The Medici Letters: The Secret Origins of the Renaissance

by Taylor Buck

  The lower terrace. Lorenzo’s garden.

  It also gave indication as to what he was currently standing inside. If his memory served correctly he was standing inside the lower fountain—which happened to historically be one of Lorenzo’s favorite places to read poetry.

  Jack cursed the construction. Such exaggerated design. In typical cryptic fashion, there was no palpable means of exiting to the outside world from inside the fountain. It seemed a simple door handle was too rudimentary for such a “secret” passageway. He studied the inside of the dome and shook his head. He was done solving riddles and he hoped to god another cryptosystem wasn’t in order.

  He pressed upward on the dome, trying to muscle it open. The cement slab creaked but didn’t seem to budge. Realizing that an exit like this would’ve likely been designed to open rather easily considering its function, Jack was forced to rethink his approach. After all, if Cosimo would have needed to make use of this exit he would have been quite old when he used it.

  Jack grasped around the base of the inside rim. With a firm clockwise twist, the fountain centerpiece easily swiveled outward like a porthole cover. To Jack’s surprise (or lack thereof) the cap almost effortlessly released and was remarkably light to maneuver. It swung wide enough for him to climb out. He emerged into the fresh air. After a short breath, he hopped over the short wall of the central pond basin then entered the lower terrace walkway. Jack cautiously ascended the steps to the courtyard. He could see the smoke rising from the villa. As he rounded the corridor he caught a glimpse of a figure hunched over holding something shiny…a gun… it was pointed out in front of him. Jack recognized the profile. He couldn’t believe who it was.

  “Forbes!” he quietly called out.

  The man turned slowly. His movements were sluggish and delayed. “Jack?” replied Forbes weakly. “How did... you’re alive.”

  As Jack rounded the corner he saw where Forbes had his gun pointed—Massimo Forlino and Chester Allen. The two men stared back, astonished and surprised to see Jack—covered in ash, mud and blood…but still alive.

  Jack felt rage build inside as he stared back at the two men. “Go ahead,” he said to Forbes. “Pull the trigger. I won’t stand in your way.”

  “Mr. Cullen,” started Forlino, “I think you might want to get your story straight before you make any brash decisions.”

  “My story straight?” Jack spouted. “I couldn’t piece together a rational story if I tried. I don’t know what the hell is going on here. I couldn’t even begin to attempt any sensible explanation to tonight’s events.” He marched up to Forlino. “You,” he said staring Forlino levelly in his eyes. “It was all you, wasn’t it? You started this whole thing… making me think that you were after the person who tried to kill my wife when all along you were just using me to finish the job. What happened? Your original plan failed? Let me guess, once Kathleen and Foley came across the letters, you realized you had to get to the treasure before they did. After they determined the location of the key, you jumped the gun by eliminating the only ones who knew how to find it. Supreme underestimation. And once you realized the treasure wasn’t as easy as you had expected to find, or in other words…you realized you weren’t smart enough to do it yourself… you brought Forbes and me in to head it up.”

  Jack wiped the blood trickling down from his forehead. “Then you pitted us against each other to see who would find the location of the treasure first. Am I on the right track? Then as soon as we were getting too close, you interfered by sending those assassins after us to throw us off.” He moved close to Forlino. “What was that for? Fear? Intimidation? And Gabriela?” Jack shook his head. “How long did it take to brainwash her into following your psychotic plan?” He glared in disgust. “Your daughter, huh?” Jack shook his head. “Now here we are… We found the treasure and now it’s our turn to be eliminated. I assume you didn’t plan for it to turn out this way. Clearly not. That’s why you sent in the assassins to kill us.”

  Forlino didn’t acknowledge any of the accusations. He stared ahead vacantly.

  “And Valente…” Jack continued. “Il Drago… The Medici Preservation Society’s head financier turns out to be a criminal mastermind.”

  Chester scoffed. “Mastermind…”

  Jack shot him a burning glare then turned back to Forlino.

