Church of San Lorenzo, Venice, Italy
Present day, nine days after the kidnapping
“I can’t take you any farther,” said Administrator Mitro, pointing to a closed doorway. “I really shouldn’t be letting you in at all, but when His Holiness calls and asks for a personal favor?” Mitro threw up his hands. “What can one do?”
“Indeed,” smiled Acton, feeling dramatically better than yesterday after nearly twenty-four hours of sleep and pampering. “We’ve been asked a favor by His Holiness on more than one occasion.”
“It’s impossible to say no,” added Laura, giving Reading a glance to make sure he kept his mouth shut. Reading, standing behind the Administrator of the ancient Church of San Lorenzo, made a zipping motion over his mouth.
Acton extended his hand. “Thank you, Administrator. We will take it from here and disturb you no longer.”
“You promise not to disturb anything you might find? When the church was rebuilt in the seventeenth century, much was lost,” said the man, shaking his head. “To think they simply built over the old church without a thought to what was under it! Unbelievable idiocy.” The man took a deep breath, then looked at his guests apologetically. “I’m sorry for the outburst, but you as archeologists must understand how I feel. The history lost! Idiocy!”
Acton smiled, almost laughing. “Believe me, we understand. So much has been lost to us through ignorance. Perhaps our little outing will bring back some of that past.”
Mitro frowned. “Beyond this door no one has gone in my lifetime, perhaps many more. It is dangerous, falling apart. You take your lives in your own hands.” He quickly made the sign of the cross. “May God protect you on your journey.” With that he turned, marching quickly down the hall as if he wanted to be out of earshot lest any calamity unfold.
“Sounds encouraging,” observed Reading. He reached for the door handle, the key used to unlock it still in the keyhole. “Shall we?”
“Do the honors,” said Acton, flicking on his flashlight. Laura and Reading did the same, Reading pulling open the door. A dank, thick layer of air poured out, raising the humidity in the corridor noticeably. Acton stepped aside, almost as if a physical being had rolled past.
“Oh, what a wonderful smell we’ve discovered,” muttered Reading as he stepped over the threshold.
“Okay, Han,” grinned Acton, looking at Laura.
“Han?” she asked.
Acton was genuinely crestfallen. “Okay, when we get home, we’re watching the original three Star Wars movies again.”
Laura rolled her eyes. “You and your Star Wars! I might enjoy it a bit more if you didn’t insist all three had to be watched in one sitting!”
Acton pursed his lips then stuck out his hand, flicking his fingers. “Okay, give me the ring back. I can’t marry any woman who doesn’t worship upon the altar of George Lucas.”
“Are you two done?” asked Reading, already a good twenty feet ahead.
Acton gave Laura a kiss and a gentle smack on the bum and they stepped through the door. The dust and cobwebs were thick, the only footprints those of Reading.
“There’s some stairs here. They look safe.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” said Acton. “You first.”
“Sod off!”
Acton laughed, knowing full well Reading would insist on going first due to Acton’s injury and Laura being of the “gentler” sex. Reading placed a tentative foot on the first step and gave it a push down.
“Seems okay.”
“May I suggest a safety rope, hero?”
Reading’s foot jumped off the step and back to the floor, turning to Acton a bit sheepishly. “Can’t hurt, I guess.”
Acton pulled a long rope from Reading’s pack and tied it to a nearby stone column then around Reading’s waist. “Give it a try.”
Reading pulled on it as hard as he could then nodded, satisfied. “If I can pull down a bloody column then I need to lose a few.” He returned to the top of the steps. “Let’s try this again.” He stepped down with one foot, jumping a bit, then committed himself to the soundness of the stairs with another step.
Suddenly the stairs started to shift. Reading spun around, his eyes bulging in shock as he grabbed onto the rope with both hands, his flashlight clattering to the floor below. He made eye contact with Acton who instinctively reached for the rope as the entire staircase collapsed, Reading falling out of sight with a yelp.
“Are you okay, Hugh?” cried Laura, peering over the edge and into the void below.
