The Medici Letters: The Secret Origins of the Renaissance

by Taylor Buck

  Jack perked up. “You think she will come out of this that soon?”

  “It’s really hard to determine exactly how long it will take, but in my experience, patients with Kathleen’s activity level usually come to consciousness sooner rather than later.”

  Jack exhaled a short sigh of relief. A positive diagnosis alleviated some anxiety. “What about…um, brain damage?” Jack asked, not wanting to know the answer.

  “Again, it is different with everybody, Mr. Cullen. Kathleen didn’t become comatose because of a major injury. The blow to her head was superficial. Her body is undamaged. It seems her mind entered a defense mode that shut her down along with all motor movement. But as I said, her brain activity is above average. She could come out of this quite unaffected.”

  Jack looked over at Kathleen. The doctor put a comforting hand on Jack’s shoulder. “There will be some rehabilitating to do, most likely some temporary memory loss and the need to relearn small motor skills…but I strongly believe you’ll get your wife back, Mr. Cullen.”

  I strongly believe you’ll get your wife back, Mr. Cullen. Jack was relieved at those words.

  “We will keep you updated on any changes. Right now, she just needs time to rest.” He turned fully to Jack. “And so do you.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Jack said appreciatively. Gessner smiled and walked out of the room passing Chester as he entered from the hallway. He was followed closely by a large hulk of a man built like a rugby player.

  “So the doctor has a good diagnosis, huh?”

  Jack eyed the man behind Chester suspiciously. “It appears that way. Hard to make any calls at this point though.”

  Chester moved aside, making way for the hulk to move forward. “Jack, this is Porto. He was sent over by Signore Forlino to make sure Kathleen is well protected during her recovery.”

  “What do you mean, well protected?”

  “I apologize… that was poor phrasing,” Chester said pinching his brow over the frames of his glasses. “It’s more tradition than anything. The Italians are very protective of their friends and Porto is just going to be around to safeguard the area.”

  “Safeguard? Safeguard from whom exactly?” Jack snapped. He was visibly put off by the mysterious man standing in the room. Understandably so. The man looked like a mobster from a Scorsese movie.

  Chester cursed under his breath. “Sorry Jack. I didn’t mean to upset you. I can tell him to leave if that is what you’d like.” He turned to usher the man out.

  “Hang on, Chester.” Jack grabbed his arm. “Is there something I need to know about? Is Kathleen in danger?”

  Chester sighed and turned around. “Porto, will you please leave us for a moment?” The hulk nodded silently and walked out of the room. “Jack, some new information has turned up,” he said quietly. “I don’t want alarm you, but even your safety may be at stake.”

  “My safety? What the hell are you talking about, Chester? Will you just get to it?”

  Chester shut the door. He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Jack, I just got off the phone with TerraTEK. The autopsy on Doctor Foley came back. It turns out the fall down the mountain isn’t what killed him. They found a hole at the base of his skull. Gunshot wound. Small caliber. Twenty-two.”

  Jack’s eyes grew wide in disbelief. “You’re saying someone shot him?”

  “It’s highly probable.”

  Jack couldn’t believe it. How was that even possible?

  “Now you can understand why Forlino wants to ensure your protection,” added Chester.

  “Wait a minute,” Jack said. “Forlino is the guy from the Medici Preservation Society, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does he know all about this? The gun too?”

  Chester nodded. “He was overseeing the dig when Kathleen and Dr. Foley disappeared. Forlino seems to think that they might have come across something of significance that possibly put their lives in danger.”

  Jack stared at Chester in disbelief. He couldn’t possibly imagine why this would’ve all happened intentionally. “Well, what is he saying? Who does he think did this?”

  “I don’t know,” Chester said running a nervous hand through his blonde hair. “He’s being very guarded with his information and he hasn’t offered much, I only know he wants to speak with you about it directly.”

  Jack stared off in deep thought.

  “There’s something else you’re going to want to know,” Chester said hesitantly. “They ran diagnostics on the gun that was found at the scene of the accident and pulled some partial prints.”

  “And?” Jack said.

  “And…” Chester lowered his voice to a real whisper, “Jack, the prints they pulled belong to Kathleen.”

  Jack stared back blankly. He felt as if someone had heaved a hundred pound bag of sand on his shoulders. He sat down in the chair and cupped his hands over his mouth while his brain whirled.

  “Now, of course this doesn’t mean anything yet,” Chester said, attempting to calm things down. “Her prints could’ve gotten there any number of ways. And rest assured, at the moment TerraTEK is controlling this entire investigation. Nothing has leaked, and nothing will until we know exactly what happened. She’s completely protected while we work this out. Okay?”

  Jack didn’t respond. He just stared straight ahead.

  “Listen, I know it’s a lot to process. Take your time. But I do recommend calling Forlino to see what he has to say.”

  After a moment of silence Jack shook his head back and forth. “No… I don’t want to do anything but stay here with my wife.”

  Chester nodded and then cleared his throat somewhat apprehensively. “Also, Jack… I wish that was everything, but there’s something else.” He paused to take a long sip of coffee, as if lamenting his next few words. “While on the call with TerraTEK, they also informed me that they’re pulling out of the dig.”

