Final Quest (4 page)

- 8 -

A RACE AGAINST TIME

It’s Saturday afternoon before we are  able to get together at my place. Although we tried to meet last night, Michael said his family had some other plans. As well, we were unable to locate Drew, much to Jasmin’s dismay.

Now all my friends are in my basement as I grab some snacks from the kitchen. My mother is visiting my father.

Last night and again first thing this morning I watched the news to see what was transpiring with the Stalker. There was endless speculation on the details she might be able to provide about what really happened in Rome. My government is already requesting extradition back to the U.S., but it appears that the Italian government is not going to let that happen anytime soon after what took place in Rome and Pompeii two weeks ago.

I know we have to move quickly. Although I guess that this tough woman would resist giving any information about Santtonnice or my emerald to the police or other authorities, it would only be a matter of time before they broke her.

The moment I reach the bottom stair with a tray of snacks, Jasmin says, “Jamie said that we are going to snatch the Stalker from the Italian police. Are you crazy? This woman is probably being protected by dozens of guards. There’s no way we would ever get near her.”

Jamie, Michael and Drew grab some food as though they haven’t eaten in a week.

There’s a brief silence as my friends devour some chips and cookies.

Three panelists on the TV are exploring the question as to who should interrogate the woman we call the Stalker. Should it be the Italian police, know as the Polizia di Stato, who apparently have an abysmal record in solving crimes, the Italian DIA, or should the investigation be handled by Interpol or the CIA? From the discussions it’s pretty obvious that the U.S. is trying very hard to take control of what is happening. I wonder if the CIA is planning to take her from the Italians.

For what seems like the hundredth time, I watch as the Stalker is escorted by a mass of policemen into a police van.

“I wonder where she is now,” Jamie says.

“Probably still in Venice,” Michael replies, but you can bet that the American government is doing everything in their power to be the first to question her.”

“We’ve got to get to her first,” I say earnestly.

“I agree,” Michael says. “The Italians will do whatever is necessary to get her to talk.”

“What time is it now in Venice?” I say, more to myself than anyone else.

“Six or seven hours difference,” Jamie says. “Probably a little after eight in the evening there.”

Jamie, Michael and Drew are all staring at me. It hits me that they’re waiting for me to approve this new mission. They want to go to Venice. They want to prevent the Stalker from telling the police about any of us.

“Even if we find a way to take her from the police, what will we do with her?” Jasmin asks.

“Kill her,” Drew says slowly and coldly.

Ever since we rescued the kidnapped girl in Florida, Drew has become even more distant.

“Kill her? Are you kidding me?” I say. “We can’t just go around murdering other people.”

There’s no reaction from anyone.

“Seriously,” I begin, “what will we do if we find her?”

There’s no response. Surely, Jamie and Michael can’t be agreeing with Drew, can they?

“Kill her,” Jasmin says with venom oozing from her mouth. “Kill the woman. She kidnapped me. I will never get over the pain of that moment in my life. She killed an innocent family when she took them as hostages after the DC Jail outbreak. She killed an innocent man at the home where your Grammy lived, and she tried to strangle your grandmother. Kill her. We’d all be better off.”

I don’t know how to respond. This woman has caused incredible suffering in any lives that she has touched. Yes, the world would be better off without her, but does that mean that whenever we decide we don’t like someone, we are going to eliminate them?

“Why don’t we figure that out when we find her?” Michael says.

I nod, still struggling to come to terms with what we are about to do.

The emerald has placed me in a position where I feel like I am playing God. Can I really decide who lives and who dies?

“Cold and wet in Venice,” Jamie announces. “We’ll need our winter coats and some umbrellas.”

I shut off the TV. My mind is spinning.

“I have a picture of Venice on my laptop,” Jamie says.

I walk over to where he’s sitting.

The picture is an outdoor newsstand where there are a wide assortment of souvenirs including dozens of brightly colored masks.

“The masks of Venice,” Michael says as he steps closer to us.

“Why are they selling masks?” Jasmin asks.

“For centuries,” Michael replies, “there has been a carnival celebration in Venice. The masks are traditionally a part of the celebration.”

“In addition to the carnival,” Jamie adds, “throughout Venetian history people often wore the masks to remain anonymous. The masks helped criminals commit crimes without anyone recognizing them, but they also helped the nobility to remain anonymous in places where it wasn’t considered respectable for them to be.”