“What do you bloody well think?” came his voice, sounding none the worse for wear. “I can see the flashlight on the floor. I’m maybe five feet from the bottom. Give us a second.” Several grunts were followed by a yelp at what Acton guessed was a healthy dose of rope burn. “Bloody hell!”
“You okay?” asked Acton, noticing the rope go slack.
“Yeah, care to join me?”
“Absolutely!” replied Acton with a smile at Laura. As if there was any doubt. He pulled the rope up then tied it around his waist. “I’ll go next,” he said.
“There’s no arguing with you,” she said. “Just be careful, don’t forget you got shot only a week ago.”
“You know me, no pain no gain.”
“I’ve never heard you say that.”
Acton frowned as he stepped off the edge, dangling on the rope. “True,” he grunted as he one armed himself down the rope, using his feet to control his descent. He reached the bottom without much trouble, Reading supporting him the final few feet. “Okay, it’s safe for you to come down now!” he called as he untied the rope.
Acton shone his flashlight up as did Reading. Laura leaned backward into the void created by the collapsed stairs, then kicked off with her feet, quickly going hand over hand until she reached the bottom.
“Like a pro!” gushed Acton as he gave her a quick hug.
“Rappelling training last time we were in Peru. You should have tried it.”
“Next time, I promise.”
“Okay, kids, where to?” asked Reading, guiding his flashlight beam around the entire area. Acton and Laura joined in the stationary search, their lights playing out in various directions. The entire area seemed to be a junkyard of construction supplies from centuries ago. Broken rock, discarded wood, tools and equipment all cast about for as far as the beams could reach.
“Oh how I would love to catalog this place,” whispered Acton as he examined some of the closer equipment. “Imagine what we could learn about construction techniques of the mid-seventeenth century!”
“I know!” agreed Laura. “This is such a treasure-trove of knowledge, it’s such a shame it’s been left here like this. What a waste!”
Acton pointed ahead to where the stairs had been leading. “I’m guessing that’s the outer wall. It appears solid with no obvious blocked entrances. Hugh, you and Laura go left along the wall, I’ll go right, just to confirm.”
“Okay,” said Reading, leading the way, Laura following him as they twisted their way around various obstacles. Acton struck out to the right, his flashlight playing along the floor then the wall, alternating until he reached the corner, no evidence of any hidden chambers on the other side.
“I’m at the corner, how about you?” he called, his voice echoing through the large forgotten sub-basement, there being two levels over head that were still used.
“I can see it now!” called Laura. “Still no signs of any openings or walled up ones.”
“Okay, let’s begin a sweep forward and see if there’s anything along the next walls.”
“Okay!”
They continued their survey for almost forty five minutes, finding several rooms leading off the first room, all filled with more junk, but none with any hints that they did or once did contain any sarcophagi. History recorded that Marco Polo was buried in this very church in 1324, but when it was rebuilt in the sixteen hundreds due to fire, they literally knocked down what was left and rebuilt over to
p of it, “losing” Venice’s most famous resident’s body in the process.
Acton was getting discouraged until his flashlight played out over the far wall of one of these unpromising side rooms. He froze, flicking his wrist back. There was a clear difference in the stone in one area, there obviously having been an entrance to another room at some time.
“I’ve got something!” he yelled, rushing over to the wall. He ran his fingers along it and could tell the stone was newer than the old walls, the stones not as tight together, there more mortar used with these joints than the other, the older stone relying more on the tightness of the fit than these newer stones clearly more hastily erected.
“What is it?” asked Laura as she stepped into the room, Reading close behind.
“Something’s been bricked in here,” said Acton, stepping back so the others could look.
“Definitely,” said Laura as she ran her hands over the stone. She picked at some of the mortar, it crumbling in her fingers. She pressed against the bricked up area, the sound of stones shifting slightly echoing through the room. “This is pretty loose. We could probably knock it out.”
“Just a bloody minute,” said Reading, stepping forward. “Am I the only one who’s sane here? This could be a load bearing wall for all we know! You could bring the entire church down on top of us.”
