Midnight Angels (42 page)

Kate walked down the steps separating her from Clare and stood inches away from the taller woman. “Is he alone?” she asked.

“As far as I know,” she said. “He knows I hate to talk business in front of people I don’t trust.”

“I don’t believe her,” Marco said, looking from Kate to Rumore. “She could be working for the Raven.”

“She probably is,” Kate said, her eyes still on Clare. “But I do think she’s telling the truth.”

Rumore reached for Kate’s arm and turned her toward him. “If you’re going to take him,” he said, “you need to hit first.”

Kate nodded. “Where did MacNamera park his car?” she asked.

“Two streets down,” Rumore said. “Why?”

“There’s something in his trunk I want,” Kate said.

“What?”

“A gift from the professor,” Kate said. “I think it’s time for me to share it with the Raven.”

CHAPTER
22

I
T IS THE MOST SPECTACULAR ROOM OF ITS KIND IN THE WORLD.

The Salone dei Cinquecento was built in 1495 to accommodate the members of the Greater Council of Florence, then numbering five hundred. The vast artworks that line the floor, ceiling, and walls of the room were designed to celebrate the great military victories of Florence and include Michelangelo’s famed Genius of Victory and frescoes by both Leonardo Da Vinci and Giorgio Vasari. The walls, which run as high as the average height of a town house, display a composition of battle scenes, portraits, and paintings representing the four elements of earth, water, air, and fire, while the thirty-nine panels of the ceiling present highlights of the life of Cosimo I, his achievements made all the greater by the money he paid to the artists to have his memory so honored.

The Raven paced about the great hall, head down and buried in thought. Despite an overwhelming advantage in both manpower and weaponry, his Immortals had yet to secure the Midnight Angels, having been either outfoxed or outgunned by the smaller number of more determined members of the Society. He did see a silver lining in the bloodshed, however. Word of the death of their leader would soon filter through the streets and perhaps give some of them pause.

The Raven had been caught off guard by the arrival of the cop from Rome, and his presence indeed posed a dilemma. Normally, he would have no qualms about dispatching a member of any force, but he was well aware that the murder of a captain from Italy’s most respected squad would bring with it an avalanche of police, and he could ill afford that cascade.

The key, he knew, was still Kate. She had proven to be as resourceful as he imagined, but much more difficult to subdue. He wondered whether the death of her beloved professor would weaken her resolve or merely strengthen it, and while he was prepared to kill her if he must, the thought did not please him, and he found that very fact a troubling one. He took it as a sign of weakness, and that was something he had never allowed in himself.

The Raven walked quietly down the center of the vast hall, gazing from one battle scene to the next, taking solace from the fact that he would have thrived in such times. He believed he would have ranked among the best of the Renaissance men, walking among kindred spirits who valued duplicity and treachery as much as fine works of art.

He heard the whizzing sound of the arrow before he felt the sharp pain of its point piercing through his right thigh. The shock of the blow caused him to fall to one knee. A second arrow came at him like a wooden missile and embedded itself in his left shoulder. He gasped aloud at the pain and looked around the vast room for the culprit, surprised to see Kate walking toward him, her figure lit by the light at her back from a large second-level window. He glanced at his wounds, blood oozing slowly out of both, then looked back across the room at Kate.

“I heard mention that you were proficient with a bow and arrow,” he said.

She rested her bow against the side of Michelangelo’s winged Genius of Victory and ventured closer. “You fought Professor Edwards when he was at a disadvantage,” she said, “with wounds to his leg and shoulder. I thought it only fair you share the same handicap when you fight me.”

“You are proving yourself to be a worthy adversary,” the Raven said, grimacing as he slowly made it back on his feet. He moved several inches closer to her. “And I might add, much more dangerous than I first imagined.”

“You rise to the level of your opposition,” Kate said. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“It need not end this way,” he said, his eyes now focused on Kate’s every movement. “You have it within your grasp to move the Society in any direction you choose, and a merger is one possibility that should not be quickly dismissed.”

“My parents are dead because of you,” she said, “and now so is my guardian. They were the only family I had, and they’re gone, all because of your greed, your jealousy, and your hatred. If I ever merged the Society with your organization, it would be a betrayal of their memory.”

The Raven was close enough to reach out for her, standing on unsteady feet, a small puddle of blood forming around his boots. “I take it, then, that your answer is no.”

“I would rather die,” Kate said. “In fact, I will do all that I can to destroy what you have spent decades building.”

“A lofty goal,” he said, “but a bloody one as well. What do you suppose your parents would make of it?”

“They’re not here, remember?” Kate said. “I am.”

He leaned his head closer to her. “But for how long?” he whispered.

The thin blade of the knife came out of his right hand and slashed Kate across her left arm and chest, cutting through her white blouse and slicing its way through several layers of skin. She was as surprised by the cut as she was hurt by it, and instinctively raised her right hand to ward off further blows. The Raven grabbed the back of her hair and tossed her violently to the ground, hovering over her, his feet straddling her prone body. Kate tried to roll over and get to her feet, but to no avail as the Raven bent down, swinging his knife with skillful abandon against her back and legs, the floor around them soon coated with a slippery gloss of blood.

Kicking hard at him, Kate landed a blow against the embedded arrow, forcing him to grunt loudly and back away for a moment. It was enough time to allow her to reach for a small caliber gun in her waistband. Holding it with her right hand, blood streaking down her fingers, she fired off a shot, barely missing him. A hard kick against her wrist sent the weapon hurtling across the gleaming floor.

The Raven reached down and whirled her around, staring at her with a cold, hard look. He bent to his knees, resting them on top of her shoulders, and smiled when she grimaced from the pain. He held the knife point down against her chest. “Before you die,” he said, “would you like to know if I am indeed your father?”

