The Medici Letters: The Secret Origins of the Renaissance

by Taylor Buck

  Forlino wrapped his hands around Jack’s head and stared him in the eyes, mocking him. “Even a blind man could see the events at play here. Tomorrow—news will surface that two of TerraTEK’s scientists have gone missing without a trace, presumed dead. Suddenly, a multi-national corporation who places their entire identity in cutting-edge surveillance has to explain why they lost track of two of their own. The investigation will be under wraps… you can bet that TerraTEK’s lawyers will see to that. Inherently confused as to how they remained unaware of the well-being of two of their top scientists, they will then turn to the data logs from the dig. The only data they will have to reference is email correspondence from Kathleen’s laptop providing daily updates on the Florence findings—the final email update of which came…” Forlino turned to Chekov who looked at his watch.

  “Four hours ago,” Chekov replied.

  “Four hours ago,” repeated Forlino, “from her laptop in your hotel room, Mr. Cullen.”

  My god. They’ve been using Kat’s computer this whole time. Jack realized the consequences. Disastrous. He had been framed expertly. Jack figured they would be able to stage events in whatever manner they wanted to.

  “This of course begs the next question… How did she provide updates if she was dead?” Forlino paused and let the question sink in. He slapped Jack on the back. “Allow me to postulate a solution. Once TerraTEK digs deeper they will find out that Kathleen notified her husband in an email of a possible treasure before she and Dr. Foley illegally pursued the location of this treasure. It was during this search that they got lost in the Alps and froze to death. Kathleen’s husband… you… an unemployed and purportedly disgruntled professor, get concerned for your wife’s safety after getting the mysterious email and not hearing from her for days. Realizing that she was operating outside of TerraTEK protocol, you decided that it was best not to inform TerraTEK until you determined what happened to her. So you fly to Switzerland to track her down. While there you come across Kathleen’s laptop. You discover that she stole valuable manuscripts from the Medici vault and pursued an unsanctioned treasure on her own accord. This is when you make the decision, under extreme duress, to track down your wife—whom you still believe to be alive… to clear her name. You send daily updates from her computer to TerraTEK, providing detailed briefings on the day-to-day findings. These updates are, of course, placebo communications while you investigate. Simultaneously, a well-known treasure hunter name Morgan Forbes happens upon intelligence that the newly uncovered Medici treasure has been confirmed and sets out to find it. One thing leads to another and you both emerge at the site of the Medici treasure vault. Jack Cullen and Morgan Forbes, having a well-known public resentment for each other, engage in a battle of possession resulting in one getting stabbed to death while the other is trapped inside a burning vault. It’s a beautiful arrangement if I say so myself. Especially now that we’ve tied up all the loose ends… including your lovely wife.”

  Jack screamed and struggled to stand up only to receive a heavy blow from Chekov’s boot knocking him back to the ground.

  “What have you done with her?” Jack said gathering himself. “Where is she?”

  “You saw her for yourself,” Forlino said. “You know precisely where she is.”

  “Stop…” Jack begged. “Just stop. Tell me she’s okay. I know those were your people. Just tell me you haven’t hurt her.”

  “Oh, Mr. Cullen,” Forlino taunted. “You still think you have a way out of this. Don’t you?” Forlino chuckled heavily, bellowing a guttural laugh that echoed off the villa walls. “You need to come to grips with your situation, Mr. Cullen. I used you and I used your wife. As persistent as you may be, this is not going to end well for you.”

  Jack felt exasperated. How could this be happening? What kind of human being was able to devalue a human life so casually and unabashedly? Only a deranged psychopath was capable of such disregard. It was obvious now that Forlino had been brainwashed into believing that what they had found was more important than a few lives. Necessary for the greater good, he would probably say. There was no reasoning with a man hell-bent on maintaining a self-justified directive regardless if it was right or wrong.

  “What happened to her? Kathleen?”

  “She tried to run,” Forlino returned. “After Foley got a bullet to the head, your wife fled. Porto found her unconscious and hypothermic about a mile from the site. She never woke… and we didn’t have the patience to wait. So we contacted next of kin.”

  That got a laugh out of Chekov.

