The Medici Letters: The Secret Origins of the Renaissance

by Taylor Buck

  “It’s not responding to any of the commands,” Chester said, cursing again. “…This isn’t good Jack.”

  “No, it’s not.” A moment later Jack zipped up his hoody and began heading for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get our camera back. We can’t leave any trace that we were in there.”

  Chester stared at him for a moment. “That’s very thorough of you, Jack. But… how are you going to get in?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He grabbed the doorknob.

  “Hold up!” Chester said. “Take this.” He opened his briefcase and pulled out a small kidney bean shaped piece of plastic. “Put this in,” he said holding it out to Jack.

  “An earpiece?”

  “I’ll help… if I can,” Chester said.

  Jack grabbed it.

  “Just talk normally. The piece works as both a mic and a receiver. It has a limited range of a mile or so. Just don’t go too far.”

  Jack nodded, placed the piece in his ear and stepped out the door.

  He flew down the stairs and rushed out the front doors. Once outside, he strode briskly across the street and ducked into the side alley that ran the length of the Palazzo Donatello. As he walked along the building he gazed upward, scanning the balconies and private terraces above. Orange light painted the cresting along the top of the building. The sun would be setting in about twenty minutes. He didn’t have much time for clear visibility.

  “I can see you now,” he heard a voice speak clearly in his ear. He looked back to see Chester watching from their window across the street. Jack continued through the alley along the hotel, looking for any possible point of entry. He knew if he waltzed in the front door of the hotel he would be red flagged immediately. His outburst earlier probably placed him on a “watch” list. Jack moved around a few dumpsters until he spotted a fire escape. A rusty ladder reached down the side of the building, suspended about ten feet off the ground.

  Chester watched on from the window as Jack went further down the dark alley. The sun was beginning to drop and visibility was getting difficult. He saw Jack stop in the alley and look around. He seemed to be looking for anybody watching him. Suddenly, he noticed Jack tugging at his pants around his waistline… He was removing his belt like he was going to relieve himself in the back alley.

  “Um, Jack?”

  No response. Chester adjusted the audio feed. Jack’s bizarre actions soon made sense as he pulled his belt away from his pants and gripped it in his right hand. Then he reached up high and flung the belt up and over the bottom rung of the ladder. He grasped the other end of the belt with his left hand and pulled downward. The rusty ladder held firm at first, then started lurching downward in jerky intervals. It made a creaky, metallic shriek as it lowered to within arm’s reach. Jack threaded his belt back into place and began climbing the ladder.

  “Good thinking,” Chester said into the microphone. “It looks like that fire escape leads all the way up to the fifth floor.”

  Jack began ascending, rung after rung. He climbed higher and higher until finally reaching the top. A firm breeze blew along the face of the building making him grasp the rungs tightly. He was dangerously high now and had to make a conscious effort to avoid looking down. The building was renovated in 1884. Hopefully they’ve done structural inspections since then…

  A small scaffold led to a nearby balcony. Jack made his way across the scaffolding and leapt a short two-foot gap to the nearest balcony. His palms began to clam up and whiten as he gripped the railing.

  “You’ve got 4 to go,” he heard over the earpiece.

  Jack noticed the shades were drawn on the other balconies. Lucky for him, or rather them. He imagined how disturbing it would appear to a hotel guest to see a man in a dark hoody climbing outside their window. He stepped across to the far end of the first balcony and looked over the side. The distance between the balconies seemed further apart now. From the view across the street, crossing the gap appeared a simple task, but up close, it was far more daunting. Between each of the balconies was a 6 foot gap with nothing but a free fall that led the full 5 stories to the cobblestone below. Jack didn’t have a fear of heights—however, anyone with any degree of caution would have thought twice about leaping a gap this high up in the air. It was an unnerving effort that could quite easily end in a plummet to his death. One slight error in foot placement… a misjudgment on the distance… an aged and unsound section of the stucco railing that could possibly give way… Jack shook the thoughts from his mind. He stepped over the railing and positioned himself on the other side. To make matters worse, he noticed the ledge on the opposite balcony allowed for only about 6 inches of platform to land on.

