by Taylor Buck
“Yes. I understand. Just let me know if I can be of any assistance.”
Jack nodded and stepped into the garage. There was something about Valente’s manner that Jack found strikingly candid. His words seemed authentic and comforting… as if he was genuinely concerned with the well-being of Jack’s family. On top of that, he treated Jack almost like a celebrity—doting on him and praising his book. It was a little odd, especially coming from such a distinguished and affluent businessman, but then again, maybe it wasn’t. Valente was a studying classicist with an appreciation for ancient deities and primordial literature—a group of intellectuals who were anything but inclusive. Most classicists were a fervent and passionate breed, and Jack had somehow managed to become a recognized figure of this group. Was he exaggerating? Perhaps he was.
In the garage, the small paneled door lifted. Two shiny vehicles rested in parking bays—a silver Maserati and a white Fiat.
“Take your pick,” Forlino said gesturing to the beautifully polished cars.
Jack looked at Forlino with surprise. He stared admiringly at the cars. “I appreciate your generosity, but I think it’s a rather obvious decision…”
Forlino chuckled. “I figured as much! The Maserati then?”
Jack walked over to the Fiat and hopped in the driver’s seat. “Not a chance. You’re nuts if you think I’m going to drive an expensive sports car through the narrow streets of Florence. You Italians drive like crazy people!”
Chester was standing behind Forlino, glued to his tablet, not paying attention.
“Chester! Let’s go!” Jack hollered.
“Very well,” Forlino said heartily. “I will see you at the dig.”
Chester hopped in the passenger seat. Jack waved and exited through the gate.
Massimo Forlino closed the door and watched them disappear around the corner.
CHAPTER 31
FIRENZE
1470
HOW EVERY HOPE OF ours is raised in vain,
How spoiled the plans we laid so fair and well,
How ignorance throughout the earth doth reign,
Death, who is mistress of us all, can tell.
In song and dance and jest some pass their days,
Some vow their talents unto gentle arts,
Some hold the world in scorn and all its ways.
Some hide the impulses that move their hearts.
Vain thoughts and wishes, cares of every kind
Greatly upon this erring earth prevail
In various presence after nature’s lore;
Fortune doth fashion with inconstant mind,
All things are transient here below and frail.
Death only standeth fast for evermore.
-Lorenzo de’Medici
Lorenzo sat in his study watching the rain pour down the streets below. Streams from heaven… most welcomed. Sparse were the days when the land received such nourishment. Almost ceremoniously, the rain washed away the dirt and dust that soiled the buildings and sculptures—all things of beauty. The wetness naturally restored them to their intended condition. Besides preservation, the rainwater would also fill the Arno and surrounding lakes with fresh water, making the city’s water supply brimming and full.
It had been two months since Father died, yet Lorenzo still mourned him. The writings he crafted were a reflection of his somberness, for the pain was still fresh. Piero had passed during the late winter months. His health deteriorated rapidly and his condition caused him to be bedridden and require constant care. His mind became clouded in his dying days, and as a result, he never followed through on his promise to his eldest son—the promise to pass down the knowledge of the icona. Putting his quest for truth aside for duty, Lorenzo both attended to his father and assumed full responsibility of the family’s business matters upon his father’s departure. He and Giuliano had taken control of Florence and ushered in a new age—an age of prosperity and wealth for Florence, fueled by the arts and a desire to explore the abilities of human innovation. Beginning in the days when Padre rose to power, Florence had become a beacon of light to all of Europe. Now Lorenzo was the de facto ruler, continuing his grandfather’s legacy. Yet it was difficult to find strength during a time of mourning.
“Lorenzo,” a voice called from the hallway. “Don’t forget about this evening. We are attending—“
“Ginevra’s baptism… yes, my love. I remember.”
Lorenzo looked up to see his wife smile from the hallway and then walk past his door. She had her hands cupped gently around her developing paunch, gently caressing it as all mothers do ever so instinctively. Lorenzo somberly pushed aside his writings and replaced it with a stack of receipts. Reviewing the banks transactional log was a painful endeavor that he constantly dreaded; yet he had to tend to all details of the family business. Know the bank balance down to the last florin, his father would tell him. It was difficult enough to monitor the finances of the bank, yet he also had to obtain a constant showing in each and every public outing. The people expected it of him.
He placed his pluma beside the candle and rubbed his eyes. Fatigue was beginning to affect his vision.
1469 was a year of both tumultuous strife and extreme bliss for Lorenzo. In June he married Clarice Orsini, daughter of wealthy Roman nobility. As much as his heart belonged to Lucrezia, he knew that marrying Clarice was a shrewd way to advance Florence and instill the Medici name into a true position of royalty. This choice was not an easy one, but one he knew he had to make. It was a matter of rationality and not heart. He was no longer a child interested in selfish desires—Lorenzo was now a man. His decisions affected not only his family, but the whole of Florence. And his father’s death at the end of the year made it official. He had assumed full power and responsibility of all matters and affairs of the Republic of Florence. The people looked to Lorenzo to carry them forward. People were ripe for change. Forward progression was embraced wholeheartedly. Medicean Florence was the catalyst of a new era, born out of the ashes of the Dark Ages and formed by the eager, philosophical minds, artists and inventors of the land. Lorenzo’s fame had grown exponentially. He was becoming known all over the land by the title his people had given him—il Magnifico. The city admired him, respected him and, more importantly—supported his ideals of turning Florence into a political superpower.
