The Cross of Sins (25 page)

"Marco, shut up!" Luca pleaded. "He's lying. He doesn't know what he's talking about. He's just trying to protect me, can't you see that?"

Suddenly, Marco's hands appeared from behind his back—no sign of ropes or restraint whatsoever—and came to rest on the arms of his chair.

"Actually Luca, protecting you is the last thing on my mind. As I was saying, I knew exactly where the book was—because I'm the one who put it there in the first place."

Luca's eyes narrowed in confusion, shock, betrayal. "You what?"

The one-armed man chuckled, amused by Luca's stunned expression. He looked to Marco. "Anovver lashin', Holy Fadda? Just to help da news sink in?"

Marco maintained eye contact with the bewildered Luca, and then calmly nodded.

Dominic Dixon brought his cat o' nine tails down on Luca's back and shoulders once again, but the young Italian barely felt it, barely flinched this time. He was already in a state of shock.

Disappointed by the lack of response, the one-armed man raised his whip again, but Marco held up his hand in an order to desist.

Dominic Dixon stopped the lashing in mid-air. "But he deserves it, Holy Fadda!"

"Enough!" Marco roared, his voice firm and dominant.

Snubbed and angry, Dominic Dixon put down his whip and grabbed the small silver crucifix around Luca's neck.

"At least let me take dis off him. He ain't worvy! Somefink dis precious shouldn't have to rest against his putrid skin."

Luca's whole body tightened. If not for the ropes, there was no telling what he might have done to the convicted rapist at that moment. But he held as still as he could, dreading the noise it would make if the one-armed man should snap the chain from his neck at that moment; dreading the feeling of the broken chain sliding off his neck for the first time in his living memory.

"No!" Marco ordered. "It's too precious for your criminal claws. Now let it go and leave us."

"But—"

"I said leave!"

Luca let out a silent breath of relief as Dominic Dixon let go of the crucifix, and then snatched his whip off the floor and stormed out of the room.

The door slammed behind him.

Marco stood from his chair and slowly paced the room.

"You're the Holy Father?" Luca finally found the words to speak, crushing back his astonishment, the betrayal, and the sudden hatred that was boiling inside him.

"You're shocked, I know. Understandably so. Things have changed since last I saw you."

"The last time you saw me was eight days ago! We fucked! Just like we used to! You told me you loved me!"

"I do," Marco said, not looking at Luca but at a table to one side of the room, upon which lay several objects that Luca could not make out from where he sat. "Let me rephrase my last sentence. Things have changed—" Marco spun aggressively to face Luca, "—since you left me five years ago!"

"Me leaving five years ago had nothing to do with you."

"It had everything to do with me!" Marco hissed. "It nearly destroyed me! Don't you understand? You were my muse! You gave me my gift! The ability to paint! The day you walked out the door, the paintbrushes turned to sticks, the colors dried up; the world was a different place. A lonely place. A place without any hope or comfort. Have you ever been there, Luca? It takes your soul. It changes who you are."

"But that day in Vita Sola, you hadn't changed at all. You were still the Marco I've always loved—"

"It was a mask!"

"Why didn't you tell me? If you felt so alone, why didn't you come and find me?"

Marco suddenly stormed up to Luca and snatched the crucifix around his neck. "Have you ever tried to find you, Luca da Roma? It's not easy, is it?" He let the cross drop against Luca's chest and returned to the table. "Besides, I was too angry with you. I loved you. And I hated you, too. Because the one thing I ever wanted to be was talented. And famous. Famous for my art. But you took that away!"

Luca shook his head, still not understanding anything he was hearing. "So you turned to a religious cult?"

"No," Marco laughed, almost pathetically, like he hadn't laughed for a long time. "Unlike the others, I don't give a damn about religion. But why should I tell them that. No, all I've ever cared about is art—and you. And fame. And everybody knows, if you can't be famous, be infamous, right? Or at least embark upon a quest to find the infamous. And in the entire history of art, there's nothing more infamous than
The Cross of Sins
."

Luca looked at him incredulously, as if he were looking at a stranger. "You killed Doctor Hadley, and God knows who else!"

"You're right, only God knows. God—and me."

"Marco, stop this. Listen to me, look at me. It's not too late to stop. It's not too late to change all this. I know you. I knew who you were. I can help you."

Marco laughed again. "But don't you see? I don't want help. I don't want to change any of it. I gave you the location of the book, so we could follow you, watch you hunt down the clues, do all the hard work, and eventually I knew you'd hand everything over on a silver platter. Like the head of John the Baptist." He laughed again. "Ask for it, and anything is yours. I can't tell you how many secret political associations and right-wing magnates are willing to throw money at you once you ascend to power of this kind. I've taken personal checks from the Vice President of the United States. The Pope has kissed my hand."

"So you keep the company of criminals and fanatics and powerful people just to satisfy your own agenda? You put on a hood for a mask, and you think anything is yours?"

"Yes," Marco said simply. "But the company I keep is irrelevant. I want to see it. I want to feel it in my hands. To find
The Cross of Sins
, to touch a work of art so renowned, so profound, so full of beliefs that the artist was willing to die for it—I can't imagine a greater gift from God."

"And when you find it?"

"I'll destroy it." There was no hesitation in Marco's voice. "I want to be the only one to touch it. I want to be the one person in all history—apart from the artist and his apprentice—to hold it."

Luca was nothing but astounded.

"I thought I knew you," he whispered, almost to himself. "I thought I loved you."

Marco said nothing. If there was shame or guilt or remorse anywhere inside him, he kept it buried deep and well concealed. Instead he walked over to Luca and untied the ropes that bound him.

"Can you stand?"

