Page 82 of The Medici Return

COTTON KNEW HE HAD TO GET AWAY FROM THE CAMPO.CAMILLAhad warned him that once the race was over there would be jubilation from the winner, but a lot of consternation from the losers. And there’d be nine losingcontradas. A lot of bad feelings. Especially considering what happened during the race. The Panthers and Tortoises would not be happy.

Not in the least.

So he’d slipped off the horse and elbowed his way off the track. If he’d waited another few seconds he might not have escaped. He was wearing the black-and-gold livery of Golden Oak, which was like a neon sign providing a target for his enemies. It was not unusual for jockeys to be beaten after the race. In centuries past some had even been killed. Passions ran ultra-high for the weeks leading up to the race, and then during the race itself, so losing could sometimes take a violent tone.

His clothes were at the Golden Oak’s headquarters, along with his cell phone and the gun that Richter had brought to him from Cardinal Stamm. He’d asked for the weapon and Stamm had delivered it sealed in a small box, along with some spare magazines. He needed to find Richter, then have Camilla Baines live up to her side of the bargain. Cassiopeia would not be happy with anything he’dbeen doing. Not one thing. He needed to call her. She was surely wondering what was happening. Their last call had been a short one. She was busy. He was busy. But she’d repeated what they always said to each other.

Don’t be stupid.

And what he’d just done seemed the precise definition of stupid.

Now he was hustling for life and limb.

None of the flags angling from the buildings around him were black and gold. But he had a great sense of direction and he remembered the walk over, trying to emulate it on the way back. He also needed to report to Stephanie. She had to be wondering what he was doing. Maybe she watched the race? It had been televised live all across Italy.

She would not be happy either.

But she’d also want him to get the job done.

He and Stephanie had a long relationship. She took a chance on him when he was a young JAG lawyer. She brought him into the Magellan Billet and hammered him into a trusted field operative, demanding nothing short of the best. Along the way the Magellan Billet became a first-rate intelligence agency. Under former president Danny Daniels it had been the go-to agency for the toughest assignments. Not so much under Daniels’ successor, Warner Fox. In fact, there’d been lots of friction, even a temporary suspension of duties for Stephanie for a few weeks, but all seemed okay now. She was back at the helm. In charge. Getting things done.

She was why he was here.

And the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint her.

JASON WALKED WITHCAMILLABAINES AS THEY LEFT THE CAMPO.The streets were alive with Giraffes ecstatic at their unexpected victory. Camilla had already told him that the only disqualification would go to Malone for switching horses, which was not allowed, but the finish would stand as it unfolded with the Giraffehorse the winner. Malone’s violation would not be passed on to the horse. Camilla could not have cared less. All that mattered was that the Porcupines had lost.

He followed her into a building about a hundred meters from where he’d watched the race. Jockeys filled the room. Their faces bathed in sweat, the colorful livery smeared with dirt, grime, and blood. Looks of concern filled their faces. Camilla had told him these men were all mercenaries, available to the highest bidder. Not given to emotion. Yet these men were clearly upset.

Camilla spoke to an older man then motioned for him to follow her. They entered another smaller room where a man lay still atop a table. Two other men stood beside it. Blood heavily stained the clothing. Camilla spoke to them in Italian. Unfortunately, he did not understand the language, which the Italian cardinals within the Curia many times used to their advantage. She motioned for him to come closer.

“This is the Tortoise jockey who fell from his horse during the second lap,” she told him.

One of the men pointed at the body, and he saw a blood-soaked hole in the livery.

“He was shot,” Camilla said. “The bullet went right through him.”

He was shocked. The body lay supine, arms at the sides.

“Many things have happened to jockeys through the centuries,” she said. “But none has ever been shot during the race.”

One thought raced through his brain.

He stared at Camilla and she seemed to read his thoughts.

Was the bullet meant for Malone?

She shrugged, then said, “That is the question of the moment.”

COTTON TURNED A CORNER.

He estimated he was just a few blocks away from the Golden Oak headquarters. The flags angling from the buildings werered and blue with white stripes. He also saw the panther, which informed him whichcontradahe was traversing. Not good. Considering what had just happened. Down the street he noticed how the flags changed to black and gold, signaling more friendly territory. People packed the route ahead. Slow going. Suddenly he was grabbed from behind and shoved to the right into a narrow alley. Three men waited there. Two more were behind him. All smooth-skinned, swarthy, skin tightly drawn over fine-boned faces. But it was the eyes, hard and cold, that betrayed their intent. All wore scarves with the Panther colors.

One of the men pointed a finger and said in Italian, “We owe you a beating.”

He feigned not being able to understand and said, “No Italian.”

Five to one. Not good odds. He knew in the weeks leading up to the Palio there were many icy relations between friends and competingcontradas. Fisticuffs were common. But to prevent serious injury, the unstated rule was that everyone used only their open hands. These guys looked like they couldn’t give a damn about that rule.

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