The Medici Return (Cotton Malone #19)

Chapter 74

CHAPTER 74

F LORENCE , I TALY

T HURSDAY , J ULY 3

10:50 A.M.

E RIC HUSTLED INSIDE THE B ASILICA DI S ANTA C ROCE AND MOVED through the main church, heading for a door at the far end of the nave. He’d driven from his home village to Florence, making a series of phone calls along the way, learning how and where to gain access to the Santa Croce’s records. He’d been told that the archives were kept on site in a secure location, the materials dating back to the sixteenth through the eighteenth centuries all digitized. Good to know. Might make things easier.

He found the archives and spoke with a young clerk who directed him to a desktop computer and located what records they had for the middle part of the eighteenth century.

“There are some for that time period,” the clerk said. “But nothing complete. So many record purges have occurred. Bad management lost even more. But you can scan these to see if what you are looking for is there.”

He sat before the computer and studied the images. Written in the Florentine style. Dates were important. Anna Maria’s father, Cosimo III, died in 1723. Anna left Florence in 1724 to get away from her brother, retiring to the countryside to supposedly live alone. Raffaello de’ Pazzi died in 1725. Best guess? Any marriage had to have occurred between 1723 and 1725.

So he started scanning the images, looking for those dates.

Thankfully, the entries were noted in relative chronological order. A few scattered ones appeared here and there with differing dates. He focused on the ones for marriage. And there were many. The clerk had explained that the Catholic Church had been the official record keeper for most of Europe, up to the time of the Protestant Reformation. After that it kept only records that concerned the church itself, such as those who were born, baptized, married, or died within the faith. From everything he’d ever read about Anna Maria she was a devout and faithful believer, an open supporter of the church. It made sense that she would properly marry.

He clicked through the images.

Leaf after leaf.

He’d heard back today from party leaders who were inquiring about the Vatican’s support. Other parties were also lobbying for the Holy See’s tacit endorsement. The elections in nearly every district were going to be tight races. Every vote was going to count. The margins for error would be in the low single digits. He’d assured everyone that he could deliver the Holy See. If he failed? Most likely his party would lose, with no chance at the prime minister’s seat. And he would be out as secretary, relegated to doing nothing more than what he was told. His own election was not set for this round, so he would keep his seat in parliament. For whatever good that would mean. He would essentially be nothing. Right back where he started.

His mind had drifted and he forced himself to focus on the screen. He could not afford to miss anything important. He’d tried to call Camilla Baines. Twice. And received only a recording to leave a message. Perhaps he should travel south to Siena and find her? Worth the trip? Definitely. He had to have that pledge. But at least he knew that it existed and was now back out in the world.

He kept scanning.

And saw an entry.

A M Luisa - Raffaello de’ Pazzi

Matrimonio 18 June 1724

Incredible. That was it. Some degree of anonymity was achieved by using Anna Maria’s initials, along with no surname. But there was no mistaking that a marriage had been recorded for June 18, 1724. A lawful union. Proof. Verification of what Anna Maria herself had written. He decided to draw no attention to his find, but snapped a quick picture with his phone, then closed the file. The record was not going anywhere. He now had all the pieces.

Save one.

Maybe he should drive to Siena.

He left the archives and retreated into the warm morning. Piazza di Santa Croce was nearly back to normal after the Calcio Storico, the last of the sand for the ball field being hauled away.

His phone vibrated.

He did not recognize the number but answered anyway. It might be Camilla Baines again.

“Signor Casaburi.”

A male voice. His senses went to full alert.

“I understand you gave Cardinal Richter until tomorrow to provide you an answer. I have one now.”

“Who is this?”

“The person who can deliver what you want.”

“How did you find me?”

“Is that important?”

“Actually, it is.”

“Your office in Rome provided the number.”

Now he was even more suspicious. But he wanted to know, “What is your answer?”

“That all depends on you.”

C OTTON WAS WORKING A PLAN THAT HE WAS MAKING UP AS THEY went. Stephanie had managed to locate Eric Casaburi through a cell phone track that led them to the Basilica di Santa Croce. He stood within the Pazzi Chapel adjacent to the basilica. Impressive place. Above the altar he studied the famed astrological fresco, or at least what was left of it. He knew the story that there was an identical one in the Medici Chapel—the same star configuration on the same night, July 4, 1442.

Richter had told him all about Casaburi, who sounded like an opportunist politician trying to find the fastest way to power for himself and his party. Richter also explained that people tried all the time to get the church to help with elections. Nothing new there. But few tried to actually blackmail the Vatican. This man had played with fire.

His phone dinged.

Stephanie.

“Casaburi’s phone is near you,” she said. “He’s headed away.”

“And Ascolani?”

“He is near the Duomo and he just called Casaburi.”

“Casaburi’s moving toward Ascolani?”

“It seems that way.”

“Looks like they’re doing our work for us.” Then he asked the main question. “Where is Dewberry?”

Stamm had been good to his word and made contact with Thomas Dewberry’s intermediary, Bartolomé.

“I explained that Thomas was about to meet his fate and he had a choice to make. He could join him or not. Of course, he pointed out that I was the one to hire him in the first place. I assured him that was not the issue. Instead, the issue was how loyal he was going to be.”

And like most co-conspirators, Bartolomé sold out his benefactor, providing a cell phone number where Dewberry could be reached. But they also learned that Ascolani had provided Dewberry with a burner phone for direct communication between the two. There was no way to learn that number, but they could track Dewberry’s personal phone.

“He’s there,” Stephanie said. “Near the Duomo too. You think he will try to kill Casaburi?”

“I certainly hope so.”

And he ended the call.