The secret of michelange.., p.1
The Secret of Michelangelo, page 1
The Secret of Michelangelo
By D. M. James
Copyright
Text Copyright © 2016 D. M. James
All Rights Reserved.
This novel is entirely work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To my other-half; for her unconditional love and support!
Contents
Prologue
Part One:
Friends and Foes
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part Two:
Unexpected Allies
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part Three:
The Ambitious Florentine
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Part Four:
Retribution
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Prologue
13th February, London, England.
Robert was out of breath. He had been running for at least fifteen minutes, covering around two miles, trying to evade his pursuer. He hoped that the great scale of the city, with its numerous alleyways would aid him. London is huge after all and could be chaotic for a stranger; but that was not the case for the born and raised Londoner, Robert. He knew the city like the back of his hand; although, he was not sure that that would suffice this time.
He stopped for a moment and leaned on a street lamp. As he took some deep breaths, he felt dizzy, whilst his heart would not slow down. Damn my old age! Robert thought gasping, his breath visible in the air. At fifty-seven, Robert was fit enough to run the London Marathon, but not for a two-mile sprint race. He was a tall and quite muscular, middle-aged man, with short grey hair and a casual beard.
He turned and looked over his shoulder and saw no sign of his pursuer. Breathing heavily, he turned his gaze to his surroundings for the first time. He was in a dark, misty residential street. The place was deserted, apart from a couple of crows picking the rubbish on a nearby bin. The only light that made him see through the fog, was an old, black street lamp in which he was leaning on; none of the buildings had their lights on, due to the lateness of the hour; almost one o’clock in the morning.
It was a very cold winter’s night, with the temperature being near the freezing point. Robert shivered, but not because of the cold. He realised he could not linger there for long. What if they caught up with him? He straightened up to his full height and looked towards the other end of the street; he knew he had to carry on, but he kept postponing his departure, because even though his brain told him to walk, his legs would not. He felt so tired, both physically and mentally. If only he could call someone for help, but he could not risk it. He had to reach his safe house by himself; he had to hide the book before it was too late.
‘Right! Now or never,’ he whispered and made his first step.
Click!
Robert froze on the spot.
‘Give me the book, Robert,’ said a deep voice.
Robert turned and looked at his caller. When he turned, he gazed upon his pursuer who had finally caught up with him and incidentally, had drown a small black pistol, which was what had made the clicking sound. ‘There’s no use with it,’ Robert started. ‘I’ve told you a hundred times.’
The man grimaced in frustration. ‘Give me the map, then,’ he said.
‘What map? There is no map,’ Robert answered emphatically.
‘How do I know you’re not lying?’ the other man asked and tightened his grip on his gun.
Robert sighed; he knew he was cornered this time. His tired legs would not run fast enough this time and even if they did, the bullet out of his pursuer’s gun would be faster. Therefore, he started wondering whether he should try and talk his way out of this one and find a diplomatic solution. ‘Let’s have a seat and talk about it like civilised adults, shall we?’ Robert said after a few seconds of silence and pointed towards a nearby street bench.
‘You didn’t want to talk about it earlier… You started running once you saw me,’ the man said. ‘And that makes me wonder whether you have something to hide.’
‘Why are you so convinced that there is a hidden map in my book?’ Robert asked the same question he had asked that man twice already the past month, trying to win himself some time, while looking around for possible escape routes.
‘I’ve told you before, haven’t I?’ the man said exasperated. ‘It’s all in the diary, Federico’s diary. Now, the book in your barrel contained a treasure map.’
‘Treasure map?’ Robert looked up interested. He had not told him before about a treasure map, but just a map. However, Robert knew better than to believe him.
‘Don’t act surprised, Robert,’ said the man. ‘I know you’ve seen it. I know you’ve got it. I can see it in your greedy eyes. Now give it to me,’ he said and took some steps closer to him.
He now became clearly visible under the light of the street lamp. He was a tall man, around Robert’s age; although, one could not say that he was as fit as Robert, due to the capacity of his belly which stretched his pants to a dangerous point; or in any good hygienic state either, as his clothes looked dirty and his long white hair were loose to his shoulders, looking greasy and uncombed. While, every time he spoke a set of yellow teeth were being revealed.
Robert shivered again, but this time not out of fear or uncertainty, but out of disgust. ‘I told you, I don’t have this map you keep referring to?’ he said and looked away from the man.
‘Then, why did you RUN?’ the other asked loudly, disturbing the nearby crows which screeched annoyed.
‘Because you’re crazy, mate,’ Robert said. ‘You didn’t believe me. Obviously, I wouldn’t have stayed there defenseless, so-’
‘So, you run towards your hideout, your secret flat in the city centre,’ he finished Robert’s sentence.
Robert was so surprised for the man’s knowledge about this particular flat that he spoke without thinking, ‘How the hell do you know about that flat?’