As usual I’m amazed at Jamie’s wealth of general knowledge.

“See that mask with the long nose,” Jamie says, pointing at the picture on his laptop.

“Yes,” I reply as I gaze at the bizarre mask that looks something like a bird.

“That mask has a different history than the other masks,” Jamie says. “That mask is called the Medico della peste which translates into English as the plague doctor.”

“Why the plague doctor?” I ask.

Jamie continues, “Venice was devastated by the Black Plague in 1630. This was a disease that came into the city from some of the many ships that constantly came in and out of the harbor. It was so contagious that doctors began to wear this long nosed bird-like mask to prevent them from catching the disease from their patients.”

“The Black Death,” I mutter. I remember reading something about it once.

“So many people in Venice died from the plague,” Jamie says, “that it is generally considered by historians to be the major event that eventually led to the downfall of what was one of the most powerful centers in the world at that time.”

As Jamie stops, all eyes are on me. Am I ready to do this?

- 9 -

CARNIVAL MASKS

The moment we arrived in Venice, it seemed like the city had already started its carnival celebrations. The streets were lined with people in costumes and masks.

According to Jamie, the annual festival occurs approximately 40 days before Easter. It’s famous for the diversity of colorful masks that are worn during the event. Having started in the early 1100s, it grew in significance during the 17
th
century, but then in the 18
th
century it was banned and the use of masks was strictly forbidden. Slowly during the 19
th
century the raucous festival began to re-emerge, but only for short periods of time during special festivals. In 1979, the Italian government brought the festival back in its full glory. Jamie said that many people often wear the the masks continually between the Festival of Santo Stefano on December 26
th
and the start of the Carnival of Venice.

We are standing on a Venice street corner along its famous canal. There are several sleek gondoliers cutting through the still water on this cool, drizzly night.

Less than ten minutes ago, we purchased some masks from a street vendor who gladly took our American dollars. Jasmin is wearing a mask that portrays the face of a beautiful woman. Although the mask is painted in a bright graduated red, it’s very realistic. It has a gold delicate pattern crisscrossing the cheeks and framing the eyes. Even though I can see Jasmin’s wide brown eyes poking through the mask, I would never know it was her if I hadn’t seen her putting it on. At the top of the mask are triangular ribbons of material that resemble the hat of a court jester from ancient times. Covering the ends of the hat are seven or eight golden bells that jingle every time Jasmin moves.

Jamie is wearing a mask that resembles a purple gargoyle. The face is twisted and hideous looking. I see his amusement sparkling through the holes where his light blue eyes hide.

Drew is wearing a black mask that looks menacing. Arising from the top of the mask are black feathers that protrude upwards. His chin, lips and nose are gold. At first, his mask reminds me of the death mask of an Egyptian pharaoh, but the more I look the more I realize that it gives Drew a sinister look, almost like he’s a twisted killer in a horror movie.

Michael’s wearing the plague death mask with a long curved beak. The mask is white with a black strip along the edge of the white beak dividing the upper and lower parts of the beak. His eyes have black circles around them resembling an old pair of armless spectacles often worn by doctors. He’s also wearing a long black cape and white gloves. Every once in awhile he makes a guttural sound like a sick parrot. Even though we find ourselves in Venice on a very serious mission, I can’t stop smiling at Michael’s costume and antics.

I’m wearing a mask somewhat similar to Drew’s except that the area around my eyes is gold while my nose and chin are a glossy white. I have full bright red lips and striking long red feathers erupting from the top of the mask.

Apart from the humor of our masks, I realize they have given us the perfect way to remain anonymous in Venice as we search for the Stalker. Thousands of people, most likely tourists, who are milling around the streets, are also wearing a variety of masks. It’s as though Halloween has arrived early.

Jamie and Michael have done quick internet searches for the Venice jail where we assume the Stalker is being held. Unfortunately, they couldn’t find any trace of a jail, so we decided to settle for the police station which is apparently located in the Piazza San Marco, one of the oldest historical sites in Venice.

“This way to Piazza San Marco,” Jamie informs us in a manner that suggests he has visited Venice before, although I’m sure that he hasn’t. Jamie has an innate ability to read a book and then transfer his learning directly to real life situations.

