Until Twilight (5 page)

“So did Caravaggio,” she added.

Lane whispered, “And Titian, Rembrandt.”

“So many others,” said Silvestri.

“With few other similarities,” she narrowed her gaze, recalling one of her father’s

friends who had told her of artworks which had been noted for the quotations ascribed

to them—and political messages attached to them. “Donatello’s
David
stands for the freedom of man.” Again she tried to discern if there was a hidden meaning here.

Lane’s voice wafted over her. “While Artemisia and this work in particular stand

for the liberation of women.”

30

Until Twilight

She stared up at Lane. “Signore, I will be there in a few minutes. I bring with me my

associate.” Then she hung up. “You will come with me, won’t you?”

Lane hugged her close. “You and I are now inseparable.”

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Desiree Holt & Cerise DeLand

The Bargello was alive with activity when they arrived. Tourists had been

evacuated and herded to one side of the sidewalk behind the Guardia’s blue and gray

barricades. Bella smiled at the efficiency of La Guardia di Finanza, the police force of Italy responsible for customs and therefore protection of all artworks. The Finanza law enforcement were carefully chosen men and women of whom she herself had been one

before she became an independent consultant last year.

Museum workers stood to one wide with some of the museum’s security guards.

And beyond them, the local Florentine uniformed
polizia
wove another line of security.

Standing with the agitated director, Silvestri, were two men in dark suits. Detectives of the Finanza. Isabella had worked with them just that morning.

“I would like to say it’s nice to see you again, Signorina,” the taller one said,

advancing toward them. “But not under these circumstances.”

“I agree, Cappi. Let’s see what we’ve got. I’m going to assume this one isn’t another

false alarm.”

“Only you can tell us that.” He looked over her shoulder at Lane.

“He is with me.”

Cappi frowned. “With you?”

She huffed impatiently. “Lane, show them your credentials.”

He flashed his Nemesis wallet at them and she tapped her foot in irritation while

the detective examined the document closely.

“All right,” he said at last. “
Scusi
, but you know how careful we must be.”

“I would think his being with me would be enough, but fine. Let’s go inside.”

32

Until Twilight

As she approached the door, Silvestri hurried up to her. “Signorina Sebastiani, you

must help me. They are going to destroy my beautiful museum. These irreplaceable

works of art.”

She took a moment to place a calming hand on his arm. “I am not going to let that

happen. Now I must go inside to do my job.” She looked at Cappi as he opened the

door. “My equipment is here?”

He nodded. “I brought it myself as soon as the call came in. I still had it in my car

from this morning.”

The bomb disposal equipment made an ugly contrast to the marble bench it was

sitting on. She sighed, handed her purse to Lane and took off her shoes. In seconds she was encased in what she called her “alien suit”, headgear in place, hands clamping onto long rods with claws on the end.

Lane noted that a lead shield had been rolled into place in front of the purse, but it

had to be low enough that Bella could reach over it. Despite the fact that he was well

aware she knew what she was doing, his stomach knotted with anxiety for her safety.

When everyone had removed themselves to safe distance, she strode slowly

forward until she was standing at the shield. She extended the rods over the top and

began working the claws. Meticulously she lifted the flap of the purse until its contents were exposed.

Lane held his breath for a long moment until she turned her head slightly.

Through the plastic in the front of her head shield he saw her lips moving.

“What did she say?” he asked the suit standing next to him who was talking into a

lapel mic.

“That she believes the bomb is TATP and she needs a lead box with dry ice in it.”

He’d just bet she did. Triacetone triperoxide (TAPT) was stable only as long as the

environment around it didn’t become hot. Then it could blow at any minute. He had a

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Desiree Holt & Cerise DeLand

lot of questions, such as how it had gotten past the museum security with their visitor inspection policies. How the bomb maker or makers had kept it stable until they placed

it and left, although the museum temperature was kept low of necessity because of the

fragile condition of many of the artworks. And if there was a timer attached to it.

He found himself sweating while two other men suited up exactly like Bella rolled a

sizeable lead box over next to the purse and opened the cover. The smoke rising from

the box indicated it already had dry ice inside. He began counting the seconds to

himself as she slowly lifted the purse with the claws and transferred it to the box. That done, she dropped the rods and closed the lid, then removed her headgear and turned

to Lane.

“Three small vials that look like perfume,” she told him. “The white crystalline

powder that is TATP travels better in solution.”

“The Mother of Satan,” he muttered.

She nodded. “Current choice of suicide bombers. But that’s not the case here.

Obviously.”

“What now? And what about the purse at the Uffizi?”

“This box goes into the bomb disposal van while you and I run like hell to the

Uffizi. Then I’ll defuse them both at the same time.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You can leave this one that long?”

“The dry ice makes it stable for a short period of time. Come. We must hurry.”

“Signorina, Signorina.” Silvestri, who had been allowed back into the museum area,

raced toward her, wringing his hands. “We must find who’s doing this.”

“And we will,” she assured him. “I’m going to leave someone with you until I get

back. Even as we speak equipment is being set up in your office to monitor phone calls

and all messengers will be checked.” She put a delicate hand on his arm. “I promised

you, it will be all right. Believe me.”

34

Until Twilight

She cast a look at one of the men in dark suits who hurried forward and led the

young director toward his office.

“This way, Signorina Sebastiani,” one of the uniforms said. “The Minister of

Finance has ordered a car at your disposal.”

She smiled at him and he saw the relief wash over her that her old family friend,

Arturo Franzoni, now in the Italian Cabinet, would give her ready transportation to

help his policemen in the Finanza. “Please tell Minister Franzoni I am most grateful.”