  He felt beads of sweat begin to form along his brow.

  Jump Jack. Just do it.

  He leapt. Surprisingly… the distance didn’t prove a problem. However, he had bound a little too eagerly and overshot—slamming his ribs into the railing in the process of wrapping his hands over the side. The air expelled from his lungs as the wind was knocked out of him. Jack could hear Chester holding his breath as he nervously watched on.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” Jack wheezed.

  “Good,” Chester said. “You’re doing good. Just a few more.”

  “Thanks for the reassurance,” Jack said under his breath.

  He stepped across the balcony and peered over the ledge to the other side. Then, lifting his body up and over the side, he positioned himself for another jump. Hands behind him holding his weight, feet planted firmly.

  One…two…three—

  He lifted himself into the air, nimbly landing on the other side and grabbing hold of the railing. Once across to the other side, he repeated the same process and landed on the third balcony.

  “You’re almost there. One more,” Chester informed his right ear.

  Jack crossed the balcony and lined himself up outside the railing. He could now see inside Forbes’ window. He jumped and landed lithely on Forbes’ balcony. He stayed crouched down and peeked into the window. There was still no sign of Forbes. He turned and flashed a thumbs-up to Chester, then gently pulled the window open and stepped over the windowsill into the room.

  The inside of the room was quiet. At his feet next to the window lay the hummingbird. Jack knelt down and picked it up. Then he quietly made his way over to the maps spread across the ground.

  “Don’t bother with that, Jack. You need to get out of there,” directed Chester.

  Jack crouched down. Eerie… Chester’s voice over the earpiece seemed strange and invasive—almost like Jack’s conscience guiding him on what to do. He was right, though. Jack needed to get out of there before Forbes returned. Besides, the pictures they had taken of the map should be sufficient. He crept to the doorway adjacent to the room’s entryway. The plan changed—he wasn’t risking the balconies again. His plan now was to exit through the hotel’s back entrance and avoid being seen by the receptionist in the lobby. Jack reached for the doorknob and stopped. He noticed something in the corner of the room—something familiar grabbed his attention and he found himself striding towards it. He paused, facing the wall. There, in the shadows of the purple curtains, was a bust of Plato. It was small. Roughly the same bust they had studied in the scan from the mountain.

  “Chester… Forbes has the bust,” Jack whispered.

  “The what?”

  “The icona… it’s here. In his room,” Jack said under his breath. He placed the hummingbird on the desk and picked up the icona gently in his hands. The sensation was surreal. The adrenaline from breaking into Forbes’ room was coursing through his veins… and now Jack found himself holding a 500-year-old treasure in his hands—a lost sculpture by one of the most celebrated artists of the Renaissance. Donatello sculpted this, he thought as he turned it over in his hands. The craftsmanship was breathtaking, the work of a true grandmaster. Kathleen would probably give anything to switch places with him right then and
there.

  The small latched compartment came into view as he held the bust upside down. “I don’t believe it,” he said quietly, trying to contain his enthusiasm. “This is it, Chester.” He was beginning to flick the latch open when he heard a rustling outside the door.

  Someone was walking down the hall toward the door!

  Jack put the bust down and rushed across the room to where the closet was. It was the only place he could see to hide. No sooner had he ducked inside and shut the closet door when the doorknob twisted open and somebody entered from the hallway outside.

  “Jack?” Static hissed in his ear. “What’s happening?” he heard Chester say through the earpiece.

  Jack didn’t respond. He remained motionless and tried his best to slow his breathing so he wouldn’t be heard. Chester’s frantic barking didn’t help. He kept shouting over the earpiece trying to get a response. Jack hoped to god that the tiny speaker wasn’t audible outside of the closet. The slats in the door had a quarter inch opening… just enough to let light in. Suddenly, the light was disturbed. A figure moved slowly across the room—almost gliding. The figure was dark and shapeless, however the room was dark too. It was difficult to see anything.

