Marked Masters (30 page)

Suddenly thunderstruck, I felt gut punched.
Why hadn't she told me about her connection with the historic
gallery? She just gave me the new name in the e-mail and left it at
that. The frightening realizations continued to grow. How Tony B
was at the gala. How Tina disappeared. A chill ran through me, and
I moved to end the connection before she answered. But the call
went straight to voice mail. She would see that I'd phoned, so I
said, "Wanted to let you know I'm in Florence. Great event last
night. We'll try to get together next time."

It seemed prudent not to request a return
call.

The brave little Vespa sat waiting at the
curb, but even it looked sad. The buzzing scooter hadn't done its
magic. I just felt stung. So much for being a good girl.

The Vespa ate up the miles back toward the
city center. At the first public spot offering me a park-and-leave
option for the scooter, I took it. I loved the little wasp, but for
what I needed to do now, I would accomplish much more on two
feet.

I left my hair in its ponytail, since fewer
people had ever seen me this way, and pulled my cap brim down lower
over my brow. A good trek later, and I had eyes on the palazzo. A
huge truck sat out front.

This could be a simple pickup, or something
much worse. I took off at a fast walk toward the bell tower,
wanting to run but unwilling to risk the attention I might receive
if anyone currently monitored the area. At the ticket booth, I was
one euro short of the price. Damn! So close. I whirled around to
beg a euro off a passing tourist, when the ticket taker asked,
"
Signorina,
you are back today? Alone?"

He remembered Jack too. So much for my
disguise. I turned and smiled. "
Sì.
I wanted to go up
again." I pointed to the top of the tower, then held up my right
index finger and thumb pinched together. "But I am short."

"
Sì.
" He waggled the fingers of his
right hand in a gesture that told me to hand him my euros. He
counted the money and stuffed it in his cash drawer as he handed me
a ticket. "Enjoy."

"Oh,
grazie, grazie.
" The feeling of
relief was incredible. I raced to the top much faster than the day
before and shot over to the window I'd originally used to spot the
palazzo.

Nothing. Everything on the roof was gone. No
awnings, no crates. Even the lights we used had been pulled loose,
and only some dangling wire remained. I felt sick.

How would Jack and I be able to prove what
had gone on in the palazzo with no evidence?

As I stood there, I watched the huge truck
that had been outside, and which was hidden from above by the
height of the palazzo, suddenly appear below as it turned and
rumbled away. So many rules governing what vehicles could be on
these streets, and the allotted usage times. Maybe I could use the
information to track the truck and its owner.

If I'd ignored Jack's instructions and
called Interpol last night, could they have gotten a warrant in
time? If they believed me. If Tony B didn't have someone there on
his payroll as well. No, I knew that a search warrant that quickly
without preliminary work was a ludicrous thought. Besides,
admitting I knew anything about the palazzo to authorities could
risk making Jack's situation worse. I didn't know how, and I could
only rely on his warning in the dark, but the facts didn't change.
And from the looks of things below, Interpol would not have arrived
in time with a warrant, and the Florence police would have held it
all up anyway since they'd raided the place last night and left it
intact.

My brain started making lists and plans.
Things I needed to accomplish once I had more information. So much
yet to do.

The walk back down was infinitely slower. My
brain couldn't stop running through all the loose ends. When I
suddenly recognized the replica of Michelangelo's
David,
I
realized I'd traveled all the way to the Piazza della Signoria
without any conscious memory of the walk. How could I be so stupid?
The tourists were legion around me, and anyone could have grabbed
me as I meandered around brainless as a zombie.

To spend the rest of the afternoon gazing at
the lovely public statues was my preference, but I needed a less
open place where I could think in peace and a little more relative
security. After the ugliness of the night before, I also needed to
see something truly beautiful.

Bird droppings, colored red and purple by
the grapes and berries the local birds devoured, decorated this
outdoor copy of
David
. Two pigeons roosted regally on the
shoulders of the statue. I had mixed feelings, half-mirth and
half-irritation at the almost blasphemous treatment of the publicly
accessible copy. Then realized I could see the original in its own
perfect, protected setting, and I changed idea into direction. I
headed for the Accademia Gallery.

Another short walk, this time with my mind
kept firmly on my task, and I reached the Accademia. When I saw the
ticket taker, I panicked again, until I remembered the lone credit
card in my front pocket. I needed to risk the chance that someone
could track me here. I'd be gone before they had time to try
anything.

I entered the hall leading to what was
likely the world's best-known sculpture. The crowd was typical for
a weekend viewing, but I didn't have the sense of claustrophobia so
easily achieved when too many bodies try to enter the same space. I
took my time and looked at the double row of unfinished
Michelangelo sculptures standing guard along the walls leading into
David's
octagonal space. The struggling sculptures stopped
in mid-movement, showing the art trying to break free of the
marble. Michelangelo said he didn't create his sculptures, that God
had put them inside the rock, and it was his job as an artist to
help them break free. No explanation was given about why those
prisoners were left half trapped, but their place in history
remained as secure as the half-completed gatekeepers standing watch
in the anteroom of the masterpiece.

I wondered who guarded Jack, where he was,
and if his would be a story where the man became a strong beacon or
a prisoner trapped forever by the circumstances that made him.

The colors of the hall soothed my soul.
Well, actually the lack of color. I felt some of my tension roll
away as I let the light-beige and eggshell palate wash over me. I
stared at
David
and wondered for the millionth time what it
would be like to create something like this. A classic masterwork
for the ages. Even in the use of symbolism by making the right hand
a little larger to denote the hand of God and his power in our
lives. A masterpiece, a message, a metaphor.

From my Sunday school years, I recalled
David was a lad in his early teens. Maybe fourteen? But this was no
high school freshman on the pedestal before me. Michelangelo
captured more than the beauty and confidence of youth, but also the
resolve to make the right thing happen.

