Page 121 of The Medici Return

“I am glad that’s over,” Jason said.

“It may be here, but not in Florence.”

CHAPTER 80

FLORENCE, ITALY

SATURDAY, JULY5

7:00A.M.

COTTON OPENED HIS EYES TO THE EARLY-MORNING LIGHT THATflooded the hotel room. He’d found a room at the Westin and decided to stay over a day or two. There was some unfinished business. Loose ends that required tying up. He lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, his thoughts bounding about. The danger was over and some deep, unbroken sleep had sharpened his wits.

It was a new day.

He rose, showered, and shaved.

The hotel had provided all the amenities needed. Yesterday afternoon he’d made a couple of stops at some men’s clothing stores and bought new underwear, pants, and a shirt, which would get him by today and tomorrow. He should be back in Copenhagen by Monday.

Ordinarily after pulling the trigger, he was a bit introspective. Unlike in movies, television, and novels, killing came with consequences to the psyche, though this time those had been tempered by the fact that there’d been no choice. None at all. Thomas Dewberry would have never laid down his rifle and surrendered. One thing and one thing only would have stopped him.

Which Cotton had done.

The localcarabinierihad arrived in the Piazza del Duomo andfound Eric Casaburi’s bloodied body. The hotel had called them to the scene of what happened in Room 408 and Cotton had no choice but to stay and answer their questions. He’d been taken into custody but released when Stephanie Nelle appeared at the police station with a representative of the Agenzia Informazioni e Sicurezza Interna, Italy’s version of the FBI.

Always good to have friends in high places.

It had taken a few hours but they finally located the vehicle that Eric Casaburi had been driving when he arrived at Santa Croce. Inside they had found an old wooden box filled with nine handwritten volumes. Experts from the local university confirmed they were written by Anna Maria de’ Medici. Some sort of diary that she’d maintained. That information had interested both the Swiss Guard and Cardinal Stamm, who also arrived and assumed operational commandon the authority of the pope. Apparently he was back in the good graces of the pontiff. As was Richter. Who’d traveled back to Rome to brief the pope. Cotton had spent last evening reading Anna Maria’s writings. He was especially intrigued by her last entry, which might well lead to the Medici’s copy of the Pledge of Christ.

He stepped over to the window.

The fresh touch of an early sun seemed to invite a walk. So he left the hotel and navigated the streets, heading for the Pitti Palace. Father Giumenta had been waiting for him downstairs in the hotel lobby. They needed to finish this. Today. Together.

In 1550 the first Medici grand duke, Cosimo I, bought an unfinished palace that covered the northern slope of the Boboli Hill, on the southern bank of the River Arno. It had been started more than eighty years before by a man named Luca Pitti but never finished. Cosimo not only completed it, but also added on and created what became the royal palace, from where the Medici ruled Florence for the next two hundred years. Its distinctive style, solemn and grand, spread throughout Europe and became the standard for a Renaissance royal dwelling. Today it was called the Pitti Palace and was no longer a residence. Instead it was a museum, art gallery, and cultural center visited by millions of people every year.

“You think it is here,” Stefano asked him.

“It seems like the right place.”

The pledge was secured with two writings, one for Rome, the other for our family. I leave that pledge to you alone. It does not belong to the people of Florence. Instead, it rests safely under a watchful eye and this verse will lead the way.

Then Anna Maria had offered—

Know the darkened world has long missed the night and day, which while the shade still hung before his eyes, shone like a guide unto steps afar. Ne’er will the sweet and heavenly tones resound, silent be the harmonies of his sweet lyre, only in Raffaello’s bright world can it be found.Auguror eveniat.

Clearly a riddle.

Compounded by something else they’d learned.

Cardinal Stamm, who’d been given temporary command of the Entity, had dispatched two field officers to the village of Panzitta, where a Pazzi family burial crypt existed. Eric Casaburi had visited there recently and was shown something of interest. A copper plate from inside the grave of Raffaello de’ Pazzi with Latin writing on its back side. An odd verse that had yet to be understood, the thinking being it was something personal to that particular Pazzi.

Ne’er will the sweet and heavenly tones resound, Silent be the one nature feared, and when he was dying, feared herself to die. Forever silent be his harmonies, only in his third son’s bright world be justice found.Auguror eveniat.

He’d immediately noticed the similar diction and syntax withNe’er will the sweet and heavenly tones resound.Along with the Latin phrase at the end.Auguror eveniat.I wish it will come. That could not be a coincidence. The words were identical in the two separate writings. The only logical explanation? The same person wrote both. Since they knew Anna Maria wrote one, she surely wrote the other too. A search of the records at Santa Croce had revealed what Eric Casaburi had also found. Raffaello de’ Pazzi was the husband of Anna Maria. Father of a male Medici descendant, surely with a direct DNA link down to Casaburi.

The dots were beginning to connect.

Time to form the complete picture.

---