Midnight Angels (8 page)

“So you think they hid their money inside the corridor?”

“Maybe,” Kate said. “Or maybe what they thought would be even more valuable to them than money.”

“If it’s not money, then it could only be works of art,” Marco said.

“But not just any works,” she said. “The Medicis needed to be absolutely certain that the art and sculpture they deemed worth hiding would be of great value not only in their lifetimes, but to subsequent generations. And as far as they were concerned, that work would belong to only one man.”

“You want to believe that it was Michelangelo,” Marco said. “Which might be true, assuming any part of your theory is true. But he wasn’t the only master working within the Medici inner circle. Raphael was part of that universe, as was Leonardo and a handful of others. Why Michelangelo? Why not one of the others?”

“His relationship with Lorenzo de’ Medici for one,” Kate said. “There was a bond that existed between them and carried through to the other members of the family for decades. Think about it, Marco. Through all the feuds they had with him, even the times they had him jailed or sought him out for condemnation, they always returned to Michelangelo and his work. Because they knew, they believed what the world back then believed—that it was work that would last and only grow in value. Work that would be worth hiding, regardless of the price or the risk.”

“And what makes you so convinced that work is in here?” he asked.

“If you stop and just think about it for a minute or two, it does start to make some sense.”

“Florence is a city of secrets, Kate. And there are many places to keep those secrets.”

Kate and Marco, along with the elderly guard, approached one of the corridor exits, a short distance from Buontalenti’s Grotto. “Let’s go out this way,” Marco said, nodding his thanks to the guard.

“Why here?”

“Because Buontalenti is one of
my
heroes,” Marco said. “He is to me what the great Michelangelo is to you.”

“I didn’t know you admired the grotto so much,” Kate said.

“I don’t,” he said. “I mean, it’s an amazing piece of work, but it doesn’t even venture close to what was his greatest contribution. He left us all a gift that no one can ever forget. One that even a conspiracy devotee like yourself can enjoy.”

“What?” she asked, stepping out of the corridor and into the sharp Florentine light.

“Buontalenti invented gelato,” Marco said, with a schoolboy grin spread across his face. “Now you tell me, what greater gift is there?”

CHAPTER
9

E
DWARDS SAT IN A SOFT LEATHER CHAIR, HIS FINGERS WRAPPED
around a cup of coffee, flames from the crackling fire to his right offering the only light and warmth to the sparsely furnished room. He gazed up at the well-dressed man standing with his back to the fire, hands thrust inside the pockets of what looked to be a hand-tailored suit.

“I wouldn’t be too concerned,” he told the man. “She just needs some time. If we allow her that, then we won’t need to fear any disappointments.”

The man—tall, wiry, thick strands of white hair resting against the tip of a starched white collar, cobalt blue eyes shielded by the smoke—turned his head slightly and gazed at Edwards. He was in his midsixties but looked at least a decade younger, an athletic body beneath an academic’s face.

“They
will know where she is,” he said, his voice crisp, “if they don’t already. And they’ll know what she has gone there to find, before she even figures it out.”

“That’s always been the danger,” Edwards said, resting the coffee mug on a three-legged wooden side table. “That’s always been the fear.”

“I still think it would have been the wiser course to tell her all she needed to know prior to her trip,” the man said. “I said so at the time.”

“That’s because you don’t know her as I do,” Edwards said. “She’s prepared for whatever dangers come her way. And let’s not forget, we didn’t put her out there alone. We have eyes on her, as many as she’ll need.”

“I’ve never doubted her abilities,” the man said. “But I know those of
her enemies as well. I don’t need to give you any lessons as to the lengths the Immortals will go.”

“I’m aware of the risks,” Edwards said. “As will she be when the time is right. But for now, all our worries might be for naught. She may not find anything and may simply spend her time in Florence furthering her studies.”

“Do you really believe that will be the case?” the man asked.

“No,” Edwards said after a slight hesitation. “Her mother and father were brilliant at locating lost or stolen treasures.”

