The Venice Code (31 page)

They stepped inside and found a small church with an altar at the head of it, a humble crucifix looking down on the congregation, with wood benches able to hold perhaps fifty worshippers. Carved into the walls were alcoves where different treasures were displayed—crucifixes, chalices, carvings of Mary with baby Jesus. Nothing of much monetary value beyond their historically intrinsic value.

“As you can see our church is simple but functional. We are a poor order, supported by visitors to the monastery. We pray, we help throughout the city where we can volunteering with the orphans, free clinics—anything we can to help the Lord’s children.”

She guided them to a side room, the tour whirlwind compared to others, almost reminding Acton of the White House tour.

“We’re walking, we’re walking!”

“Here we have gifts given by visitors over the years, some as much as a thousand years old.”

Acton’s expert eyes examined every piece, perhaps sixty or seventy in all, many crests from cities around Europe, music boxes, various crucifixes of varying value, an ornate mask, carvings of religious scenes and old bibles that Acton thought were of enough value to warrant much better preservation techniques than having them lying on a table, exposed to air, pollutants and worse, humidity.

Maybe I’ll suggest to Laura we make a donation to preserve these items properly.

Acton could feel himself weakening and leaned on Laura a little more heavily. She noticed immediately.

“Do you have a crypt of any sorts?” she asked. “It was our understanding a body was moved here about seven hundred years ago.”

Sister Josephine stopped in her tracks, turning to face her visitors. “No, no we don’t. But…” She tapped her fingers on her chin, her eyes looking up as if trying to recall something. A finger pointed up, the memory apparently retrieved as an “Ah!” burst from her mouth. “Yes, I remember now. There is a story told among the nuns, obviously handed down from generation to generation, that during the crusades a body
was
moved here from the monastery to protect it from the Saracens.”

“Is it still here?” asked Laura.

“No, I don’t think so. At least if it is, nobody here knows where it would be, and as you can see”—she spread her arms out—“there’s not a lot of places to hide a body.”

“Perhaps underground?”

“Again, I don’t think so. But then again I don’t believe the stories myself. Neither do most of the sisters. I mean, why would the brothers only move one body? And why would a visitor not even from the Holy Land come and retrieve that body?”

“Excuse me?” interupted Acton. “A visitor?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention him?”

“No.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just so caught up in the excitement of having visitors. I must apologize, I’m not much of a tour guide. In fact I think you’re the first visitors we’ve had in years that weren’t children. I always thought that if I hadn’t given myself to the Lord I might have become a tour guide.” She smiled wistfully, looking up at the sky. “Or an airline stewardess!”

“The visitor?” prompted Acton.

“Oh yes, my Lord, please forgive me! Yes, the visitor. The story, or myth if you will—as I said, I don’t really believe it—is that this one body was moved here, and years later a man arrived and claimed the body as belonging to his family. He left with the remains, and that was the last he was heard of.” She waved her hand in the air, as if dismissing everything she had just said. “Like I said, just a story, probably made up from bits and pieces of true stories. Bored nuns making their own entertainment, if you ask me.”

It was at that moment that Acton realized their hopes of finding the body of Giuseppe at the nunnery was futile. Their search here was over, and Acton had a pretty good idea of where it just might need to take them next.

“Thank you very much for the tour, it was enlightening,” said Acton. “I’m afraid I’m getting pretty weak, so we’ll have to call it a day, I’m afraid.”

Sister Josephine beamed at the praise, but also showed her concern for his health, pressing her palms together in prayer. “You are welcome any time, Professor Acton, should you be feeling better.”

She began to lead them to the front gate, Laura and Reading helping him on either side. Sweat drenched his entire body and his shoulder was beginning to throb. He shook Sister Josephine’s hand at the gate, thanking her again, then was nearly carried to the car by Reading. They helped him in the backseat and he collapsed, his arms sagging at his sides, his head lolled against the back of the seat.

“Are you okay?” asked Laura, climbing in the other side and immediately beginning to wipe his face dry with a handkerchief from her purse.

“Yeah, I just need to catch my breath,” he said, taking a sip of water from a bottle Laura held to his lips. “Getting shot sucks.”

