My body trembled. My legs were wobbly. My hands were shaking and my teeth chattering. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at Slash and Tito. They were probably dead and I wasn’t ready to process that yet. My eyes filled with tears, but I took several breaths and tried to compose myself.
Elvis staggered to his feet beside me.
In a surprise move, Rutgon yanked Elvis toward him, wrapping his arm around Elvis’s neck in a chokehold. He was still furious and looking for someone to take it out on now that Bianca had told him I was off-limits for the time being.
He hissed in Elvis’s ear. “You were an idiot to try to take me on, Zimmerman. I thought you were supposed to be a genius.”
He squeezed and Elvis’s face started to turn blue.
“God. Stop it. Please.” My heart was beating a million thumps a minute and I felt dizzy, sick. Dimly, I could Xavier shouting something, too.
My stomach heaved and I fought down the urge to vomit. “Look, Rutgon, I’m trying to do what you guys want me to do. But I could use Elvis’s help and his brainpower in case we run into any trouble. We’ll open the coffin and get what’s inside. Okay? Just let go of him. I’ll have a better chance of doing it if I’m not operating alone. He’s got experience. Please. Please, I need him.” My final words caught on a sob.
I was falling apart. It was freaking hard to keep it all together when people were getting shot and strangled all around me. As it was, I sucked in normal social situations. Now it was glaringly apparent I behaved even worse in dysfunctional ones.
Elvis started making small choking noises. I knew Rutgon was playing with him, because he could have snapped Elvis’s neck in one quick movement. He was enjoying this.
My pleas were falling on deaf ears with Rutgon, so I tried a different approach. “Bianca, think. This coffin might be booby-trapped. I need to figure out how to get past it. Elvis can help me because he has the knowledge. If we fail, we’re the ones who will get it first. But if you kill us all off, you’ll have to risk your own necks. Calculate the odds, damn it.”
Elvis looked so fragile in Rutgon’s arms. After what seemed like an eternity, Bianca finally said something and Rutgon pushed Elvis away with a disgusted grunt. Elvis took a shaky step toward me, rubbing his neck and coughing. I wanted to hug him, but instead offered an arm to steady his legs.
We were both shaking as we climbed the dais together. My brain was so discombobulated that I wondered if I would ever be able to think properly. Slash and Tito were down, probably dead, and we were alone in a crypt with a couple of psychos. For now, I had to concentrate on getting whatever it was out of the coffin and giving it to Bianca. I tried to ignore the part of my brain that was screaming she’d kill us as soon as she had it. If I gave into it I’d be paralyzed and completely useless.
So, for now, I focused on the item in the coffin. The lid was partially askew and I realized that the coffin must not have contained poisonous gases or else we’d all be dead by now. Cautiously I peeked inside the coffin and was surprised to see how pristine the interior had remained.
“The seal worked.” Elvis spoke over my shoulder.
I nodded and the two of us pushed the lid farther aside. I could see our prize a bit farther to our left. I leaned over the coffin and stretched out a hand to grab it, but Elvis grabbed my arm, stopping me.
“Wait. Let me do it.” In a flash, he pulled off his jersey and wrapped it around his hand.
Rutgon grabbed Elvis by the shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”
Elvis was naked from the waist up and gooseflesh rose on his arms, chest and neck.
“I’m taking precautions,” he said, holding up his hands. “We can’t touch a historical and potentially fragile item with our bare hands. Historical archeology 101. So, unless you can lend me a pair of gloves, may I continue?”
Bianca narrowed her eyes but then shrugged. “Let him do it.”
As we turned our backs on them and I murmured, “Bullshit. What’s up?”
He murmured in return, “Trust me?”
“Always.”
I stepped to the side, so he could access the coffin. He kept his eyes on me as he reached beneath the lid, feeling around with his covered hand. After a moment, he said, “I’ve got it.”
He pulled out a long, thin glass jar. Rolled up inside was a parchment of some kind. I picked up the lantern, shining it closer to the jar to get a better look. Rutgon also stepped up beside me, staring at it in wonder.