Acton shook his head, pointing up at a massive wood beam. “Not to worry. That beam is covering this entire span. We should be able to safely take out these stones without compromising anything.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“It’s been a pleasure knowing you.”
“Bah! Almost every time I see the likes of you I’m shot at, punched, kicked, kidnapped or some other blasted thing. ‘Pleasure knowing you’ me arse!”
Acton grinned, picking up a large mallet discarded nearby. He held it up for Reading. “Care to do the honors or shall I have my fiancée do it for you?”
“Give me the bloody thing,” muttered Reading as he snatched the weighty tool from Acton. He positioned himself for the first blow then turned. “What are you, daft? Get the hell out of the bloody room! If I survive this, then you can come in, but not before.”
“Yes, Dad,” whined Acton as he and Laura headed for the entrance.
“Sod off! ‘Dad’. I’m not old enough to be your fu—” The first blow hit the wall, cutting off his tirade with a grunt. Another swing and from what Acton’s flashlight revealed the center of the stones seemed to be sagging inward. Another blow and Reading leapt back as the newer section collapsed in, almost in a single piece. He looked up, pulling his own flashlight out and examined the ceiling. Apparently satisfied, a few more blows were delivered to clear some bottom stones, then he tossed the mallet aside, leaning against the wall next to his handiwork, gasping.
Acton and Laura quickly reentered the room, Acton smacking Reading on the arm with a grin, then stepping through his handiwork. His heart leapt into his throat as his flashlight revealed exactly what they had been looking for. A large sarcophagus, carved in stone, stood in the center of the room. Frescos lined the surrounding walls, paintings of several different men evident, but one that was unmistakable from historical paintings.
Marco Polo.
Depictions of his travels had been painstakingly recreated on the walls of his final resting place, his sarcophagus a gorgeous example of early-Renaissance craftsmanship.
“Is this it?” asked Reading as he joined them, still a little short of breath.
“Yes,” said Laura, already brushing away the dust on the sarcophagus. “This is definitely him.”
Acton slowly walked over to the final resting place of one of the world’s great explorers. His heart was slamming in his chest in excitement, the throbbing in his shoulder forgotten. He looked at Laura with a smile, reaching out and grabbing her hand as they both circled the large rectangular stonework.
“If that’s him, where’s the bloody slave?”
Acton stopped, his eyes narrowing, a frown emerging. Leave it to Hugh to state the obvious. And ruin the moment. They weren’t looking for Marco Polo’s body, they were looking for his slave’s. Acton looked around and it was clear that there was only one body here, the entire room meant to honor one man, Marco Polo.
“Could we have been wrong?” asked Laura. “I don’t see anywhere else that a body could be kept.”
“Maybe there’s another room? Another chamber?” suggested Acton.
“We didn’t see anything else, and this is clearly Marco Polo’s crypt, but it doesn’t appear to be a family crypt. His parents aren’t here, his wife, children. Just him.”
Acton shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. In those days they might honor him more prominently, but they would definitely make provisions to have his family buried with him eventually.”
“Um, Professors,” said Reading, interrupting the flow of scholarly thought.
“What?” asked Acton, turning toward Reading.
“You’re standing on him.”
“Huh?” Acton looked to where Reading’s flashlight was shining and jumped back. Laura pounced faster than he could, his shoulder and weakened state still slowing him down. By the time he had joined her on his knees, she had already swept away the dust from the engraving in the floor.
And as Acton translated the inscription, his heart nearly stopped.
“Giuseppe Polo. A freeman and a beloved brother.”
“We found it!” whispered Laura. They both shuffled back, brushes out, sweeping away the dust. Acton found an edge, then followed it, sweeping out the crack in the floor, and within minutes they were all standing back, staring at the rectangle covering to what from all outward appearances was the tomb of Giuseppe Polo.
Reading left the room, returning a few minutes later with a couple of pieces of metal that Acton realized could be used as crude pry bars. Reading jammed an edge into the crevice then looked at Acton.