  Jack shook his head. “Then what are you doing with her?” Jack asked. “You already got me here.”

  “Simple. I needed contingency options. I’ve survived by always having a contingency. I kept her alive in the event that both you and Morgan failed to locate the treasure. She was my backup. My tertiary option—a failsafe. Until now,” he said coolly. “Thanks to your resourcefulness, she is simply no longer needed. Neither of you are.”

  Jack felt rage well inside—a visceral burning hatred. He got to his feet and barreled toward Forlino like a charging rhino. He swung his arms wildly hoping to catch one of the men off guard and grab an arm, a hand or piece of clothing… anything. But he found nothing, only air. After a moment of helpless flailing, Jack came to a stop. It was the metal click of the Glock’s slide moving back and forth that grabbed his attention as one of the men slipped a round in the chamber. Jack could sense the barrel pointed at his right temple. Even though he couldn’t see, he had a clear premonition as to what was about to happen.

  “Do svidaniya,” a voice said beside him, foreign and cold. Jack took a breath and exhaled slowly. Not like this, he thought. Not here...

  Forlino gave the nod to Chekov, who narrowed his eyes and grasped the trigger tightly. A gust of wind came blowing through the trees. Jack felt the cool air travel across his face and through his hair. He looked up into the sky and saw the outline of the moon in the distance—a blurry halo, like a welcoming beacon of light in the great lighthouse above. He didn’t have time to reflect on his family, the sound came too quickly, scattering his last reflections and denying him a final prayer.

  BOOM!

  A slicing sting echoed in his ears—a massive report, like a sonic boom, shattered the silence and then departed into the night. He felt nothing. No pain. Instead, a rushing wind encircled his frame, and then it started to blow fiercely across his body and limbs, gaining force and momentum. Jack wondered if he would be sucked away like a vacuum in some kind of portal to eternity. He pictured a beam of light reaching to the heavens, extracting him from earth. Then he felt it… a warm glow overtaking his body. Is it happening? There was bright light all around him. It was so intense—the brightness and force of wind overtook his senses entirely. A loud, thundering roar filled the air and grew louder as the bright light became even closer and warmer. He felt himself spinning, whirling around freely. He stretched out his arms and remained fixed on the light above. It was welcoming him, drawing him closer. And then he heard… voices.

  CHAPTER 58

  FLORENCE, MEDICI VILLA AT FIESOLE

  SEPTEMBER 10

  “DON’T MOVE!” Roared a rough and commanding voice in the sky. “Drop what you have in your hands or we will engage fire.”

  “One hostile disabled. Second target acquired,” crackled a static voice over a tinny intercom somewhere in the distance. Judging by the audio quality, it sounded like it was coming from a small radio. The wind howled and the sky roared in a deafening din. The air around Jack was spinning with a tornado of debris, stinging his arms and face as he craned his head upward to see what was happening.

  “I repeat, drop the object or we will fire. Do it now!” the voice above commanded.

  “Cazzo!” Forlino cursed sharply.

  The man in the helicopter spoke in American English, which ruled out the likelihood of it being the Carabinieri. But if not Italian police, than who? He tried to hone in on the sounds around him to make se
nse of it. With his eyes useless, his backup senses were all he could rely on. He tried desperately to focus, to see something—widening his eyes as far as they could go. It was painful. He saw only globs of light and color, like looking through a broken kaleidoscope. Suddenly the light was blocked. Jack heard Forlino shuffle in front of him.

  “Target is holding something in his right hand,” Jack heard the tinny voice report. “He’s now holding it above… a pool of water.”

  The book. Forlino is going to destroy it.

  “Drop it!” yelled the voice from above.

  “You don’t want me to do that!” Forlino yelled back.

  “Drop the object or we will engage. You have 5 seconds to comply.”

  “This book is extremely valuable!” shouted Forlino. “You don’t know what you’re—”

  “Five…”

  Jack tried to determine where Forlino was standing. He knew he was positioned somewhere between him and the bright spotlight.

  “Four…”

  The light flickered briefly in front of Jack’s eyes. Forlino was on the move.

  “Target is now standing on the ledge,” reported the radio.