“No shite,” commented Reading who had the car running, looking back at his friend. “Do you want to go back to the hospital?”

Acton shook his head. “No, I’m already starting to feel better. I think I just need to get some rest, then I’ll be okay.” He turned to Laura. “And then I think I know exactly where we need to go.”

She smiled at him, nodding. “Venice.”

Reading’s eyebrows shot up. “Venice? What has you thinking that?”

“The mask,” echoed Acton and Laura, Acton holding out his hand, deferring to her.

Laura turned to Reading. “Do you remember in the small room where they had things that visitors had left?”

Reading nodded. “And you got Venice from that? I didn’t see any bloody Gondolas.”

Acton laughed then winced.

“Do you remember the mask?”

Reading’s eyes shot up as he tried to recall. “Yes, actually. The very ornate thing that covers the eyes only, with a stick to hold it up with?”

“Good memory. It’s a Venetian mask, usually worn at the Carnival of Venice which precedes Lent.”

“I think I’ve seen them in movies,” said Reading.

“Probably, it’s quite famous. It caught on throughout Europe—the masks I mean—but Venice started it, and that mask was of a design popular at the end of the thirteenth century, exactly at the time of Marco Polo’s return to Venice from China.”

“You mean—?”

Acton cut him off. “That the visitor to the nunnery was Marco Polo himself, here to claim the body of his slave.”

“Lot of trouble for a slave.”

Laura shook her head. “No, remember that the translation called him his brother, and it was signed Giuseppe Polo. Only a freeman would do that.”

Reading’s eyebrows narrowed. “Sorry?”

“Giuseppe must have been offered his freedom before he died by the Polo family. This was extremely rare, and usually only granted to slaves who had proven their loyalty. And in a few cases, they were granted not only their freedom, but citizenship. And in even fewer cases, they were invited to join the family they once served as equals. I think that Marco Polo thought of this man as his brother. They most likely grew up together, played together, learned together, and in every sense of the word became brothers, to the point where Giuseppe being a servant simply became intolerable, thus the granting of his freedom.”

“So what would he do with the body?” asked Reading.

“What would
you
do with the body of your brother?”

“Bury it at home.”

“And if he had no wife or other family, where?”

Reading nodded. “I’d probably have him buried where
I
planned to be buried.”

“Exactly,” said Acton, his strength rapidly returning. “Tomorrow we fly to Venice.”

Reading shook his head, turning around and putting the car in gear. “Yet another bloody city,” he muttered. “At least this time there shouldn’t be any guns.”

The car started to roll forward and Acton turned his attention to the street.

And could have sworn he saw a man staring directly at him as he talked on his phone.

Church of San Lorenzo, Venice, Italy

Present day, nine days after the kidnapping

“I can’t take you any farther,” said Administrator Mitro, pointing to a closed doorway. “I really shouldn’t be letting you in at all, but when His Holiness calls and asks for a personal favor?” Mitro threw up his hands. “What can one do?”

“Indeed,” smiled Acton, feeling dramatically better than yesterday after nearly twenty-four hours of sleep and pampering. “We’ve been asked a favor by His Holiness on more than one occasion.”

“It’s impossible to say no,” added Laura, giving Reading a glance to make sure he kept his mouth shut. Reading, standing behind the Administrator of the ancient Church of San Lorenzo, made a zipping motion over his mouth.

Acton extended his hand. “Thank you, Administrator. We will take it from here and disturb you no longer.”

“You promise not to disturb anything you might find? When the church was rebuilt in the seventeenth century, much was lost,” said the man, shaking his head. “To think they simply built over the old church without a thought to what was under it! Unbelievable idiocy.” The man took a deep breath, then looked at his guests apologetically. “I’m sorry for the outburst, but you as archeologists must understand how I feel. The history lost! Idiocy!”

Acton smiled, almost laughing. “Believe me, we understand. So much has been lost to us through ignorance. Perhaps our little outing will bring back some of that past.”