  “And just when I thought I was going to have my face disfigured by lizard man, you come in and shoot him in the head.” Jack paused and chuckled. “You shot him… in the head! I can’t seem to wrap my head around that part at all. Why save me if you were just going to turn around and leave me there to burn?”

  Forlino’s expression stayed as hard as stone.

  Jack turned and stepped in front of Chester. “And you… I don’t even know where to begin with you. The only thing I do know is I shouldn’t have second-guessed my instincts. You’re a two-faced coward. I can’t wait to see TerraTEK drag you through the ringer.”

  “TerraTEK…?” Forbes mumbled. “What does that scumbag have to do with TerraTEK?”

  Jack spun around. “What do you mean? This is Chester Allen. He’s the weapons specialist there. He works with Kat.”

  Forbes looked at Jack sideways as if he couldn’t believe what he had just said. He leaned against the house to support his weight then he breathed out slowly in a sigh, shallow and broken up. “Jack,” Cough… cough. “He’s not Chester Allen.”

  “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

  “And he’s certainly not with TerraTEK,” Forbes said and shook his head tiredly. “I thought you knew… Geez, Jack… He’s not who you think he is at all. This Ukrainian piece of trash could never dream to make it into TerraTEK, not with his rap sheet. His name’s Chekov... Oleg Chekhov. He goes by the hacker name drakon. Last I heard, he got locked up for leading some kind of neo-Cossack revolution of scumbag digital thieves. Ten years ago he tried to hijack my GPR diagnostics.” Forbes turned and scowled at him before he erupted into a sharp series of coughs. The blood on his sleeve afterward was a telling sign to the severity of his worsening condition. “I just figured,” Forbes went on, “that he was helping you with the scans—that you had hired him out of necessity.”

  “You’re diagnostics are antiquated, just like you old man,” taunted Chekov.

  Forbes gripped the gun tightly and gritted his teeth.

  “Drakon?” Jack said. “Wait, you’re not going to tell me that he is—”

  “No, no. It’s not like that,” said Forbes. “The Dragon Order isn’t anyone in particular. It’s a sect. A cult… like one of those damn secret societies… or brotherhoods.”

  cough, cough

  Forbes wiped his mouth again, his hand shaking noticeably.

  Jack couldn’t help but feel like a complete and utterly naïve idiot. Chekov Oleg? A Ukrainian hacker? If that were true, he had played Jack like rounder at senior’s poker night. From the very start—all the way back to the phone call at his house. He stared Chekov straight in the eyes, channeling his fury. A million questions ran through his mind, but he figured he’d skip the why and go straight to the what.

  “What is the Dragon Order?”

  “It is impossible to know,” Chekov said now loosening the reins on the accent he had held so discreetly at bay the last few days. “Like any myth, the only indication of existence is in the stories that people tell. But even then, those stories change over time.”

  Jack lurched forward and grasped Chekov roughly by the neck. He clenched tightly. Chekov tried to shake him free but Jack held on tight. “Don’t feed me a line of BS. I am finished getting the runaround. Tell me what you’re after!” Jack roared.

  Chekov began to turn blue.

  Forlino finally broke his silence. “There are many of us, Mr. Cullen,” he said, trying to draw Jack’s attention. “There have always been many. And with all due respect, Mr. Forbes, it’s not just a network. It’s much more complex than that. We are part of an order—a deep-rooted brotherhood that ha
s survived for hundreds of years.”

  “I know you’re certainly not referring to the Anthrópos,” Jack said. “So what then? Freemasons?”

  “In essence,” Forlino replied. “The Dragon Order has ties with masonic brothers but solely for financial purposes.”

  “So that explains where your money comes from,” Jack scoffed.

  “It is the quest that drives us,” said Forlino with a display of conviction—or at least a convincing performance of one.

  “The quest?” Jack said angrily. “The quest for what? To destroy human lives? You nearly killed my wife. Now tell me, what is so important that you place your quest above the lives of others?”

  “That’s obvious,” wheezed Forbes. “What has the dragon always sought after? Gold. It’s an insatiable creature driven by greed.”

