Midnight Angels (16 page)

“She’s being careful,” Edwards said. “I warned Kate that there would be eyes on her while she was in Florence, not all of them friendly. She has a secure cell line that she uses under normal circumstances, but she was also given a list of names of Society members who can help her reach me without anyone else knowing. But she would only venture in that direction if she found something worth everyone’s attention, and the fact I haven’t heard from her in two days tells me that’s indeed what has happened.”

“We could just pull her out of there,” Russell said. “Get her to safe ground, see if she did indeed find anything worth a second look and send a team in to retrieve it.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Edwards said.

“And you decided against it.”

Edwards nodded. “Kate will one day be in charge of the Society,” he said, “and part of her job will be to confront risks and dangers on a regular basis. I need to find out—we all need to find out—if she is up to such demands.”

“We’re in place to provide as much help as she might need,” Russell said. “But we’ve been outflanked by the Raven before. He is much better chasing down people than he is recovering art. If she has found something of value, he will do anything to retrieve it.”

Edwards glanced at the dark clouds and closed his eyes for several
seconds. He had long dreaded the arrival of this moment, despite the many years he had devoted in preparation for it. He had made use of the large sums of money at his disposal through the foundation to provide Kate with the best academic training available. Fearing the extreme dangers she might one day confront, he had tried to further insulate her from harm through the study of martial arts, archery, and advanced courses in weapons and tactics. When time allowed, he would take the classes along with Kate, helping him keep his instincts sharp while also providing him with more time with the young woman he had come to think of as his little sister as much as his ward.

And he had introduced her to men like Russell Cody, a dedicated twenty-year member of the Society who was its respected and somewhat irreplaceable director of security. Russell had taken a long and violent path prior to his time with the group, hired out as a mercenary in a handful of wars that led to a three-year spin in CIA counterintelligence before coming to the attention of the Society. He took to the group’s cause from the start and had rid them of many an enemy, eagerly working alongside a small army of esteemed academics, curators, and art hunters. He taught the mysteries of his trade to all who were willing to listen and obey, and he, in turn, absorbed as much as he could about the vast and unknown world of missing and stolen art and antiquities. It was a perfect match, one that suited both sides of the equation. And while Russell was loyal and protective to all members of the Society, there was no one he cared more about and devoted more attention to than Kate.

Let me put it to you this way
, he once told Edwards.
Someone does her harm or attempts to hurt her in any way, they will have to deal with me
.

“Kate can handle herself,” Edwards said now, his voice firm. “We’ve all made sure of that.”

“Still, I would feel a lot better if we reduced her risk factor,” Russell said. “The Raven’s hired hands won’t be difficult for us to spot. There’s no harm taking out a few of them and giving the kid a more open field.”

“Hold steady for now,” Edwards said. “If this works out the way I hope, it’s going to be our one chance to take them
all
out. To be rid of the Raven and his Immortals once and for all.”

“In that case, Professor,” Russell said, putting out a hand and giving
his friend the closest he could get to a smile, “you have yourself a safe flight and a productive meeting with Banyon. I’ll be there when you get to Florence, and I hope our girl finds what she’s after.”

Edwards shook Russell’s hand and then grabbed for the leather satchel by his feet. “I hope we all do,” he said.

CHAPTER
19

K
ATE AND MARCO SPRINTED DOWN A NARROW STREET, THE TWO
men from the church fast on them. They made a sharp right at the corner, Kate scraping her right knee against the side of a stone wall at the turn, and ran up a street dotted with parked scooters and vendors selling designer knockoffs. Marco was slightly ahead of Kate, his legs burning from the steep incline, short of breath and stamina. Kate turned to check on the two men closing in on her and tripped over the broken edge of a cobblestone, sprawling, hands spread wide, to the ground.

The thin man with the tan came to a quick stop, leaned down, wrapped a hand around her right arm and lifted Kate to her feet. He caught the frightened look in her eyes and nodded. “Just relax,” he said, barely winded from the exhausting run, “and you’ll make it through okay.”

