The Medici Dagger

by Cameron West

  Pendelton waited by the car as Lorro led us through a huge doorway-up a staircase to the large guardroom. The sounds of our footfalls on the marble reminded me of the resplendency, the immeasurable importance, of the surroundings. I rose closer with every step to the imminent future and my appointment with Leonardo.

  A thin man sporting wire-rim glasses and work clothes stood a few feet from the center of the floor, where nine blue chalk lines intersected. He held a translucent schematic in one hand.

  A ten-inch-square marble tile had been pried up where the snap lines crossed and a high-powered, five-inch hole cutter stood over it mounted on a precision drill press.

  We converged on the spot. “You’re sure this is the location, Elverson?” Beckett asked.

  Elverson held up the schematic. One side showed a detailed outline of the ceiling below, the other displayed the layout of the room in which we stood. “Absolutely,” he said.

  “And there is no possibility of causing structural damage?”

  “None whatsoever. The area you wish to expose is right next to a floor joist.” He pointed to a dot where the fingers of God and Adam met. “There is approximately a two-foot space above the arc of the ceiling, which is itself rather thin. We won’t touch the ceiling though. As you see, I did some minor preparatory work in the interest of saving time, but Cardinal Lorro refused to allow me to drill until your arrival.”

  “Hah!” Beckett laughed. “No drilling till the inspector’s arrival. I like that. Most excellent. Let’s proceed.”

  Elverson fired up the drill. Mobright and the cardinal stepped back as Beckett and I inched closer.

  Angular morning sunlight cut through the galaxy of mortar dust that instantly surrounded us as Elverson carefully drilled down.

  I waited impatiently, totally focused on the bottom end of the bit as it disappeared into the antiquated floor. I prayed to God—a last-chance prayer.

  Then, with the sudden loss of opposing force, the drill poked through. Beckett said, “Be a good man, Elverson, and step aside.”

  I knelt down and peered into the hole. Total blackness.

  I carefully reached into the opening, almost elbow-deep, until my fingers brushed the ceiling. My saliva evaporated.

  Mobright and the cardinal moved in.“Sia accurato,”the holy man pleaded,“per la causa di Dio.”

  “He’s telling you to be careful for God’s sake,” Beckett translated, hovering over me.

  I tried to moisten my lips with a dry tongue.“Glielo prometto,”I said softly. “I promise.”

  The ceiling felt cool and rough against my fingertips as they lightly brushed the surface, moving right then left, then a little farther left, and right again. Then my pinky made contact with something metallic. I crept my other fingers over and touched hammered metal. Then a corner. A box.

  “Anything?” Beckett whispered.

  I could smell his Old Spice, could feel his breath on my ear, but I couldn’t speak. My fingers ran along the side of the box. A clasp. I walked them over the top. Irregular surface. I grasped the box and lifted it. It was surprisingly light. I pulled it up through the hole and laid it on the floor.

  A beat-up, hammered-tin box.

  “Mio Dio!”Cardinal Lorro gasped as he, Mobright, and Elverson crowded in.

  I opened the latch. Inside was something wrapped in a piece of finely woven red cloth. Lifting it by its thicker end, I was shocked at its near weightlessness. I felt cool sleek metal through the delicate fabric. With the thumb and forefinger of my bandaged hand, I pinched the cloth at the narrow end and in one quick move disrobed the artifact like a magician.

  I was holding the Medici Dagger.

  Though faintly aware of the utterances emanating from the small crowd huddled tightly around me, I was not with them. I was with Leonardo, somewhere in a velvety fold in time where we two had kept our strange, preordained appointment. I had found him. He had called to me and I had found him, to repay some inexplicable debt—to the world, to him, to my mother and my father.I slowly rotated Leonardo’s creation in the dust-sprinkled light, noticing how quickly the intricately molded handle warmed in my hand, how the faultlessly symmetrical double-edged blade rose to a miraculously sharp point eight inches from the shaft.

  I turned it till it glinted in the sunlight that spilled in through the square openings in the brick walls, walls by which smartly dressed guards in steel helmets had dutifully marched so long ago, to protect Pope Leo and all his treasures—none more valuable than the man he ignored in the Belvedere Palace.

  I gently touched the metal tip; a tiny drop of blood instantly appeared, as though I’d been pricked by a Red Cross lancet. I marveled at the incredible precision of the almost weightless object.