  “Not exactly,” Forlino said turning to Forbes. He eyed him up and down like a wounded animal. “You are only partly right, Mr. Forbes. Gold is a precious commodity. Through the ages it is said that he who had the most gold ruled over the land. But time has proven that real power, il potere, comes in the form of something else—”

  “Tekhnologiya,” Chekov answered smugly.

  Forlino smiled disarmingly. “Technology controls the future. It has taken years to uncover what man is capable of and we are finally at the age where we are able to wield the power that was delivered to us.”

  “Delivered to us?” rasped Forbes.

  “He means Solomon’s journal,” Jack said turning to the veteran adventurer. Through all the commotion Jack had forgotten that Forbes had no knowledge that the book had been discovered. He turned to Forlino. “So what you’re saying is… you want to use the book to control the future?”

  “I’m saying, Mr. Cullen, that we now have the ability to help steer the course of humanity.”

  Jack laughed mockingly. “Actually, what you’re really talking about is technological determinism, and your objective is flawed. Technology itself doesn’t steer the course of humanity. Its affect is entirely dependent on societal necessity. You have no idea how something that powerful will be received by the public.”

  “No idea?” Chekov snapped. “You think Solomon had no idea how to influence society? This very book is a guide to propagating knowledge.”

  “Wait a damn minute!” barked Forbes. “Solomon had a journal?”

  “Yes,” said Jack. “We found it below. A guide, known only in legend. Supposedly the key to the ages was given to us when God appointed Solomon with infinite knowledge and gave him the… technological blueprint to rule the ages forever.”

  “That is correct, Mr. Cullen,” said Forlino. “A key to his mind. As brilliant as Solomon was, even he couldn’t process all of the knowledge that he had amassed. So he wrote it down, much of which he coded in an undecipherable language. It took years for men to slowly extract the meaning of his writings and put into use his instructions. As you said, Mr. Cullen, entire civilizations were built from Solomon’s instructions. The Egyptians, the Greeks, the Romans… until the last ruling family came across its power and used it to ignite the Renaissance.”

  Forbes stumbled forward, his eyes sparkling with newfound virility. He seemed lost in Forlino’s words. “You’re telling me that you found King Solomon’s journal down there?” He looked up to the stars as if a profound realization had set in. “My god… of course.”

  Forlino glanced at Chekov and then back to Forbes. His eyes rested on the handgun dangling weakly in Forbes right palm.

  Forbes turned to Jack. “Did you see it?”

  Jack nodded. “I held it in my hands… before it all went up in flames.”

  Forbes stared off in the distance. “You actually held it? The treasure I’ve been searching for my whole life,” Forbes said between coughs. “And I came that close. You know, irony…” cough, cough “… is a real mother…”

  Forbes heaved over and hacked up a mouthful of blood onto the gravel. “Sorry… Jack,” he rasped before his legs trembled uncontrollably and he collapsed to the ground. Jack responded first, diving in to cradle Forbes’ body to the ground and freeing the gun from his hand.

  “Get back!” Jack yelled pointing the gun at both men.

  Forlino responded by pulling something from behind his jacket. It was large… and dark. Solomon’s book. He had saved it from the flames after all. Forlino held it out in front of him like a protective shield. “Hold it, Jack! Think about what you’re doing,” he said placing the book between him and the line of fire. He held it carefully… as if it were a living hostage.

  “Yes,” added Chekov. “After all you were right, Cullen—the book exists. You don’t want to lose the only copy we have.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the book!” Jack shouted back.

  Forlino took a step back and swept the book through the air. He came to a stop, suspending the book 3 feet above a pool of water circling the central garden fountain.

  Forlino looked at Jack with a fierce intensity. “Do you know what water does to papyrus? Of course you do. Use your head, Cullen. Think about what this can achieve. You don’t want to destroy the only surviving copy of Solomon’s divine knowledge.”