‘Oh, I’ve been spying on you, of course,’ he said matter-of-factly and a sinister smile was formed on his lips. ‘I know where you keep your records of your dirty business.’
Robert opened his eyes widely and said stuttering, ‘I don’t… I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t play the dumb with me, Robert, for you and I are the same,’ he said sycophantically. ‘Just give me the damn map and I’ll be on my way. I won’t bother you again and I’ll take your secret to the grave.’
Robert’s blood pressure was rising dangerously. He could not, he would not let this man threaten him, blackmail him. ‘I don’t have any secrets, sir. I am an open book… An honest businessman, a-’
‘A bloody traitor,’ the man interrupted him again. ‘Spare me the pathetic excuses you tell your wife. Just give me the bloody map,’ he said clinching his teeth and getting even closer to Robert with his gun still pointing directly at his chest.
‘I do NOT have it,’ Robert insisted.
‘OK! Let me put it this way. You either give it to me now or I’ll call your wife and tell her what her husband’s been doing for the past ten years.’
‘That’s not a threat,’ Robert outburst, raising his voice. ‘She’s divorcing me, anyway. I think she already suspects…’
‘I don’t care!’ Nicholas said exasperated. ‘The map! Hand it over,’ Nicholas insisted once more waving his gun.
‘I don’t-’
‘The MAP!’
‘NO!’
BANG!
Robert thought he was watching everything in slow motion as he was thrown backwards from the force of the bullet that penetrated his coat, passed through his shirt and eventually reached his chest. He hit the stone-pavement with a thud. At first the shock prevented him from physical pain, but after a few seconds, he started feeling it. As he unbuttoned his coat with trembled hands, he looked at his previous white shirt, which was now going red with the spreading blood, and touched his open wound. Then he felt it: pain, pain and cold, beyond any he had ever experienced. His eyes filled with tears and every breath he took was agonising.
A black figure stirred in the shadows. He tried to see with his blurred eyes, to make out who it was. His mind felt numb, he had forgotten why he was there; the only thing he wanted was for the pain to stop. He felt unknown hands searching his body; hands that even though were gloved, they felt so cold they sure belonged to death…
‘I’ve got it now,’ said the man’s happy voice above him and then he heard the sound of the pages of a book flipping. ‘Where is it? It’s not here,’ he said after a few seconds, but this time in an angry tone. ‘Where’ve you hidden it?’ he asked and grabbed him with both hands and started shaking hi
He let him go and looked him straight in the eye. Robert looked back at him, as he sensed the imminent moment of death was drawing near, and said, ‘You’ll never find it!’
‘Where is it? WHERE IS IT?’ the man started shouting and shaking him again before realising that Robert’s body had become lifeless…
Two years later
Part One:
Friends and Foes
Chapter 1
9th February, Venice, Italy.
A dark-haired of high stature, man was crossing with difficulty the cloudy, but nonetheless, crowded Piazza San Marco, or Saint Mark’s Square, the heart of Venice and the annual Venetian Carnival. He was holding a black briefcase tight to his chest, as he was trying to move around the tourists, but they seemed to be everywhere. Old and young, couples and families; some of them dressed in carnival costumes. The whole square was buzzing. Nevertheless, he had to cross it in order to reach his destination, which was Caffé Florian, the oldest, most artistic and probably most expensive coffee shop in the whole of Italy.
He looked at his wristwatch and realised he was late. After he stumbled upon yet another passerby, and kindly apologised for the hundredth time that morning, he reached the caffé which was situated on the South side of the square in the so called Procuratie Nuove, one of the three interconnected buildings in the square.
The caffé was so full of people that once he stepped his foot inside, the first sensation he experienced was that of claustrophobia, rather than admiration for the art in the caffé’s walls. He took a deep breath and once more started squeezing through the crowd. He doubted that he would find his friend in this pandemonium. However, as he moved deeper into the coffee shop and started considering whether he should call his friend, he spotted a ginger-headed man, with a navy-blue suit and a matching tie, seating by himself on a small table at the far end of the shop.
‘Hello, David,’ said Jamie smiling to the man seated alone.
‘Thank God I wasn’t holding my breath,’ joked the man called David and stood up to handshake his old friend.
‘Apologises for the delay, but it’s so overcrowded out there,’ said Jamie; then took a seat next to him and placed his briefcase on his lap.
‘Tell me about it; the busiest period of the year for Venice,’ said David matter-of-factly.
Jamie nodded in agreement and ordered a large cappuccino. He then looked at his best friend with a grin and his mind went back in time momentarily.