  “Let me go or I will destroy it!” yelled Forlino. “You have no idea how powerful this is. It’s the most significant document ever discovered. Our future is written in these pages… I’m warning you if you don’t—”

  “Three…”

  He’s going to do it, thought Jack. If he can’t have it for himself—he’ll destroy it. Forlino won’t hand it over willingly. He’d rather die.

  “Two…”

  Jack took position behind Forlino’s shadow. He visualized what he was about to do then readied himself to spring.

  The light flickered and moved again. Forlino was changing position again.

  “He’s gonna run,” the voice reported. “Engage.”

  Jack leapt forward.

  BOOM!

  A loud noise split through the air. Jack was lifted backward with incredible force. He felt blast waves deep within his chest and realized it was Forlino’s body that collided with him, blown backward by an intense discharge. The force of the blast was unusual, powerful—like a compression wave. They shot across the gravel and tumbled into the hedge in a pile of arms and legs. Jack felt the weight of Forlino’s limp body on top of him. He struggled to get out from underneath. As he rose to his feet he heard footsteps running toward him—boots, heavy soles.

  “Wait! Don’t shoot! Who’s there?” Jack yelled, shaken up. Not being able to see a damn thing terrified him. He felt utterly vulnerable. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins as he prepared for what was next. The footsteps grew nearer. There were many of them, 4 maybe 5. He heard the rattle of metal and straps—they were carrying guns.

  “Who’s there? I… I can’t see anything. Listen, my name is…”

  “Jack Cullen?” a man’s voice answered—the same authoritative voice from before. Jack could hear the men move in and surround him.

  “Y…yes,” Jack stammered, surprised to hear his own name.

  “My name is Kent Billingsley. Are you hurt, Mr. Cullen?”

  Kent Billingsley? Jack thought. The head of TerraTEK? Why would he be—?

  “Cullen? Can you hear me? Are you injured?”

  “No,” Jack replied still shaken up. “I’m fine. I just need to get to my wife.”

  “Kathleen,” Billingsley answered. “Yes. Dr. Cullen is safe now. She’s being held with our team in Geneva. She’s doing just fine. Now Jack, you mentioned you’re not able to see anything…”

  “Oh… yeah. My eyes. I’ve got… retinal damage. A laser, I think.”

  “How long were you exposed,” another voice asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jack said. “Maybe 4 or 5 seconds.”

  “Lay him down here,” someone said.

  “We’ve got a pulse!” somebody shouted on the other side of the courtyard.

  “Jack,” Billingsley said calmly. “This is Chester Allen. He’s quite familiar with the laser you were attacked with. He’s going to take a look at your eyes.”

  Chester Allen, Jack thought. You’ve got to be kidding.

  “You’re a tough man to track down, Mr. Cullen,” Chester said. “Even for us. Here, let me take a quick peek at your eyes.”

  His voice sounded eerily familiar—much like Chekhov’s rendition. The Ukrainian had obviously done his homework. Chekhov… What had happened to Chekhov? That first blast…

  “Hmmm…” Chester said. “I certainly don’t see any major damage. The cornea does look inflamed, which explains the photokeratitis, but you should be okay—probably just temporary blindness.”

  “How did you find me?” Jack asked. “How did you know I was here?”

  “We have a lot to talk about,” Chester said. “Why don’t we get you in the heli and we’ll brief you on the way. You’re wife’s waiting for you.”

  Kat.

  Jack was carried across the courtyard and helped onto a stretcher at the helicopter. Before they carried him in Jack asked for Chester.

  “Yes, Jack?”

  “The book… that Forlino was holding… is it—?”

  “Fish food now I’m afraid,” Chester said. “I hope it wasn’t too important.”

  The sound of the chopper blades was rhythmic, hypnotic. Jack realized how tired he was. The cool night air sent a shiver across his body. He took a deep breath and lay back on the stretcher.

  “Probably not,” he sighed. “It really doesn’t matter now anyway.”

  CHAPTER 59

  VILLA DI’CAREGGI

  1492

  THE FLAMES FLICKERED IN the fireplace across the room. Morning light crept through the bedside window and arranged a spectacle of shimmering bursts as fractal light shone off the silver crucifix inlaid upon the ornate stiletto which Lorenzo held tightly in his thin fingers. He studied the inscription along the handle and remembered his grandfather’s words. Always ready. Semper paratus. He pondered the saying. Could one ever truly be ready for death?

