, each of them smoking cigarettes. Andrea and Millen in their tactical gear, HK33s connected to chest-mounts. What the hell, exactly, have I gotten myself into? And will I live long enough to see it through?
Unzipping the orange jumper, I pull it off, toss it into the corner of the stone room.
“You know what I think?” I say.
“We’re paying you for your expert opinion, Chase,” Millen says.
“I think that son of bitch, Dr. Belli, knows a hell of a lot more about the Book of Truths and the cave than he lets on.” I pat down my right rib cage, feel the empty space. “I also think my .45 is missing.”
“One step ahead of you, mate,” comes the booming voice of Poseidon Brother Jackie. He steps out of the room, comes back in with a plastic shopping bag bearing the name and colorful logo of the Leonardo da Vinci Museum, hands it to me.
“Much appreciated,” I say.
Peering into the heavy bag, I not only see my piece and the two extra mags that belong to it, but I also spot my MI16-issued smartphone and the big glossy art book I purchased at the museum earlier.
“Looks like I’m not entirely out of luck,” I say, shoving the pistol back into my shoulder holster. “You guys mind giving me a lift home?”
“Not at all,” Andrea says. “You’re closer to home than you think.”
We all pile out of the room, head up several steps of old stone stairs and out onto a section of urban neighborhood that looks entirely familiar to me. It’s the back door to the Florence Museum of the Dark Ages.
Ringing through the distance, from the direction of the Duomo: sirens.
“Shouldn’t we make a play for the owners of this joint?” I say “Or maybe go have a little conversation with Dr. Belli next door?”
“We need to regroup,” Andrea says. “Besides, if you’ll notice, both venues have suddenly closed up and shuttered their establishments for the day.” She looks around. “As it is, I can’t believe the poliza aren’t all over this place already.”
The sirens getting louder.
“I think that’s the police now,” I say.
> “Let’s move, people,” Millen insists.
As we pile back into the MI16 unmarked van, something occurs to me.
“Not that I’m complaining,” I assert, “but how did you know where to find me in the first place?”
Andrea is shoved up against me in the back seat.
“Those ISIS bastards might have relieved you of your phone,” she says. “But they weren’t smart enough to destroy it, or at least turn it off.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull it out. It still retains most of its charge and all of its bars are lit up like a half Christmas tree.
“GPS,” I state the obvious.
“You didn’t think we’d hire you on only to lose you, did you?”
I think about her words for a moment. Think about the GPS plant, and how it led them to the ISIS cell.
“Why do I feel just a teensy bit like bait?”
“Not a teensy bit,” Millen says, “more like a big chunk of fresh meat dumped into a sea of sharks.” He smiles. “In our business, it’s best to call a spade a spade.”
The sirens grow so loud, I half expect to see the blue and white poliza cruisers turning the corner. Poseidon Jackie pulls away from the curb, starts driving in the direction of my apartment.
“I’ll keep reminding myself I’m doing a great service for my country,” I quip.
“You do that,” mumbles Poseidon Bear from the shotgun seat. “If it’ll make you feel better.”
13
The van stops outside my apartment building on Via Guelfa. When I slide out of the van’s back seat, Andrea automatically follows. She goes around to the back of the vehicle, opens one of the two doors, grabs a stuffed duffel bag.
“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” I question.
Her thick, dark hair blows in the breeze. Her face is still blackened by the camo, but that doesn’t steal away any of her beauty. Regardless, doesn’t matter if our mission to locate the da Vinci cave on behalf of God above and the good earth below is a mission to save the world—she and her buddies used me as bait, and I nearly got my head lobbed off because of it. Maybe I find her attractive as all hell. Christ, maybe I even I’m falling for her. But my gut tells me she can’t be trusted.
“It will be safer if we work this job together,” she says.
“So, what is this then?” I say, raising my hand, making a sweeping gesture toward her duffel bag. “You’re moving in?” I smile. “You move fast, girlfriend.”
“It’s not like that and you know it. Now that we know for certain more than one party is after the location of the cave, time is of the essence like never before. And two heads working together will be better than one.”
“You used me as bait back there. You’ve been lying to me pretty much since I met you at the Goose. How do I know I can trust you?”
“If you perceive me as lying … If you believe I’m trying to deceive you … think that me and my team are placing your life in grave danger … then, by all means, quit now.” Cocking her head over her shoulder in the direction of the idling van. “I’m sure Deputy Inspector Millen will cut you a check for your services to date, plus a little extra combat pay for the little unpleasantness you put up with back there in that rat hole.”
The little unpleasantness …
For a moment, I say nothing while I look into her deep brown pools and she looks into mine. Who will be the first to blink? Neither one of us, it turns out. But something else manages to catch my eye. A man walking quietly along Via Guelfa, in the direction of the old stone fort on the far west end of the city. He’s wearing the long brown robe of a monk, his face shadowed. The same monk I saw before the MI16 team kidnapped me this morning? There are lots of priests, monks, and friars in Florence at any given time. But there’s something about this one that makes my blood run cold.
After he passes, I refocus my eyes on Andrea.
“You Brits,” I say, “always taking the upper road while the rest of us crawl around in the mud.”
She smiles, blinks. “That’s the way we like it, actually.”
