by Gary McAvoy
Dominic stood up, opened the door, and walked toward the penitent.
“Giuseppe?” he whispered. No response.
He stepped closer, not wanting to interrupt a man in prayer but concerned in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
And then, even in the dim light of the basilica, he saw the blood.
Giuseppe’s throat had been slashed from ear to ear. And around his neck hung an upside down crucifix.
Chapter 51
After notifying the Carabinieri of Giuseppe’s murder, Dominic gave last rights to the man in the quiet of the church before it would be packed with police. He remained at the scene of the crime until the authorities were done questioning him.
Naturally, he could not divulge what was said during the victim’s confession, and though the officers themselves were Catholic and respected both the sacrament and the priest’s sacred vows, it irritated them nonetheless. They suspected, correctly, that the answers to some of their questions lay in what the dead man had confessed.
Meanwhile, Dominic had texted Hana and Karl, asking for them all to meet him at St. Mark’s Basilica while he was being interrogated. They needed to talk.
He met everyone just outside the basilica as each group arrived. Since they were already in the vicinity, he suggested they take a table at Quadri, a restaurant on the piazza across from the basilica, where he could fill them in with what little he could without revealing Giuseppe’s confession.
Finding a spacious outside table under a wide umbrella, the five sat down and ordered beers while looking over the lunch menu.
Meanwhile, Dominic told them what he could about the painter’s death, which was nothing much apart from how he found him while waiting to have a further discussion outside the bounds of confession.
“The police said the inverted cross was surely a signal of the Camorra’s involvement, which is no surprise,” Dominic said. “In hindsight, I should probably have encouraged our conversation before the confession, but too late for that now. Suffice it to say we’re on the right track.
“I also spoke with Dario Contini the other evening. He intimated that should we use whatever means necessary to get the Coscia Journal, he would back us up. I think he meant all options are on the table, especially gray areas he might be unable to pursue himself.”
“Spoken like a true cop who just wants to get the job done. Bravo for him,” praised Marco, ever the commando. “So, what do we have in mind?”
Everyone sat in silence, taking thirsty draws on their beers as they considered the options.
“What about just walking in, armed to the teeth, and demand they give it to us?” Karl proposed. “We have already dispatched many of their people, so there may not be that many more to deal with now.”
“Still too risky,” Hana said. “It would be deemed a holdup, caught on camera, plus someone might get shot.”
“I think that’s the point of using guns,” Karl replied with a smirk. Sitting next to him, Hana punched his shoulder.
“What about fire?” Marco asked, his eyebrows raised with interest. “I would think Don Gallucci would do anything to protect that Journal, making sure it left the building with him. At which point we would be there to liberate it from him. It would also put a dent in their illicit business.”
The others looked around the table, appraising Marco’s suggestion. No one made a counter argument.
“Interesting,” Dominic said, feeling a little guilty even considering something so drastic as arson. “Maybe if you confined it to his office…”
Marco didn’t miss Dominic’s use of the pronoun you, but understood the priest’s dilemma.
“For what must be obvious reasons,” he said gallantly, “I think Michael should be excused from making decisions on our course of action. I will take personal responsibility for everything. Karl and Lukas and I can handle this.”
“Oh, and just because I’m a woman means I can’t be involved?!” Hana asserted with a twist of her head.
Marco couldn’t resist the bait. “You could pour the champagne after we men have accomplished our mission…” Now she punched Marco’s shoulder. The bad one. He grimaced, then laughed and reached over to give her a kiss.
“Actually, we could use a driver for our getaway boat,” he added seriously. “I’ve still got the Aquariva standing by and we’ll need your help.”
“Then count me in, too,” Hana said with a satisfied smile.
The waiter came to their table to take their lunch orders. After everyone had chosen their meals, Marco continued.
“So, here’s what I propose…”
Chapter 52
The sun had gone down several hours earlier and the more active boating traffic had dissipated for the day. The few craft out now were several candlelit gondolas gliding late night tourists under the romantic moonlight of a warm spring evening.
Sitting in the Aquariva across the now placid waters of the Grand Canal, Marco, Hana, Karl and Lukas had been watching Palazzo Feudatario with binoculars for the past hour. There was no guard at the door this time, and from what they could tell Angelo Gallucci was in his bedroom on the third floor, just below the studio, not asleep yet but apparently reading. They did spot one guard sitting in the reception foyer, doing something on the computer, but they were certain there would be more somewhere in or near the building. No one else had been seen through the tall arched windows of the palazzo on any of its four floors. The studio, over which they would again enter, was dark and empty.
As before, Marco quietly guided the Aquariva across the canal, docking the boat two palazzos down from Feudatario. The three men stepped onto the dock with their gear and backpacks and took the pathway to the rear of the buildings, keeping in the shadows as they walked to their destination. Meanwhile, Hana guided the boat back across the canal to their previous watch post, waiting for the appropriate time to retrieve the team.
While Marco and Karl prepared their gear and surveyed their route up the building, Lukas stood guard behind the palazzo. Having climbed the route before, they knew where the drain pipes and window ledges were for safe handholds and footholds. The gear in their backpacks would be needed once they were on the roof and inside—ropes to lower themselves into the studio, and the flammables to start the fire.