Stepping away from a row of souvenir shops that border the canal, in spite of the cool damp weather I sense a festive atmosphere surrounding us. It’s as though the mass of tourists and inhabitants of this ancient city are oblivious to anything else that might currently be happening in our world.

I watch a gondola slicing through the still water. The gondolas are much longer and narrower than I anticipated. They are also much darker. I expected that they would be brightly colored. All the gondolas I have seen so far are a stark black color.

As I turn away from the canal, there are two people walking nearby who look exactly like Michael with their long-beaked masks, black robes, and white gloves. While it is going to be very easy to blend in with the crowd, I also realize there’s a danger of mistaking someone else for one of my friends. I touch the spy-band on my wrist, feeling some security as I realize I can use it if I get lost.

“That’s the Basilica San Marco, Jamie says as though he’s a tour guide.

We are walking towards a mammoth ornate building that looks like a church.

“This is the third church that has been built on this site. The first was built in the 9
th
century to enshrine the body of St. Mark who was once a disciple of Jesus. That church was destroyed by fire.”

I stare at the massive structure.

Jamie continues, “Another church built to replace the first was pulled down in the 11
th
century so that this spectacular building could be constructed.”

There are several huge white domes rising from the top of the complex along with at least ten golden spires towering into the misty sky.

I’m walking beside Jamie, finding his comments fascinating. My other friends have moved in front of us. Perhaps they are not quite as interested in what Jamie has to say.

“What happened to the body of St. Mark during the fire?”  I ask.

Jamie doesn’t miss a beat. “It was believed that the body was destroyed in the fire of 976 AD, but then it somehow reappeared when the new church was consecrated in 1094. The Catholic Church used relics throughout the middle ages to attract worshippers, often making large amounts of money by displaying them, so I’m sure they found a way to rediscover the body.”

With one eye gazing at the embellished church in front of us and my other eye glued to my masked friends who are beginning to pull away from Jamie and me, a stranger unexpectedly stops my friends. I think I see some roses being pushed into their hands.

Yes, someone is giving away roses.

Michael and Drew give their roses to Jasmin. At the same moment, an argument seems to be developing.

Drew pushes the person who was giving away the roses to the ground.

By now I’m within range to hear what’s transpiring.

“You gave us the roses,” Drew says menacingly, his sinister looking mask fueling his angry presence. “Then you ask us for money,” he snaps. “If you gave us the roses, then they are our roses. No money!”

“What’s happening?” I ask as Jamie and I arrive, although I already suspect what has transpired.

Jasmin confirms my guess as she begins, “This guy gave each of us a rose. Then as we started to walk away, he told us we had to pay him. When we said no, he tried to take the roses back. That’s when Drew pushed him the ground.”

The mood of the gathering crowd around us seems to abruptly change, although given the reality that most people are wearing masks, it’s difficult to tell whether the people are curious, or whether they feel that Drew has committed a crime. It certainly isn’t helping that Drew is hovering over the flower seller as though he’s ready to pounce on him.

A police officer is approaching. Oh no, I think. We don’t need any undue attention.

I quickly move to help the young flower seller who isn’t much older than us. Unfortunately he has also seen the police officer arriving and begins an exaggerated dramatic display of pain, one second holding his head, and the next holding his side.

Even though I can’t understand one word of the rapid Italian exchange between the police officer and the flower seller, their body language says it all. The flower seller repeatedly points at Drew. There’s no doubt that the tone of his voice clearly says that Drew attacked him. I don’t need a translator to understand that Drew is in trouble.

The police officer turns to Drew and sharply says something in Italian. Like the rest of us who are unable to understand what is being said, Drew is bewildered.

Even with a mask, and without saying a word, Drew presents his usual “who cares?” attitude which only incenses the police officer more.

The officer’s words become faster and louder in an attempt to get a response from Drew who continues to act indifferently to what is happening.

I step towards the police officer, hoping to intervene and restore some peace.

“Excuse me, but we don’t speak Italian. We don’t understand what you are saying.”

At the same moment that I speak, the flower seller who only moments ago appeared to be mortally wounded lurches forward at Drew. A big mistake.

Before another word is said, Drew slugs him. The flower seller drops to the ground like a falling backpack stuffed with bricks.

The police officer immediately reaches out to grab Drew, but in the process he smashes into me and sends me flying to the ground.

I look up just in time to see Drew drop the police officer with one punch, and just in time to see three or four other police officers arriving.