Page 110 of The Medici Return

Stefano sat back in his chair and stared up, beyond the terrace covering, at the velvet sky, which extended in every direction for what seemed like forever. So peaceful. Beautiful. Comforting.

“Ascolani is headed to Florence,” Stamm said.

“You have eyes on him?” Malone asked.

“Not the most reliable. But some. Casaburi is at his family’s home in a small village east of Florence. Where he goes in the morning will be instructive.”

“It would be nice to know where Dewberry is,” Malone said.

“I believe I can help there,” Stamm said. “Thomas is managed by an intermediary. A duplicitous individual known as Bartolomé. I know how to contact him. I can exert pressure there.”

Stefano had no doubt. Stamm was an assertive leader whoplaced a great deal of faith in his subordinates. He remembered something Stamm had once said. An African proverb. His way of teaching.Every morning a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning a lion wakes up. It knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death. It does not matter whether you are a lion or a gazelle, when the sun comes up you had better be running.

He’d be ready to run in the morning.

It was good to be back on the right team. Stamm was a man of heart with a cultivated mind, a clear conscience, and a perfect command of himself. He also could see that Malone was thinking. He knew little about the man besides the fact that he was an American intelligence operative. But Stamm seemed to have great respect for him, which spoke volumes.

“Okay,” Malone said. “Find out where Dewberry is, then we’ll go from there.”

CHAPTER 74

FLORENCE, ITALY

THURSDAY, JULY3

10:50A.M.

ERIC HUSTLED INSIDE THEBASILICA DISANTACROCE AND MOVEDthrough the main church, heading for a door at the far end of the nave. He’d driven from his home village to Florence, making a series of phone calls along the way, learning how and where to gain access to the Santa Croce’s records. He’d been told that the archives were kept on site in a secure location, the materials dating back to the sixteenth through the eighteenth centuries all digitized. Good to know. Might make things easier.

He found the archives and spoke with a young clerk who directed him to a desktop computer and located what records they had for the middle part of the eighteenth century.

“There are some for that time period,” the clerk said. “But nothing complete. So many record purges have occurred. Bad management lost even more. But you can scan these to see if what you are looking for is there.”

He sat before the computer and studied the images. Written in the Florentine style. Dates were important. Anna Maria’s father, Cosimo III, died in 1723. Anna left Florence in 1724 to get away from her brother, retiring to the countryside to supposedly live alone. Raffaello de’ Pazzi died in 1725. Best guess? Any marriage had to have occurred between 1723 and 1725.

So he started scanning the images, looking for those dates.

Thankfully, the entries were noted in relative chronological order. A few scattered ones appeared here and there with differing dates. He focused on the ones for marriage. And there were many. The clerk had explained that the Catholic Church had been the official record keeper for most of Europe, up to the time of the Protestant Reformation. After that it kept only records that concerned the church itself, such as those who were born, baptized, married, or died within the faith. From everything he’d ever read about Anna Maria she was a devout and faithful believer, an open supporter of the church. It made sense that she would properly marry.

He clicked through the images.

Leaf after leaf.

He’d heard back today from party leaders who were inquiring about the Vatican’s support. Other parties were also lobbying for the Holy See’s tacit endorsement. The elections in nearly every district were going to be tight races. Every vote was going to count. The margins for error would be in the low single digits. He’d assured everyone that he could deliver the Holy See. If he failed? Most likely his party would lose, with no chance at the prime minister’s seat. And he would be out as secretary, relegated to doing nothing more than what he was told. His own election was not set for this round, so he would keep his seat in parliament. For whatever good that would mean. He would essentially be nothing. Right back where he started.

His mind had drifted and he forced himself to focus on the screen. He could not afford to miss anything important. He’d tried to call Camilla Baines. Twice. And received only a recording to leave a message. Perhaps he should travel south to Siena and find her? Worth the trip? Definitely. He had to have that pledge. But at least he knew that it existed and was now back out in the world.

He kept scanning.

And saw an entry.

A M Luisa - Raffaello de’ Pazzi

Matrimonio 18 June 1724

Incredible. That was it. Some degree of anonymity was achieved by using Anna Maria’s initials, along with no surname. But there was no mistaking that a marriage had been recorded for June 18, 1724. A lawful union. Proof. Verification of what Anna Maria herself had written. He decided to draw no attention to his find, but snapped a quick picture with his phone, then closed the file. The record was not going anywhere. He now had all the pieces.

Save one.

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