The Venice Code (12 page)

Grant didn’t want to admit to it, but he had to, the sudden realization his father was indeed associated with these nuts a truly shocking, disappointing discovery.

Maybe my father was the crazy one, not Lesley?

“My father had the same tattoo.”

Mitch nodded in satisfaction, putting his watch back on. “And there are thousands of us spread across the globe, at every level of society, even as high as the President of the United States a few short years ago.”

“So my dad was a nut.”

Mitch laughed, exchanging smiles with the others. “No, he was just a believer. If you read our history, the detailed accounts of our organization, you would realize the devotion is not misplaced. But regardless of whether or not
you
believe, your father did. And that’s why we are here today.”

“Why?”

“Because we believe you know where the Mitchell-Hedges skull is.”

Exiting the Karakorum Pass, Mongol Empire

April 13
^th
, 1275 AD

“At last!”

It was his master’s cry of joy that snapped Giuseppe from his reverie. He looked up at the sight before him and smiled, exchanging grins with all those around him in the Polo caravan. It had been a long, hard journey through the pass, with half his time spent looking over his shoulder, certain more would be pursuing them. But none had come. The occasional messenger on horseback, their load light, had sent their hearts racing but other than a wave and a shout of greeting, they had all continued on their way.

Emerging from the mountains and to the lush greens and golds of the plains he breathed a sigh of relief. Stretched out in front of him, as far as the eye could see, were infinite escape routes, unlike their journey through the pass where they could only retreat one way.

“We’ll set up camp by the river and rest,” said Marco’s father. “I think we’ve all had enough travelling for the day. In the morning we’ll continue our journey east.”

Giuseppe followed the caravan down to the river that cut a swath along the south of the mountains, the land on either side nourished by its waters, providing the thick vegetation they now found themselves surrounded by. As they reached the river’s edge Giuseppe dismounted and immediately began to strip down his horse.

“Brother.”

The voice was a whisper, barely audible. Giuseppe turned to see his master standing behind him, his own horse blocking the rest of their group from sight.

“Yes, Master?”

“I need to ask a great favor of you, one only you can be trusted with.”

“Anything, Master.”

Marco stepped closer, lowering his voice further.

“I need you to take the idol to Rome.”

Giuseppe’s chest tightened and his heart raced as the muscles in his face slackened. The thought of travelling for so long with the idol that still haunted his dreams was overwhelming. So overwhelming he found himself shaking his head, something that shocked him to his core.

You’re refusing your master!

“I’m sorry, Master,” he finally managed, forcing his head to stop shaking. “I of course will do whatever you require.”

Marco smiled, his face one of understanding and compassion. “I knew you would.” He sighed. “I fear this may be the last time we see each other. Our journeys are long and in opposite directions. When you reach the Holy See, this letter”—he handed him a scroll with a wax seal—“will give you an audience with the Holiness himself. It is from the Khan explaining the idol, and his wishes concerning it.”

“I will guard it with my life, Master,” said Giuseppe, looking briefly at the seal then back at his master.

He fetched another scroll from his bag, handing it to Giuseppe, but before letting go, he looked deeply into his eyes. “This is the most important thing you carry.”

“Yes, Master.”

“These are the papers granting you your freedom, and your Venetian citizenship as a freeman and member of the Polo family.”

Giuseppe’s heart nearly stopped. “I don’t understand.”

“Undertake this mission for your family, brother, and you will be free, an equal to all those you once served. And should you choose to—for you are free to make your own choice—I would be honored if you would take Polo as your name, and join me in China as my brother.”

Marco’s eyes were glass, as were Giuseppe’s. The gesture was overwhelming, and rare. He had met several freemen in his life, but had never considered it for himself, his life with the Polo’s far better than what many slaves endured. He was confused, emotions conflicting with each other, excitement and sorrow amongst them. Freedom, but without his master, his friend, his brother.

