“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Hawke said, glancing at Ryan.
Alex looked at Ryan and then back to Eden. “I don’t even know what Mazzarro was using as a reference for his own deciphering matrix, so I guess that’s why Vetrov decided now was the time to steal my research — he wanted me to give him Mazzarro’s name — because as I say, he’s the only person who can translate the map.”
“And now Vetrov knows he’s in Venice,” Lea said.
Alex nodded grimly while Scarlet lit another cigarette from the burning stub of her last one, undeterred by Hawke’s disapproving look.
Alex continued. “So as I say, Mazzarro has the only real knowledge in the world of those particular glyphs and this is why Vetrov needs him. He didn’t exactly have a great employee-rights scheme so I guess most academics capable of helping him out — supposing there are any — wouldn’t go within a hundred miles of him. He threw his last researcher into a crocodile enclosure, after all. That’s why I told everyone to come to Venice. It wasn’t just for the ice cream, you know.”
A subdued ripple of grim laughter went around the room, then Eden cleared his throat. “Where is this Mazzarro?”
“He works at the Doge’s Palace,” Alex said quietly.
Eden nodded. “Okay, good… Sounds like Vetrov must have been following you around the internet as you were doing your research. I guess when he saw the progress you’d made, he decided he wanted both you and your research, and more particularly that list of names, and that was when he must have decided to send that bastard to New York to get you.”
Alex looked at the others in the heavy silence. The smell of Scarlet’s cigarette smoke drifted into the room on a sea breeze. Lea smiled awkwardly, but Ryan just stared out the window. Karlsson shrugged his broad shoulders and felt around in his pockets for a cigarette even though he had quit ten years ago — it was an old habit of his to combat the silence.
Eden flicked the locks on an expensive Samsonite suitcase and revealed a small array of weapons.
“So this is the plan. I will go with Hawke, Lea and Bradley to the Doge’s Palace and track down this Mazzarro character, while Ryan and Alex will stay here at HQ and start working on Lexi’s picture of the map. Scarlet and Lexi, you’re to remain here in case Vetrov has tracked us. The last thing I want is an assault on this hotel and Ryan and Alex vulnerable to attack.” He turned to face them all. “Clear?”
“Clear as Irish crystal, Rich,” Lea said, but no one else spoke.
Eden tossed her a brand new Glock 19 and a box of ammunition. “Hope for the best, plan for the worst.”
“As always,” she said, sliding the versatile black pistol into her holster.
Eden continued to hand out the weapons as he spoke. “There’s no doubt Maxim Vetrov is the most organized and ruthless enemy we’ve faced and we all know he’s got the best of us more than once.”
“You can say that again,” Ryan said.
Eden slid a pistol into a shoulder holster beneath his smart, linen jacket. “Well, this is our chance to turn the tables on him and get the map back into safe hands. We know he has the information about Mazzarro but we also know we’re ahead of him thanks to your destruction of his complex. But the fact is he’s probably in Venice as we speak and we can’t let him get to Dario Mazzarro before us, because then he’ll have both the map and the man who can translate it.”
“Which is not good,” Lexi said.
“All right, everyone,” Eden said, looking each one of them in the eye. “It’s time to bring this to an end. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Eden, Hawke, Lea and Karlsson moved silently through the bustling crowd in San Marco’s Square, each armed with concealed Glocks and with the clear goal of warning Dr Dario Mazzarro about the imminent danger he faced, and how his life’s research and deciphering work could now at last be put to the test on the map — once it was recovered.
As they walked, Venice seemed to swallow them up. The Doge’s Palace rose up from the square and Hawke could see why it was one of the city’s most famous landmarks. Built over seven hundred years ago to serve as the residence of the Doge, or chief magistrate of Venice, the enormous Gothic building shone in the sun and cast its vast shadow across the busy lagoon.
Hawke and the others were anxious as they stepped out of the safety of the shaded colonnade and weaved into the relaxed crowd of tourists. Checking for threats, they walked across the famous courtyard on their way to the glistening red Verona marble of the Foscari Arch and the Giants’ Staircase.
“Is this it?” Lea asked.
Eden nodded but made no reply.
“Looks like a giant wedding cake.”
Passing the ancient Sansovino statues of Mars and Neptune, they shuffled up the steps on their way to Dr Mazzarro’s office.
Eden knocked on the door and a moment later it swung open to reveal a middle-aged man in a raggedy tweed jacket and baggy moleskin trousers. His hair was black and silver and a mess of curls not unlike a bird’s nest. A pair of tortoiseshell glasses balanced on the bridge of his prominent nose.
“Si?”
“Dottore Dario Mazzarro?”
“Si. Chi siete tutti?”
Eden spoke in rapid Italian for a few seconds and Hawke watched the Doctor’s eyebrows gradually rise higher as the explanation went on.
Mazzarro looked at the foreigners outside his door suspiciously for a few moments and then went to close the door on them, but then the sound of gunfire and desperate, terrified screams emanating from below worked the magic that Eden’s Italian had failed to do.
Eden tightened his jaw and stared down the long corridor. “The bastards must have worked out where we are!”
Without wasting a second Mazzarro stepped into the corridor and slammed the door behind him, fumbling the key in his lock.
Hawke grabbed his arm and stopped him. “These people don’t need keys to open doors, Doctor Mazzarro, and we need to get you out of here right now.”
“But how do I know you’re who you say you are — you could be criminals!”
More gunshots and screams from downstairs.
Hawke looked him in the eye. “Your choice.”
They ran downstairs away from the office, desperate to get away before any innocent people got hurt, but before they’d got a hundred yards the sound of more automatic gunfire reverberated in the ancient halls of the palace. It was followed by yet more terrified screams of innocent tourists and the sound of stampeding as they desperately rushed the fire exits to escape the terror.
“Damn it!” Eden cried as the gunshots grew closer.
“This way!” Hawke said.
They sprinted along a corridor before entering an enormous, highly decorative room with a beautiful coffered ceiling. Below, the walls were covered in grand, eighteenth century oil paintings.
“This is the Scarlet Chamber,” Mazzarro said. “We need to go through that far door. It’s the quickest way out of here — and then we must go straight to the police… But wait! We need to go back to my office — all my research notebooks are there and we cannot let these people get their hands on them.”
“Where are they in your office, exactly?” Hawke asked.
“Hidden…”
After a few seconds of wrangling, the Italian eventually gave up the location of the notes as they moved toward the door.
Outside the chamber, it sounded like someone was spraying bullets up the walls just for the hell of it. A second later a man carrying a Russian submachine gun burst through the door beneath the vast Paradise painting which stretched across the entire far wall.
They all looked to Eden for his lead. This was the first time Hawke had seen Eden under fire in the field and he wondered how he would react. He knew he had spent fifteen years in the army as an officer in the Parachute Regiment, and the Paras weren’t exactly known for running away from fights. They were universally regarded as the toughest regiment in the British Army — highly trained airborne soldiers whose only real rival were the Royal Marines Commandos themselves. They also had the proud distinction of supplying more soldiers into the SAS than any other regiment. But all that was a long time ago and Eden had lived the life of a pampered Member of Parliament for a long time now.