Cameron West - The Medici Dagger

Synopsis:

Hollywood stuntman Reb Barnett lives on the edge to avoid the nightmares of his past until an anonymous phone call pulls him from his world of cinematic illusion and sends him to Italy on a desperate quest where danger and violence are chillingly real. Reb seeks Leonard da Vinci's Circles of Truth, a coded fifteenth century map that will lead him to the Medici Dagger, an ingenious but lethal invention a weapon so light and indestructible its worth a fortune to arms manufacturers. To Reb, the dagger is his only link to his fathers suspicious death years ago. But breaking the code means matching wits with Leonardo. And staying alive means evading the killer who haunts Rebs dreams.

But for God and the bakers, all of Italy slept through the sultry August night and the moment of the great discovery that is, all except the inventor, who stood back from the heat of his forging furnace, astonished, holding the cooling, practically weightless dagger in his palm. The piercing blade glinted in the orange light as beads of sweat gathered like berries on the hairs of the mans strong wrists.

Placing the dagger point-up in a vise, the man hefted a sledge and struck the blades tip with full force. The hammers iron mallet split like a ripe melon. Using his extraordinary powers of reason, the man struggled to account for this miracle. There was only one answer. An incalculable ingredient had been added to his experimental mixture of metals.

Gazing skyward out his window, the genius contemplated another question even more profound. Would his incredible discovery be used for good or for evil? As he solemnly watched the molten sparks from his furnace chimney race toward the velvety heavens, the man from Vinci made his decision.

And five centuries passed.

I sank into the black leather sofa in my fathers spacious office, leaning against a pillow that looked like a big, silky Chiclet. Tension rippled through the room. I glanced up at my dad, who was slumped forward in his chair, elbows on his leather-topped desk, forehead in one hand. His face was six inches from the speakerphone a boxy thing, separate from the telephone, that sounded even worse than they do today. Wedged between the fingers of his other hand was a number-two pencil that he nervously wiggled back and forth.

The voice coming out of the phone belonged to Ensign Hector Camacho, a representative from the Coast Guard. Im very sorry, sir, Camacho said with professional dispassion.

My dad winced as if hed stepped on a thumbtack. Youre saying he could have gone down anywhere within a hundred-mile radius?

Im saying that

Cant you find that plane? You cannot fathom the importance of this, the devastating consequences! Sweat glistened on my fathers upper lip.

Try to calm down, Dr. Barnett, Camacho said. I know how difficult this must be for you, losing, uh, Mr. Greer.

Henry! Dad shouted, and then, as if in an afterthought, he said, Oh, God... Henry. I knew Henry Greer was the pilot and courier my father had sent to France to retrieve a page of Leonardo da Vincis notes.

Was he a relation? Camacho asked.

My father ignored the question. So theres no way at all to recover this airplane?

He went down in very deep waters, and probably at high speed, sir.

My father snapped the yellow pencil and threw the two halves on the floor. Jesus!

I squirmed in my seat and thought maybe I should take a walk. But I stayed.

I know, Camacho said. Im very sorry.

My dad was silent for what seemed like a full minute before I realized that he was crying. That got me, and I felt tears welling up, too.

Out of the little box, Camachos voice said,Mister... um, Doctor?

Youll call me if anything turns up? Dad said desperately. Anything. A piece of paper. A scrap of paper.

Of course, sir.

A document of any kind. Anything with writing on it.

Well call you immediately if anything at all is recovered, sir.

My dad collected himself. Thank you, Ensign, he said. Goodbye.

Goodbye, sir, Camacho said, and disconnected.

My father stared at the dead speakerphone. I got up and walked over behind him, my boot heels silent on the thick maroon carpet. When I placed a hand on his shoulder, I realized his shirt was damp from sweat.

Dad? I called softly.

He slowly raised his head and looked at me through watery eyes. Its gone, son, he whispered. Its gone.

On July nights the humidity in Georgetown was so thick it looked as if a plastic shower curtain had been hung in front of the moon. Sometimes, after my mom and dad had kissed me good night and closed my door, Id get out of bed and kneel down in front of my second-story window, open it up, and poke my head out into the night. Id squint up at the hazy yellow face of the moon and feel the air-conditioning going one way and the hot, sticky air going the other, until Id start to sweat or a mosquito would nail me.

The night of the plane crash I lay on my back in bed, propped up on my elbows. My mother leaned over me, dressed in her light blue cotton robe, scrubbed clean, no makeup. I breathed in the scent of her favorite soap apricot from Caswell Massey hoping to ease some of my worry. I watched Moms eyes as she fluffed my pillow. Her eyes are the color of acorns, I thought. The serenity they normally radiated was absent that night. And my sheets were tucked in too tightly. I pried them loose with my toes.

You did the wash today, huh.

Nothing like fresh sheets, is there? Mom said, managing a smile. Okay, there we go. You can cozy up now.

There was no chance of that happening. I laid my head back and my mother pulled the covers under my chin.

Is Dad coming up to give me a kiss?

She sighed. I dont think so, sweetie. I dont know when hes coming up. Hes... you know, hes pretty upset. She covered her mouth with her hand. If she cried Id have a nightmare for sure.

But it was an accident, I said. It wasnt his fault.

I know, but... She sat down on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on my chest. I wanted to hold it, but my arms were stuck at my sides like a mummys.

Dad feels responsible, she said. If he hadnt bought the notes for the museum, or if hed gone to get them himself, instead of sending the courier... Hes really... upset.

Is he going to feel better tomorrow? What about the museum party? Are we still going to have the party? Were not, are we?

Just the low hum of the air conditioner.

Maybe now nobodyll ever find the Medici Dagger. I sighed. What would Leonardo think of that?

It was a tragedy today. For a lot of people.

I could have helped. I could have done something.

Honey, youre eleven. There was nothing you could have done. Now go to sleep. Everythings going to be all right.

She kissed my cheek and gave my earlobe a little tug. Have swell dreams and a peach, she whispered in my ear. Swell dreams and a peach.

Big peach, I said, taking a last whiff of her. Oh, Mom...

I know. The night-light.

She stopped by the door, clicked on the little light, and turned off the overhead. Happy dancing shadows... she began.

... in Rebs sleep-tight light, I murmured, finishing our little ritual. She padded down the hall, creaking the old floor in all the usual spots.