So what was the way to make the right thing
happen for me, for Jack, and for this mission that seemed to change
constantly? I drifted backward so I could stand next to a wall, out
of a straight line of sight as new arrivals entered.

It was known that Michelangelo dissected
cadavers to get a greater knowledge about human anatomy. This would
have been a punishable offense just a generation earlier, but to
him and other great renaissance masters, their art wasn't simply
about beauty. It included the science and nature beyond the art and
splendor as well. They believed there were an infinite amount of
parts that made up and celebrated life, and the masterpieces they
produced proved up their theory.

What did I need to strip away to see the
true measure of what seemed an insurmountable task? What did I need
to dissect to see the truth?

I could only imagine what happened to the
glass Jack lifted at the gallery. Our only tangible proof of Tina
still being alive. I still had no clue about why she faked her
death, but I remembered my spontaneous thought last night about her
running away from Jack. Was there a connection between them my
subconscious picked up that my conscious mind didn't recognize? If
so, however, why would Jack point her out to me as he did when
she'd gone to such great lengths to disguise her appearance? No,
that had to be a dead end.

Tony B definitely had to be a part of her
great illusion, however, as well as the puppet master behind last
night's
carabinieri/polizia
raid. I knew without a doubt
he'd intended for me to be led away in cuffs—either with or instead
of Jack. I was tired of his taunts and the way he bullied his way
to upset my plans—our plans. How badly were we upsetting his plans
that he was so focused on toppling the two of us?

My gut feeling absolutely concurred with
what I'd told Detective Roblo. The actual dead body was Phyllis.
She'd had enough surgeries to pass as someone much younger, at
least for the time necessary to let Tina escape Miami in a fast
boat and catch a flight in Atlanta or the Bahamas. Which led to the
question: who killed her? One of Tony B's minions? Or Tina?

I contemplated the statue's slingshot and
wondered again about Jack and his resolve last night to protect me.
I hugged my torso and told myself Jack was the underdog hero in
this, and for once I had to listen to him and let him work with
whatever pitiful pile of rocks he had for his personal slingshot.
Stay out of it. Let him rocket his humble weapons on his own. But
like
David,
I knew Jack had an inner resolve, even if he
wouldn't answer any of the personal questions about himself I
hurled his way. As hard as it was to trust him in the little
things, I realized in that moment I'd always been able to trust him
when my safety was at stake. Though, that didn't mean I couldn't
work the periphery, to have options in place if he had the
opportunity to use any.

I pulled out my phone to text Nico and asked
him to find an Italian lawyer completely unaffiliated with the
foundation. We could at least see if Jack had legal representation
already. And if Nico couldn't do that, I said to find a good,
reputable private investigator operating in Florence to provide us
with updates as the proceedings progressed. I hit Send and heard an
immediate
ping
nearby.

Nico pushed at his phone screen with a
finger as he walked closer, then opened his arms and drew me into
his embrace.
Thank you
seemed too little to say, so I
quipped instead, "Thought you hated field work."

"I do." He released me from the hug and used
a finger on my chin to tip my face upward. "But I do not mind doing
pickups. Especially when they are beautiful blondes who are easy to
track by GPS. Let us go collect your things and get back to
London."

I pulled away from him and stood tall.
"First, you're going to tell me how to find that little bitch,
Tina. We aren't leaving Florence until I have the chance to
question her."

"Or beat the information out of her?"

"I'll just point out her physical flaws." I
smirked. "That will hurt worse than my fists."

Nico hustled me out of the Accademia Gallery
and raised a hand to stop me every time I tried to speak. Outside,
he scanned the periphery and kept a hand on my elbow as we hurried
through the crowds. We walked a block or so before he slowed his
pace and asked in a soft voice, "Why do you think she remains in
Florence?"

"Has Tony B left the country?" I asked.

"No. I find no property recorded in his
names or that of his wife, and he has no hotel room booked in his
name. But according to his passport he is still in Italy. When I
checked his cell phone records, his calls showed he was in Florence
and busy online until last night and is currently en route to
Pisa."

"How—" I waved a hand. "Never mind."

We were a few blocks away from the start of
vehicular accessibility, and I turned on the next cross street so
we could more easily find a taxi. "We'll head for my
pension
and get my things. It doesn't have any Internet facilities, so
we'll go and camp out in your hotel room while we make plans."

"I came straight from the airport."

"Then we know what our first order of
business is."

"Right. Secure a hotel room."

We were close enough to the traffic to hear
distant engine noises when I spotted our tail, dressed casually in
jeans and a dark-brown leather jacket, following us from the other
side of the avenue. I remembered him from the Accademia Gallery
when Nico's phone pinged and I'd shifted my gaze his way. I used
shop windows to follow his progress, making sure before I spoke.
When Nico pushed me into a cigar shop a moment later, however, I
knew my observant geek noticed the shadow too.

I knew enough Italian to understand Nico ask
the shop owner if we could exit out his back door. "No," I said. "I
have a better idea."

Minutes later, we departed from the store
with a small bag that held the lighter we purchased as a cover. I'd
pocketed the euros Nico gave me and briefed him in the store on
where the Vespa was parked. At the next corner, I took the bag and
waved gaily as he frowned and took off at an angle toward the
location of the parking area.

He'd made me promise, actually
made me
hold up a hand and swear
, that I would stay close to other
people as I walked and keep my eyes open to dangerous traps. Like I
didn't have sense enough to do that myself. I didn't argue though.
He was concerned, and I understood why. And though he wasn't happy
about it, once he'd listened to the quick plan I sketched out, he
agreed it was our best option.

When we split up and I was the person
followed instead of Nico, without any hesitation from the shadow I
might add, it meant our suspicions were valid.