The second man, his skin much paler and his body not nearly in the same condition, stopped next to them, hands resting on his knees, fighting to catch his breath. “Let the other one go,” he gasped. “She’s the only one we need.”

Marco slowed when he saw Kate fall. He hesitated for a brief second and then turned and ran back down the hill in her direction.

“Marco, don’t,” Kate said to him, watching him come toward her and her captors. “Keep running. They won’t chase you.”

He walked up to Kate and the two thin men. “Are you okay?” he asked her.

Kate nodded, her arm still held by the man with the tan.

“Well, now that we’re all together again,” the man said, “let’s go somewhere quieter where we can talk this out.”

Kate glanced at Marco. “Why did you come back?” she whispered. “For you,” he said.

KATE SAT ON
a stone bench, her back to a cold brick wall, the tan man still keeping a tight grip around her right arm. Across the path, facing a manicured lawn dotted with large pine trees, Marco was held in place by the second man.

“It’s very simple, little girl,” the tan man said, his brown eyes stripped of life and emotion, not bothering to hide his British accent. “Tell me what you found, and where, and we will let you and your friend loose.”

Kate took a deep breath and glanced down at her hands. There were plenty of reasons for her to be frightened: Both men seemed intent on getting the information they were sent to retrieve, and they didn’t appear concerned as to how they went about it. She also knew that in spite of Marco’s brave front, he would eventually answer any question posed to him if he believed the threat against either one of them was real. Yet despite all apparent danger, she was relatively composed, her initial wave of fear slowly subsiding. And for that, she knew she owed Professor Edwards a debt of gratitude.

But she also knew there had to be a more complex reason to explain her demeanor than the words of wisdom passed to her by Edwards. Her reaction to situations others might find potentially dangerous had always, from her youngest years, bordered on the serene. It seemed an almost automatic response on her part to keep her emotions under control regardless of place or situation, an intuitive knack for finding comfort where others would succumb to fear.

“And if I don’t tell you anything,” she said to the man clutching her arm, “what happens then? Are you going to kill us?”

The man stared at her a moment and then leaned closer, his breath heavy with the odor of peppermint. “The most horrible acts can be accomplished in broad daylight and in total silence,” he said, arching his brown eyebrows.

“Maybe,” Kate said, glaring back. “But you’re not that kind of man. Neither is your friend over there. We both know that.”

“You have a lot of nerve, college girl,” the man said, his anger rising. “I should just snap your neck and be done with you.”

“If that’s what you want to do, there really isn’t much I can do to stop you,” she said. She knew she was now waist deep into unchartered waters. “But, if you kill me, you leave without
any
information, and that won’t make the man who pays you too happy.”

“We still have your friend,” the man said, tossing out his last card. “He sees you go down, he will talk.”

“I know,” Kate said. “I would, too, if I were in his place. But does he know what I know? Can he point you toward whatever it is you think I found? There are many ways this can end up going wrong for you.”

The man eased the grip on her arm and leaned forward. He had quickly given weight to her words. “Sounds like you’ve covered every possible angle,” he said. “Not leaving me much room here. But I bet you have an answer worked out for me on that, too.”

“You’re the master criminal,” Kate said. “You decide.”

“Decisions like that are well above my pay grade,” the thin man said.

The second man strolled over, Marco nervously in tow. “Are we anywhere yet?” he asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

“We seem to be at an impasse,” the first man said. “She won’t talk, and I don’t want to kill her. So, Ed, unless you have a quick solution, I suggest you drag your ass back where it was and wait.”

“I’d have no problem killing either one,” Ed said. “Just give the nod.”

“How much do either of you know about art?” Kate asked, giving Marco a reassuring glance. “I don’t mean knowing a Monet from a Picasso. I mean having an idea of what a portrait or a piece of sculpture is worth, financially.”

