by Taylor Buck
Fascinating, Jack thought. The memoirs of a gifted king—the most successful ruler in history. It was no longer any wonder why the Medici were a successful banking family—it seemed Solomon had gifted them the Holy Grail of financial acumen. The knowledge to manage and invest wealth was painstakingly fleshed-out in some kind of ancient Banking For Dummies.
Jack recalled Kathleen’s email to him…
He left us a treasure map, apparently to a treasure he never himself could find. Everything seemed clear now regarding Lorenzo’s knowledge of the treasure. The book simply was too precious to divulge in its entirety to Lorenzo. Ficino likely protected Lorenzo by not informing him of its existence. It was too dangerous to wield, considering how many men sought to destroy the Medici. Knowing this and using his vast intellect to construct a solution, Ficino instead accessed this book in private—behind closed doors, to nurture and teach his young master how to be a supreme leader. Just as his grandfather wished.
The treasure was given to him his entire life and he didn’t even know it. Lorenzo had received the most valuable education anyone could ask for. It was no wonder he excelled in nearly every facet of humanities.
Jack was reeling. The book he held in his hands was the catalyst that spawned the Renaissance. These worn, weathered pages inspired and produced some of the greatest men on earth—men who begat a technological revival. He was so captivated in this realization that he found himself losing track of time. He could easily have ignored everything else inside the room… but with stacks and rows of manuscripts all around him, he was curious to see what else had survived the years. He moved out from the path of light to get a better look at the table. Next to Solomon’s book lay a series of scrolls. They had been flattened and also encased in a layer of wax for preservation. The scrolls were arranged in a specific order and tagged with a gold embroidered seal that adorned the corner of each parchment encasement. These seals served a purpose, as they appeared to reveal the authors in which each text belonged.
Matthaeus
Marcus
Lucas
Loannes
The disciples… followers of Jesus of Nazareth—authors of the Biblical New Testament. The documents also seemed to be well preserved. By looking at the papyrus inside the wax, Jack could tell the actual manuscripts were extremely old. The stock used was the most revealing, however, as it worked as a timestamp, dating the manuscripts to a specific age. If anything could reveal a scroll’s origin, it was studying the medium used for stationery. Jack knew this particular papyrus was used in the early Roman Era, at the turn of the century. The writings could have very well originated at the time when Jesus’ disciples were alive. Furthermore, they were written in Aramaic… the language spoken by Jesus himself.
Jack smiled as he entertained the notion that these might be autographs of a sort—original texts written by the disciples. To date, there were no authentic Biblical autographs in existence. It was a stretch of the imagination to think so but, considering the book he had just discovered, there was certainly no denying the possibility. However, even with modern tools it was nearly impossible to determine if these were true originals.
Jack wandered to the back of the room where a long, carved wooden hutch with doors of varying sizes ran the length of the wall. Each door had a small latch that was either heavily corroded or missing altogether. Some of the latches had fallen away completely, leaving the compartments exposed. They seemed to be placed in a hierarchy, larger doors in the center, descending outward to smaller ones.
The intrigue of what lay behind the doors fueled his curiosity. He had to remind himself that, although he was standing among a treasure trove of lost ancient artifacts—he was, in fact, trapped inside the room. At present, his primary focus should be a means of exiting… It was no time to peruse the library.
Jack began opening the many doors along the wall, looking for a possible alternate exit. One-by-one, as he opened the tiny doors, an exhaustive library of magnificent authors was unlocked; revealing secrets that had lain dormant for over 500 years. Some of the manuscripts were works never before known to the public, at least not in any recorded or documented sense. He found himself overwhelmed and awestruck with the lost, now recovered, history within the room. The laundry list of authors was fitting for a Who’s Who of western civilization.
A scroll by Pythagoras, the philosopher/mathematician, lay underneath a casing of waxen paneling. It seemed to explain the relationship of shapes. At the bottom was a detailed schematic of his famous Theorem. Cosimo undoubtedly utilized this portion to educate Brunelleschi on how to construct the Duomo.
Jack found lost works by Empedocles, Horace… even a fragment of a manuscript that was cited to be authored by Plato…
Incredible. Can these be genuine? It was like a dream… too surreal to believe.
Further down, a weathered book lay open revealing its contents. Beside it was a much newer copy of the same book that had been translated by Ficino to Latin. The title read:
Alhacen Kitab al-Manazir.
Alhazen’s Book of Optics, the earliest known guide to perspective and proportion. It’s what the Renaissance artists used to determine horizon line and vanishing point. Jack even recalled his favorite architect, Bramante, referring to this book by name. Lorenzo Ghiberti, the famous architect of the Gates of Paradise, quoted this book at lengths and labeled it “central to the development of painting.” Jack actually owned his own copy of the book which currently sat atop his bookshelf in his old office at Wellesley College. Among the many topics explored, it was most famous for exploring the visual system and how the eye translates light into a coherent image. Its ideals were simply too far ahead of their time, as it wasn’t until 400 years after it was written—when the Renaissance began—that it could actually be understood.