  “Reb,” Beckett said from somewhere very close by. “Reb,” he said again, this time touching my shoulder.

  It was a touch through time, a ripple in the universe, nudging a solitary star out of its tiny galaxy. I felt myself pulled slowly toward the sound of his voice, felt the slight sting in my finger, the gauze on my hand, my knees on the tile, the stretching of burned skin at the back ofmy right calf. I heard my breathing, and faint voices, and shoe leather pivoting on dusty tile as the others in the room shifted positions. I slowly turned my face to Beckett.

  “You have indeed done it,” he beamed.

  A door clicked shut across the room behind us and a familiar voice said, “Yes you have, Flame Boy.”

  Everyone spun around to the sound; I crash-landed back in the present. Nolo Tecci stood just inside the door wearing his kidskin coat, black gloves, and a vicious grin. In his hand was a Glock 17—leveled at us. He was flanked by Lon and Jocko, who also had guns with silencers drawn and pointed in our direction. Jocko’s wrist was in a cast. Everyone froze.“Nolo,” Mobright uttered. “You’re early.”Mobright the confederate? Shit!

  “What exactly do you mean, he’s early?” Beckett asked.

  Mobright cleared his skinny throat. “I meant . . . that . . . I just didn’t expect him so . . . soon.” He flashed me a worried glance before returning his gaze to Beckett’s.

  “Do you have something you’d like to share with us?” Beckett said coldly.

  “No, sir. I was merely saying—”

  Tecci sang, “That’s liffffe, that’s what all the people sa-ay,” snapping his fingers like Sinatra, taking two casual steps into the room. He pointed his gun at Beckett. “Those are nice words, don’t you think? Here come four other nice words: Hi honey, I’m Rome.”

  Beckett stood, dusting off his hands. Tecci strolled over to him.

  “Arlen . . .” Tecci said dispassionately. “No kiss?” He ran the barrel of his gun down Beckett’s cheek.

  There was a moment of taut silence; then Nolo jutted his chin at me. “Ah, Flame Boy . . . you are the fucking ace. I thought you died.”

  “I rose,” I replied, starting to get up.

  “Ah, ah, ah. Stay where you are.”

  I put my knee down.

  “I see you kept my autograph,” Tecci said.

  “I’ve been meaning to thank you for that,” I said, glancing down at the Dagger. Cool steel in my hand. A quick toss . . .

  “Easy there, Ace,” Tecci cautioned, “don’t go getting magnificent on us.” He jerked his head at Jocko. “Get the knife from him and whatever else he’s got. Lon, relieve these other citizens of their guns.”

  Lon passed by Beckett and collected Elverson’s handgun. Cardinal Lorro wasn’t carrying. Jocko stepped over to me and frisked me quickly, then held out his hand.

  I gripped the Dagger tightly, muscles tensed. Jocko and I exchanged a long fierce look. He reached for the Dagger.

  “I know you two have a little thing going between you,” Tecci said offhandedly.“You annoy everyone, Flame Boy. Be brave, don’t be brave, it’s all the same to me.”

  I broke away from Jocko’s gaze, looked over at Tecci. “Where is she?” I said between clenched teeth.

  “She’s tart, that one,” Tec
ci chuckled. “Very smart, too. Tart and smart. She was busy as a bee unscrambling da Vinci’s poetry when we got the call. You should have seen her.”

  Mobright must have called him from the plane. He dies. Then a thought snagged me: Tecci had said, “Sheistart.”Is.Present tense. Ginny was alive. Sounds of tourists drifted up from the streets below.

  I slowly opened my hand and let the Dagger rest freely in my palm. Jocko picked it up by the shank and presented it to Tecci.

  Tecci pointed the Dagger at Beckett’s breast, a half inch from his suit coat, then patted him down in a strangely sensual way. Tension bristled through the room. Beckett didn’t flinch when Tecci slid his hands down his thighs. Nolo didn’t reach his ankle holster. I wondered when Beckett would make a move for it.

  “This is a very nice suit,Arlen,”Tecci said.“Just as nice as your sheets. I like nice sheets, don’t you Flame Boy? You know, I wonder what happensto freshly pressed sheets when their owner doesn’t come home? Do they get lonely or do they just lie there like cats who don’t care?”