“
Sì,
he says he will do anything to aid you, Signorina. Meanwhile, please, the driver is waiting for you at the front door.”

Their driver had once been a professional racer, she was certain of it by the way

she’d left her breath behind her as he left the curb. He zoomed along in his little dove-gray car to deposit them blocks away, along the Arno River. Once inside the famed

offices of the de’Medici, now a museum, she and Lane went through a similar routine

until the purse with its lethal contents rested in another lead-lined box. And more

tension-filled time while she defused each one. More than two hours later, the same

driver sped them back to the Bargello. There, Lane followed Isabella up the long steps

to the upper level of the medieval jail where now the museum offices were located.

Finanza
polizia
lined the corridors. More police were on the upper balcony in front of a heavy carved wooden door, including two metropolitan detectives in suits.

One of them greeted her. “Another one for your clever hands, Bella,” he told her.

“Let’s hope you can take care of things before the poor director pisses himself.”

“Of course, Aldo,” she said calmly, addressing him by his first name. She ignored

the slight edge of sarcasm in his voice. Many of the local police departments had their own bomb disposal unit but Isabella had an international reputation for handling

explosives and she was always at the top of everyone’s list when an incident occurred.

The metropolitan
polizia
deferred to her with reluctant and grudging admiration.

Aldo stepped forward now as if to prevent Lane from entering the museum.

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Desiree Holt & Cerise DeLand

“He’s with me,” she snapped.

“
Scusi
, Signorina Sebastiani. But you know we must be extremely careful.”

She cast an impatient eye at him and said to Lane. “Show them your creds so we

can get on with this.”

Seconds later one of the uniformed men pulled the wooden door open and Isabella

swept inside, followed by Lane. Silvestri was standing just inside, flanked by yet more local
polizia
, wringing his hands. His face was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration.

“
Grazie, grazie
, for coming so quickly, Signorina,” he babbled. “I left everything exactly as I found it.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “Good.” She looked at her old friend, the detective. “Cappi?

Are my things still here?”

“I made sure of it,” he told her. “We also have a small tape recorder left inside the

purse.”

“Another message?” she asked, her eyes on the small bomb laid out on Silvestri’s

desk.

“Sì. We have examined the tape recorder. Ten years old. Japanese make.”

“Too old and too inexpensive to trace for ownership. Only fingerprints or trace

evidence will help us learn who did this,” she concluded as she bent to the bomb. Then

she began the process of dismantling it, exactly as she had done on the previous one.

The TATP bomb consisted of three tiny perfume vials filled with the dangerous

liquid. They lay atop an innocuous gel mask that had been previously chilled and was

still warming. Items a woman might carry in her purse. And lying next to them a simple

lady’s alarm watch, set to go off at a certain time and detonate the explosive.

Lane tried not to show the relief he felt that the immediate danger was past and

Bella was away from the explosives. He knew she was the best of the best, but the

thought of that supple body blown to bits made him shudder.

36

Until Twilight

Finally, done with the vials, Bella punched the button on the machine and played

the message back again. The male voice speaking English in a British accent filled the

room.

You display art that celebrates liberation of the oppressed, yet millions are impoverished by
the three-headed hydra. Yet you do nothing. We will make you. Freeze the assets of Kopf or the
next bomb will be immediate and devastating. Octo.

Lane and Isabella exchanged glances.

“We must have voice analysis,” she told Cappi.

“Interesting they did not bother to use a disguise mechanism,” Cappi noted.

“Leaving a recorded message is something new, right?” Lane asked her.

She nodded. “Today is the first time the bombs have appeared anywhere, in the art

world or otherwise. The recorded message, too. Yet, this demand to freeze the assets of the Kopf is astounding.”

“The Kopf,” he said with a sour taste in his mouth. “Kopf Industries owned by

three men known for their art holdings and their obscurity.”

“And their greed. One Russian, one Italian and one German joined together to

package subprime mortgages and sell them as securities, defrauding millions and

bankrupting entire countries.” Bella felt her blood pressure tick up. “This is no art thief setting these bombs. Could it be that some of those who have been defrauded by Kopf

have set them?”

Lane stared at her. “Why not? They talk of being oppressed and impoverished by

the three-headed hydra? Makes sense to me.”

“But who
are
they?” demanded Silvestri. “How can we save my museum if we do

not know who is doing this?”

Lane nodded. “Signore Silvestri has a point. I have never heard of Octo. Who is this

unknown group that’s suddenly doing this? Definitely strange that no one wants to

claim credit for it.”

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Desiree Holt & Cerise DeLand

“What should I do?” Silvestri asked, nervously clasping and unclasping his hands.

“If they ask for a ransom to end the planting of bombs, do you have the cash

available?” Lane wanted to know of the director.

Silvestri shrugged. “From the insurance company. And it would have to be

approved by the board.”

Bella paced. “Signore, you can do nothing at the moment. These would-be bombers

have not asked for money. They have not set the bombs in so intricate a manner that

they could not be dismantled.” She cocked her head and raised a finger in the air.

“They’re warning us. Of Kopf, certainly. We must learn more about this three-man

group, Lane. Quickly. We need to find out if there are other museums or galleries in

Europe that are having the same problem. If they have recorded or written messages

attached that speak of Kopf or a three-headed hydra.”

Lane pulled out his cell phone. “Let me get onto Nemesis and see what background

Maddie and Dan can dig up. And I’ll try to reach Adam and Nic. See if they’ve arrived

here in Florence yet.”

Adam Molloy, former Mossad agent now married to agency CEO Nicki Welles, still

had many contacts all over Europe and the Middle East and often was the Nemesis