Jack opened the next door in line to find another celebrated work: Lucretius’ De rerum natura—On the Nature of Things. Jack could only shake his head and chuckle. He was holding the original text. It was like being in a candy store for western historians. De rerum natura was a 1st century BC poem that described a philosophical connection between nature, mind, body and soul. Poggio Bracciolini was rumored to have owned the original manuscript, but supposedly it didn’t survive after he died. Jack now knew why. This library offered a solution to why many of the famous “misplaced” or “forgotten” manuscripts ended up missing over the years.
Cosimo was right; this room truly was a Thēsauros— a treasure trove. It was more priceless than he had ever imagined. Jack was looking at manuscripts that hadn’t been seen in over 500 years—and some of them dating back as far as 1,400 years. The small doors continued all around him. Jack had to stop himself.
Wake up Jack. Think.
The flame in the lamp above flickered and danced. The oil inside wouldn’t last much longer. He had to come up with a solution quickly.
CHAPTER 51
FIRENZE
1490
MY DEAR POLIZIANO,
Due to the events of late it has come to my attention that our deepest fears have come to pass. I fear that Lorenzo has no intention of turning away from Savanarola’s commands. In fact it seems quite the contrary. On select occasions he has not only embraced, but validated the venomous lashings of the boisterous friar. In our master’s frail condition it seems he is clinging to absolution rather than reason. As a representative of priestly duties, I am well accustomed to the declaration of faith assured by the friar, yet I fear it is hidden under a veil of bitterness and judgment rather than through God’s true love and mercy.
Nevertheless, the time for action may have passed. Lorenzo’s word may be unshakable. Savanarola’s talons may be buried deep beneath the flesh, penetrating the vital organs. As much as it pains me to confess, the right action to take is to close the Academia and hide away all curricular provisions. I have heard rumors that Savanarola intends to destroy any item which he deems pagan, even at the extent of doing so as a public spectacle…
/> Please try to speak to Lorenzo and reason with him. As a close friend and confidant, he listens to you foremost.
Grace and blessings to you,
Marsilio Ficino
CHAPTER 52
LUCERNE, KLINIK ST. ANNA
SEPTEMBER 10
KATHLEEN FELT WEAK. She lay back against her bed again, exhausted by the account she had just given to the large man standing in her room. She explained what had happened in the mountains and the events leading up to the accident. Porto stood in the middle of the room frantically pressing buttons on his phone, his oversized fingers navigating their way across the small buttons. He held the phone up to his ear and began speaking Italian to the caller on the other line.
“Please,” Kathleen coaxed the nurse, “Let me call my husband. I need to speak to him right away.”
The nurse relented. “I assure you we are trying to contact your husband, Mrs. Cullen. We are doing everything we can to notify him. Just rest. You can’t afford to overexert yourself.”
Kathleen closed her eyes. She wanted to focus but she barely had the energy to stay awake.
The nurse tucked in the sheets around Kathleen’s body. “Mrs. Cullen, it’s very important. No distractions.” She gave her a motherly look. Something like, just listen to me. I’m doing this for you. Which seemed annoying, but she was just doing her job. Kathleen didn’t like taking orders. She let her head fall back onto the warm pillow and stared up at the ceiling as Porto rambled in the background. He seemed to be speaking rather frantically to someone on the phone.
“Si, si. Lei mi ha detto. Il lettera. Si, si.”
Kathleen’s Italian was better than average and she was able to listen in and understand most of it. She didn’t know who Porto was talking to, but he seemed to be recounting everything Kathleen had told him.
“Egli è con l'drago? Jack Cullen è lì?” Porto whispered quietly into the receiver. Not quiet enough...
Kathleen immediately sat straight up. She shot a wide-eyed glare at Porto that seemed to terrify him and make him recoil. “What did you just say?” she said piercingly.
“Eh… nothing, signora,” he replied. “I was just saying—”
“I heard what you said!” Kathleen shouted back. Her lips began to tremble. She felt a tidal wave of panic come crashing down on her. She felt as if her lungs weren’t operating… as if she couldn’t find any air to breathe. Kathleen clearly understood what Porto had said, she was sure of it.
Jack is at the villa with The Dragon.
Kat was paralyzed with fear. My god, Jack! He doesn’t know! She flung the blankets off and jumped out of bed just as the nurse walked in the door. Seeing Kathleen standing up beside the bed, challenging her direct orders… the nurse eyed Kathleen with a look of severe disapproval. “You’re supposed to be resting,” she said sternly and marched across the room. She grabbed Porto by the arm and escorted him out of the room. Then she reentered and began closing the curtains surrounding Kathleen’s bed.
“No! You don’t understand!” Kathleen pleaded. “I have to get ahold of my husband. He is in real danger. I have to—”
“I told you, ma’am, I just spoke to him. He is not in danger. He is on his way over now. Mrs. Cullen, you need to get some rest still. Your body—”
“No! You listen to me, dammit! My husband could die if I don’t call him. I need a phone right now!”