“Also, the doctor said the heartbeat is strong,” Clarice said, dipping her head inside the room again. “I imagined you might want to know as well.”
“Ah!” replied Lorenzo. “No doubt he will be as stout as a thoroughbred steed. With the untamable spirit of his father and the gentle heart of his mother.”
Clarice smiled and nodded, then returned to the hallway.
Fatherhood was truly exciting for Lorenzo. After all, a man’s role in life was to father many sons, and he was already on his way to fulfilling that very deed. If it were to be a boy his name would be Piero, after his now deceased father. If by chance, God provided a girl, Lorenzo also had a name chosen… a name close to his heart. True, it was the name of his mother but it was also the name of his first love...
Lucrezia.
A few months later, she was born.
CHAPTER 32
FLORENCE
SEPTEMBER 10
THE WHITE FIAT 500 convertible zoomed down a cobbled alley as the men drove to pick up the MOTSUs. Chester sat in the passenger seat typing in diagnostic settings for the units, his blonde hair whipping wildly in the wind. He pulled himself away and turned to Jack.
“Were you ever going to tell them about Lorenzo’s letter?”
Jack shifted gears. “No,” he said dourly. “Something doesn’t feel right... I can’t shake the feeling that Forlino’s hiding something from us.” He trailed off in thought. “But it doesn’t matter. We know where Forbes is heading, and Forlino and Valente are our ticket in. Right now I’m just concerned with finding the correct villa. You can bet if we find that… our mysterious fantasma will show his face again.”
> “Well, he’d better show,” Chester noted. “He’s got the key.”
“That’s the least of my concerns,” replied Jack.
“How do you figure?” Chester asked, still typing away. “Even if we locate the vault, we won’t be able to open it without the key…”
Jack turned left on a side street. “We wait,” he said. “As I said, we’re all after the same thing. It’s a race, and considering how much we’ve been stepping over each other… we may as well be sharing the same lane. When the time comes, I have no doubt we’ll get what we need.”
The Fiat tires chirped as Jack capably handled a sharp turn. They approached a side street a few blocks away from the Uffizi Gallery. He turned left and continued down the road.
“How quickly will you be able to interpolate our readings?” Jack asked.
“Depends on the square footage scanned and the level of complexity within the premises. I’ve got a new algorithm that I’m working on that should speed things up.”
“New algorithm?” Jack asked, surprised.
“Theoretically, it will triple the processing time. It’s based on Kathleen’s research. She’s been working on it for a while.”
Jack didn’t say anything, but he was fairly certain Chester was referring to TEKSCAN, the program that Kat had already finished. She had been working on it obsessively for the past year and a half. It was odd that Chester even knew about it considering Kat was singlehandedly developing the algorithm on her own. It was based on her research and her programming. She had even referred to it as her crowning achievement at TerraTEK.
Kathleen...
Jack was reminded he needed to call Dr. Gessner. He needed to check up on her progress today.
“Give me a ball park guess,” Jack asked.
“I’d say… an hour or so.”
The answer caught Jack by surprise. He looked at Chester in disbelief. “An hour?”
It was record-breaking fast, especially in the world of GPR. Most 3DGPR scans required a week to a month of processing time to develop even a framework, let alone a final reading. Considering the scan the MOTSUs had pulled from the Alps had taken 4 days to interpolate, he was expecting the villas to take much longer.
“Well… no promises. It’s yet to be tested. We’ll find out,” Chester said as his fingers typed away.
Jack rounded another corner two blocks from the dig. His eyes were drawn to a concrete symbol decorating the corner of a building… an ornate coat of arms with 6 small orbs spread apart in a sphere shape. The ever-familiar arrangement. The Medici family crest.
An image flashed into Jack’s mind from the night before. He had seen the crest somewhere—the Medici Fortress in Siena. A phrase suddenly came to mind… a song lyric or poem repeating in his head. He didn’t know what it meant.
“Beware… the mythical beast,” Jack mumbled.
“What was that?” asked Chester, still glued to his tablet.
Jack stopped the car suddenly—in the middle of the road.
Chester looked up alarmingly. “What are you—?”
A honk blared loudly behind them as an angry Vespa driver shook his fist in the air. Jack snapped back to reality and pulled over to the side of the road.
“Hey…” Chester sounded concerned. “You okay, Jack?”
“I just thought of something… Can I see that scan of Cosimo’s drawing again?”
Chester looked confused. “The tombslab thing?”
“Yes.”
Chester tapped the screen rapidly and swiped a few pages around. Within a few seconds he pulled it up. He handed the tablet to Jack.
Jack studied the drawing for a split second before he unbuckled and reached for the door.
“Jack! What’s going on?” Chester blurted.