  Tecci flicked the Dagger, catching the inspector’s monogrammed pocket handkerchief with the tip. “AB, now that is dashing,” he laughed, wrapping the blade in the fine silk.

  He stashed it in his coat pocket, his eyes never leaving Beckett’s. Then he grabbed the knot in the inspector’s tie, leaned in, sniffed him, and kissed him gently on the lips like a lover.

  “There,” he said, then stepped back toward the door.

  Beckett stood perfectly still, arms at his sides, with a slightly bemused expression. I figured he must be calculating the right moment to make his all-important move. We were dangerously close to now-or-never. If he went for the gun, I’d follow his lead, make the most of it . . . somehow. Seconds ticked to the throbbing pulse in my ears.

  To Lon, Tecci said,“Lei ragazzi ammazzare tutti.”

  I recognized the words“ammazzare”and“tutti.”Massacre everybody.

  “We meet on the rolling palace as planned,” Nolo said. “Then everybody gets their cash. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a helicopter to catch—at the papal helipad, no less. Any last words, Arlen?”

  Beckett turned to me slowly.

  “Reb,” he said sadly. “You were indeed a mighty traveler.”

  Then he casually smoothed his lapels and stepped over to Tecci. “And a devilishly handsome one, too,” he added with a smile as he walked past Nolo and out the door.

  I felt as though a switch was flipped, the light blazing me blind. I was stunned, from my aching knees on the tile to the sweat-soaked brow on my hollow skull.Beckett and Tecci? How did I miss that?

  Nolo winked at me, turned, and strolled out of the room singing to the melody of Streisand’s hit “People”: “Papal . . . papal who need papal . . .” I heard him cackle as his voice faded down the stairs.

  Cardinal Lorro’s knees quivered, shaking the folds of his elegant robes. His lips moved in silent prayer, racing for salvation after a life spent in service of Christ, or art, or both.Jocko looked comfortable. Lon chuckled. Mobright gaped at me, shaking his head, and I knelt, the heat from the core of the earth on a one-way trip through the floor beneath my knees, to power my thighs, my balls, my belly.

  Jocko grinned at me through crooked teeth. Then he stuffed his gun into the front of his pants. He reached into his back pocket to pull out a switchblade, flicked it open, and approached me, rubber Wal-Mart soles squeaking on the cold tile. I watched his movement, preparing for either a stab or a kick.

  Jocko leaned forward, low, for a punt. Too close for the face. I tensed my abdominals. He kicked me. I faked like it knocked the wind out of me and fell forward clutching my stomach.

  I rolled to my right and grabbed the loose tile Elverson had pried up, came out of the roll, and flung it at Lon’s face. It caught him high on the cheekbone, leaving a gash, and he stumbled backward against the wall. Cardinal Lorro sprang for the door and Lon shot him in the back.

  Elverson sprang for Lon, but a second too late. Jocko fired. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Elverson crumple. I scissored Jocko’s legs and he went over. I threw him in a full nelson and rolled him on top of me as another gunshot split the air.

  I felt the shock of the blast through his body; he shuddered, then went limp. I grabbed his gun, aimed vaguely at Lon, and fired off three quick shots, missing each time. Mobright dove for him.Mobright on Lon? Why?

  Then two shots rang out from behind me. Lon buckled, leaving a smear of red on the brick wall. As I turned to look at the shooter, Mobright picked up Lon’s gun and dropped into a crouch. I took two wild shots at him, missing him in the gun smoke and the urgency.

  “No, Reb!” Mobright shouted, dashing to take cover behind an oak desk. I flashed on the drill four feet away. I snatched up the heavy toolas a voice from behind me shouted, “You’ve got the wrong man, Reb!”

  Already in full motion, I heaved the drill with all my might at Mobright. Just as he reached the desk, the tool smashed him in the side, knocking the wind out of him.

  “Stop!” someone shouted.

  I spun around in total confusion. Inside the far door a man who looked oddly familiar pointed a smoking handgun loosely at the floor. He was the one who had shot Lon.

  He dropped his gun and raised his hands.“Don’t shoot, Reb. Please don’t shoot.” He turned to Mobright. “Are you all right, Timothy?”

  “No,” Mobright gasped.

  “Who the hell are you?” I shouted at the man.

