The Medici Dagger

—”

“Call Gibraltar?” I shot, stunned that she would give in so easily to her fear.

“They’d get us out of trouble.”

I slapped my forehead.“Maybe you’re right, I should tell Dracco to turn around. Pick a spot in Europe. Any spot. I’ll let you off.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t have a goddamn clue what this is all about, that’s why.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but I didn’t care; I was boiling. “You’re saying million-candle fury—translating it for chrissakes—but you don’t get it. You know all the history, but you don’t know what this is really about.” I waved the pages at her.

“What’s it really all about?” she said, tears falling now.“Illuminate me.”

“It’s about getting something right for Leonardo, Antonia! One thing right! You know Leonardo’s Sforza Horse was used as target practice, the bronze melted down for cannonballs.The Last Supperhung for years in a stable, then got painted over a dozen times. And here Leonardo was in Rome at the Belvedere Palace, sick to death because he knew he was the greatest genius in the history of geniuses and everybody let him down. He creates the most amazing thing, perhaps of all time, and has to hide it from everyone for his entire life and on into the future.Thiscan’t be another Sforza Horse orLast Supper.I won’t allow that to happen. Leonardo was alone in a rotten, lousy, cruel world he couldn’t trust with his Dagger. And if that Dagger is out there somewhere . . . in the Belvedere Palace, or wherever . . . if Leonardo wrote its location down on these pages, then locating it is exactly what I’m going to do! I’m not about to let some billionaire bastard and his tattooed sidekick put the vise grips on Leonardo.” I was pumped now, pacing the tiny luxury cabin, pounding my fist in my hand. “Or for that matter some steel-haired, tea- sipping elitist with a Gibraltar ring. The hell with all of them. Nobody uses Leonardo. Not in this century, not on my watch.”

I stopped and shot a look of single-minded purpose into her tear-laden eyes. “Let he who finds the Dagger use it for noble purpose. That was my father’s plan. And now it’s mine. Me. The ‘mighty traveler,’ that’sme!”My hands were trembling again.

Ginny looked from them to my face.“I see, Rollo Eberhart Barnett, Jr.”

I turned away, took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Are you in or out?” I said. “For Leonardo.”

“Look at me,” she urged. I reluctantly acquiesced. The overhead cabin lamp cast a reddish hue on her dark shiny hair as the jet engines hummed through the heavens. Ginny swallowed once, her small Adam’s apple vanishing and quickly reappearing.

“I’m in,” she said. “For Leonardo. And for you.”

“Okay, then,” I told her. “California.”

ten

After landing where the smog meets the sea, Dracco slid us through customs as if we were invisible. As we parted, he told us to think of him the next time we needed special travel arrangements.

We bought my Jaguar back from the long-term lot and eased onto the freeway. Up above, the sky looked cloudless and forgiving, offering grace to all the Southern California sinners. The familiar sights of the city freed my tired mind to focus on the immediate tasks ahead.

First stop, the bank. I squirmed in my seat, keeping to myself the fear that Krell’s men might have cleaned out my account electronically and even gained access to my safe-deposit box. Another possibility: They had somebody staked out waiting to attack the minute I walked out the door.

I parked around the corner from the bank. I asked Ginny to wait in the car and explained why. Reluctantly, she agreed. As I approached the building, I could feel my heart begin to pound. Everyone looked suspicious: the two Armani suits peering into that old Mustang; the couple whispering in each other’s ears; that shopping-cart lady. Like the maid who’d planted the bug at the Gritti, anybody could be anybody.

I entered the building fully vigilant, my boot heels clicking noisily on the marble floor, alerting everyone to my presence. I checked for the guards. The one by the vault with a red-veined nose hitching up his belt buckle looked like a retired cop. The other, stifling a yawn, kicked something off his thick-soled orthopedic shoe. Neither seemed interested in me.

I stepped over to a familiar-looking woman sitting at a customer-service desk. She had me sign the register, and then I followed her into the vault, checking over my shoulder.

It looked like business as usual, but it was hard to tell. I hadn’t suspected anything at the Gritti or at the Four Seasons. Self-doubt pawed at me. The customer-service woman left. I watched her go, half-expecting the door to close, the spoked steel handle to spin, locking me in for eternity.Get a grip.

I opened the safe-deposit box. The satchel was there. I pried its jaws apart. Wads of cash.Yess! I closed the beat-up case without counting the money. I knew how much was in there: one million nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I took the satchel with me and left the bank.

Outside, I looked for the young whispering couple. Gone. Nobody by the Mustang. The shopping-cart lady. Still there, sitting on a bench now, holding out a paper cup to a man in a suit who was giving her spare change.

I hustled around the corner back to Ginny. Just as my anxiety was starting to dissipate, I spotted the two Armanis standing on the curb leaning against the passenger door of my car, talking to her.Shit!

The car was facing away from me and one of the guys partially obscured my view of her. I picked up my pace, moving a little closer to the shops in the hope that they wouldn’t see me in their peripheral vision. They had to be armed. All I had was a satchel of money.

I stayed low, gaining speed. Throwing the satchel to the sidewalk, I sprang up right behind them, balling my fists and raising my elbows, and dropped down hard on each of their shoulders. They both yelped and fell to their knees.

“Oh man!” one of them moaned. I threw a forearm into the side of his head and he went down silently.