“It’s a document of some kind.”
Bianca’s voice brimmed with excitement. “Perfect. Bring it to me.”
Elvis and I momentarily ignored her, lost in the historical significance of the find. The parchment looked perfectly preserved. The glass top had been sealed with a similar wax as the coffin and had no evidence of debris or tampering. Whatever the document was, I was certain it would be a national treasure of some kind.
“I said bring the jar to me. Now.”
Elvis blinked, and in the glow of the light, his eyes hardened. I knew in an instant, he had a plan. His eyes met mine and I gave an imperceptive nod of my head to let him know I was in, whatever he had in mind.
Without a word, Elvis turned and tossed the jar to Rutgon. They were standing close to each other, so it wasn’t a big toss, but Rutgon’s eyes widened in surprise at the sudden movement. He instinctively reached out, catching the jar with one hand and cradling it protectively against his stomach, nearly dropping his gun.
“That was really stupid, dude.”
I thought he might shoot us right there on the spot now that he had his treasure, but the excitement of the discovery proved to be more seductive.
Rutgon shoved his gun in his waistband and held up the jar with both hands, examining it in wonder. Clearly exasperated, Bianca barked an order in Italian to him. Frowning, he lowered the jar and began to walk toward her.
That’s when the screaming began.
Rutgon dropped the jar and it shattered on the stone floor. He clutched his hands to his stomach, shrieking in agony. He staggered toward Bianca. She shouted at him, but he was beyond hearing her in his pain. His guttural screams ripped at my eardrums and he fell into Bianca, clawing at her for help. I didn’t even know I’d squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears until the first gunshot. I opened my eyes as Bianca fired three more subsequent times, effectively putting Rutgon out of his pain. His screams still echoed in my head.
Furious, she turned the gun on Elvis. “What did you do to him?”
“I gave him the jar like you asked.”
“It had something on it. That’s why you covered your hand.”
“I wasn’t sure. It was a precaution.”
“What was it?”
Elvis shrugged. “A quick-acting poison, I’d guess. Acid, perhaps. It’s hard to tell.”
“It couldn’t have lasted all these years.”
“It was perfectly preserved and, as you see, it did.”
The incident had shaken her. Good, I thought. Nerves made people do stupid things. Although in this particular case, I hoped stupid didn’t involve executing the rest of us immediately. Our saving grace was that was she wasn’t sure what to do with the treasure.
“Pick it up.” She motioned at me with her gun toward the parchment that lay on the floor. “Do it.”
I dared a protest. “Look, Bianca, it’s a very old document, certainly fragile. It’s already been compromised. We might destroy it by simply touching it.”
“Don’t be stupid. If it was acid on that bottle and some of it got on the document, it will be destroyed anyway. I need to know what it says. Pick it up and read it. Now.”
Elvis brushed past me and knelt near the parchment. He used his shirt to sift through the broken glass and gently pick it up. He held it dangling from his covered hand so not
to touch it. Surprisingly, it held together.
“It’s strong parchment.” Elvis peered at it.
“Read it aloud.” Bianca stepped closer. “What does it say?”
I stepped closer and held up the lantern. I could see writing, but at my angle, I couldn’t make it out.
Elvis cocked his head and peered at the words. “I don’t know. It’s in Italian.”
I could almost hear her thinking. She wanted to take a look at it herself, but she’d have to take her attention off us. Without another person to help her, that would be potentially dangerous.
She made her decision. “Bring it here. If you try anything the first one to get it will be him.” She pointed the gun at Xavier. “Your twin, I presume.”
Elvis paled.
To my surprise, Basia spoke up. “Wait. I speak Italian. I can probably read it.”
Bianca considered and then nodded. Basia walked over to Elvis and me. She was shaking, too, and I tried to give her a brave smile.
“Don’t step in the glass,” Elvis warned her. “And don’t touch the document.”
She slid up to his side and peered over his shoulder sideways at the parchment. I tried to angle the lantern in a way that would help her.