The nurse froze and stared back with wide eyes. She seemed shocked at Kathleen’s rough tone. It took a moment for her to register what had happened and she just stared at Kathleen like a deer in headlights. Then after a moment, she smiled and began walking out. “Okay. I understand Mrs. Cullen. One minute,” she said as she ducked into the hallway.
Kathleen was left alone in the room. The floor was cold on her bare feet. Her legs felt shaky and wobbly. She sat back on her bed and let her legs dangle over the side as she stared out the window. Her mind was racing, thinking about Jack. The more she thought, the more frightened she became. Horrible scenarios began to run through her mind, knowing full well what that monster was capable of. She was just about to get down to walk out into the hallway when Dr. Gessner came striding into the room wearing his ever-present grin. He was also carrying something in his hand.
“Mrs. Cullen,” he said. “I’m so pleased to see that you’re feeling better.”
“Doctor,” Kathleen said gratefully, “Did you bring my phone? I need to get a hold of my husband.”
“Yes, we will let you call your husband. I assure you,” he said as he stepped around the side of the bed. “But first I need to make sure you’re fully stabilized.” He took his hand out of his pocket showing a syringe with yellow liquid inside. “It’s important,” he said lifting the syringe into the IV insertion port, “that we keep you relaxed and calm while your body calibrates to its full level. Otherwise—”
“What is that?” Kathleen looked puzzlingly at the doctor.
“Nothing serious. Just something to relax you.”
“No… I’m already relaxed. I don’t need anything to relax me. I’ve been sleeping for 5 days for crying out loud.”
The doctor forced another smile as he injected the liquid into the IV tube. “This will just take the edge off. Your husband, Jack… I spoke with him. He will be here in a few hours.”
“Wait. A few hours?” she asked.
“You see?” the nurse said with a grin. “I told you. He’s on his way.”
Kathleen shook her head and turned away. She ran her fingers through her hair. It was greasy and in need of a shampoo. “You don’t understand,” she said. “I just need to talk to him for a—”
There…
She spotted her phone on the bedside table… underneath the food tray. Kathleen quickly lurched forward and ripped the IV out of her arm as she reached for the phone. The yellow liquid spilled onto the floor. She grasped the phone in her fingers as the doctor motioned for the nurse to take it back. Kathleen quickly pulled up her husband’s contact just as the nurse reached out for the phone.
“Mrs. Cullen!” the nurse exclaimed. “Give me the phone now!”
Kathleen fought to keep it but her weak limbs couldn’t fight off both the nurse and doctor. Just before they took the phone away she pressed two letters into a text message to her husband, then she abruptly clicked SEND.
It was all she could manage.
It would have to do.
She hoped to God it was enough.
CHAPTER 53
FLORENCE, COSIMO’S CHAMBER
SEPTEMBER 10
JACK’S EYES MET WITH the door. He walked over and placed his ear against the cold bronze, listening to see if he could hear any movement outside. Nothing.
The entrance hadn’t been easy to find. Jack had literally stumbled into the secret passageway under the steps. He wondered if the assassin had, too. Was he still out wandering the tunnels? Or was he clever enough to find the entrance? Jack pictured him waiting behind the door with his rapier raised high, ready to decapitate him as soon as he stuck his head out. The thought made him shudder. He reached for the door handle and felt only a blank, cold metal surface. He repositioned his grasp, still finding nothing. Where is the damn handle? He felt around, not able to place where it was located. He crouched down low and scanned the surface of the large door for a handle or keyhole.
Nothing.
A dreadful sensation overtook him as he kneeled closer to look. As he studied the door, he realized there wasn’t a knob or handle of any kind, let alone a keyhole or latch or lever. There was no way to get out. I am completely sealed off in here. Trapped.
His situation had just gone from bad to worse. Jack tried pressing on the door but the massive slab of bronze didn’t even budge. He stood back and stared wide-eyed as realization set in. He was entombed inside a vault and nobody knew where he was.
Nobody… except Morgan.
Forbes would come down and find the door… that is… if he was even alive. He would also have to find the opening
under the steps, too. Otherwise, he’d be searching in circles. But even so, Forbes was severely wounded. Jack pictured the knife wound… the blood... He wondered if Morgan had made it out.
Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone and realized he had no way of contacting Forbes even if he wanted to. He didn’t have his number. Who else? Mari? She could possibly help. He tried calling. No answer.
Jack drew a blank. Nobody even knew he was in Florence. He thought about calling the authorities. That might draw attention to Kathleen. He still couldn’t involve them. He needed to call somebody, though. Jack stared at the screen for a moment before he made up his mind. He dialed the one name that kept coming back to him—the one man who had genuinely tried to help him and his family the most.
The phone rang twice.
“Mr. Cullen,” the friendly baritone voice answered on the other line. “I was just—”
“Valente,” Jack said. “Are you alone?”
“I am.” He cleared his throat.
“Good. I need your help.”
“Yes, of course,” answered Valente. “Where are you?”
“I’m… I’m at Fiesole. Long story short… I found the treasure but I’ve been attacked.”