Mitro frowned. “Beyond this door no one has gone in my lifetime, perhaps many more. It is dangerous, falling apart. You take your lives in your own hands.” He quickly made the sign of the cross. “May God protect you on your journey.” With that he turned, marching quickly down the hall as if he wanted to be out of earshot lest any calamity unfold.

“Sounds encouraging,” observed Reading. He reached for the door handle, the key used to unlock it still in the keyhole. “Shall we?”

“Do the honors,” said Acton, flicking on his flashlight. Laura and Reading did the same, Reading pulling open the door. A dank, thick layer of air poured out, raising the humidity in the corridor noticeably. Acton stepped aside, almost as if a physical being had rolled past.

“Oh, what a wonderful smell we’ve discovered,” muttered Reading as he stepped over the threshold.

“Okay, Han,” grinned Acton, looking at Laura.

“Han?” she asked.

Acton was genuinely crestfallen. “Okay, when we get home, we’re watching the original three Star Wars movies again.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “You and your Star Wars! I might enjoy it a bit more if you didn’t insist all three had to be watched in one sitting!”

Acton pursed his lips then stuck out his hand, flicking his fingers. “Okay, give me the ring back. I can’t marry any woman who doesn’t worship upon the altar of George Lucas.”

“Are you two done?” asked Reading, already a good twenty feet ahead.

Acton gave Laura a kiss and a gentle smack on the bum and they stepped through the door. The dust and cobwebs were thick, the only footprints those of Reading.

“There’s some stairs here. They look safe.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” said Acton. “You first.”

“Sod off!”

Acton laughed, knowing full well Reading would insist on going first due to Acton’s injury and Laura being of the “gentler” sex. Reading placed a tentative foot on the first step and gave it a push down.

“Seems okay.”

“May I suggest a safety rope, hero?”

Reading’s foot jumped off the step and back to the floor, turning to Acton a bit sheepishly. “Can’t hurt, I guess.”

Acton pulled a long rope from Reading’s pack and tied it to a nearby stone column then around Reading’s waist. “Give it a try.”

Reading pulled on it as hard as he could then nodded, satisfied. “If I can pull down a bloody column then I need to lose a few.” He returned to the top of the steps. “Let’s try this again.” He stepped down with one foot, jumping a bit, then committed himself to the soundness of the stairs with another step.

Suddenly the stairs started to shift. Reading spun around, his eyes bulging in shock as he grabbed onto the rope with both hands, his flashlight clattering to the floor below. He made eye contact with Acton who instinctively reached for the rope as the entire staircase collapsed, Reading falling out of sight with a yelp.

 “Are you okay, Hugh?” cried Laura, peering over the edge and into the void below.

“What do you bloody well think?” came his voice, sounding none the worse for wear. “I can see the flashlight on the floor. I’m maybe five feet from the bottom. Give us a second.” Several grunts were followed by a yelp at what Acton guessed was a healthy dose of rope burn. “Bloody hell!”

“You okay?” asked Acton, noticing the rope go slack.

“Yeah, care to join me?”

“Absolutely!” replied Acton with a smile at Laura.
As if there was any doubt.
He pulled the rope up then tied it around his waist. “I’ll go next,” he said.

“There’s no arguing with you,” she said. “Just be careful, don’t forget you got shot only a week ago.”

“You know me, no pain no gain.”

“I’ve never heard you say that.”

Acton frowned as he stepped off the edge, dangling on the rope. “True,” he grunted as he one armed himself down the rope, using his feet to control his descent. He reached the bottom without much trouble, Reading supporting him the final few feet. “Okay, it’s safe for you to come down now!” he called as he untied the rope.

Acton shone his flashlight up as did Reading. Laura leaned backward into the void created by the collapsed stairs, then kicked off with her feet, quickly going hand over hand until she reached the bottom.

“Like a pro!” gushed Acton as he gave her a quick hug.

“Rappelling training last time we were in Peru. You should have tried it.”

“Next time, I promise.”

“Okay, kids, where to?” asked Reading, guiding his flashlight beam around the entire area. Acton and Laura joined in the stationary search, their lights playing out in various directions. The entire area seemed to be a junkyard of construction supplies from centuries ago. Broken rock, discarded wood, tools and equipment all cast about for as far as the beams could reach.