  He moved swiftly toward me, his arms still raised.

  Stopping three feet from me he said, “You know me as Henry Greer—the courier.”

  “Greer?” My mind reeled. I saw an image of the withered, dying man at The Willows, heard the rasping voice. The person in front of me was sixty, full head of gray hair, lean, clear-eyed. But Greer had died in the nursing home, hadn’t he? “Greer?” I repeated.

  “Yes,” the man said in the rasp. “Henry Greer.” He cleared his throat. “But my real name is Arlen Beckett.”

  Jangling shock. “What are you talking about? Arlen Beckett just left with Tecci.”

  “No he didn’t. Beckett just arrived, because I am he.”

  This was too much too fast. “Everybody’s a goddamn liar here!” I shouted. “Jesus, if you’re Beckett, then who—”

  “His name is Jack Heath,” Mobright groaned. “He was Inspector Beckett’s second-in-command. He’s been using Beckett’s name with you for some twisted reason.”

  Keeping my eyes on the new Beckett, I said, “You think I’m listening to you, Mobright? A minute ago you drew on me. You were going to shoot me.”

  “No, I wasn’t. You tried to shootme!God, Reb. The inspectorshouted to you that you had the wrong man. I think you broke my ribs. And after I picked off that redheaded German for you in Mendocino.”

  “What?” I desperately tried to cling to unchallenged facts. There was me, there was Ginny, there was Archie. I thought it was Archie in the woods in Mendocino. He said it was him when I asked him in the hospital.

  “I saved your ass in Mendocino,” Mobright groaned. “Took him out a second before he was going to plug you.”

  “What the hell’s going on here!” I shouted.

  “Give me two minutes to explain,” Beckett said.

  “Make it one. Talk fast.”

  The man took a breath.

  “I met Heath at Oxford when I was on a fellowship. He was biding time until he could take over the family empire. We became friends. One night over too much brandy he confessed he’d had a homosexual encounter, something that wouldn’t have been approved of by his father or British society at that time. He made me swear never to tell anyone.”

  “So what?”

  “After completing my studies, I returned to the States and was recruited into the Central Intelligence Agency. Not long after, Heath called me, literally out of his mind, screaming that his father had found out about his secret and that he’d been totally disinherited. He accused me of break
ing my oath. I reiterated my loyalty to him and offered my help.

  “I arranged for his emigration to the U.S.; then, at his request, I sponsored him into the organization. As Mr. Mobright said, Heath moved up the ladder right behind me, and we moved together to Gibraltar. While investigating Nolo Tecci’s part in Krell’s organization, I discovered that Tecci had been implicated in blackmail years ago. One of the victims was Jack Heath’s father.”

  “You’re telling me Heath’s college affair was with Nolo Tecci? Jesus.”

  “Gibraltar doesn’t allow for skeletons in closets, Reb. The bones tend to rattle. I had to investigate Jack—privately. I found journals in his house, dating back to just before he joined me in America, detailing his hatred for me, his unwavering belief that I was the one who had betrayed him, though it had to have been Tecci.

  “I couldn’t believe it,” Beckett went on bitterly. “Our relationship had been a complete sham. All along he was planning his retribution, just waiting for the right moment. What anidiotI’d been! What a fool.”

  “So what does this have to do with me?” I urged.

  “There was more,” he added. “Jack has AIDS.”

  “AIDS,” I repeated, picturing Heath’s gaunt face, remembering how at the Big Bear Hospital he’d said he wished he could put on some of the sheriff ’s weight. Heath was slated for death.

  “And,”Beckett continued gravely, “hewasin recent contact with Nolo Tecci.”

  His eyes flashed to Mobright’s and then to mine.

  “I confronted him at his home.”

  “And?”

  Beckett grimaced. “Heath pulled a spray bottle from his desk and . . . The last words I heard from him were ‘All good things come to he who hates.’ ”

  “Then what?” I asked.

  “A few hours later, Tim Mobright here found me in my car. He told me I was being accused of stealing information with the intent of selling it to our adversaries.

  “A copy of a file had been made from a computer which only I and my superior had access to. I remembered the day I’d left Jack alone in the room for a few minutes. I had no defense. I had to run to escape being removed by my own organization before I could vindicate myself. My one ally was Tim.”