"What makes you think I won't try to escape? What makes you think I won't kill you, right here?"

Marco smiled. "I know you. I think you want to see
The Cross
as much as I do. If you really want to kill me, you'll wait. At least until after we find it. Now, can you stand? I want to show you something."

He hooked his hands underneath Luca's arm, but Luca shook him off and managed to find his own feet.

Marco lead him to the table on which sat the code book and Zefferino's stones, as well as a huge, ancient book with a brass latch.

The two stone tablets sat side by side now, with Zefferino's name joined across the top. All the inscriptions were lined up now.

Marco followed them with his finger as he transcribed: "The home of fire is the only place for those who seek
The Naked Christ
. But seek thine heart first, else eternal damnation awaits on the island of Vulcano."

Marco opened the large book then, the one with the brass latch, and flipped through its aged, frayed pages. It was an art book, filled with pictures of paintings and sculptures and sketches and notes. Soon he arrived at a painting of an ocean grotto. "It's one of Videlle's. A sea cave leading deep into the island of Vulcano, home of the Roman god of fire, the place where lightning was forged. This painting is the last piece in the puzzle. Videlle painted it in 1646. It's the only painting he ever did of Vulcano. According to locals, there is a rock shaped like a heart inside this cave, where the sea meets the lava." He turned to Luca, his eyes burning with passion, with determination. "Seek thine heart. That's where we'll find it. That's where Zefferino hid
The Naked Christ
, all those years ago, as though he had hidden it inside one of Videlle's own paintings. It's the only place it could be."

Marco reached out and touched Luca's shoulder, hot and bleeding from the lashes. "Now, my dear muse, it's time for you to get dressed. You're coming with me."

Marco ran his fingers down Luca's bare back, all the way down. Luca flinched, remembering a time when Marco's touch thrilled him. Now all it did was chill him to the bone. "What about the others?" Luca asked.

"They're staying here. I've given Eric instructions to take good care of them."

Luca couldn't look at Marco. He kept his eyes focused on the table. On the painting in the book. The painting with Videlle's trademark signature scribbled upside-down at the bottom of the canvas.

"How can you be so sure
The Cross
is where you think it is?" he asked.

"How can you doubt it? I have the book. I have the stones. There are no clues left."

He leaned in close, took Luca's face in his hands and whispered, "If I can't find it, who can?"

XV

The Island of Vulcano, Italy

The island loomed large against the backdrop of the electrical storm. The ocean waves rose up high, and the wind sliced the top off their crests before the waves rolled down and rose again. And through it all, Jake, Eden and Will shot across the swirling seas in a forty-four-foot Sea Ray Sundancer. It was normally used for diving expeditions off the coast of Sicily; now it was being used on a rescue mission, its long slender bow spearheading the waves as it streaked across the sea.

The three of them were drenched from the stinging spray and the driving rain, but they didn't care. All that mattered was getting to the island and finding the others before it was too late.

"Over there," Eden called. He was looking through a pair of binoculars and had spotted the lights of
Salvation
.

He passed the lenses over to Jake, who slowed the motors and handed the wheel over to Will.

"They've dropped anchor," Jake said. "Wait, there's a smaller craft. It's heading for the island."

Lightning flashed, illuminating the bigger picture for Jake.

"There's a large sea cave. They're heading for it."

"Who's on board?" Will asked.

"Six people, maybe eight." Suddenly, he pulled the binoculars away and turned to Will and Eden. "They've got Luca."

"Will, take us to shore," Eden said, thinking fast. "Then, stay with the boat and keep an eye on that ship. If it tries to leave, stop it."

"How?"

"You'll think of something."

"What about you guys?"

With his one good arm, Eden grabbed two flare guns out of the boat's emergency compartment, threw one to Jake and pocketed four flares. "We'll be fine. But if the Professor and Elsa and Shane are still on board that ship, we can't let it go anywhere."

"I'll take care of things." Will nodded, and then turned the wheel and steered the boat swiftly toward the island.

Eden and Jake jumped ashore in waist-deep waters, fighting the turbulent waves as they mounted a slippery outcrop that twisted around the rock face and led to the cave opening.

Will reversed the boat out of danger, before the pounding waves pushed it onto the rocks. Then, he turned the wheel and headed back toward the ship, keeping his distance from the larger vessel so as not to draw attention to himself.

The small craft maneuvered its way through the sea cave, its outboard motor echoing through the grotto and drowning out the crash and rumble of the sea and thunder outside.

The boat pulled up alongside a rocky ledge and one of the Crimson Crown disciples jumped out and tied it securely to a large rock.

Dressed in his crimson robe, Marco stepped onto the rocks first, his minion bowing and helping him ashore as though he were royalty.

Dominic Dixon followed, also in his robe. He dragged Luca out of the boat with him, now dressed in his tuxedo pants and blood-stained white shirt.

The other four disciples then stepped ashore. One carried torches, one carried a thick wire cable and grappling hook coiled over his shoulder, one carried a pick and one a shovel.

Marco turned to Luca. "Are you ready to unravel history?"

Luca said nothing.

Marco simply smiled, and then turned to his men. "Come."

He led the group along the rocky ledge. It climbed high above the waterline and through a small opening into the depths of the island.

As the group vanished inside, Jake and Eden appeared at the sea entrance of the grotto, negotiating the rock ledges with speed and skill as they made their way inside the ocean cavern.

They each held a flare gun in their hands.

Eden saw the last of the disciples disappear into the small opening. "Up there," he pointed.

Will pulled out the binoculars and wiped the rain from the lenses. He thought he saw movement at the stern of the ship, and the view through the binoculars confirmed it.