CHAPTER 76
E RIC WAS DETERMINED TO HOLD HIS GROUND.
Machiavelli was right.
The lion cannot protect himself from traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves. One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves.
“I am a legitimate heir of Anna Maria Luisa de’ Medici, herself the heir of Cosimo de’ Medici III. I am of their royal blood.”
“Congratulations,” Ascolani said. “It will make for an interesting historical footnote. But hardly relevant anymore.”
“I know where the Medici copy is located.”
“Then produce it.”
“I shall.”
“Of course, if the church becomes an advocate for the National Freedom Party, then that debt is forgiven? Correct?”
“Seems like a win/win for all involved.”
Pigeons fluttered to and from the flagstones, oblivious to the crowds.
“Your political party is a hollow group with no substance,” Ascolani said. “You merely say what the people want to hear. You have neither the ability nor the desire to change anything. Why would you? There would be nothing then for you to complain about.”
He resented the insult and told himself to keep his temper. But what he’d just heard was not wrong.
Men are so stupid and concerned with their present needs, they will always let themselves be deceived.
“Your political party lacks the skills to ever build anything meaningful,” Ascolani said.
“We might surprise you.”
Ascolani shrugged. “I truly doubt that.”
J ASON FELT THAT EVERY MUSCLE IN HIS BODY WAS TAUT TO THE breaking point, his mind a maelstrom of unspoken emotions. Malone had told him to stay back, out of the line of fire, and let them handle things. Which sounded okay. At the time.
But not anymore.
Ascolani had actively tried to destroy him.
Then he’d also sent Dewberry to kill him.
He could not let that go.
So he entered the Piazza del Duomo.
And headed for its center.
T HOMAS KEPT THE RIFLE’S SCOPE FOCUSED ON A SCOLANI, WHO WAS deep in conversation with Eric Casaburi. A round was loaded in the chamber, the weapon resting on its bipod atop the sofa back. He’d have to fire shots quickly and accurately. Within a few seconds of one another. The sound suppressor would mask the retort and, with so many people out there moving in every direction, it would take a few moments for the bystanders to fully comprehend what had happened. Hopefully a panic would ensue that would allow him the moments needed to break the weapon down, slip it back into the case, and make his escape. He would have to close the window, but slowly so as not to draw any attention. Replace the sofa too, then leave using that second set of stairs he’d noticed a few minutes ago. Also, take the room key with him. Leave nothing that could be traced to him. He’d been careful to touch little and wore a thin pair of latex gloves to further mask his presence.
Ascolani reached up and rubbed his right temple.
The signal to get ready.
He left the rifle and approached the window. Slowly he raised the lower sash enough for him to fire through the opening. He left the sheers hanging, parting them only enough to give him a clear view below.
He returned to the rifle and refocused through the scope.
Waiting for the order to fire.
C OTTON STARED UP AT THE H OTEL D UOMO.
The tracking dot showed that Dewberry was here.
Stefano had described a black Stealth Recon Scout rifle he’d seen inside the Palazzo Tempi back in Siena, which had been removed from there by a priest and delivered to Ascolani. That was a high-tech powerful weapon, also equipped, as Stefano reported, with a high-pressure sound suppressor. Dewberry had apparently used that weapon during the Palio, killing a jockey in the process. In another really public place.
A window on the fourth floor opened.
About halfway.
“You see that,” Stefano asked.
“I do. That hotel is air-conditioned and nobody else has a window open.”
They both continued to stare upward.
The blue dot still pulsated right over the hotel.
“This is getting too risky,” he said. “Go get Casaburi out of the piazza.”
“And you?”
“I’m going inside.”