“And as great as they both were, you have surpassed them,” the man said, his thin lips parting slightly, coming close to breaking a smile. “The Vittoria Society has grown in power and prestige under your leadership.”

“Perhaps,” Edwards said, acknowledging the compliment with a small nod. “But we are no match for her. We each depended on a vast network of informants and allies. Local Art Squads. Insurance agents. And then there were times when we simply took advantage of mistakes made by our competitors.”

“And she’ll need to do all that as well,” the man said.

“True,” Edwards said. “But she brings with her that extra dimension we all lacked. A kind of internal radar every treasure hunter wishes he possessed.”

The man smirked. “How can you be so certain?”

“It’s been there from the time she was a child,” Edwards said, doing little to hide the rush of pride he felt, his face more animated now, his gestures becoming more dramatic. “We would spend hours poring over her parents’ volumes of notes. With only a few hints, she would arrive at sound conclusions.” He smiled. “She favored conversations that focused on Michelangelo.”

“Why do you suppose that is?” the man asked.

“He is as real to her as I am,” Edwards said. “She has never seen him as a famous man from one of her textbooks. To her, he remains very much alive and very human. He is also the thread through which she can reach out to her parents. She has read so much about him, spent so many years studying his works and his methods. She has studied her parents’ accounts of his documents, absorbed their opinions, and formulated a few of her own.”

“Her own?” the man asked.

“Neither her parents nor I ever bothered to look beyond the artist to seek out the man,” Edwards said. “It seemed to us much easier to let the work speak for itself. Kate simply allowed the man to lead her through and to the work.”

“And this will lead her to a discovery that others have been incapable of finding for decades?” the man asked.

“I have little choice but to believe it,” Edwards said. “And as a member of the Society, you would be wise to at least profess to the same.”

The man looked away from Edwards and managed a slow nod. “What do you need me to do?”

“Be ready,” Edwards said. “It is now up to Kate to decide our next move. Assuming that she won’t walk away with empty hands, we must be well positioned to help.”

“And you’ll stay here?” the man asked.

Professor Edwards stood and stared down at the ebbing fire. “When the time is right,” he said, “I’ll be in Florence. The Raven and I have waited too long to complete our business.”

CHAPTER
10

B
UCA MARIO SITS IN THE CENTER OF PIAZZA OTTAVIANI IN ONE
of the quietest streets in all of Florence. The restaurant has been there, in the cellars of Palazzo Niccolini, since the early months of 1886, serving local cuisine at local prices to students, tourists, and longtime residents alike. The owners, a handsome husband and wife duo straight out of an early Marcello Mastroianni and Sophia Loren comedy, are always the first to greet any visitors to their sanctum of fine wine and excellent food. They are never without a warm smile, a big embrace, and a desire to end your evening on a happy note.

It was one of three such restaurants Marco had introduced Kate to soon after her arrival in Florence, understanding that, above all else, a young woman far from home would need a few very special places she would be able to call her own. And Buca Mario quickly became such a place for Kate.

She loved the fact that it seemed buried under the palazzo, a three-stone-step drop to the door that led into a large restaurant bustling with waiters in white jackets and patrons in casual wear, the smells of the homemade pastas and sauces and fresh grilled meats warming the air and helping to kick the appetite into full gear. Kate frequented the restaurant often, usually choosing a corner table less than a dozen feet from the front register. She was treated as a regular by both the owners and the staff, and had grown to trust the tastes of her favorite waiter, Louisa, often allowing her to select her meal.

“You can’t be serious about any of this?” Marco demanded. He sat across from Kate, leaning forward, a thick slab of Tuscan bread hanging
from the fingers of his right hand. “You do realize we would be arrested if we were caught? And you might even risk getting deported? You might want to think about all of that before you decide to move forward.”

“You can stay out of it if you want,” Kate said, undeterred by his outrage. “This is something I need to do. And whether it’s alone or with you, I’m going to go ahead with it.”

Marco quietly lifted his glass of red wine and took a long, slow drink. He glanced down at his bowl of rigatoni and grilled sausage mixed with a fresh tomato and basil sauce and shook his head. “What makes you so sure there’s something in there?”