  “Jack? There’s…someone in the room with you,” he heard Chester say.

  Chester can see him. Jack forgot he left the hummingbird on the desk. Chester could see everything going on inside the room.

  “I… I don’t think it’s Forbes,” Chester said.

  Not Forbes? Who else would it be? As Jack realized that the person standing inside the room wasn’t Forbes, he quickly became uneasy. He almost wished that it was Forbes… at least then he knew who he was up against.

  “It’s a man… I think. I can’t see his face. He’s entirely dressed in black,” Chester said.

  Dressed in black… the description fit Porto’s account from the scene of the accident. A figure, clad entirely in black… a fantasma. It moved like a ghost.

  “He’s looking at the maps,” Chester said. “Now he’s… I think he’s taking them.”

  He’s taking the maps?

  Jack peered through the slats in the closet door, trying to see without moving his body. The faintest noise would reveal his position. He couldn’t see much but he heard the paper softly crinkling as the maps were rolled up.

  Jack felt weak and hot with a sudden realization. This is what he was searching for—the man who attacked his wife was here with him. Only a few feet away. Yet Jack found himself frozen, not knowing what to do next. Attack him? He didn’t have any weapons or anything to use as one. It would have to be hand-to-hand combat, and although he had been in a few brawls, Jack wasn’t exactly a bare-knuckle title-holder. He suddenly realized how unprepared he was. He hadn’t thought through what he would actually do when they crossed paths.

  Silence.

  The dead air was unnerving. Jack wanted desperately to know what was happening.

  “He’s moving toward the camera now,” Chester informed. “Uh, oh…I think he’s sees the bird.”

  More dead air…

  Come on Chester. Communicate. What is he doing?

  “Ok. He picked up the bust, and now he looks like he’s leaving.”

  He’s leaving…Move Jack, Move!

  A mix of fear and rage welled up inside of him. Jack balled his fists and prepared to crash through the closet doors. A flood of questions entered his mind—should he strike high or low? Maybe he could tackle him across the room and heave him out the window. But the fall would certainly kill him… He didn’t necessarily want to kill him…or did he? Maybe if he could—

  CLICK.

  The door gently closed.

  Dammit!

  “Jack… he’s gone.”

  Jack’s anger boiled. He felt like he was suffocating. He had just let his wife’s attacker slip away. He stood there in the closet, seething at what he had just let happen.

  Then suddenly—he bolted.

  Jack ran out the door, snatching up the hummingbird before he left the room and dashed down the stairs. He spilled out into the back hallway just as the dark figure snuck through the rear entrance.

  “Hey! Stop!” Jack screamed out.

  The figure stopped and turned to look just before he ducked out. It held eye contact for a brief moment before disappearing into the darkness outside.

  Jack tore down the hallway and burst through the back door. He craned his neck back and forth to catch a glimpse in which direction the figure had headed. It was gone—vanished.

  “Jack, where are you?” said Chester.

  “I’m at the rear entrance to the Palazzo Donatello. I just saw him leave through the back door.”

  “Ok. I can’t see you now.”

  …see me? Jack had forgot that Chester was watching. Jack looked at the hummingbird in his hand, studying the wings. He could see one of the wings appeared to be pinched back. He gently lifted it up and down a few times. He heard a clicking sound. The wings loosened and hung freely again.

  “Chester, try the bird again,” Jack commanded.

  The gears inside the hummingbird whirred to life. The wings began fluttering. Within seconds, the bird lifted into the sky.

  “See if you can get an aerial view of the streets and locate him,” Jack said.

  “Got it.”

  Jack turned right to where the streetlamps were vacant and disappeared into the dark alley in pursuit.