“Not a clue,” Ed said. “And I speak for both me and Phillip here in that regard. I just know what tailing you and finding out what you know or what you don’t is worth to our boss.”

“What’s your point?” Phillip asked Kate.

“It’s just a thought,” she said. “And much of it depends on how loyal you are to the man who sent you after us.”

“We’re loyal to the wallet,” Phillip said.

“In that case,” Kate said with a smile, “I’m your girl. The man who sent you after us pays well. That’s a fact. But while you may not know much about art, you must know about the group that stands behind me. And if you know that, you’ll know how much more they’ll pay to keep me alive.”

“What are you saying?” Marco asked. “Are you thinking of having them
help
us?”

“Does he come with the package?” Ed asked.

“Don’t worry,” Kate said. “You’ll get used to him.”

“I doubt that,” Ed said.

“So what’s your deal?” Phillip asked. “And what if it isn’t as sweet as the one we already have?”

“You know the answer to that,” Kate said, “or you wouldn’t have taken it this far.”

Phillip looked at Ed and waited until he saw the other man give a nod and pull his hand away from Marco. He then turned back to Kate. “Where to now?” he asked.

“Into the piazza,” Kate said. “I need a gelato. I’m certain Marco does as well.”

“There’s no need to concern yourselves with me,” Marco said. “I don’t wish to be a bother.”

“Shut up,” Ed said.

“There better be a plan to go along with that gelato,” Phillip said.

“Only one way to find out,” Kate said.

She stood, reached for Marco and put an arm under his before starting a slow walk leading down the gravel path out of the gardens, the two thin men in tow, heads down, hands jammed inside the pockets of their tailored slacks.

“I pray you know what you’re doing,” Marco whispered.

“Me, too,” Kate said.

CHAPTER
20

T
HE STOUT WOMAN STANDING BEHIND THE JEWELRY COUNTER
was fifty-six years old, with long strands of gray hair and a sunny face distinguished by a thin four-inch scar just above her right eye. She had been living in Florence since the morning of August 16, 1982, the day she wed a tailor named Mario Branchi, who owned a small shop next to the money exchange across from the Ponte Vecchio. The marriage lasted less than a year and produced no children and much unhappiness for each of them. She was looking for a sense of adventure she had sought since early childhood, while Mario was merely seeking a level of security that had been sorely lacking in his life. She had a passion for fine arts and quality design; he thought himself a modern man locked within the limits of a medieval city. So, Mario and his bride, Josephine Maria Collins, let common sense take hold of them and decided to bring an end to what they viewed as a failed union. And out of a marriage in ruins, a friendship, now in its third decade, grew and blossomed.

“We didn’t allow it to turn ugly,” the Chicago-born Josie once told an old friend. “Instead, we kept alive what it was we both liked about each other and let it flow from there. Sometimes—in fact more times than any of us care to admit—a good friendship is worth more than a good marriage. You can count on a good friend to risk all he has for you. I don’t know if you can say the same about the person next to you in bed. At least I know I can’t.”

In the spring of 1988, with money she inherited from an aunt back home combined with a loan from Mario, Josie opened a high-end art supply shop two storefronts down from Harry’s Bar on the banks of the Arno
River. The shop, which featured leather-bound sketch pads, monogrammed stationery, and parchment in assorted hues, was named Vittoria’s, after the Italian historical figure Josie most admired.

Signora Vittoria Colonna.

The shop was an instant success, catering to a stream of regular customers, primarily art students from the university, local painters, designers in need of quality supplies, and American tourists looking for that perfect gift. In the middle of her second year running the shop, Josie renovated a back room and turned it into a place where artists both young and old could sit and discuss their works or gossip about the failures or success of others. It didn’t take long for word to spread through the streets of Florence that Vittoria’s was the place to be for anyone with dried paint lodged under his fingernails. The shop became a meeting and greeting ground, friendships and feuds were begun, and love affairs—both casual and long-lasting—were born, with Josie holding court at the center of it all.