Light streamed through a window. Though small, it was open and unbarred-odd for a prison cell, for he had to assume that he had been captured by the Knights of St. Clement. Jenny's mission had been to kill Father Mosto and then lead him to the apex of the bridge where the Knights were waiting for him. He lay for a moment more, mulling over her treachery. She had fooled him, just as she had fooled his father. He vowed that would never happen again. If he got out of here.
Painfully, he rose and approached the small window. Outside, he saw a beautiful cloister and, beyond a stone wall, rows of finely cultivated trees. As if they had been waiting for his appearance in the window, two figures came into view. They were wearing monastic robes, hooded like Capuchins, but their faces were hard- lined and decidedly grim.
'I suppose you're wondering if they're guards.'
He turned to find himself facing a heavyset man with blue jowls and curious eyes. He was nearly bald, with a tuft of fine, sandy hair running around the rim of his deeply tanned pate. He, too, was clad in monastic robes.
'They are,' the man continued, 'but not in the manner you think. They're here to protect you.'
Bravo gave a harsh laugh. 'Do you mean the men who threw me over the side of the bridge and beat me senseless, or are you talking about someone else?'
'My people rather overzealously defended themselves. I'm told you're exceptionally strong. A bull, they tell me.'
'I don't believe you,' Bravo said. 'Whatever you Knights of St. Clement want from me, I won't give it to you, no matter what you do to me.'
The man showed very white teeth when he grinned. 'Well, I am most very pleased to hear that, Braverman Shaw. Spoken like a true Keeper.'
'You know who I am, obviously. But I have no idea who you are.'
'My name is Paolo Zorzi.' His thick eyebrows rose. 'Ah, I see you've heard of me.'
'You're not Zorzi, or anyone connected with the Gnostic Observatines.'
'But I am.'
'Convince me.'
'I understand your skepticism, and once again I applaud it.' He dug something out from the back of his waistband. 'Step number one.' He held out the SIG Sauer that Bravo had taken from his father's safety deposit box.
Bravo looked at it, then at Zorzi's face. 'Either it's not loaded or the firing pin has been removed.'
The man who called himself Zorzi shrugged. 'My friend, there's only one way to find out.'
Bravo took it gingerly from the outstretched palm. He checked the firing chamber, the magazine clip and the firing pin. So far as he could determine, the gun was just as it had been when he'd taken possession of it.
The man cocked his head. 'Really, how you obtained it is something of a mystery to me, but I must say I'm pleased that you are armed.'
He gestured. 'Step two, do you feel up to a walk?' When Bravo made no move, he crossed to the door, flung it open. Bravo could see that the stone corridor was empty of guards.
'Please. I will answer all your questions. My name is Paolo Zorzi. Really and truly.'
They went down the corridor and out through a small round-topped wooden door with massive iron bolts running clear through it. Outside, they stayed in the shade. Despite the closeness of the lagoon, it was hot and fairly stifling. They continued walking and Bravo still did not see any guards. He began to relax a little-or was that what this man wanted? he wondered. In a moment, a small breeze sprang up, ruffling the dark water, cooling him.
'All right, Signore Zorzi, where am I?'
'On the island of San Francesco del Deserto. In the lagoon, not far from Burano. More specifically, you're in a monastery-a holy place, actually. In the thirteenth century, St. Francis was returning from the Holy Land, where he was preaching the Gospel. His ship was caught in a terrible storm and was on the verge of breaking apart when, suddenly, the tempest abated, and in the ensuing halo of piercing blue sky overhead, a flock of white birds appeared. They began to sing sweetly, leading St. Francis to this island.'
Seeing Bravo wince as he sat down, Zorzi said, 'You should see the bruises on two of my Guardians.'
All at once, Bravo remembered the urgent voice close at hand on the motoscafo. He had not listened, he hadn't wanted to listen. Now he knew he should have.
'Why have you brought me here?' he said.
'Because when you ran out of the church you were in imminent danger. The Knights were in the process of surrounding the area.'
Behind them, the monastery crouched, closely held, guarded as a fortress. One end of it was crumbled. Their passage disturbed the soft earth, and from beneath the weeds and grasses came the sweet scent of decay. 'It seems I'm facing another danger, closer to hand. I'm speaking now of my Guardian.'
'Who?' Zorzi's eyes got hard. 'Jen?'
Bravo nodded.
'Nonsense. I trained her, but I think you must already know this, yes?' Zorzi's face grew dark, engorged with bloody rage. 'So you mean to disparage me? She's my brightest student-a prodigy, one might say.'
'Take no offense, something's happened to her. She killed Father Mosto and assaulted me. This was minutes after Father Mosto warned me that my father suspected her of being a traitor.' He didn't tell Zorzi that the list Father Mosto had showed him also had Zorzi's name on it. Who was he to believe? Who was he to trust?
'But what you say is monstrous. She of all people-'
'She of all people, yes. Distrusted and abused by the Order, she had plenty of motivation to betray us.'
Zorzi shook his head. 'But not me, she would never betray me. There must be another explanation.'
'Tell it to me, please.'
There was no response from Zorzi, who turned away, hands clenched into fists. Far out, Bravo could see a boat, but through the heat haze it looked like a mirage or an ancient Roman trireme. The lagoon was as flat as a desert, why shouldn't it produce mirages? He thought of Jenny-the look in her eyes, the smell of her skin, the feel of her hair. The degree to which he had relied on her was only now becoming apparent, and this reliance had led him to let down his guard with her. Had his father done the same? Had she gotten under Dexter's skin the way she had gotten under his? Father Mosto was certain of it. 'I am afraid of her,' he'd said, 'because she was able to get to Dexter in a way no one else could.' Jenny had killed him, she was the traitor, as Dexter had feared. Looking into the lagoon, Bravo saw reflected the sky-or was it the sky in which he saw reflected the lagoon? Dizzied, he could no longer tell, everything he had assumed was inverted.
'After what I've done for her…' Zorzi's voice cracked. 'I will interrogate her. And if she is guilty, then I will kill her myself.'
'I'll be right beside you,' Bravo said.
Zorzi turned back to him, his face now appearing more normal. 'You'll do nothing of the sort, my friend. You are the Keeper, you know what your mission is. Nothing must deter you or even slow you down. You must find the cache of secrets and keep it safe from the Knights.'
'But I don't know where the cache is.'
'Don't you?' Zorzi pulled out the steel beggar's purse Bravo discovered inside the alms cabinet. 'Step three.' He handed it over.
'You took this from me?'
'For safekeeping only, I assure you.'
Zorzi's arm was still stretched out and Bravo saw an eagle in midflight tattooed on his forearm.
Seeing the direction of Bravo's gaze, Zorzi chuckled. 'I wear the eagle with pride, Bravo. Only six or seven families in all of Venice were allowed to display the eagle or the lily on their coat of arms. My family goes all the way back to the seventh century, further some say, all the way to the founding of Rome.'
'Zorzi, yes,' Bravo said thoughtfully. 'Your family is one of the Case Vecchie, the old houses. The twenty- four founding families of the Republic.'
Zorzi raised his eyebrows. 'Now I am truly impressed. Few people know this, others disbelieve the claim. Nonetheless, it is valid and binding.'
