House of Acerbi

magnificent city of Florence-once home to the Medici’s and center of the universe during the Renaissance, where countless objects of art like that of Michelangelo’s David were created. It was a statue so perfect that tourists were only allowed to view the replica because the original was hidden away for fear that some madman would one day try to destroy it.

In the distance, towering above the red-roofed city, they could see the dome of the six-hundred-year-old Duomo as Francois turned west toward the coast. With the sun in their eyes, they headed away from all the art and grandeur of one of the earth’s most visited cities, now empty of tourists, until finally, they arrived at the rocky shoreline fronting the Ligurian Sea just in time to see the sun plunge out of sight over the horizon.

Looking into the faint blue light of the GPS screen, Francois could see that they still had about eighty miles to go until they reached the coastal village of Portofino. At the same time, he noticed a flashing yellow light on the instrument panel. They were almost out of fuel.

CHAPTER 12

France

The Loire Valley

It was well after midnight when the long, dark-blue Mercedes limo turned off the main highway and wound its way up a twisting road beneath the dark silhouette of overlapping trees. Seated in the back, a short man with heavy black eyebrows peered through tinted glass at the enormous French chateau that loomed in the darkness ahead.

In front of the chateau’s imposing entrance, a pair of iron lamps emitted tiny pools of faint yellow light, making it difficult to see the man in a dark suit standing in the shadows off to the side. His eyes narrowed at the limo’s approach, his only movement a slight jerk on a leash, a signal to the massive dog at his side to wait.

Rounding the final turn in the road, the limo’s headlights painted the front of the building before it crunched to a stop on the gravel driveway. Immediately, the man in the shadows sprang from his place of concealment and rushed to open the rear door.

“Good evening, sir.”

Without speaking, the visitor stepped out. He paused long enough to look up at the immense stone structure, all the while focusing his attention on a faint light streaming from a window above. An invisible force called out to him from inside, dulling his ability to focus on the business at hand. Breathing in deeply, he regained his composure long enough to pass beneath a pair of medieval gargoyles and mount the aged stairway before entering the chateau. Once inside, his body coursed with excitement as his eyes darted about in nervous anticipation, for he had waited untold years for an invitation to his master’s house.

“I trust your trip from Rome was comfortable, Father Emilio.”

Emilio spun to see a tall man in a dark suit standing behind him. “Yes, thank you … but don’t call me Father … that title no longer applies to me. Is he here?”

“Of course, sir. Please, this way.”

The tall man led Emilio across an empty foyer and up a wide, stone staircase designed in the shape of a double helix. It was a brilliant piece of medieval architecture conceived so that those ascending would never meet those descending from the floors above. They turned and walked under a carved stone arch and down a long hallway until they came to a paneled section of the wall. Looking back at Emilio, the man pushed a concealed button and the paneling slid to the side, revealing a hidden alcove containing a small elevator.

After a short ride to the next level, they stepped from the elevator onto the tightly guarded third floor of the chateau. Pausing briefly, Emilio thought he heard the low snarl of a dog coming from the far end of the darkened hallway. He hesitated before the tall man motioned him forward to a pair of nondescript, black steel doors that opened into a small room.

Peering inside, the defrocked priest beheld a scene that seemed out of place in a five-hundred-year-old French chateau. He was looking into a locker room. Green-tiled walls surrounded a space filled with rows of lockers fronted by long metal benches, and at the opposite end of the room, Emilio noticed a stainless steel door with a tiny window at eye level.

“Take off your clothes,” the tall man said.

“What!”

“I said take off your clothes. You can put them into one of the lockers there. Also, remove your ring and any other jewelry.”

“But why?” Emilio stuttered.

“You’re about to enter a Level 4 biohazard area. Nothing goes in and nothing comes out except for your body.”

Emilio hesitated as the man began to disrobe.

“Either take off your clothes or leave the area. Your choice, Father.”

Emilio glared back at the now smiling man as he began removing his shirt. “I told you not to call me that.”

After both men had finished undressing, they opened the stainless steel door and walked stark naked into a room bathed in the purplish glow of ultraviolet light. After waiting for a red light to flash above a second stainless steel door, they passed into another room that held a toilet and white metal cabinets stocked with blue surgical scrub suits, gloves, socks, and rolls of tape.

“This might be a good time to empty your bladder,” the man said. “You won’t be able to go to the bathroom once you’re in the suit.”

Emilio nodded his head in resignation and relieved himself before pulling on a pair of cotton scrubs with long sleeves. The man then instructed him on how to make a seal by wrapping tape around the bottom of his pants to his socks and around his sleeves to his gloves. When finished, they passed through yet another door into a bare concrete room, where Emilio saw what looked to him like blue space suits hanging from a rack suspended from the ceiling. A sudden hiss from the air-filtering baffles opening and closing above their heads made him jump.

Trying to keep from smiling at the former priest’s obvious discomfort, the man grabbed one of the thick, one-piece plastic suits off the rack and handed it to Emilio.

“These are biohazard suits. This one should fit you.”

Sitting on a bench, Emilio followed the man’s lead and slipped his feet through the chest opening and down through the legs of the suit into the boots. He then slid his arms into the sleeves and pushed his head up into the hood with the clear faceplate before zipping up a wide zipper that ran diagonally across the chest.

Grabbing one of the yellow air hoses that dangled from the ceiling, the man attached one end to a fitting on Emilio’s suit. Once again, Emilio jumped when the suit inflated with a roar of pressurized air designed to keep the suit under positive pressure. This constant outward flow of air would theoretically protect the person inside from any lethal organisms that might be floating around inside the lab from entering the suit if it developed a tear.

Now fully suited, the two men faced the final door. It was also made from stainless steel and had a bright orange biohazard symbol emblazoned across its surface. The man looked at Emilio and spoke loudly to overcome the hiss of air flowing into their suits. “How are you doing, sir?”

Emilio looked through his faceplate and scowled. “I’m fine. Are we almost there?”

“Beyond that door is the Level 4 lab. It’s one of the hottest hot zones in the world. There are things in there that could kill you before your body even hits the floor. Are you sure you’re ready?”

Emilio’s eyes grew wide. “Yes … of course … let’s go.”

“Ok. Don’t touch anything once you’re inside and everything should be fine. You’ll have to unhook from your air supply hose in here and hook up to another one once we’re inside. Remember … always, and I mean always, stay hooked up to your air supply. Follow me.” Both men unhooked from their yellow lifelines before the tall man opened the steel door and disappeared inside.

Emilio inhaled deeply as if he were preparing to immerse himself in a pool of ice cold water. Stepping through the doorway, a bead of sweat ran down his face as he struggled to keep up with the man ahead of him. The room seemed to spin as he worked to slow his breathing. His heart was pounding in his ears-it skipped a beat.