“Okay,” I say, “come on up and let’s try and let’s see if we can find this cave before the bad guys do.”
She heads to the van, speaks something to the rest of the team through the open driver’s side window. When she turns away, steps back up on the sidewalk, the van pulls away. Turning, she approaches me while I unlock the door, hold it open for her. When she enters into the building, I pat her on her perfectly shaped behind.
“So, that’s why you don’t mind my teaming up with you,” she says, taking the stairs up to my apartment.
“Teamwork should have its perks,” I say.
We’re not back inside my place for more than a minute, the door locked and bolted, before I’m undressing her in the vestibule. She’s wearing a utility belt and other tactical gear like a chest-mounted radio, so it’s impossible for me to undress her entirely. We start to laugh when we clumsily attempt to remove it all.
“You take care of everything from the belt up,” I say. “I’ll take care of your boots.”
Taking her by the hand, I lead her into the bedroom, sit her down on the bed. Bending, I pick up her left leg, positioning her boot sole flat on my thigh, and unzip the shin-length zipper all the way down to the heel, then pull it off. She’s wearing red socks with green, red, and white Christmas trees and Santas on them. I can’t help but laugh again.
“Nice socks,” I say. “I’m horny and you’re festive.”
“Never mind, boyfriend,” she defends, removing her radio, tossing it to the floor, “I was in a rush to save your ass.”
“I think I’m in love,” I say, pulling off her other boot, exposing the second Christmas sock.
As soon as Andrea has pulled of her shirt, exposing her beautiful breasts, she straightens up, unbuckles my belt. She can plainly see how much I want her, how my nearly being killed only moments ago has no effect on how I feel about her. Her beauty, her talents.
Does this mean I’m beginning to trust her?
Not by a long shot. I’ll leave the trust issue to my built-in shit detector. For now, I’ll leave love up to my heart.
Minutes later, we’re lying on our backs on the bed.
“I might not trust you, Andrea,” I whisper, “but I am most definitely falling for you.”
“Don’t fall too far,” she whispers back. “Not yet. Let’s enjoy the moment we have together right now.” She takes my hand, squeezes it. “Let’s love one another right now.”
And with that, I scoop her up with one arm, press her into me as tightly as I can without hurting her.
“Fair enough,” I say. “I love you right now.”
We hold one another for a while, not saying anything. Not needing to say anything. My senses are heightened, if not working at full throttle, as if after having come so close to death not even an hour before, I am now living at an accelerated pace. I want to feel everything I can. Taste everything. My life having been afforded a second chance, I want to live a lifetime in mere seconds and then relive it again.
The front door to the building opens.
Footsteps climbing the stone steps. Stopping outside my door. The sound of paper being shoved underneath.
Reflex kicks in. I jump over Andrea, off the bed and run to the door. In all my nakedness, I thrust the door open. But again, no one’s there.
“Hey,” I shout at the top of my lungs, neighbors be damned. “Who the hell are you?”
The front door slams closed.
“Chase, for God’s sake, you’re naked!” Andrea shouts. “Close the door before you catch a cold … or get arrested … or both.”
But I need to make an ID on this man, whoever he is.
“Screw it,” I whisper to myself, while running down the stairs to the front door. Thrusting it open, I look one way and then the other. Just like the first time this happened earlier today, there’s no one to be seen in either direction.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
Walking toward me is an elderly lady. A lady who, more than likely, lives in the elderly home that’s been converted from the old nunnery convent. Panic washes over me and I cover my sex with both hands. That’s when the door closes and locks.
Shit …
“Buona sera,” I say, as the gray-haired woman passes by smiling.
Turning back to the door, I pull on the handle, as if it will open up by some miracle.
“Andrea?” I shout, while pressing the buzzer for my apartment. “Andrea open the damn door!”
I hear the French window directly above me being opened, its old hinges squeaking.
“Who’s there?” she taunts, sticking her head and shoulders out.
She wearing a ginormous smile on her beautiful face.
“Yes,” she says like a question. “What is it? Can I help you with something?”
“Open the door please?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, “or no Book of Truths, no goddamned cave.”
“Hmmm,” she says. “Let me think about that for a moment.”
Just then, I make out the sound of another set of windows opening on the six-story residential building behind me. And laughter. And then another set of windows flying open … and another . . . and more laughter. Lot’s more laughter. Someone shouts to someone else in Italian. Someone whistles. The entire street is watching my pale, naked butt cheeks.
“Do you promise to make love to me once more, Chase Baker?”
“I promise,” I say. “Now, please, before I get arrested.”
She turns away and two seconds later, the buzzer sounds and the door lock releases. I go for the door, but not without making a theatrical bow for my audience of neighbors.
I reenter my building to a raucous round of applause.
14
Prior to reentering my apartment, I retrieve the note and carry it with me back into the bedroom and onto the bed with Andrea. Leaning my back against the headboard, I unfold the almost ancient, dry, papyrus-like paper to discover a new note and a new sketch. A sketch and a note that looks as if it were created by Leonardo da Vinci himself … if he wrote in English. Like the first note I received, the writing is backward. Something I immediately relay to Andrea since, judging from her scrunched eyebrows, she’s entirely confused over how to read the note.
Chase Baker and the Da Vinci Divinity (A Chase Baker Thriller Series Book 6) Page 6