The Medici Return (Cotton Malone #19)

Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

C OTTON WAS WONDERING JUST WHAT EXACTLY HE’D MANAGED TO drop himself into. Nothing good, for sure. Here he was in the middle of Tuscany, on a horse farm, with a cardinal cast in the shadow of corruption and a woman, noted as an “ opportunist ,” who definitely seemed a few steps ahead of them. That last part was the most troublesome, since Camilla Baines knew exactly what she wanted.

They’d retreated to the stable, a rambling building of olden stone that housed a number of animals, the air filled with the scents of sweat, oil, and hay. Camilla spoke with the jockey for a few moments outside before returning inside and motioning that they should walk to the far end.

“Signore Malone, you asked what I want. I have a problem.”

Finally, she was getting to the point.

“We Golden Oakers have a long history. We were part of the original decree, from 1730, that established the eighteen wards of Siena. We have claimed the Palio forty-three times, which is nearly a record. Among the other contradas we have both allies and enemies.”

“Who are your enemies?” Richter asked.

“We have two. The Dragons and the Porcupines, though the latter is because of our ally, the She-Wolf, who hate the Porcupines.”

“Sounds like a complicated situation,” Richter noted.

Camilla grinned. “Similar to having four hundred thousand euros hidden in your diocese residence? That seems worse than complicated.”

“I see Chas briefed you,” Richter said.

“He explained your situation. He also thought you were being framed.”

“What do you think?” Cotton asked.

She shrugged. “Cardinal Stamm has great instincts. So I trust his judgment. If I did not, we would not be talking to each other. With regard to you, Signore Malone, the cardinal thinks you are a most competent individual. He says you were most helpful to him a while back with a serious problem.”

Yes, he had been.

Which was now paying dividends.

Camilla Baines reminded him of his mother. Both were eminently practical women, good listeners, careful planners, and focused on what they wanted. For his mother that had meant raising her son, alone, after his father died when he was ten. Killed when his navy submarine was lost at sea. She’d stepped right in and filled the void as best she could. She still lived on her family’s onion farm in central Georgia, running it as her father, his beloved grandfather, had done before her. He’d learned many valuable lessons from his mother, but one seemed apt here. Keep your mouth shut and your ears open and you’ll learn a lot. His mother had also had a low bullshit tolerance level. Same as, he believed, Camilla Baines.

“The jockey we contracted with,” she said, “is not working out. We hire them, then watch them day and night. They are not allowed to speak to anyone or use the phone. We isolate them to keep any double-dealing to a minimum. This one, though, has proven especially resourceful and self-serving.”

“Isn’t that just part of the Palio?” Cotton asked.

“To a point. Contradas are forbidden from entering into any agreements that help another to win the race. But they do not forbid us from making agreements that ensure another loses the race.”

He caught Richter’s eye and saw that he agreed.

This was it.

“I am the Golden Oak’s capitano . I am supposed to represent strength, dignity, courage. I have to be a strategist. Capable, alert, daring. Diplomatic, too. The capitano selects the jockey and sets the strategy for the race.”

She was taking her time. Working her way to the meat of the coconut.

“The Palio is a race of chance and fate,” she said. “The ten contradas who participate are chosen by random lots. The horses are assigned randomly. How the horses line up at the starting line is also determined by luck of the draw. That is the chance part. But how those various elements are utilized? That is the fate part. But I made a mistake. The jockey I chose took our money to stop the Porcupines, then made a separate deal with them to do just the opposite. Thankfully, we discovered his deceit.”

“What did you do to him?” Richter asked.

“Nothing yet. But he will eventually be using what we paid him for medical bills.”

He was impressed. Especially since she’d spoken without a hint of emotion or regret. Just part of doing business.

“I need a jockey,” she said. “Do you ride, Signore Malone?”

He nodded. “I grew up on a farm. My grandfather had horses. He taught me. But not bareback.”

He knew the Palio never used saddles. Just a bridle.

“I am sure you can adjust,” she said.

“Why not just use a more experienced jockey?” Richter asked. “Like the man who was riding earlier? Or another who has participated in the Palio before?”

“Because I have been burned once. I do not have the time to be burned twice. I want someone who cannot be bribed. Someone where only I can provide what they want. You, Signore Malone, meet all those criteria.”

That actually made sense, in an odd sort of way. “You want me to make sure the Porcupines lose.”

She nodded. “And I don’t care what you have to do. The rules that govern the race forbid jockeys from hitting or attacking each other with arms, fists, or bodies. To break those rules leads to disqualification and a ban from the Palio for life. But that penalty means nothing to you.”

“Or to you,” he added.

“Not in the least. I want results and I am willing to pay for them.”

“But we do not want money,” Richter said. “You know that.”

“Cardinal Stamm told me what you want. I have a close relationship with the Carthusians.”

“How much money do you give them?” Cotton asked.

“Enough that they would not tell me no. I also own all the land surrounding the monastery. I allow them free use for what they need.”

“And if Malone rides the race and does what you want, you can get us inside the monastery?” Richter asked. “We can see what they have stored there?”

She nodded. “I will make that happen. Can you deliver for me?”

Nothing about this seemed good. The Palio, for all its spectacle, was a dangerous race. Especially for the untrained. People could, and did, get hurt. As did some of the horses. The other nine jockeys would be seasoned pros who knew what they were doing. Especially when it came to deals. Most of those would involve getting a head start, or no obstruction during the race, or maybe some parrying of an adversary or squeezing him at the turns to slow him down. Camilla Baines just wanted her enemy stopped and could not have cared less how that was accomplished. But surely the Porcupines would be equally intent on affecting Golden Oak. That meant a free-for-all. Atop horses running about thirty miles an hour along a rough, treacherous track.

Bareback.

None of which mattered.

Since he knew what to say.

“Sure. I can get it done.”