Excerpts from The Medici Quest

From Chapter 3

“The time has come for me to pass on a secret that I have kept for several years,” the elder Medici began. “Only one other knew of the secret, but that man passed on from this earth. I will soon join him.”

Cosimo paused to take a few labored breaths, trying to gain strength for what he understood would be a long—and perhaps his final—conversation.

He began his story with the visit of Poggio Bracciolini to the Medici Chapel on a cool evening six years earlier. Cosimo spoke of the letter from Sultan Mehmed and of the single page of the manuscript that served as confirmation of Mehmed’s claims. He admitted that he never showed the documents to Pope Pius II, choosing to keep the news to himself until a solution was found.

“I often prayed for Mehmed to fall in one of his many crusades,” Cosimo admitted. “Or that I would find an artifact that would entice him to exchange the holy manuscripts. To my great disappointment, neither opportunity came about. The Sultan dismissed even my attempts to pay a large sum for the sacred writings.

“I still hold out hope and will beseech the Lord until my dying breath that the manuscripts can someday be saved and returned to Christendom. Tonight I am passing on that hope and challenge to you.”

Piero and Lorenzo had not spoken throughout Cosimo’s discourse. They remained silent as the great man gathered his fleeting strength for a final revelation.

“I have hidden the documents I received from Mehmed and devised a code to direct others to their location in future years. The seven books you see on my shelf are the start. Once I tell you the secret, you will be able to find the documents, if needed. You will also know the process to add more clues in the future if additional information is revealed.”

“What is the code, grandfather?” Lorenzo asked, without hesitation.

Cosimo described his unique method for recording the secret information and the process of decoding the clues. Then he looked straight at his grandson.

“I trust you Lorenzo to pursue the manuscripts in the Sultan’s possession with a fervor sparked by the power of the Lord. If you do not find success, pass on the secret to the most trustworthy member of the Medici line before your final days.”

From Chapter 25

The look of confusion on her face soon turned back into terror when Ethan leaned his body back toward the open cargo door, pulling Chloe with him. His last sight before he and Chloe plummeted out of the plane was The Seeker. The criminal’s face appeared contorted into a mask of rage.

The deafening noise of the plane’s engine and the rushing wind disappeared; at least for a few seconds until their bodies neared terminal velocity and the force of the air whistling by their faces made it impossible to communicate verbally. Ethan could tell Chloe was near hysteria—as anybody would be that just got pulled out of an airplane without a parachute—but he barely heard her screams. Chloe’s frenzied state made it difficult for him to keep a grip on both her and the parachute. He had to get the parachute straps over both shoulders and hooked in tightly before there would be any chance to pull the cord. He also couldn’t let go of Chloe. Though they would fall at roughly the same rate, Ethan knew if they became separated, it would be tough to reconnect. The added factor of having unprotected eyes against the rushing wind made it difficult to see what he needed to do.

There was another very important issue: time.

Ethan estimated that the plane had been flying at between eight and ten thousand feet of altitude. It took about ten seconds for a person to freefall the first thousand feet, but just five seconds for every successive thousand feet. His experience in the 173rd Airborne Brigade taught him that pulling a parachute at around three thousand feet is very safe. Getting as low as a thousand feet could be dangerous. A very experienced skydiver might wait until five hundred feet, but that’s not something Ethan wanted to try.

Some hurried math in his head told Ethan that he had less than forty-five seconds to get strapped in, wrap his arms and legs around Chloe, and pull the cord.

They both turned and tumbled through the sky, the vertical and rotational forces fighting against any normal human motion. His eyes squinting against the rushing air, Ethan struggled to get the parachute straps completely in place. He switched his hands holding onto Chloe and then slipped his second arm through a flapping strap. As if that wasn’t difficult enough, now he had to buckle the straps across his body, something that took two hands.

Six thousand feet.

With no time to spare, he circled his legs around Chloe’s twisting torso and let go of his grip on her arm. He managed to get one buckle connected before their somersaulting forces pulled Chloe away. Ethan reached out a hand, succeeding in entwining his fingers with hers. The grip was not strong, but he used every ounce of his remaining strength to pull her closer. She looked into Ethan's eyes with fear, but also an inkling of hope. As he stretched out his other hand, their initial grip broke and Chloe spun away, arms and legs flailing as she fell.

The dream Ethan had so many times now played out in real life. A person in need was in his grasp and he couldn’t hold on. This can’t happen. Lord, I need your strength.

Four thousand feet.

Beyond panicked, Ethan found the focus to buckle the parachute straps before going after Chloe. He hurriedly balanced himself into the neutral freefall body position: belly down, back in a relaxed arch with hips pushed forward into the wind, arms and legs spread out evenly, and chin up. Once his own body was steady, he saw Chloe still spinning erratically to his left and below his current position.