She blew out a breath. “Okay, it’s definitely in Italian, but the writing is old-fashioned. It almost looks like a recipe.”
Bianca stepped closer. “What kind of recipe?”
“It’s a list of chemicals. No, not chemicals. Medicinal elements. Oh, God, I’m just not sure. Let’s see. There are words like opiate, morphine, phosphorus, hyoscyanus, nitric acid, and a slew of other homeopathic elements. I suppose it could be a prescription or recipe. I don’t know.”
Elvis frowned. “Morphine, hyoscyanus, opiates. It sounds like an anti-suppressant.”
Basia gasped. “Wait. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. It’s signed Leonardo da Vinci.”
“What?” I peered closer. “Da Vinci? Where? Are you sure?”
Basia made a squealing noise in her throat. “Yes. Oh, my God. I’m not kidding. Look there. His signature. It’s right in the corner. At the bottom.”
Even Elvis’s hand shook a bit as he squinted at the writing. He was either excited or freezing without a shirt. It was too hard to tell.
“It’s possible,” he said. “Melzi was the executor for Leonardo’s estate. He would have had access to all of his papers after his death.”
I glanced at Basia. “Then why the hell would Melzi hide it in his mother’s crypt in a glass coffin?”
Basia shook her head and continued reading. After a moment she gasped and looked up at me, stricken. “Lexi. It says infezione soppressiva, which means suppressive infection. There’s a list of symptoms. It...it sounds a lot like AIDS.”
My eyes met Elvis’s in the glow of the lantern as the full implication of what we were holding hit me.
I lowered the light. “Da Vinci was working on a chemical formula to treat AIDS or something like it.”
Basia blew out a breath, her eyes widening. “No, no. That’s impossible. They didn’t have AIDS back then.”
I considered. “Maybe not in the form we know it today and certainly not in an epidemic form. But it’s entirely possible to speculate they could have been dealing with isolated cases.”
“They were scared the formula would be destroyed.” Elvis spoke quietly and held my gaze. “Either da Vinci or Melzi or both. Just like today, I’d venture a guess there were elements of society that considered it a purposeful or inflicted illness. They must have believed that if hidden long enough, perhaps society would be more accepting or at least ready to find a cure. Thus, the intricate, not to mention, spectacular hiding place.”
I turned, glanced over at Bianca. “The pharmaceutical company. Maisto. That’s why they want this. They’re paying you to get this. They somehow knew about the existence of this recipe. Once Slash got involved, they must have contacted you. They knew you had a connection to him and they needed inside intel on how we were progressing in terms of cracking the encryption. You weren’t advising SIMSI on our progress, you were informing Maisto.”
Bianca didn’t answer.
“It’s a damn risky proposition, you know.” Xavier spoke up from across the room. “This so-called cure could be worth absolutely nothing.”
I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead. “True, but I tend to agree with Elvis. What’s the point of hiding it in a crypt and booby-trapping the jar if it didn’t have some potential?”
Basia frowned. “Yeah, and what’s with the killer poison?”
I lifted my shoulders. “Who knows? Probably dissuading grave robbers or the casual thief. It was common technique used in ancient Egypt to protect the pharaoh’s sarcophagus and its treasures. Besides, any decent historian wouldn’t touch a potentially priceless document without taking proper precautions, like gloves, anyway. I think it means the recipe must have worked, at least to some extent. Either da Vinci instructed Melzi to protect it for the future of mankind or Melzi was smart enough to figure it out for himself. I mean, come on. Da Vinci drew a freaking helicopter in 1493. It took us more than four hundred years to finally figure out how to build one. Who’s to say what lurks in the mind of a genius? He might present a chemical and medicinal combination no one has thought of before.”
“Chi and prana.” Elvis spoke quietly. “A medicinal prescription. Alchemy, like you said, Lexi. That’s what the hieroglyphics were trying to tell us.”
“Jeez.” The mere thought of it staggered me. “Do you guys have any idea what we have here? This could be huge. Potentially life-changing for all of mankind.”