“So, am I giving it the old heave ho?”
Acton nodded and Reading pushed down on the bar, grunting as he did so. The scrape of stone on stone erupted and Acton dropped to the floor, wedging the second bar in. Laura pushed down on it as hard as she could, then Reading quickly jerked his, repositioning it deeper, allowing Laura to get hers inside. Acton grabbed Laura’s bar, sitting back on it with his right buttock, using his weight rather than muscle power to push the lid of the recessed sarcophagus above the lip. Reading pulled his lever out, switching to the left side, near the end already pried loose, and opposite Marco Polo’s sarcophagus, then shoved the bar under it, pushing down. Laura went opposite him and shoved with her hands on the stone. It shifted slightly as Reading repositioned farther down without letting the bar out. Pushing again, Laura shoved, bracing herself with her feet against Marco’s final resting place, and the slab shifted several inches.
“That should be enough,” she said as Acton rose, the stone settling on his pry bar but with one edge over the lip, the rest would just be muscle power. Reading removed his bar then joined the three of them at the opposite corner of the one that now sat above the lip. All three pushed, the stone shifting aside in jerks. Several more minutes of prying and pulling and shoving had the stone cover free, twisted perpendicular to the recessed outline.
They all sat on the floor, exhausted, Laura tossing out bottles of water that were quickly drained, then returned, nobody wanting to add to the mess that had been created beyond these walls.
“Shall we?” asked Acton. He was greeted with tired nods. He crawled over to the edge and smiled, almost tempted to reach out and touch the man who had affected their lives so much over the past week. “Giuseppe Polo, freeman and beloved brother,” he whispered as he examined the remains of the one man who knew the secret of the thirteenth crystal skull.
“Look!” exclaimed Laura, reaching under the lid of the sarcophagus and retrieving a basketball sized object, wrapped in various leathers and cloths, most falling apart. “This has to be it!”
; Acton could feel his heart pounding in his ears as he exchanged excited glances with his friends. “Open it!” he hissed.
Laura placed it on the floor and carefully removed the wrappings, and within moments it was clear what it was. As she removed the final layer she lifted the object up, all three of them shining their flashlights on it, it causing Acton to shudder as the hairs on his neck stood on end, goose bumps covering his body.
There was no doubt this was a crystal skull just like the one he had found in Peru.
And a sudden sense of foreboding swept over him.
“Let’s get out of here, now,” he whispered, an unreasonable fear already taking over.
“Agreed,” said Reading as he jumped to his feet and single-handedly pushed the cover back over Giuseppe Polo’s remains. “The sooner that thing is back in London, the sooner I’ll sleep at night.”
Reading led the way back to the rope. Acton put the skull in Laura’s pack, lacing it tight.
“I’ll go first,” said Reading. “When I get to the top, I’ll pull you both up.” He grabbed the rope then pulled himself up, gym class style, with what Acton thought was an impressive amount of cursing even for Reading. Once at the top their friend rolled over the edge and heavy breathing could be heard for several minutes.
Acton decided ribbing was in order, and was about to open his mouth when the end of the rope dropped at his feet.
Later.
They tied the rope around his waist, tucking it under his legs so it would act almost like a seat. Acton grabbed onto the rope with his good arm then winked at Laura.
“Here goes nothing.”
He felt Reading pull and he jerked up several feet, then another couple of feet, allowing Laura to get under him and push against the seat of his pants as hard as she could. This allowed Reading to rapidly pull him up several more feet, the remaining ten a struggle, Acton unable to help, instead feeling his rope seat begin to tighten uncomfortably. It seemed like forever, and felt even worse, but eventually he could reach the floor and at least contribute a little bit of muscle power to the effort. As his head cleared he could see the beet red face of Reading as he continued to pull with all his might. With one final yank, Acton managed to get his chest onto the floor, then swing his leg up, rolling to safety, Reading collapsing beside him, his chest heaving and sagging rapidly.
The Venice Code (A James Acton Thriller, Book #8) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 25