He looked up at him. “Should God will it, I will do everything I can to return to your side as I was always meant to be.” His voice cracked and he looked away.

Marco’s hand found his shoulder, providing comfort. “And I shall wait for you as long as it takes, for should you fail in your mission, then clearly what Roberto said is correct and we are not safe without the Khan’s protection.”

“Should I fail, you will remain? What of your life and family in Venice?”

“My remaining may very well protect that life and family,” replied Marco. “But not to worry. You will succeed, you will journey back to join me should you wish—”

“I demand it!”

“—and we will enjoy the Khan’s hospitality, side-by-side, for as long as it is ours to enjoy and desire. Then we will return to Venice, brothers, and richer than the Doge himself!”

“I think I would like that,” managed Giuseppe. The mood changed almost instantly when Marco handed him the bag containing the crystal idol.

“You will take this now, and mention it to no one. After all have gone to bed, I will wake you on my watch as usual. You will pack your horse and leave. I will say we had a fight and that I sent you back to Venice as punishment. Only my father and uncle will know the truth. We will pretend we still have the idol and that we are bringing it to the Khan. This should hopefully buy you time to escape those who might pursue us.”

“I understand, Master.”

They stood in silence for a moment, Giuseppe fearing to say anything that might put him over the edge. What his master had offered him was incredible, but to claim it he must give up that which he loved most for years, and perhaps forever—his master.

Marco suddenly embraced him, Giuseppe standing in shock for a moment, then returning the embrace as it was given.

As a brother.

Papal Office, Apostolic Palace, The Vatican

Present day, one day after the kidnapping

Professor James Acton had always accepted that his would be a plain life from a materialistic point of view—you didn’t become an archeology professor if you wanted to be rich. The riches you might find would go to the university or whoever might be funding the expedition, and with funding rare, much of his own hard earned money would be spent supplying some of the essentials that others felt weren’t.

Like mosquito netting or finer brushes.

But Professor Laura Palmer, his fiancée, who he was certain had similar ambitions to his own—the glamorous life of globetrotting after trinkets—was rich. Filthy stinking rich some might describe her as. When she had been kidnapped he had become privy to just how rich when they were looking at paying her ransom.

Over one hundred million British Pounds rich. And that was just the slice he had seen and he had no doubt there was more. Her brother had been an Internet tycoon, selling his company for massive amounts of money, then dying at one of her dig sites several years before Acton had met her. Her brother had left her everything.

She hadn’t asked to be wealthy, nor did she flaunt it, but she did use it to fund her own digs when necessary, to pay for students who couldn’t afford to go—always as an anonymous benefactor—and to make their lives a little easier.

Like today, on a private Gulf V jet, that had them to Rome within hours in exquisite comfort. And a few quick phone calls while in the air had them now sitting before the main man himself, His Holiness the Pope. Acton had to admit it was nice having a girlfriend with mountains of cash, but he also felt weird about it, he a bit of a traditionalist when it came to money, thinking he should be the breadwinner. Laura was slowly bringing him over to her way of thinking in that it shouldn’t matter who made the money, it only mattered that they were both able to enjoy it by making their lives a little easier.

Neither could see themselves living in some mansion, but why not have air conditioners at desert dig sites. Why not fly first class or private? Why not jet across the Atlantic twice a month to see each other? He knew eventually a decision would probably have to be made as to where they would live. Either she would have to move to his home and join him at St. Paul’s University, or he’d have to leave home and join her in London. Neither really struck him as a great option. They’d figure it out eventually, he just knew that getting their hands dirty at dig sites was their true love, and whatever decision would ultimately be made would have to guarantee that for both of them.

We should just go independent!

Permits however were hard to come by when you were private. Attach yourself to a university or museum and you were gold. Attach yourself to something with “Inc.” at the end, and you were almost guaranteed to be shutout unless you were willing to grease a lot of palms, which was something he hated doing beyond the odd small denominations designed to smooth a checkpoint or traffic “infraction”. Bribing big government? Never.

