Russo shrugged her off, growling softly. Healey cast a long glance toward Caitlyn. Alicia thought about the obvious wisecrack but then decided to let the two lovebirds be. The pair hadn’t had a lot of luck just yet.
Is that me growing again? Is it? What the…
A weight hovered just above her shoulders, a weight that if it settled could literally crush her into dust. It lowered by the day, occasionally by the hour. Only situations like the one she faced right now kept it in the air.
“And on to business,” she said quickly, seeing Venice emerge out of the cloud cover below. The beautiful island city spread out, appearing through the right-hand window as the pilot banked and turned in. A series of curves and channels, densely packed dwellings and a huge bridge like an outstretched arm, it diverted her with its intense attractiveness. The others were also staring.
“The Hercules Tarentum, being the greatest work of the greatest sculptor, will become a free-for-all if we allow it,” Crouch said. “The chase is now on, like it or not.”
“Speaking of Lysippos,” Caitlyn said. “In school and through later studies I always believed Michelangelo or possibly Bernini were the greatest sculptors who ever lived.”
“Most famous, yes. I guess it’s arguable, but Michelangelo will always be known for the Pieta and David, both of which he sculpted before he was thirty. Bernini is known for so many works of art, including the Apollo and Daphne and his own David, the Baroque answer to Michelangelo’s Renaissance original. Now what do all these and so many more have in common?”
Caitlyn thought about it for a time. Finally, she said. “They all still exist.”
Crouch slapped an open palm down onto the table. “Exactly. They exist. All we have from Lysippos are copies, fakes and remolds. But consider this — even the copied Horses of St. Mark have been worshipped for thousands of years, fought for, and considered among history’s greatest works of art.” He paused. “Copies.”
“Add to that the Alexander the Great connection…”
“And the Colossus of Rhodes being made by his pupil.”
“Can’t hurt having an original ancient wonder on your pupil’s resume.”
“And to Lysippos’ stature add Eros Stringing the Bow. Agias. Hermes of Atalanta. The Alexander statues, from which the man’s very image is now taken for granted. Alexander’s horse — Bucephalus.”
“Okay.” Alicia thought it wise to stop Crouch as Venice grew clearer through the window. “But all we know is that Dodo brought the Horses to Venice after he sacked Constantinople.”
Crouch tried not to glare at her. “Dandolo,” he said, “stole the Horses and placed them atop St. Mark’s Basilica. And there they stand today. We must apply a well-educated guess that the Hercules was also brought here by Dandolo and secreted away. It has certainly never turned up anywhere else and, indeed, why wouldn’t it have been here? Dandolo was the Doge of Venice, it was his city to command. Of course he brought the Hercules here.”
“For himself?” Caitlyn ventured.
“Undoubtedly. But not exclusively. You remember he was blind? I believe this was merely the spoils of war for a mad, old and dying Venetian. A trophy. One-upmanship. The Bugatti Veyron of 1204. ‘Here, take a gander at my Horses. They used to stand atop the Hippodrome, you know. Do you like them? Well, here, let me show you this little secret treasure…’ ”
Alicia laughed. “Did you read that in a book?”
“Probably.”
“So where do you think he hid the Herc?” Alicia quipped.
“We’re about to find out.” Crouch said confidently. “But from here on in, guys, it’s deadly. No slacking off. No breaks and definitely no free time—” He gave Alicia an odd look.
Alicia frowned. “If you’re referring to my time with Beauregard I don’t count that as exactly free. If you do then try bouncing—”
“Either way,” Crouch interrupted. “Beauregard’s not in Europe. Stay close, all of you. Watch each other’s back like never before. We’re about to land and when Riley hits he will do so with devastating effect.”
Alicia nodded with the rest of them, suddenly out of breath, knocked off-kilter. She wondered if anyone else picked up on it. How the hell does Michael know Beauregard’s not in Europe?
FOURTEEN
Saint Mark’s Basilica is the most famous of all Venice’s great churches, an outstanding illustration of Venetian-Byzantine architecture. Connected to the Doge’s palace it was once the chapel of the Doge, and thus effortlessly accessible by him. Adorned by gold-ground mosaics and seen as the status of Venetian power it was also known as the Church of Gold.
Caitlyn read that it had been linked to Alexandria since 828 on its conception, so it was no surprise that the basilica continued to be associated with Alexandria’s great lost treasures and figureheads like Lysippos. Its very construction stemmed from and was ordered after merchants from Venice stole the supposed relics of Mark the Evangelist from Alexandria. Belief and myths surround it, and wrap it in an air of mystery. The body of St. Mark was discovered inside a pillar by the then-ruling Doge. Part of it is said to be what is now left of the original Doge’s palace. Countless adornments spring from the Fourth Crusade and the sack of Constantinople. Caitlyn immediately knew, on reading, what Crouch already supposed — that the Hercules Tarentum, if it were still in existence, would be here, behind these hallowed walls.
She already knew a little of the Horses themselves, how they dated back to Classical Antiquity, were thought to be a team originally pulling a quadriga chariot containing an emperor, and that the ones on display outside the church were fakes — the real ones now kept inside the church where the elements were far kinder to them.
Now, as the team crossed St. Mark’s Square, hemmed by snapping tourists at every step, surrounded by the ever-present pigeons, a light drizzle fell. Ahead stood the impressive basilica and, to its right, the three-hundred-foot-tall bell tower, one of Venice’s most recognizable landmarks. The square opened out to the right, leading to one of the canals. Caitlyn concentrated on the church, already able to see the bronzed Horses standing in pride of place atop the arched entrance. Caitlyn counted five huge arches ahead, or portals, as they were referred to. Seeing the size of the structure she tapped Crouch on the shoulder.
“Now would be a good time to call one of your contacts.”
Crouch nodded a little reluctantly. “I’d like to get a feel for the place first,” he said. “Nose around a bit. But Riley and Kenzie and their threats mean we’re running against the clock now. Trouble is, I have contacts in most countries, even Italy, but not with the Roman Catholic Church or the Patriarch of Venice.”
“Can’t we… you know,” Russo mumbled. “Have a chat with him.”
Crouch looked a little aghast. “The Patriarch is appointed by the Pope himself. No, Russo, we can’t have a word with him.”
Alicia sighed. “And there goes any chance of me being able to use my womanly wiles on him.”
Russo choked with laughter. “Oh, yeah. Really? You have those?”
“Wait a minute,” Caitlyn said, almost stepping on a pigeon. “I thought you said the basilica belonged to the Doge, not the local bishop.”
“Used to.” Crouch also had to wade through a knot of pecking birds. “I remember reading it changed over slowly, finally overseen by Napoleon during his years of control in Venice.”
Caitlyn blinked at that. “Who? Napoleon? Of France? How did he—”
But at that moment, with the basilica before them, and the skies lightening up above to show a blanket of pure blue, Crouch’s cellphone rang. To both sides tourists glanced across as if the tinny droning of a ringtone was in violation of the piazza’s rules. Crouch answered.