  Jack stared at the weathered book dangling above the water. He was well aware of the effects of H2O on aged manuscripts. He had seen ancient manuscripts disintegrate in front of his eyes by something as simple as a sudden rise in humidity. First, the leather binding would be reduced to a brown sludge within seconds. Next, the pages would absorb water by as much as 200% of their original weight causing the book to swell and expand until the spine became concaved and the fore-edges turned convex. The book would eventually turn inside out like an origami flower. In just a matter of seconds the text would be destroyed beyond repair… along with it the secrets of civilization.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Jack said raising his gun to eye level with Forlino. “As I said, the book means nothing to me.”

  Forlino could tell by the look on Jack’s face that he wasn’t bluffing. As he realized he no longer had bargaining leverage, Forlino’s expression slowly turned from fiercely intense to a look of shock. Jack, however, remained unwavering.

  “You’re not going to do it,” said Jack. “It means too much to you. Besides if you—” Jack stopped suddenly. A pained sensation. His eyes… they burned. Red light flooded his vision. An abrupt, fierce pain shot through his skull and grew more and more excruciating. Even with his eyes closed the flashes of bright light were blinding—like staring straight at an emergency flare. The red light glowed deep within his eye sockets. He felt like his brain was cooking from the inside.

  “Aaaggghhhh!” Jack cried out in agony and grabbed his head. He tried to open his eyes but saw nothing but bright red blotches all around him. He fell to his knees and dropped the gun. He heard the men scamper to retrieve it from the ground. He couldn’t move. One of them knocked him over and Jack landed hard on his side in the gravel. Instantly, the pain ceased and the red light retreated. Everything around him was dark. His head began throbbing in short racking waves. He heard the men laughing as one of them kicked him sharply in the ribs. Lying there on the ground, Jack identified the only reasonable explanation to what had disabled him—the laser. Chekov must have pulled a laser on him… probably that light saber thing he was bragging about…

  “I can only imagine the pain you’re experiencing right now,” said Chekov. “It must hurt like hell!” he said and let out a joyful snicker.

  Jack was in agony. His head throbbed. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed. It didn’t seem to make any difference. He was completely blinded.

  “You almost had me there,” Forlino said as he walked slow circles around Jack. “You know, I enjoy you, Jack. I really do. I admire your tenacity. Your perseverance. You’re a Boy Scout. It’s ingrained in your very being to do right. Just like Papa. Am I right?”

  Jack gritted his teeth. Hearing Forlino talk about his father made him want to do nothing but jam the barrel o
f the gun down his throat and empty the clip.

  “Unlike Mr. Forbes here, your intentions are forthright. You seem to have an explorer’s intuition, just like your wife. I suppose I owe her a debt of gratitude—both of you. You did lead us to the source after all. It’s a shame.”

  “You don’t want to learn from it,” Jack replied. “You just want the power. For personal gain.”

  “Did Cosimo Medici not use the book for personal gain?” Forlino countered.

  “Cosimo only saw man’s potential in it!” Jack snapped angrily. “He used it as a catalyst for humanities, a way to better ourselves and discover our human potential. You lack the principle he had. You will only expose it for your own benefit.” Jack rubbed his eyes in pain.

  Forlino paused to gaze up at the moon. “I admire your courage. Unfortunately, my admiration isn’t enough to justify sparing your life,” he said coldly. “You’ve served your purpose well, Mr. Cullen, but now your part in this is over.”

  “They’re going to find out what happened,” Jack said shaking his head. “You’re delusional. There’s no way you’ll get away with this.”

  “No?” Forlino said irritably, surprised to hear such accusations. “Think of the events that transpired, Mr. Cullen. It’s entirely plausible. You see? This is what I do. I’m the architect.”

  Jack could hear Forlino pacing circles around him, the gravel crunching under his weight with every step. “Architect?” he asked.

  “Yes—or better yet, a composer. Let’s liken it to a grand symphony.” Forlino bent down in front of Jack. “COME ON JACK!” His breath was hot against Jack’s face. “CAN YOU NOT SEE?”