David Miller have been one of the few people whom Jamie trusted completely. Their friendship could have been traced back to the London School of Economics and Political Sciences where they had studied together almost a decade before. While they had been in different departments, Jamie had been studying Finance and David Law, mutual friends had linked them and they had discovered that they had had a lot in common. After graduation, they had continued to hang out, occasionally though, due to the fact that they lived in different cities; Jamie lived in London, but David had returned to his hometown at Stretford, in Greater Manchester. However, during the last couple of years, David had become Jamie’s personal lawyer and thus, their meetings had become more frequent.
Two years previously, there had been a robbery and a fire in his deceased father’s house in Chelsea, London. Naturally, the media had been involved as the house had been owned by one of the most successful businessmen in the country, Robert Richardson, who had owned numerous five-star hotels throughout the United Kingdom and Europe. Many people had said that it had been a trick by his wife Charlotte and his son Jamie, in order to claim the money from the insurance company. The incident had occurred two weeks after his father’s death and there had been the speculation that the culprits, who incidentally, had never been caught, had been the same responsible for Richardson Senior’s death. However, weird enough, nothing had been stolen from the house; although, the secret safe in Robert’s office had been discovered and blown open, something that had probably resulted the fire, the burglars had left a huge amount of cash untouched.
Thus, Jamie had needed a good lawyer, but also a person whom he could trust. To his opinion, there had been none better than his old mate, David. Nevertheless, nothing had come out of that case, except that the insurance company had stopped implying that they had deliberately set their own house ablaze.
In Venice, they had met after Jamie’s insistence. He had already been in the city for business to his local hotel when and he had insisted that David would meet him there for a very important matter. The reason he had brought David all the way from England to Italy, had not been to discuss business or to enjoy the Venetian Carnival; it had been a five-hundred year-old book.
‘So, how’ve you been?’ David asked.
Jamie returned to the reality. ‘Fine,’ he said simply. The waitress brought Jamie his cappuccino. He thanked her and immediately busied himself adding sugar.
‘Good,’ said David. Jamie didn’t answer, he seemed extremely interested in his coffee. ‘So, what’s the occasion?’ David asked getting to the topic himself as he saw his friend was more than reluctant to speak out.
‘Right, yes!’ Jamie exclaimed and shook his head as if to try and clear his foggy thoughts. ‘Where to start?’ he said, sighing. ‘There’s something I’d like to show you, David,’ he said.
‘And what’s that?’ David asked encouraging his friend and he took a sip of coffee.
Jamie did not answer right away, but instead, he looked around at the busy caffé. It was clearly not the most appropriate place to talk about such a sensitive issue and an even more unsuitable place to bring the thing he was carrying in his briefcase. Nevertheless, he made a move towards his briefcase. He slowly opened the clips and from inside the bag, he pulled a book lined with transparent gelatin, apparently for its protection; then, he unsealed it and took off the old-faded book. He held it for a while in his hands, unable to imagine the secrets it could conceal. He leaned it on the table to let his friend see it too. ‘Here,’ he finally said. ‘That’s the reason I brought you in Venice.’
David took the book at his hands and scrutinised its cover. ‘The Fleur-de-lis?’ David whispered apparently bewildered, by the symbol in the cover.
The Fleur-de-lis is the flower lily that makes its appearance over the centuries in many European countries. It can be interpreted as a political, a dynasty and an artistic symbol. Furthermore, the Fleur-de-lis has been an emblem of many flags, including that of Florence. That is why Jamie had been bewildered the first time he had seen it, because that had not been an ordinary Fleur-de-lis, but Florence’s Coat of Arms.
Jamie started to explain to David what it was and how it came to his procession. A few weeks before, Jamie had received a registered mail. The mail had actually been a small parcel containing a particularly old book, which had been leather-bound and it had looked about two hundred-page long. Moreover, the book had been accompanied by a note that read: Your father left this in my possession before he died. He would want you to have it!
His heart had skipped a bit when he had read that it had a connection with his father. When he had taken closer look at the book, he had seen that in the centre of the front-cover, the Florentine Coat of Arms had been illustrated; a red Fleur-de-lis in a white field. As he had opened it, the feeling of excitement had spread across his body. The very first page had contained a single, intriguing word: Michelangelo.
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni was one of the greatest and influential artists of the Italian Renaissance of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries and he is sometimes considered as the greatest artist of all time. His masterpieces include world renowned paintings, sculptures (Pieta and the Statue of David), architectural (St Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City) and engineering designs and poems.
Michelangelo was born in 1475 in the village of Caprese, in Tuscany, Italy. While he spent his first years of his career in the city of Florence. His works did not pass unnoticed and he rapidly gained reputation across Italy. However, it was not until the early sixteenth century, in 1505, when he was invited to Rome, that his reputation rose beyond his wildest expectations; he was made the official artist of the Catholic Church and he personally painted two of the most famous frescos in art history: the Sistine Chapel Ceiling and The Last Judgement, which are both in the Vatican City.