  Jack jolted up from his chair. “What do you mean—pulling out?”

  “I mean TerraTEK is cancelling efforts on the dig.”

  Jack shot Chester a look of shock. “You’re kidding me, right? Now?”

  Chester put his hands up in a display of neutrality. “Jack, you know I—”

  “No! Absolutely not. Kathleen’s life is in this project. She would be devastated if we stopped now.”

  “That’s the thing, Jack. Her life is the issue here.” Chester sat down and calmly motioned for Jack to take the seat next to him. “Foley is dead. Kathleen is in a coma. You have to understand any subsequent slip up could blow this whole thing wide open. We can’t afford to have any more accidents. Plus, UNESCO—”

  “Bad press,” Jack scoffed. “I get it.”

  “No. It’s not that, I assure you. Come on, Jack. Our lawyers could cover this thing up in a second. You know that.”

  Unfortunately, Chester was right. Jack knew they were completely capable of sweeping this thing under the rug—especially a company the size of TerraTEK. They had accumulated tremendous power through government subsidies. Furthermore, the influential clients of TerraTEK wouldn’t allow their services to be threatened. Too many people relied on them—powerful people, counting on their surveillance services to operate. As an organization, they were protected by tremendous wealth and infinite resources.

  “But that’s not the kind of people we are. My presence here is a testament to their thoroughness. I’m here to help you, Jack. Please take that into consideration before you jump to any conclusions about our motives.”

  “So the work will be abandoned? Just like that?”

  Chester winced slightly. “That’s not entirely true. The work will continue…just not under us.”

  “What do you mean? Locally? Is the city taking it back?”

  “No. As I said, the city doesn’t have permission to continue with the dig alone. And now that UNESCO is involved, things have completely gone to hell. At this point, in order for the city of Florence to be involved at all, they would need
both consent and funding from the Medici Preservation Society.”

  “So the city can’t continue without permission and backing by Forlino?”

  “Right,” Chester said.

  “And TerraTEK won’t work directly with him?”

  “Not if UNESCO is involved.”

  “But Forlino wants to continue anyway?”

  Chester raised his eyebrows. “From what I hear, the Medici Preservation Society has plenty of financial backing. They just don’t have the necessary tools.”

  “I thought you said they were nearly finished. How much excavating is still needed?”

  “Well, they’ve uncovered a portion of the room. About 60 percent. There is still a lot of work to access the remainder, plus the cost of machinery. Accounting for the GPR machines, deciphering software, drills, hand tools, image analysis technicians and laborers…they’re looking at hundreds of thousands in a commitment to completion.”

  Jack thought it over. “Even if they can afford it, they will never be able to find the right tools. Nobody has access to machinery like that outside of TerraTEK.”

  Chester furrowed his brow. “Again, that’s not entirely true. Forlino did mention someone… Does the name Forbes mean anything to you?”

  Jack looked at Chester with a crazed, wide-eyed stare as if he’d just mentioned the antichrist. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I take it you are familiar then,” Chester said dryly.

  “Chester, please tell me you’re joking… The man’s a megalomaniac. That would be a huge mistake.”

  “No need to sell me on it. I’m quite aware,” Chester replied. “He’s been stealing our GPR plans for years to aid in his…exploits.” He rolled his eyes in a sign of annoyance.

  “No.” Jack shook his head back and forth. “We absolutely can’t let him get involved with this. It’s bad enough as it is.”

  “Then I suggest you speak with Forlino before it gets any further,” Chester retorted. “He wants to talk with you anyway.”

  Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The situation couldn’t be any more of a disaster. Now a name from the past, a name that Jack had buried long ago—the man that had nearly put an end to his and Kathleen’s relationship years before.

  “I need to think it over.”

  “Okay. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate here, so try not to let the project details get in the way.”

  “Chester, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him swoop in and take credit for all of the work that Kat has put into this. The last person she would have wanted involved would be Morgan Forbes.”

  CHAPTER 8

  LAKE GUATAVITA, COLOMBIA

  SEPTEMBER 6

  THE SOUTH AMERICAN SUN rose high overhead and shone like a glimmering medallion in the sky. Morgan Forbes removed his hat and blotted his brow with a white handkerchief, then poured a canteen over his neck and felt the cool water trickle down his spine.

  It was midday; the heat of the sun was intense. Billionaire, inventor and self-proclaimed treasure hunter, Morgan Forbes drifted on a trawler in the middle of Lake Guatavita searching for the lost gold of El Dorado. It had been two weeks since he set out to scan the bottom of the lakebed for gold. Using state-of-the-art GPR equipment his team developed specifically for aquatic use, he scoured the lake floor utilizing meticulously detailed readings. It was revolutionary technology, and until this point—untested in the field. Morgan could think of no better place in the world to test his equipment than a renowned treasure site. It had been no easy pitch, though. Not even for a man as well-funded and renowned as Morgan Forbes, the billionaire adventurer. As it turned out, the Colombian government had been very hesitant to grant him access to research there. It seemed they were extremely protective of the natural resources of the lake, let alone the myths surrounding it.

