The Venetian Betrayal

Stephanie instantly understood. “There’s a kitchen down the hall. I’ll get a knife.”

He cradled the strip of gold in his palm, protected within a crumpled sheet of paper they’d found in the treasury ticket booth.

“Anybody here speak Old Greek?” he asked.

Davis and Thorvaldsen shook their heads.

“We’re going to need a computer. Any word that comes off this strip will be in Old Greek.”

“There’s one in the office we were in before,” Davis said. “Down the hall.”

Stephanie returned with a peeling knife.

“You know, I’m concerned about Michener,” Malone said. “What’s to stop Viktor from killing him, regardless of Zovastina leaving safely?”

“Not going to be a problem,” Davis said. “I wanted Michener to go with Viktor.”

Malone was puzzled. “For what?”

Edwin Davis’s eyes fixed on him, as if deciding if he was someone to be trusted.

Which irritated Malone. “What is it?”

Stephanie nodded and Davis said, “Viktor works for us.”

VIKTOR WAS STUNNED. “WHO ARE YOU?”

“A priest with the Catholic Church, just like I said. But you’re much more than you seem to be. The president of the United States wants me to talk to you.”

The boat was still drifting toward the dock. In a few moments Michener would be gone. This priest had timed his revelation well.

“I was told Zovastina hired you from the Croatian security force, where you were first recruited by the Americans. You were helpful to them in Bosnia, and once they realized you were working for Zovastina, the Americans rekindled their relationship.”

Viktor realized the proffered information, all true, was being offered to convince him that this envoy was real.

“Why do you do it?” Michener asked him. “Living a lie?”

He decided to be honest. “Let’s say that I prefer not to be tried in a war-crimes court. I fought for the other side in Bosnia. We all did things we regret. I eased my conscience by changing sides and helping the Americans capture the worst offenders.”

“Which means the other side would hate you, too, if they knew.”

“Something like that.”

“The Americans still hold that stick over you?”

“There’s no statute of limitations on murder. I have family in Bosnia. Retaliation in that part of the world includes everyone close to you. I left there to get away from things. But when the Americans learned I was working for Zovastina, they gave me a choice. They’d sell me out either to the Bosnians or to her. I decided it was easier to join them.”

“A dangerous game you’re playing.”

He shrugged. “Zovastina didn’t know a thing about me. That’s one of her weaknesses. She believes everyone around her is either too scared or too awed to challenge her.” He needed to know. “The woman tonight, in the basilica, Cassiopeia Vitt, who left with Zovastina-”

“She’s part of this.”

Viktor now realized the gravity of the mistake he’d made. He truly could be compromised. So he needed to say, “She and I dealt with each other in Denmark. I tried to kill her, and the other two from the basilica. I had no idea. But once she tells Zovastina about what happened, I’ll be dead.”

“Cassiopeia won’t do that. She was told about you before she came to the basilica tonight. She’s counting on your help in Samarkand.”

Now he understood her strange whispers in the transept gallery, and why no one who’d been in Denmark had said anything about that in front of Zovastina.

The boat eased to the dock. Michener hopped out. “Help her. I’m told she’s resourceful.”

And she killed with no emotion.

“May God be with you, Viktor. You seem like you’re going to need him.”

“He’s useless.”

A smile came to the priest’s face. “That’s what I used to think.” Michener shook his head. “But I was wrong.”

Viktor was like Zovastina. A pagan. Though not for religious or moral reasons. Just simply because he could not care less about what happened after he died.

“One more thing,” Michener said. “In the basilica, Cassiopeia mentioned a man named Ely Lund. The Americans want to know if he’s alive.”

The name again. First from the woman, now from Washington.

“He was. But I’m not sure anymore.”

MALONE SHOOK HIS HEAD. “YOU’VE GOT SOMEBODY ON THE INSIDE? Then what do you need us for?”

“We can’t compromise him,” Davis said.

“Did you know this?” he asked Stephanie.

She shook her head. “Not until a short while ago.”

“Michener became the perfect conduit,” Davis said. “We weren’t sure how things were going to drop here, but with Zovastina ordering Viktor to take him, it worked out perfectly. We need Viktor to help Cassiopeia.”

“Who is Viktor?”

“Not one of ours, born and bred,” Davis said. “The CIA adopted him years ago. A random asset.”

“Friendly or unfriendly adoption?” He knew a lot of assets were forced into service.

Davis hesitated. “Unfriendly.”

“That’s a problem.”

“Last year, we renewed contact. He’s been quite helpful.”

“He’s so deep, there’s no way he can be trusted. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been double-crossed by random assets. They’re whores.”

“Like I said, so far he’s proven helpful.”

He was not impressed. “You apparently haven’t been at this game long.”

“Long enough to know that you have to take risks.”

“The distance between risk and foolishness isn’t much.”

“Cotton,” Stephanie said, “I’m told that Viktor is the one who pointed us to Vincenti.”

“Which is why Naomi is dead. All the more reason not to trust him.”

He laid the ball of crumpled paper on top of the copier and grabbed the knife from Stephanie. He mated the elephant medallion to the end of one candle. The coin was misshapen, worn from the centuries, but the diameter was nearly right. Only a few strokes were needed to whittle off the excess wax.

He handed the candle to Stephanie and carefully unwrapped the paper. His palms were moist, which surprised him. He grasped the gold leaf by the edge, lightly gripping it between his index finger and thumb. He plucked the end of the coil free and wrapped the strip onto the candle, which Stephanie held steady.

Slowly, he unwound the crinkly foil.

The otherwise unco

The message became clear.

Six Greek letters.

“A good way to send a cipher, then, and now. This one has been delivered twenty-three hundred years after the fact.”

The gold conformed to the candle and he realized Ptolemy’s warning to be wary, for there is but one chance of success had been good advice. No way to unwrap the foil, since the strip would break into pieces.

“Let’s find that computer,” he said.