The Venice Code (32 page)

“Oh how I would love to catalog this place,” whispered Acton as he examined some of the closer equipment. “Imagine what we could learn about construction techniques of the mid-seventeenth century!”

“I know!” agreed Laura. “This is such a treasure-trove of knowledge, it’s such a shame it’s been left here like this. What a waste!”

Acton pointed ahead to where the stairs had been leading. “I’m guessing that’s the outer wall. It appears solid with no obvious blocked entrances. Hugh, you and Laura go left along the wall, I’ll go right, just to confirm.”

“Okay,” said Reading, leading the way, Laura following him as they twisted their way around various obstacles. Acton struck out to the right, his flashlight playing along the floor then the wall, alternating until he reached the corner, no evidence of any hidden chambers on the other side.

“I’m at the corner, how about you?” he called, his voice echoing through the large forgotten sub-basement, there being two levels over head that were still used.

“I can see it now!” called Laura. “Still no signs of any openings or walled up ones.”

“Okay, let’s begin a sweep forward and see if there’s anything along the next walls.”

“Okay!”

They continued their survey for almost forty five minutes, finding several rooms leading off the first room, all filled with more junk, but none with any hints that they did or once did contain any sarcophagi. History recorded that Marco Polo was buried in this very church in 1324, but when it was rebuilt in the sixteen hundreds due to fire, they literally knocked down what was left and rebuilt over top of it, “losing” Venice’s most famous resident’s body in the process.

Acton was getting discouraged until his flashlight played out over the far wall of one of these unpromising side rooms. He froze, flicking his wrist back. There was a clear difference in the stone in one area, there obviously having been an entrance to another room at some time.

“I’ve got something!” he yelled, rushing over to the wall. He ran his fingers along it and could tell the stone was newer than the old walls, the stones not as tight together, there more mortar used with these joints than the other, the older stone relying more on the tightness of the fit than these newer stones clearly more hastily erected.

“What is it?” asked Laura as she stepped into the room, Reading close behind.

“Something’s been bricked in here,” said Acton, stepping back so the others could look.

“Definitely,” said Laura as she ran her hands over the stone. She picked at some of the mortar, it crumbling in her fingers. She pressed against the bricked up area, the sound of stones shifting slightly echoing through the room. “This is pretty loose. We could probably knock it out.”

“Just a bloody minute,” said Reading, stepping forward. “Am I the only one who’s sane here? This could be a load bearing wall for all we know! You could bring the entire church down on top of us.”

Acton shook his head, pointing up at a massive wood beam. “Not to worry. That beam is covering this entire span. We should be able to safely take out these stones without compromising anything.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“It’s been a pleasure knowing you.”

“Bah! Almost every time I see the likes of you I’m shot at, punched, kicked, kidnapped or some other blasted thing. ‘Pleasure knowing you’ me arse!”

Acton grinned, picking up a large mallet discarded nearby. He held it up for Reading. “Care to do the honors or shall I have my fiancée do it for you?”

“Give me the bloody thing,” muttered Reading as he snatched the weighty tool from Acton. He positioned himself for the first blow then turned. “What are you, daft? Get the hell out of the bloody room! If I survive this, then you can come in, but not before.”

“Yes, Dad,” whined Acton as he and Laura headed for the entrance.

“Sod off! ‘Dad’. I’m not old enough to be your fu—” The first blow hit the wall, cutting off his tirade with a grunt. Another swing and from what Acton’s flashlight revealed the center of the stones seemed to be sagging inward. Another blow and Reading leapt back as the newer section collapsed in, almost in a single piece. He looked up, pulling his own flashlight out and examined the ceiling. Apparently satisfied, a few more blows were delivered to clear some bottom stones, then he tossed the mallet aside, leaning against the wall next to his handiwork, gasping.

Acton and Laura quickly reentered the room, Acton smacking Reading on the arm with a grin, then stepping through his handiwork. His heart leapt into his throat as his flashlight revealed exactly what they had been looking for. A large sarcophagus, carved in stone, stood in the center of the room. Frescos lined the surrounding walls, paintings of several different men evident, but one that was unmistakable from historical paintings.