They began their ascent. It only took a few minutes to reach the roof, and once there they rested for a minute or so before opening the skylight window. Marco’s shoulder was stressed, but it was manageable. Pain was not new to him; he just pushed through it.
Karl edged his way quietly across the roof to work on the lock, with Marco following. The last thing they wanted was anyone hearing their footsteps below, even though the fourth floor appeared to be vacant.
But this time, there was a problem. Presumably because of their last breach, Gallucci’s people had beefed up access through the skylight with steel bars criss-crossing the entire eight-panel glass ceiling! There was no way they’d be able to get through this way now.
That meant trying to enter through one of the arched windows on the back of the building, a more challenging feat since footholds were so narrow. Though both men were experienced climbers, this path gave even them pause.
They each tied off their climbing ropes to a chimney, passing the rope around the chimney and through the loop of a figure eight knot at the end. Karl went first, using a descender clipped in to his climbing belt to rappel down to a window in the studio. It was locked.
Looking over at the other windows, he saw one at the far end of the building that was slightly open to the outside. He hoisted himself back up to the roof with a pair of ascenders from his pack of climbing gear.
“There’s an open window down there,” he whispered to Marco, pointing to the end of the roof. “We should be able to get in that way.”
Unfastening the ropes from the chimney, they moved down to the other end of the palazzo. They had to walk gingerly, for the fragile, curved red brick tiles could crack at any moment, ale
rting someone inside to their presence. Or they could slip, since the tiled roof was steeply angled.
Refastening the ropes around the chimney at the other end, Karl again went down first, using descenders and a couple carabiners as a brake. Reaching the wall next to the open window, he peered in to see if anyone was inside that room. It was empty.
Looking over at Marco, he signaled with a thumbs up, then squeezed through the open window and into the room. A few moments later, Marco joined him.
Inside now, they both stood still, listening for any sounds beyond the room they were in. In the moonlit darkness they seemed to be in a storage space, with wooden boxes stacked here and there and shelves containing various jugs and smaller boxes. Marco took out a penlight from his pocket to better inspect the room.
His light focused on a familiar warning symbol on a box that made him gasp. Explosives! Crates of TNT, blocks of Semtex and C-4, and bottles of acetone, hydrogen peroxide, and other flammable materials. Enough incendiary components to take out a sizable chunk of the Most Serene city of Venice. And that would explain the open window, for venting.
Each man looked at the other, thinking the same two thoughts.
What was all this intended for?
And fire didn’t seem like such a good idea now.
They needed a new plan.
Chapter 53
“Our best option now would be to take Gallucci and force him to open the safe,” Marco suggested in a whisper.
“I agree,” Karl said. “Best to assume there are other guards here, somewhere, so we have to be quiet about it. I don’t think the guy downstairs is likely to hear us, but what if he has CCTV monitors?”
“We’ll just have to take that risk. Be prepared.”
They both checked the pistols in their shoulder holsters, rounds loaded, safeties off. Removing their packs, they went to the door, listened for any activity, and gently opened it.
The hallway was empty and dark, the wooden floors lined with Oriental carpet runners. Gallucci’s bedroom was one floor down and at the other end of the building.
Making their way toward the stairs—which were exposed to the open four-story atrium in the center of the palazzo—they had to be careful not to make any sounds that would alert the guard in the reception foyer. Sound would carry well in the atrium.
They made it down to the third floor. So far, so good. If the guard had CCTV monitoring, he either wasn’t watching it, or it was turned off and used only for recording, the more likely scenario given it was well after business hours and besides the guard, only Gallucci was in the building.
Creeping down the long hall leading toward Gallucci’s room, the two men walked against the wall rather than down the center, so as not to risk squeaky floorboards in the old mansion. Another two long minutes and they were standing just outside the capintesta’s bedroom. They took out their weapons, raising them at face level, ready for whatever lay beyond.
Taking a deep breath, Marco ever so quietly turned the door handle, opening the door just a crack. The lights were out in the room now. Gallucci must have gone to sleep.
Marco pushed the door open wider, just enough for them to get inside. After each of them slid through the opening, Karl gently closed the door behind them.
Suddenly, the room filled with blinding bright light. Angelo Gallucci stood there, a double-barreled shotgun aimed directly at both Karl and Marco. Instinctively, both men rapidly raised their pistols and aimed them at Gallucci.
“I’ve been expecting you gentlemen,” he said with a tobacco-stained smile. “It took you long enough to get here. And it appears we have an awkward standoff. Lower your weapons. Now.”
Marco was not so easily persuaded. “You lower yours first, padrino.”
“At least you have the courtesy to address me formally,” the Don said. “But you people have caused me no end of problems. What is it you want here, anyway?”
“Just the book,” Marco said calmly. “The one you call the Coscia Journal.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I do not know what you’re talking about.”
“Now who’s being discourteous?” Karl asked. “We know it’s in your safe. Giuseppe told us before you had him killed.” Karl had only made an assumption of the fact, but imagined he was right based on logic alone. And Gallucci’s reaction confirmed it.