“And very lucrative for me. Wrap it in his shirt and bring it to me.” Bianca pointed the gun at me.
“If I wrap it, I might destroy it.”
“That’s a risk I’m going to take.”
Suddenly we heard a faint noise behind Bianca. Everyone froze, listening. Voices. They were faint, possibly back at the graveyard itself, but it meant we had more company. Whether the voices were attached to the good guys or the bad, it was impossible to tell.
Bianca apparently didn’t know either. “Bring it now.”
Elvis laid the parchment on the floor, unwound his shirt from his hand and handed it to me. I laid the material out flat and began to carefully roll the parchment in it. When I finished I stood and handed it to Elvis.
“No. You bring it to me.” She pointed at me. “You’re going with me. Depending on who is out there, I may need a hostage.”
Elvis held out his hands. “Take me instead. It will be easier to control a smaller person. I weigh less than she does.”
“Hey.” Despite our dire circumstances, I felt mildly insulted.
Bianca shook her head. “Her. Now.”
Exhaling a breath, I walked toward her. She took the parchment from me, tucking it gingerly in the inside pocket of her leather jacket. Then she shoved me toward the door and pulled something small, black and circular out of the pocket on her jumpsuit, palming it and pushing a small red button. The device began to hum and tick.
I stared at her with my mouth open. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding. Is that a bomb?”
She tossed it and the device rolled against the lower part of the dais and stopped. Before I could move, she shoved me out of the room, slammed the door shut, pocketing the key.
“Go.” She shoved the gun hard into my lower back, forcing me forward.
“Are you totally insane?” I shouted. My brain was on overdrive and I thought I might puke and faint at the same time. “No, wait. Don’t answer that. Of course, you are. You’re going to kill them.”
“And you, too, if you don’t move your ass. We’ve got ten minutes to get the hell out of here.”
She shoved the gun into my throat and I gagged and staggered sidewa
ys. At that moment I knew for certain that I was going to have to take her myself...or die trying. I decided not to think too closely about it. Geek girl taking on Italian secret agent super bitch. Yeah, calculating those odds would be fun.
I turned my back to her. As Bianca pushed me again toward the first tunnel, I had a moment of clarity. I realized that the only weapon I had readily available to me was math and it just might be my salvation. A plan began to form and I let my feet drag as my brain went into some kind of crazy kind of super overload. People who don’t like math and think they will never use it in their ordinary lives, they couldn’t be more wrong. Math was everywhere, and if my calculations were right, math might possibly save my life.
Figures raced like wildfire through my brain. The distance between the tunnel and me. The distance between my back and Bianca’s gun. The velocity at which I’d have to enter the tunnel. The seconds it would take to turn my body to a right degree angle in the tunnel. The projected distance between Bianca and me at the moment she entered the tunnel. So many damn calculations. I needed more time. Except I didn’t have more time. No time for double-checking or experiments. There was a freaking bomb ticking away just steps from me and if I didn’t do something, people were going to die.
Get your game on, Lexi Carmichael.
I took a deep breath. I could do this. First order of business...I needed to make her angry.
Bianca pushed me again from behind and my brain calculated how hard and far I stumbled after receiving the push. It wasn’t enough. I needed her to push me harder. I figured it shouldn’t be too hard to piss her off.
“You know, Bianca. I really can’t believe Slash dated someone like you. You do realize you dress like a ho. Oh, sorry, maybe your English isn’t good enough to understand that. Do you know what a hooker is? I mean what’s up with all that spandex? Plus Slash and I were laughing about how we could tell you’ve had plastic surgery on your lips and boobs. All I can say is it’s a good thing he dumped you so quickly.”
She pushed me again, and this time, I almost fell. My brain re-calculated the velocity of the harder push and I liked it much better. Theoretically, my plan could work, but she had to give me at least one more hard push as we approached the tunnel. If I didn’t resist but fell into it, the speed should be enough. Should being the operative word here.
No Place Like Rome Page 18