Marco Polo.

Depictions of his travels had been painstakingly recreated on the walls of his final resting place, his sarcophagus a gorgeous example of early-Renaissance craftsmanship.

“Is this it?” asked Reading as he joined them, still a little short of breath.

“Yes,” said Laura, already brushing away the dust on the sarcophagus. “This is definitely him.”

Acton slowly walked over to the final resting place of one of the world’s great explorers. His heart was slamming in his chest in excitement, the throbbing in his shoulder forgotten. He looked at Laura with a smile, reaching out and grabbing her hand as they both circled the large rectangular stonework.

“If that’s him, where’s the bloody slave?”

Acton stopped, his eyes narrowing, a frown emerging.
Leave it to Hugh to state the obvious.
And ruin the moment.
They weren’t looking for Marco Polo’s body, they were looking for his slave’s. Acton looked around and it was clear that there was only one body here, the entire room meant to honor one man, Marco Polo.

“Could we have been wrong?” asked Laura. “I don’t see anywhere else that a body could be kept.”

“Maybe there’s another room? Another chamber?” suggested Acton.

“We didn’t see anything else, and this is clearly Marco Polo’s crypt, but it doesn’t appear to be a family crypt. His parents aren’t here, his wife, children. Just him.”

Acton shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. In those days they might honor him more prominently, but they would definitely make provisions to have his family buried with him eventually.”

“Um, Professors,” said Reading, interrupting the flow of scholarly thought.

“What?” asked Acton, turning toward Reading.

“You’re standing on him.”

“Huh?” Acton looked to where Reading’s flashlight was shining and jumped back. Laura pounced faster than he could, his shoulder and weakened state still slowing him down. By the time he had joined her on his knees, she had already swept away the dust from the engraving in the floor.

And as Acton translated the inscription, his heart nearly stopped.

“
Giuseppe Polo. A freeman and a beloved brother.
”

“We found it!” whispered Laura. They both shuffled back, brushes out, sweeping away the dust. Acton found an edge, then followed it, sweeping out the crack in the floor, and within minutes they were all standing back, staring at the rectangle covering to what from all outward appearances was the tomb of Giuseppe Polo.

Reading left the room, returning a few minutes later with a couple of pieces of metal that Acton realized could be used as crude pry bars. Reading jammed an edge into the crevice then looked at Acton.

“So, am I giving it the old heave ho?”

Acton nodded and Reading pushed down on the bar, grunting as he did so. The scrape of stone on stone erupted and Acton dropped to the floor, wedging the second bar in. Laura pushed down on it as hard as she could, then Reading quickly jerked his, repositioning it deeper, allowing Laura to get hers inside. Acton grabbed Laura’s bar, sitting back on it with his right buttock, using his weight rather than muscle power to push the lid of the recessed sarcophagus above the lip. Reading pulled his lever out, switching to the left side, near the end already pried loose, and opposite Marco Polo’s sarcophagus, then shoved the bar under it, pushing down. Laura went opposite him and shoved with her hands on the stone. It shifted slightly as Reading repositioned farther down without letting the bar out. Pushing again, Laura shoved, bracing herself with her feet against Marco’s final resting place, and the slab shifted several inches.

“That should be enough,” she said as Acton rose, the stone settling on his pry bar but with one edge over the lip, the rest would just be muscle power. Reading removed his bar then joined the three of them at the opposite corner of the one that now sat above the lip. All three pushed, the stone shifting aside in jerks. Several more minutes of prying and pulling and shoving had the stone cover free, twisted perpendicular to the recessed outline.

They all sat on the floor, exhausted, Laura tossing out bottles of water that were quickly drained, then returned, nobody wanting to add to the mess that had been created beyond these walls.

“Shall we?” asked Acton. He was greeted with tired nods. He crawled over to the edge and smiled, almost tempted to reach out and touch the man who had affected their lives so much over the past week. “Giuseppe Polo, freeman and beloved brother,” he whispered as he examined the remains of the one man who knew the secret of the thirteenth crystal skull.

