The Medici Return (Cotton Malone #19)

Chapter 61

CHAPTER 61

T HOMAS SAT IN HIS RENTAL CAR, PARKED IN THE TREES, NEAR A PAVED overlook that rose high above a black landscape. He was to the southeast of Florence, northeast of Siena, within sight, according to the map on his phone, of a place called Santa Maria di Castello. A medieval fortress-like monastery, isolated and inviolate, seated nobly on a hill overlooking a dark valley with a Tuscan forest and vineyards. He was not a drinker at all. Part of that aversion came from his father, who’d loved to drink and then abuse his wife and sons. Drunkenness had been an everyday thing during his childhood, something he vowed never to repeat. So he avoided both drugs and alcohol.

He’d fled the train station in Siena and returned to his rental car. More instructions as to where to go came by text. No one had followed him. He was alone. Was he electronically tagged? Was his phone being tracked? Both were possibilities. Yet unlikely. He was so careful. What happened earlier at the palazzo during the Palio was perhaps the greatest risk he’d ever taken. He’d managed to leave Siena unseen, so perhaps there’d been no harm. But here he was, out in the woods, at night, alone, wondering what was next.

Headlights appeared from down the road, rounding a bend.

The vehicle drove his way, slowing as it approached, finally stopping at the overlook. A door opened and a man emerged, who opened the rear driver’s-side door and removed a case identical to the one he’d earlier left on the bed in the palazzo. Was it the same one?

The man walked over and handed him the case.

“There is ammunition inside,” the courier said, before returning to his car and driving off.

The phone Ascolani had given him vibrated with a text.

Stand by at your location. More instructions are coming. In the meantime, assemble your toy.

S TEFANO AND C ARDINAL A SCOLANI DROVE FROM S IENA TO THE VILLAGE of San Gimignano, one of the most recognizable and iconic destinations in Tuscany. Many called it the medieval Manhattan, thanks to the thirteen stone towers that loomed over the town and shaped its skyline. It sat on the ridge of a hill encircled by three walls with eight entrances, all dating from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The main streets crossed from north to south bisecting four open squares, all lined with shops and cafés that catered to the thousands of tourists who visited every year. No one was around at this hour, all of the buildings closed and dark. They stopped in the Piazza del Duomo and Ascolani climbed out.

He followed.

He was still waiting on an identification of the man from the Palazzo Tempi. Daniele’s police sources were working on it.

Two more cars motored in and came to a stop.

Headlights extinguished.

The passenger-side door of the lead vehicle opened and a man emerged, who walked over to them. He was tall and lean, his features illuminated from the headlights all belonging to age. Gaunt cheeks. Coarsened hair. Tired eyes.

“Eminence,” the newcomer said. “I came. As requested.”

“I appreciate that, Prior. But it is for your benefit we are here. At this moment your repository at Santa Maria di Castello is being violated by outsiders.”

“That cannot be possible. The lay brothers there would never allow that.”

“I assure you, I would not have made contact with you if this were not the case. And it is not your lay brothers. Just one lay brother who is allowing the intrusion to Signora Camilla Baines. I believe you know who she is.”

The prior hesitated a moment, then walked back to the car on the driver’s side. The window lowered and there was a short conversation. A few more moments passed, then he returned to them.

“Forgive me, Eminence, but I am having that information verified. I am also wondering why you did not tell me this earlier, when you called.”

“I prefer face-to-face,” Ascolani said. “And frankly, so we are clear, I do not have to explain myself.”

“And so we are clear, I am not subject to your authority or control.”

“Really? Then you do not fully understand the extent of my reach. Your superior, the order’s prior-general in France, and I are quite close. I may not be able to order you about, but he can. Should we call him?”

“Do whatever you want. You will anyway.”

“I came here to help, not hinder.”

“And what is your interest in this?”

“That is Entity business.”

The door to the other car opened and the driver called out, “No one answers.”

“Keep trying,” the prior said.

Stefan knew that, like all monastic orders, the Carthusians strove for ascesis, work, poverty, chastity, obedience, prayer, and humility. But they also fiercely protected their solitude through limiting visitors and carrying out no outside apostolate work. No radio or television. The monks spent most of their time in their individual cells. Which was a misnomer. More like a little house. Two stories with a workshop and garden. Quite nice, actually. They could not leave their cells without permission, except on occasions expressly stipulated by the order’s rule. Only the prior received news and made known to the monks what they ought to know. Carthusians withdrew from the world to worship God, to praise Him, to contemplate Him, to be conquered by Him, and to give themselves to Him in the name of all.

The internal hierarchy was simple. There were both fathers and lay brothers. Fathers were all priests or destined to be priests. The lay brothers were not, but they still bound themselves to the order, responsible for the smooth running of the charterhouses, performing all of the essential chores.

“Are there no fathers at Santa Maria?” Ascolani asked.

“All lay brothers, which might explain the situation. The lay brothers are not as disciplined. Signora Baines provides us with land and valuable services. She has always been respectful of our ways. I suggest we head there. Immediately.”

“I could not agree more,” Ascolani said.

The prior turned and headed back to his car, where he climbed inside. Engines revved in the two vehicles, but neither moved. Though the older man had made clear that he was not going to be ordered about, he also had not seemed eager to make an enemy of Ascolani. Especially considering that he’d been alerted to a heretofore unknown danger. Ingratitude would only compound the situation.

Ascolani motioned and they returned to their own car. Stefano cranked the engine and they drove off, leading the three-car procession.

“Eminence,” Stefano said. “Why did you not just call the Carthusian charterhouse and tell the prior the situation? Allow them to handle it. Why was it necessary we come here?”

“Because, Father Giumenta, we need to give our intruders time to locate what may or may not be there.”

He was beginning to understand. “The Carthusians would never allow you to look.”

“Correct. They would accept the information we provided, then shut us out, dealing with it internally. Camilla Baines has access, so why not use that reality. It will take us nearly an hour to get to Santa Maria. More than enough time for her, and her two accomplices, to have a thorough look.”

“And what happens if they find something and leave before we arrive?”

“Not to worry. I have that covered.”