Excerpts from The Alcuin Letter

From Chapter 5

I took the elevator to Camilla’s fourth-floor condo and heard a man’s voice when I entered. “Camilla. Where are you?” I called out, instantly on alert.

“Shhhhh. Matt, get over here,” she said in a kind of emphatic whisper.

I followed her voice into the kitchen and found Camilla staring at her phone. The man’s voice coming out of the phone was rushed and breathless. The high-pitched tenor sounded more a result of anxiety than a normal speaking tone. By the time my brain registered who the voice most likely belonged to, it was gone.

“Was that who I think it was?” I said, looking at Camilla expectantly.

“Dennis Simons called me back. He called when I was in the shower and left a message. I just noticed the message light blinking before you came in.” Her words came in short bursts, making it painfully obvious she was still frazzled by this whole situation.

Who wouldn’t be? Losing a brother to murder; finding out he might have been on the trail of a major historical discovery; looking for clues in a twelve hundred-year-old letter; hosting a foreigner you barely know in your condo. The combination of those things would be tough for anyone to handle.

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t know the value… heard about Ashton’s death… was paid off...” She wasn’t making much sense. “Oh, listen for yourself,” she finally said and pushed a button on her phone.

This is Dennis Simons. I need to make this quick, but I got your message and wanted to say I know about Ashton, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be contacting you, but you deserved to hear from me after what happened. I didn’t know the true value of the letter I gave him. I acquired it from a contact at the Grey House in Winkel and was just hoping to make a few bucks. A man stopped at my house last week asking about the letter and wanting to know where I found it. I didn’t tell him the truth because I didn’t trust him. He ended up paying me a lot of money to forget about the letter and warned me not to talk to anyone about it. Honestly, the man scared me. Also, I think I’m being watched, so I have already said more than I should. Please don’t try to contact me again. And be careful.

The message ended. Camilla and I stared at each other for a long moment.

“Play it again,” I said. So she did.

“What do you think,” she asked, once the recording ended.

“I think he sounded scared,” I replied. “I’m sure hearing about Ashton’s death and getting an intimidating visit from a stranger has to be unsettling. I’m surprised he called you back.”

“I agree,” Camilla said. “I also keep thinking about the timing and scope of everything that has gone on. We assume Ashton’s death was related to the Alcuin letter he received from Simons, a person none of Ashton’s colleagues knew about and we had a hard time tracking down. Ashton died about ten days ago in Leeds. A short time later Simons gets a visit in Frankfort, is warned to keep quiet about the letter, and is bribed to assure his silence. Whoever is doing all of this must have some resources.”

From Chapter 26

Camilla noticed the gunman at the same time I did and screamed, “Matt, watch out!” just as we found cover behind a statue of Charlemagne standing outside the cathedral’s gate. Another bullet bounced off the bronze figure as we huddled together behind its concrete base.

By this point, others in the area were yelling, screaming, and searching for places of cover. I peeked around the statue and could see the gunman walking directly toward us, gun hand extended straight out, simply waiting for his opportunity. He was wearing black jeans and a dark button-down shirt, with wrap-around sunglasses hiding his eyes. He had jet black hair, cut very short. I could see a large tattoo extending above his collar and up his neck.

He fired again, the bullet chipping the concrete only inches from my head. Another shot hit the sidewalk just to our left and then another on the right. I think he was enjoying this, effectively preventing us from fleeing until he managed to finish the job. My overloaded mind failed to come up with a plan of action that had any chance of success. This was the end. I pulled Camilla into me and held her tight, bringing a quick reflection of our similar experience in the burning house. We were miraculously saved once, but….

Camilla suddenly pushed herself away from me and bolted to our right. Startled, I looked that way and noticed a small girl curled up, crying loudly only fifteen feet away. Camilla’s instinct was to protect the child. She would need only four or five steps to reach the girl, but it took the gunman just two of those steps to zero in and squeeze the trigger. After one shot missed behind her, the next hit Camilla in the side, jolting her into the wall a few feet short of her goal. She fell to the ground awkwardly, managing to reach out her hand as she came to rest with an audible groan. The young girl stretched to put her small fingers into the offered hand just as Camilla’s eyes flickered shut.

Overflowing with emotion and rage, I yelled something unintelligible as I stood and tried to move toward Camilla. The man advanced with a silenced gun pointed at my head, blocking my path. A curl of a smile appeared on his thin lips as he looked me over, appraising his conquered prey. It was a smile projecting confidence, success, and superiority.

I hoped he sensed something other than fear in my eyes as I glared back at him. The Bible says I am supposed to love my enemy. Reality, though, is a challenging teacher and, in this instance, I am probably flunking the test.