“It’s a gut feeling, not something I can explain,” she said. “But the only way for me to be certain that there
isn’t
anything there is to look inside for myself.”

“There is no one
allowed
in there,” Marco said, lowering his voice as a middle-aged American couple sat down at the table to their left. “I’m sure they put a rule like that in place for a reason.”

“If there is something hidden,” Kate said, glancing over at the woman to her right, “that’s where it would be.”

“It’s a small space,” Marco said, “with limited access and right by the entrance to the Uffizi in full view of two security cameras. It’s blocked off by a barrier and a yellow strip of tape. If we step anywhere near it, we are certain to be spotted.”

“It’s the one section of the Vasari Corridor that has never been open to the public,” Kate said, “not now and not in the days of the Medicis. I checked the original designs of the corridor, both the ones we have in school and whatever I could find on the Internet. It’s a little less than a quarter mile long and curves along the Uffizi and ends up at the north end of the Ponte Vecchio. It’s one of the few places left in the city that hasn’t been touched by the modern world. That alone is reason to walk through it, no matter the risks involved.”

Marco rested his fork against his plate and leaned in closer to Kate. Buca Mario was now filled with customers, and a small squad of waiters, young and old, zoomed past them, platters of pasta and appetizers and baskets jammed with bread held aloft as they curved their way around chairs and trays stacked high with empty plates. Diners at many of the tables were loud and boisterous, while others kept their words soft and warm, content to eat their food and drink their wine in relative peace.
“Let’s say that by some miracle you actually do find something,” he said to Kate. “What happens then? Will the discovery alone be enough? Or will you need to take it a step further?”

“Depends on what I find,” she said.

“What is it you really want, Kate?” Marco asked. “What I mean is, why did you really come to Florence?”

“I don’t have any sinister motives, Marco,” she said. “I’m here to study, same as you.”

“There’s more than a good chance you already know all there is to know about Michelangelo,” he said. “And what little you may not know, you won’t learn from either the lectures at school or the books we are assigned to read. So there must be another part to your agenda. But I will understand if you don’t want to share it with me. We’ve only known each other for a short while, and there’s quite a bit you don’t know about me, either. But if you want me to take a big risk and join you in an attempt to sneak into the sealed area of the Vasari Corridor, then I do need to know a bit more than I do right now.”

Kate sat back and looked around the crowded restaurant. She understood all the reasons for Marco’s confusion and his trepidation about venturing deeper into the corridor. She would feel much the same way if she were in his position. But more than that, she wished she could give him a satisfactory answer, one that would help relieve his doubts. The problem was, she didn’t have an answer, or at least one that would make any sense. She was working on instinct now.

“I guess just being curious isn’t enough?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Marco said. “Not when it involves something this important.”

“You’re right,” Kate said, leaning back as a young waiter cleared the empty plates from their table. “It’s too much of a risk for you to take. If we get caught in there, it could cause you all sorts of troubles. Might even get you thrown out of the program, and I wouldn’t want to see that happen, especially after all the hard work that went into your getting accepted.”

“But that will happen to you as well,” he said. “And I
know
the program means as much to you as it does to me.”

“So I better make sure I don’t get caught,” she said.

“But why do it at all?” Marco asked. “Is going in there really worth it?”

“Yes,” Kate said, “it is.”

Marco stared at the table, his fingers toying with the small white sugar bowl resting in the center. He was drawn to Kate and had been from the start of the program, recalling how easily she’d managed to navigate her way through that first day, when it all seemed like nothing more than an avalanche of rules and forms, intermingled with class instructions too complicated to write down, let alone remember. She had a comforting way about her, appearing to be as much at ease with herself as she was in the company of strangers. Kate didn’t shy away from being the center of attention, but did so in a way that managed to ingratiate her to others. Yet beneath the warmth and charm she exhibited, Marco sensed a longing to both explore and exploit the boundaries of uncharted terrains, and he was as drawn to those elements of her personality as he was frightened by them.