The old man’s eyes narrowed and his face hardened. “That sniveling puttana. Couldn’t keep his mouth shut when he didn’t get what he wanted. No matter. What’s done is done. I’ve already called for the guard. Things will go easier if you give up now.” Just then, the guard cautiously opened the door behind them, his own weapon drawn. “Drop your weapons,” he growled.
Thinking fast, Marco had a risky idea, depending on whether or not the old Italian knew German. Addressing Gallucci as if he were cursing him in German, he said simply, “Karl, nach rechts fallen lassen!”
Understanding Marco’s subtle command, Karl instantly dropped to his right on the floor, turning his SIG toward the guard. At the same time, Marco dropped to his left and pulled the trigger of his Glock expertly aimed at Gallucci’s left shoulder, which caused Gallucci to fire as well, the reflexive blast from the shotgun spraying buckshot well above Marco and Karl, but directly into the guard’s face. His body flew back into the hallway as the shotgun’s recoil pushed the now bleeding Gallucci onto the bed behind him.
Karl leapt up and onto the old man, yanking the shotgun away from him. Marco turned around to look down the hallway, pistol raised, waiting for anyone else to appear. No one had come yet.
As Karl frisked Gallucci for other weapons, he inspected the wound. It would require medical attention soon, but he would still be capable of opening the safe.
“Get up,” Marco demanded. “Is there anyone else in the house?”
Ignoring the question, the old man moaned in pain as his left hand instinctively reached for the wound. Withdrawing his hand, he found it was covered with blood.
“What have you done to me?!” he cried. “Get me to a doctor!”
“Only after you open your safe and give us that journal,” Marco said, grabbing the man and standing him up. “Let’s go.”
“I can’t do that!” he said, fear in his voice. “It’s been in our hands for over three hundred years! It is our legacy.”
“Well, it’s under new management now,” Marco quipped. “I’ll ask you one more time. Is anyone else here?”
“No, just the one guard and myself. I haven’t had time to replace those you’ve already killed off.”
With Karl supporting Gallucci on one side and Marco on the other, they led him up the stairs to his office next to the studio, cautiously watching for others to show up in case the capintesta was lying.
Reaching the safe, Gallucci looked at Marco, a pleading look in his eyes. “Isn’t there anything else I can give you instead of the Journal? Money? As much as you need, just take it and leave.”
“No thanks, just the Journal.”
Gallucci sighed, then spun the dial on the large Gardall safe back and forth, entering the combination as Marco mentally recorded the chosen numbers. A turn of the handle and the door cracked open. Gallucci’s hand went in first, fumbling for the Glock, but Karl held firmly to the Don’s arm, expecting a move like that. He retrieved the pistol, secured the safety and tucked it behind him inside his belt.
“Nice try,” Karl said. “Here, sit down at the desk and rest. We’ll get you a doctor soon.” Gallucci fell into his chair. As he did, his hand went to the desk as if in support, but his thumb curled furtively under the edge as he pressed a hidden button.
While Karl kept an eye on Gallucci, Marco looked inside the safe. Sitting on a top shelf was a leather satchel, which he pulled out and laid on the desk. Opening it, he removed a thick leather-bound book, clearly well-aged. Lifting back the cover, the first page inside was labeled “Il Giornale Coscia della Camorra Veneta”—The Coscia Journal of the Veneto Camorra.
Quickly flip
ping through the pages, Marco was amazed at the vast number of famous paintings recorded over the centuries. But reviewing it further would have to wait. They had to find medical treatment for Gallucci and then be on their way.
“Freeze!” two voices shouted at the same time as a pair of guards ran into the room holding Uzi submachine guns. “Drop your weapons!”
Taken by surprise, Marco and Karl reluctantly set their pistols on the desk, then held their hands up. Two more armed guards were coming up the hall. They were outnumbered.
Gallucci looked at his prisoners, offering an explanation. “I didn’t lie. They weren’t in this house. They were in an adjacent apartment equipped with an emergency alarm I tripped.” That black-stained smile again.
“Now grab that book and get me to a doctor, fast!” Gallucci shouted to his men. “Then take these two down to the basement and kill the bastards.”
The last two guards to enter stuffed the Coscia Journal into its leather satchel, then supported Gallucci between them, helping their boss down the stairs and out the front door to a waiting boat. For an old and injured man he moved sprightly, motivated to save his own life despite the pain—but he was still losing blood.
Marco and Karl dragged their pace as much as they could as they descended the stairs, their minds racing for options as they heard Gallucci’s boat take off outside. Their captors had yet to take the Don’s Glock from Karl’s backside, hidden as it was under his jacket.
Just then, two quick shots rang out from behind them. Both guards fell. Karl looked up to see Lukas standing at the top of the stairs behind them, his SIG Sauer ready for any more comers. Karl first checked to make sure the guards were dead or immobilized, then ran back up and hugged his partner.
“Your timing couldn’t have been better!” he gushed with relief. “How did you know?”
“I saw four men rush over from an apartment next door and figured you might need some help,” Lukas obliged.