  Lake Guatavita was one of the proposed resting sites of the legendary treasure of El Dorado. Folklore claimed that the bottom of the lakebed was lined with treasure from the rituals performed by the Muisca people, a 16th century tribe dwelling in the Central Highlands of Colombia’s Eastern Range in the Andes. Supposedly the Zipa, or tribe ruler, covered himself in a layer of gold dust and ventured out into the middle of the lake on a ceremonial raft. Then, in a sacred act of ritual cleansing, he jumped into the waters and washed himself clean. After the cleansing, the worshipers would throw gold trinkets, jewelry and other precious possessions into the lake. Over time, the lake had purportedly amassed a fortune.

  Attempts had been made at recovering the gold. Actual discovery of a few pieces of gold at the bottom further fueled claims that the legend was true. In 1580, under the leadership of Antonio de Sepulveda, a pie-shaped notch was cut deep into the rim of the lake causing the water level to lower by some 20 meters. However, the draining structure collapsed and killed many workers. In the end, Sepulveda’s efforts turned up a measly 12,000 pesos.

  The latest and most successful attempt at finding treasure came in 1898 when a group of British contractors, fittingly titled The Company for the Exploitation of the Lagoon of Guatavita, dug a tunnel that bore deep into the middle of the lake. They succeeded in draining the lake and exposing its murky bottom. The scorching Columbian sun, however, thwarted the men’s efforts as the 4 foot layer of mud and slime at the bottom hardened like cement, fossilizing the treasures into the earth. In the end, the team left with only £500 in gold.

  Eventually Columbia put a stop to any further exploration and deemed it illegal to pursue the treasure. Operating under the assumption that everything has a price tag, Morgan Forbes was able to procure a weeklong stay at the lake while the Colombian authorities turned a blind eye. If there were any treasures buried below, Morgan would find them. He had found a way to penetrate the lake floor by sending in aquatic units to scan the base of the lake and interpolate a detailed map of the terrain bed. The scan had taken place last week and he was just two days away from receiving the results.

  “Señor Forbes!” one of Forbes’ Bogotano laborers yelled from the shoreline. He was waving something around in his hands.

  Morgan looked up from his monitor, squinting to see the shoreline through the sweltering sun. “What is it now…?” he mumbled under his breath. He grabbed the radio on his belt and called back to the camp. “Juan. ¿Que esta pasando?”

  A voice responded over the radio. “Tiene una llamada, a phone call, Señor Forbes.”

  “¿Quien es?” he asked annoyed.

  “A man. He calls himself… the Dragon,” the laborer said, lowering his voice.

  The name caught Morgan by surprise.

  It must be important to interrupt me here, he thought.

  Morgan powered down the equipment on board the trawler. He retrieved the GPR units from the water, packed up his gear and started up the motor to head back. A moment later he was pulling up to the shore.

  “Here you go, Señor Forbes.” The man handed a black phone over to him. Forbes grabbed it and paused a moment as he stared into the receiver. It was his satellite phone that was used only for emergencies and only known by a select few. Il Drago was certainly one of the few.

  “Forbes,” Morgan stated his name. He heard the distinct voice of Il Drago speak on the other line. He listened intently as he was issued some valuable information. Morgan’s eyes narrowed; he wiped more sweat from his brow. He waited until Il Drago had finished before responding.

  “Understood. Expect me there tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 9

  LUCERNE, SWITZERLAND

  SEPTEMBER 6

  JACK SAT PENSIVELY IN the chair next to Kat’s bed. He hadn’t moved from her side all day. He watched the nurse come and go and became acquainted with the small building next to the Klinik. It struck him odd that he hadn’t seen any other patients in Kat’s wing. The place seemed slow…unusually so. This part of the hospital appeared to be a specialized sector. Not many admitted.

  Jack had already become familiar with the layout of Kat’s room, as one would when inhabit
ing a hospital for an extended period of time. It’s peculiar—the way the human brain subconsciously seeks out repetition. Dotted patterns in the linoleum flooring… irregular shapes in the drywall resembling some ancient configuration of Pangaean supercontinents… Even the rhythmic flow of the air conditioning being pumped in through the vents seemed to have a pulsing cadence of regularity. Everything about the surrounding environment slowly started to become strangely familiar. His gaze drifted across the medical gadgets decorating the room, observing the array of hi-tech machinery. His eyes stopped on the lamp against the back wall. He could see a price tag dangling from the switch, fluttering aimlessly by the cool air being pumped through the vent behind it. Interesting, he thought. They forgot to remove the price tag. From his chair on the opposite side of the room he could almost make out the manufacturer name on the tag. He strained his eyes to focus and suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion set in. His eyelids became extremely heavy. He began to nod off to sleep when his phone suddenly vibrated beside him, startling him. He looked at the caller ID. It was a European number.

  “This is Jack,” he rasped.

  “Mr. Cullen, very pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Massimo Forlino. I can’t tell you how deeply sorry I am about your wife.”

  The man spoke in noticeable Italian English; however, his pronunciations were precise—a telling sign of an educated man.

  “Thank you Mr. Forlino,” Jack said growing more awake.

  “Did you meet Porto? He doesn’t speak good English, but he’s very dependable.”