Page 90 of The Medici Return

“So important that they have never copyrighted or trademarked their liqueurs, for having to reveal their secrets.”

The monk stood silent in the dark, like a shadow.

Camilla motioned toward him. “He and I enjoy a close working relationship. We understand each other. But the prior and I are not as close. Thankfully, he is eighty kilometers away at the main charterhouse, near Pisa.”

“And what would happen if he discovers our trespass?” Jason asked.

“I assure you, that would not be good.”

COTTON HAD BUILT A CAREER AROUND NOT WAITING FOR THE RIGHTopportunity. Instead, he preferred to create it. But he’d never forgotten what his grandfather taught him as a teenager. He’d been asked to join the high school baseball team but had turned the coach down. His mother had not liked that decision at all and made her displeasure known to him.

His grandfather told him a story.

“There was a young man who wanted to marry a farmer’s beautiful daughter. So he did what every good young man should do and went to the farmer to ask permission. The farmer looked him over and said, ‘Son, go stand out in that field and I’m going to release three bulls, one at a time. If you can catch the tail of any one of the three, you can marry my daughter.’ That sounded easy, so the young man stood in the pasture. The barn door opened and out ran the biggest, meanest-looking bull he’d ever seen. He decided that one of the next bulls had to be a better choice, so he ran over to the side and let the bull pass through the pasture and out the back gate. The barn door opened again. And wow, another big, fierce bull, pawing the ground, grunting, slinging slobber, came rushing out. Whatever the third bull was like, it had to be better than this one. So he ran to the fence and let the second bull pass through the pasture and out the back gate. The door opened a third time, and a smile came across the young man’s face. The third bull was small and scrawny. This was the one. So the bull came running by and he jumped at the exact moment to grab the tail, then realized somethin’. The bull had no tail.”

He’d gotten the point of the story.

Never let a good opportunity pass you by, as they seldom came knocking twice. Lost opportunities were only a gateway to regret. Which, more than anything else, explained why he’d ridden a horse in the Palio. What he was doing here, in the middle of the night,at an ancient monastery violating an assortment of centuries-old rules also seemed the precise definition of opportunity.

And he had no intention of allowing it to pass by.

But he was no fool either.

Not in the least.

CHAPTER 61

THOMAS SAT IN HIS RENTAL CAR, PARKED IN THE TREES, NEAR A PAVEDoverlook that rose high above a black landscape. He was to the southeast of Florence, northeast of Siena, within sight, according to the map on his phone, of a place called Santa Maria di Castello. A medieval fortress-like monastery, isolated and inviolate, seated nobly on a hill overlooking a dark valley with a Tuscan forest and vineyards. He was not a drinker at all. Part of that aversion came from his father, who’d loved to drink and then abuse his wife and sons. Drunkenness had been an everyday thing during his childhood, something he vowed never to repeat. So he avoided both drugs and alcohol.

He’d fled the train station in Siena and returned to his rental car. More instructions as to where to go came by text. No one had followed him. He was alone. Was he electronically tagged? Was his phone being tracked? Both were possibilities. Yet unlikely. He was so careful. What happened earlier at the palazzo during the Palio was perhaps the greatest risk he’d ever taken. He’d managed to leave Siena unseen, so perhaps there’d been no harm. But here he was, out in the woods, at night, alone, wondering what was next.

Headlights appeared from down the road, rounding a bend.

The vehicle drove his way, slowing as it approached, finally stopping at the overlook. A door opened and a man emerged, who opened the rear driver’s-side door and removed a case identical to the one he’d earlier left on the bed in the palazzo. Was it the same one?

The man walked over and handed him the case.

“There is ammunition inside,” the courier said, before returning to his car and driving off.

The phone Ascolani had given him vibrated with a text.

Stand by at your location. More instructions are coming. In the meantime, assemble your toy.

STEFANO ANDCARDINALASCOLANI DROVE FROMSIENA TO THE VILLAGEof San Gimignano, one of the most recognizable and iconic destinations in Tuscany. Many called it the medieval Manhattan, thanks to the thirteen stone towers that loomed over the town and shaped its skyline. It sat on the ridge of a hill encircled by three walls with eight entrances, all dating from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The main streets crossed from north to south bisecting four open squares, all lined with shops and cafés that catered to the thousands of tourists who visited every year. No one was around at this hour, all of the buildings closed and dark. They stopped in the Piazza del Duomo and Ascolani climbed out.

He followed.

He was still waiting on an identification of the man from the Palazzo Tempi. Daniele’s police sources were working on it.

Two more cars motored in and came to a stop.

Headlights extinguished.

The passenger-side door of the lead vehicle opened and a man emerged, who walked over to them. He was tall and lean, his features illuminated from the headlights all belonging to age. Gaunt cheeks. Coarsened hair. Tired eyes.

“Eminence,” the newcomer said. “I came. As requested.”

“I appreciate that, Prior. But it is for your benefit we are here. At this moment your repository at Santa Maria di Castello is being violated by outsiders.”

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