  CHAPTER 26

  SIENA, ITALY

  SEPTEMBER 9

  THE HUMMINGBIRD ROSE INTO the sky and flew high above the Palazzo. The hotel was located only a few blocks away from downtown so Chester knew he had little time to locate him before he would be lost in the hordes of tourists. The sun had set and the night was dark, making visibility murky through the lens. Chester typed a command and the picture in front of him became fluorescent green. Using the night vision, he easily spotted Jack sprinting down the long alley behind the Palazzo. On screen he saw Jack stop at an intersection.

  “Anything?”

  “Give me a sec,” said Chester.

  The bird soared past the Basilica of San Domenico, a large cross-shaped building, and floated over the intersection where Jack stood. Chester eyed the surroundings like a hawk. He could see a couple walking hand in hand, and off to the right was a group of young kids stumbling around on a pub-crawl. Then a figure appeared in the upper part of the screen—someone jogging.

  “There!” Chester yelled.

  “Where?”

  “Via Camporegio… toward Via Galluzza.”

  Jack burst across the intersection and hit stride running down Via Camporegio. He zipped past a few small cars parked along the road and stayed in the middle of the via where he had the best visibility.

  “He’s moving toward the city center. Hurry, Jack! It’s not going to be easy to follow with all the people.”

  “Just try to stay with him,” Jack said between breaths. “I’m coming.”

  Chester pulled the hummingbird closer to the streets. He kept it about fifteen feet off the ground and hovered behind the evading dark figure; the two zooming in tandem down Via Galluzza. The bird trailed behind only slightly and steadily gained ground. Chester saw the figure turn down a side street.

  “He turned right, down… I don’t know… it’s not a street, it’s another alley off Galluzza.”

  “Got it! I can see the bird now,” Jack said.

  He sprinted down the road and careened around a sharp corner that cut low through a back alley. Laundry lines dipped low; Jack had to weave around hanging clothes. A few dimly lit houselights spilled out into the street enough for Jack to navigate and squeeze his way through the alley. He stumbled into Via Fontebranda just as a car whipped by, missing Jack by just inches. The driver laid on the horn and yelled out a string of Italian curse words.

  Jack stopped, realizing he couldn’t see the hummingbird any longer.

  “Chester, wait. I lost you…”

  “Cross Fontebranda and ke
ep going. There’s another alley directly across the street. I’m right behind him.”

  Jack crossed the road and spotted the alley. This one was even darker. He couldn’t see a thing. It was shorter, though. Jack soon spilled out into an opening—a piazza of sorts. An immense shape that continued the length of a block, piercing the darkness and looming vast into the black sky sat to Jack’s left. Magnificent spires and white gothic arches rose high before him. The ivory church, Siena Cathedral, was lit up like a candelabra.

  “I’m at the church,” Jack reported.

  “Okay. He’s at the southeast end of the piazza. I’m on top of him,” Chester answered.

  Jack shot his gaze across the church’s piazza and spotted the dark figure disappearing into another cross street. He was much closer. Jack’s quick pace was closing the distance. He sprinted across the piazza and ducked through a few archways then rounded a turn onto Via di Cittá.

  He’s taking us to the city center, Jack thought. We’re going to lose him.

  Jack tore down Via di Cittá and scanned the buildings, looking for a side street that would take him to the Piazzo del Campo, where they were clearly heading. The streets were all blocked… all except…

  He spotted an opening—a thoroughfare covered with tape and under construction. A set of stairs led to scaffolding that stretched along the roof and across to the opposite side. Without thinking, Jack dashed up the stairs and capered across the scaffolding. He stepped nimbly across the crest of the rooftop, sidestepping louvres and chimney outlets like obstacles on a training course. Then he halted to a stop abruptly at the edge of the roof.

  Below, a dreadful site lay before him. A sea of people spread across the Piazza del Campo, intermingling and enjoying the activities taking place on the eve of the race. Jack could see out over the entire crowd. He scanned the people below, looking for a man in black. Red, white, green, yellow figures danced and frolicked around as the townspeople celebrated by donning the colors of their contrade. Pursuing anything here was like finding a needle in a brightly colored haystack.