His life before meeting Laura had been fantastic, but lonely. He had a few friends, one good friend—his Dean and friend since college, Gregory Milton—but other than that his life was his parents and his students, and he loved it. After the events in Peru then London, his life had changed forever. Laura entered it, removing any loneliness he might have felt, but it also had become much more violent. They just seemed to be a magnet for trouble, but they managed to survive their encounters with the help of friends and acquaintances made along the way.

And today they sat in front of one of those acquaintances—how can you call the Pope a friend?—along with an actual friend, Mario Giasson, the Inspector General for the Corps of the Gendarmerie of Vatican City State—essentially the head of security—and someone who Acton knew he could trust, their bond forged under fire during a terrorist attack on the Vatican.

A knock at the door interrupted the casual talk of the weather and the idea of having winter Olympics at essentially the same latitude as Rome. Giasson rose and opened the doors. Two priests entered carrying an old wooden chest Acton knew to be almost two thousand years old. Engraved with a Saint Peter’s Cross with a prostrated pope in front, the only words on the entire chest were Unos Veritas, or One Truth in Latin. The two priests placed the nearly fifty pound chest on a nearby table, then left.

“This is my cue I guess,” said Giasson. “Come see me when you’re ready. I’m sure Hugh is going mad by this point.” He nodded to the room, bowed to His Holiness, then exited, closing the doors behind him.

“It is unfortunate he and your friend Special Agent Reading must be excluded, but even letting you two see the contents of the Unos Veritas Chest is a breach of protocol. It was necessary before, and unfortunately, it is necessary once again. And should you find what we all hope you will, I shall never see that abomination again.”

Acton watched the old man shiver, it truly affecting him to his core. Acton sometimes found it hard to reconcile the fact that someone could be Triarii, but also believe in a mainstream religion. In this case, the Pope was Triarii, groomed for decades to rise in the Roman Catholic Church so he could one day become Pope to gain access to the rumored Vault, a secret chamber under the Vatican that stored its greatest secrets. It was known to almost no one, knowledge of it passed down from Pope to Pope in a secret ceremony the first night of their inauguration that according to His Holiness, changed most men.

For the Vault of Secrets didn’t hide tawdry gossip of who slept with who—those types of documents would be in the Vatican Secret Archives, open to the public with the proper credentials—the Vault contained secrets that the Vatican wanted to protect the
world
from. Blasphemous texts and objects. Unexplainable artifacts, preserved mutations, accounts of evil and horrors beyond imagine.

The Vault of Secrets, a massive underground complex, was filled with the very things that would shake the faith of the most devout Christian.

He and Laura had read the catalog of what it contained, and it was horrifying. They had never spoken of it since, and neither cherished the thought of reviewing it again. It had tested their own faith, given them both nightmares, especially once they had started to search the Vault and confirmed that what was catalogued in the Unos Veritas Chest was actually real.

The Pope’s words repeated themselves in Acton’s head.
I shall never see that abomination again.
He turned back to His Holiness. “What do you mean?”

“It means, my son, that once you have retrieved the Thirteenth Skull, I will step down. Though I am a true Christian, a true Roman Catholic, and I cherish the role I was blessed to be chosen for, every day I pray to God for forgiveness, for abusing this station, and using it for ulterior motives. Though I believe I have performed my duties humbly, and ably, the mere fact that you are here, for the second time, under false pretenses, tells me I am not worthy of this position.

“Man’s conduit to God on Earth should
not
be sneaking around, attempting to find false idols for an organization that worships blasphemous icons.”

His voice had slowly risen. Not to what anyone would consider loud, the man very soft spoken, but almost to a normal level, and the passion in what he said was clear, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide and glistening in their pain. Acton couldn’t help but feel for him, and a glance at Laura, whose hand was gripping his hard, showed a tear rolling down her cheek unnoticed.