  Like his father before him, the family disease slowly consumed his vitality, denying him the chance to grow old and gray. Lorenzo had made peace with the fact that he was dying and managed his decline responsibly by making arrangements to ensure his family affairs were in order. The final years had been taxing. Dealing with state affairs as well as a constant and looming threat of an attack had taken a toll on him physically. Now at only 42 years of age, Lorenzo was facing the foreboding inevitability that death was quickly approaching.

  “A lurking beast that no man can evade.” The words of Padre still echoed in his mind.

  Lorenzo had traveled to his Villa di’Careggi to carry out his last days in the serene gardens and majestic courtyards of his grandfather’s favorite dwelling. The journey had become symbolic. True, this was the place where Cosimo had died, but most importantly it was the place where he had lived. The halls carried the echoes of his laughter and wise instruction. Lorenzo remembered being 10 years of age, running down the loggia chasing little Giuliano. The cool autumn breeze blew across the pillars and rustled the ivy. He was climbing the large Acacia trees decorating the courtyard, ascending higher and higher until the leaves thinned out and there were no more branches to grasp.

  Nothing but the clouds above. The future—as open as the blue sky.

  Back in the city, residents waited on the wings of anticipation as news traveled from house to house that their leader was nearing his final hours. A cloak of despondency held the city residents in a state of denial or bewilderment that their magnificent leader would actually cease to exist. After all, how would Florence continue without him? It didn’t seem possible. Would this age of cultural revolution continue onward? Or merely exist as a fleeting novelty?

  As death neared, Lorenzo’s closest friends gathered around his bed to spend the final moments with their beloved companion. Marsilio Ficino read him poetry, Pico Della Mirandola recited Lorenzo’s favorite scripture, while Poliziano sat by
his bedside gently holding his hand and comforting him. The scene was a familiar one. Lorenzo recalled being a young boy tending to his padre’s dying wishes. It seemed not that long ago. Certainly not long enough…

  Poliziano, wanting desperately to provide any comfort to his dying friend, offered some bread to Lorenzo. Visibly gaunt and thin, having no appetite, Lorenzo politely accepted the few crumbs.

  “Does the food offer any pleasure?” asked Poliziano.

  “As much pleasure as a dead man can have,” Lorenzo joked. The men laughed together, tears streaming down their faces. It was just like Lorenzo to offer a dab of humor at such a somber occasion. They embraced him one by one and Lorenzo thanked his dear friends for tending to him in such a humbling state.

  Lorenzo turned feebly to his elderly teacher, “What will they say about me?”

  Marsilio smiled warmly. “They will say that you were the one who delivered Florence from the ashes. Your name will be spoken throughout the ages as the magnificent one.”

  “Il Magnifico,” Lorenzo quietly whispered.

  “You should be proud of your accomplishments. No Florentine leader before you inspired such reformation.”

  Lorenzo winced and turned to his side. “If that were only true…” He gazed vacantly out the window. “I have failed, Marsilio.”

  “Nonsense. You aren’t thinking clearly, Lorenzo—”

  “No… Il Padre. He entrusted me with the secrets of our family… secrets I neglected to pursue. Instead I attended only to my business affairs—a fool’s folly. I will never know what it is he spoke of.”

  “The Thēsauros?” Marsilio asked plainly.

  Lorenzo shrank slightly, as if hearing the word brought shame. He nodded weakly.

  Ficino smiled and bent down close to his friend’s ear. There was no longer any reason to hide the truth. Lorenzo deserved to know. He whispered quietly into his master’s ear and gripped his hand tightly. Lorenzo looked up from the bed and met eyes with Ficino. He stared deep into his teacher’s eyes, holding a fierce and determined gaze that displayed much more virility than his body physically held. His penetrating stare seemed to reach deep into Ficino’s soul, as if he were reading his very thoughts. After a moment, his face softened and his eyes relaxed. He breathed in and exhaled slowly, closing his eyes serenely as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. After a moment he nodded weakly and laid his head back down.