Jack looked anxious. “I need to go. Sorry.” He opened the door and scanned the area around him and got his bearings. “You go to the dig site and get the MOTSUs ready. Make sure Forlino and Valente have everything they need. I’ll be right behind you.” Without another word, he hopped out and began jogging up a side street.
“Hey! Wait!” Chester yelled, visibly confused. “Jack, where are you going?”
Jack hit stride across the cobbles. “To see Cosimo!” he yelled, and then disappeared around the corner.
CHAPTER 33
FLORENCE, BASILICA OF SAN LORENZO
SEPTEMBER 10
JACK RAN FAST. He made his way up Via dell’Oriuolo—one of the many narrow streets which led past the massive Duomo, then arrived at a massive piazza. Ducking under camera flashes and gazing crowds of people, he continued across the Piazza del Duomo until he was on the opposite side. After rounding the east corner, he continued up Borgo San Lorenzo until he emerged onto another large piazza, this one lined with street vendors peddling knockoff designer bags. To his left was a large brown brick façade filling up much of the piazza. It rose high, nearly high enough to block out the impressive orange dome behind it.
The Basilica of San Lorenzo—parish church of the Medici family. The grounds into which they were interred.
The cathedral was a site to behold—a true example of Renaissance style…all except for the façade. Most tourists wrote the entrance of the building off completely, with its rough and unattractive front exterior, choosing instead to focus on the beautiful arched dome and chapels flanking the east and west ends. However, Jack was fascinated by it. Knowing the history behind the façade made him appreciate its simplicity. The façade of the basilica was never intended to remain a flat, brown wall—it had simply never been finished. It remained an incomplete work of art… for over 500 years. Various artists completed the majority of the basilica over the years—names which included Brunelleschi and Michelozzo. Michelangelo was also responsible for designing significant portions, including the Laurentian Library and façade; however, he died before the façade was finished, leaving behind only a draft sketch and a small-scale wood sculpture to pass along his plans for the glorious entryway. Over the past hundreds of years, there had been initiatives to finish the construction of the façade based on Michelangelo’s plans; however, debate between the city and various stakeholders (including the Medici Preservation Society) had stated their case as either supporting or refuting it. At present, the purists were winning the battle. After all, who could execute Michelangelo’s supreme vision appropriately? Did there exist an artist in this day and age who was qualified for such an ambitious undertaking?
Surely not.
Jack ran up the stairs and entered the church doors. Since it was Thursday, the visitor line was sparse so he was able to go directly up to the doorman and pay the entry fee. Jack had visited on a weekend once before years ago and waited in line for over an hour in order to get a glimpse of the historical church. He had resisted at first, but Kathleen insisted; she wanted to see Donatello’s bronze pulpits firsthand.
The clamor of the crowded streets faded, replaced by a divine silence. Something about these glorious old cathedrals made Jack stand back in utter awe. The atmosphere inside seemed to command the reverence of all who entered, save for a few tourists walking around in visors and tank tops, their flip-flops echoing throughout the grand hall.
Jack rounded one of the Corinthian columns lining the nave. As the altar came into view on the far side of the building, he realized why it was so quiet.
Evening mass.
Rows of people lining the pews stood up as the pipe organ belted out a heavenly chime. The cathedral quickly came to life with the sound of an angelic choir. Jack followed the columns across the nave and approached the back row. An elderly man standing in the rear seemed to notice Jack approaching. He looked to be an usher or deacon as he stared inquisitively at Jack, eyeing him up and down, observing his dress.
Jack felt slightly self-conscious. He looked himself over. He had on his khakis, chukkas and hoody—which he thought was considerably formal when compared to the tourists smacking around carelessly in flip-flops. Apparently the deacon relented becaus
e he waved Jack into an open space in the aisle two rows from the back.
Jack settled into the pew and began singing along. The choir sang a familiar Lutheran-like refrain that reminded him of being in church as a boy.
Hail, Redeemer King Divine,
Priest and Lamb, the throne is thine…
Jack glanced around him. It was a surreal experience to be in such a historic church during mass. He felt goose bumps rising on his skin. Under different circumstances he would be pleased to stay and take in a sermon. However, he had a mission to accomplish. He casually leaned his head into the center divider and gazed down the pews leading up to the crossing at the foot of the altar. From where he stood, he could barely make out the design upon the crossing marble floor, but it was clearly there, set in place, as it had been for over 500 years, encased within the marble floor. On most days it was surrounded by red velvet rope to protect it from being tread upon, but because of mass they had removed the restraints and opened it up for the church body to reflect on.
A permanent fixture of history set within this glorious cathedral.
Cosimo de’ Medici’s tombslab.
Thinking back, the connection had happened almost instantaneously. Once Jack saw the Medici crest in Siena, the realization seemed to be laid out before him like pieces of a puzzle. Furthermore, seeing the Medici crest on nearly every street corner in Florence was a constant reminder as to why he was on the right path… why he was searching in the right spot. Cosimo, it seemed, had left another clue before he died and Jack was standing just feet away from it. He had to get close enough to see it… to know if he was right.
Could it be? Jack thought. Was the answer in the crest all along?