“Look!” exclaimed Laura, reaching under the lid of the sarcophagus and retrieving a basketball sized object, wrapped in various leathers and cloths, most falling apart. “This has to be it!”

Acton could feel his heart pounding in his ears as he exchanged excited glances with his friends. “Open it!” he hissed.

Laura placed it on the floor and carefully removed the wrappings, and within moments it was clear what it was. As she removed the final layer she lifted the object up, all three of them shining their flashlights on it, it causing Acton to shudder as the hairs on his neck stood on end, goose bumps covering his body.

There was no doubt this was a crystal skull just like the one he had found in Peru.

And a sudden sense of foreboding swept over him.

“Let’s get out of here, now,” he whispered, an unreasonable fear already taking over.

“Agreed,” said Reading as he jumped to his feet and single-handedly pushed the cover back over Giuseppe Polo’s remains. “The sooner that thing is back in London, the sooner I’ll sleep at night.”

Reading led the way back to the rope. Acton put the skull in Laura’s pack, lacing it tight.

“I’ll go first,” said Reading. “When I get to the top, I’ll pull you both up.” He grabbed the rope then pulled himself up, gym class style, with what Acton thought was an impressive amount of cursing even for Reading. Once at the top their friend rolled over the edge and heavy breathing could be heard for several minutes.

Acton decided ribbing was in order, and was about to open his mouth when the end of the rope dropped at his feet.

Later.

They tied the rope around his waist, tucking it under his legs so it would act almost like a seat. Acton grabbed onto the rope with his good arm then winked at Laura.

“Here goes nothing.”

He felt Reading pull and he jerked up several feet, then another couple of feet, allowing Laura to get under him and push against the seat of his pants as hard as she could. This allowed Reading to rapidly pull him up several more feet, the remaining ten a struggle, Acton unable to help, instead feeling his rope seat begin to tighten uncomfortably. It seemed like forever, and felt even worse, but eventually he could reach the floor and at least contribute a little bit of muscle power to the effort. As his head cleared he could see the beet red face of Reading as he continued to pull with all his might. With one final yank, Acton managed to get his chest onto the floor, then swing his leg up, rolling to safety, Reading collapsing beside him, his chest heaving and sagging rapidly.

Acton slowly untied the rope, and when the knot gave, he felt a flood of relief as his circulation returned. He tossed the rope into the void and before either of them could catch their breath to help, Laura was at their side, brushing the dust off her clothes

“Should I call an ambulance for you two?”

“Sod”—deep breath—“off!”

Acton laughed and pushed himself to his feet, offering to help Reading who batted his hand way, getting up himself. Acton’s knees were shaking but the smile on his face was unwavering.
We found the tomb of Marco Polo!
At the moment he couldn’t give a damn about the crystal skull. All he cared about was the incredible historical find just below them. They would have to keep it secret at first, but with permission hopefully to come from the Vatican, they should be able to do a proper study of the tomb, then perhaps even have it restored so the public could honor the man who introduced the Far East to the masses of Europe.

They exited the main doors of the church, clearing the steps and heading toward the closed gates when they suddenly opened, a man stepping inside from the street, followed by another, and within moments there were at least a dozen people blocking their exit.

“Get behind me,” said Reading as he stepped forward, Acton already moving in front of Laura as he looked around for another escape route.

“Let’s fall back to the church,” he whispered.

“Professor James Acton, Professor Laura Palmer, Special Agent Hugh Reading.” The voice came from one of the men blocking their way, he having stepped forward. “I assume congratulations are in order?”

Acton stepped forward. “Who are you?”

The man stepped closer, extending his left arm and exposing his wrist and the Triarii tattoo.

“I believe you have something that belongs to us.”

Acton turned to look at Laura, his eyes resting momentarily on her backpack containing the skull. He turned back to their interrogator. “How do we know you’re the real Triarii?”

The man smiled, then stood aside, motioning toward the door. As Acton looked, he saw a wheelchair emerge from the darkness, the lights of the courtyard lighting an all too familiar face.