“Spare me one final lie,” she said.

The first bullet struck the Raven just above his chest and forced the knife from his hand. The second found center mass and sent him sprawling
faceup to the floor. Kate froze for several seconds, then turned her head when she heard the approaching footsteps. She closed her eyes in relief when she saw Rumore approach, the warm gun still in his hand.

“I told you ten minutes,” he said. “And not a second more.”

Kate crawled over toward the body of the Raven until her face was inches from his. She saw a smile crease his trembling lips.

“The Angels,” he rasped, “are they all I imagined them to be?”

“More,” she said.

The Raven held the smile and nodded. “You do your father proud,” he said.

Then he closed his eyes and his body shuddered one final time.

CAPTAIN RUMORE HELD KATE
in his arms and carried her across the vast floor of the Salone dei Cinquecento. She rested her head against his warm neck, her arms resting comfortably around his shoulders. “I’m getting blood all over your shirt,” she said.

Rumore smiled at her. “I promise never to wash it,” he said. “It will give me something to remember you by.”

She lifted her head and waited as Rumore turned his face toward hers. “I could easily get used to having you around, Detective,” she said, staring into his eyes.

“I can make that happen,” he said.

Kate nodded, then lowered her head, again resting it against the side of his neck, and closed her eyes.

Holding her to his chest, Rumore walked across the grand hall, his footsteps echoing through the vast room. He turned to glance at the Raven, whose body was at rest, surrounded by portraits of great battles of the past, warmed by the sharp rays of sunlight shining down from the large windows.

He then looked down at Kate, her face streaked with blood, strands of hair shielding her eyes, her wounded body resting softly against his. Her battle was finally over, her sculptures saved.

To Rumore, she seemed so at peace.

An angel brought to earth.

EPILOGUE

K
ATE WALKED WITH HER HEAD BOWED ACROSS THE PIAZZA
Santa Croce.

She was glad to be back in Florence and a return to a normal life. It had been three weeks since the Angels were secured. In that time, she had allowed her wounds to heal and had flown back to America to attend to the burial of her beloved Professor Edwards.

He was laid to rest next to her parents, his funeral attended by dozens of academics and friends and various members of the Society. She saw to it that fresh flowers would be placed weekly in front of each headstone. Above Edwards’s name, she had inserted a photo taken many years ago, when she was a child, the four of them standing together, Kate held aloft by her mother, surrounded by her father and Richard. They were then as they were meant to be—a family.

And it was how they would always be remembered.

Kate walked past the imposing statue of Dante, guarding the entrance of Santa Croce, and smiled when she saw Rumore and Marco standing on the top steps. Racing up, she jumped into their arms and gave each a long and grateful embrace.

“I missed you both so much,” she said, trying her best not to shed tears.

“Florence wasn’t the same without you,” Rumore said.

“And neither was eating at Mama’s,” Marco said. “But that will change soon enough. She’s expecting us there for lunch and has promised to prepare a feast in your honor.”

“Sounds like heaven to me,” Kate said. “But before we go, do you
mind hanging out for just a few more minutes? I need some alone time with the big guy.”

Rumore shook his head. “The third man in your life,” he said.

“He’s much too old for you,” Marco said. “And he only lives for his work.”

“But he is rich,” Rumore said. “That could make up for all his other deficiencies.”

Kate patted their cheeks and smiled. “You can talk about me while I visit his tomb,” she said.

Kate went up the final steps, swung open the door to the church and disappeared inside.

MARCO STARED DOWN
at Rumore’s Ducati motorcycle parked in the piazza alongside his rusty bike. “I guess she’ll want to ride with you,” he said.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Rumore said. “She likes things simple and old. And your bike tops the list in both categories.”

“It was my father’s bike,” Marco said. “It’s all I have left to remember him by.”

“I know,” Rumore said. “Kate told me.”

“Listen,” Marco said. “I can step away from this, if you prefer. Let’s face it, if she had to make a choice, she would choose you.”

Rumore looked at him, smiled and patted him gently across his back. “Good luck to us both,” he said.
“In bocca al lupo.”

“What happens next?” Marco asked. “I mean, after today.”

“I go back to Rome and my squad,” Rumore said. “There are always more bad men out there like the Raven than good men like you. They’ll keep me busy for as long as I want. And I guess you and Kate head back to class. At least until her next adventure comes along.”

“You think there will be another?” Marco asked.

“I would count on it,” Rumore said.

“Did she tell you?” he asked.

“Tell me what?”

“What she did with the Midnight Angels?”

“I didn’t ask,” Rumore said. “As far as I know, they still haven’t been found.”

“I didn’t ask her, either,” Marco said. “But I’m sure if they did exist, she left them safe and sound, exactly where they belonged.”

“I would bet my life on it,” Rumore said. “And yours.”

KATE STOOD BEFORE
the large marble tomb of Michelangelo and smiled up at his sculpted face. Behind her, groups of tourists were packed three deep, gazing at the tombs that lined both sides of the church. Michelangelo was at rest directly across from Galileo and next to his old friend Dante Alighieri, three giants dominating a church filled with the remains of the Renaissance greats.

“I hope you’re pleased with what I did,” she whispered. “Even if you’re not, you don’t have much choice. You’re stuck with just me now. Mom and Dad are gone and so is Richard. I’m all you’ve got left, and you’re all that’s left of my family. I won’t know what to do if you ever leave my side. But somehow I don’t think you will. Somehow I think you’ll always be there, and I’ll always love you for it.”

CLARE JOHNSON GLANCED
out the window of an apartment overlooking Piazza Santa Croce, her face shielded from the sun by a thin white curtain. She leaned farther out when she saw Kate depart the church and walk toward Marco and the detective. A man in a dark shirt and slacks stepped in next to her and gazed down into the square.