Free The Venice Code by J Robert Kennedy Page A

don’t.”
    “My team?”
    “Take only those who were there from the beginning.”
    Dawson nodded. “And where are we going?”
    “Get your asses to Langley, you’ll liaise with one of their people and deploy as necessary.”
    “Posse Comitatus?”
    Clancy pushed another folder toward Dawson. “By order of the President of these United States, suspended. You are free to operate on American soil so long as it relates to the recovery of former President Jackson’s son.”
    “Understood.”
    Clancy waved his hand toward the door. “Now get out of here. I just might be able to squeeze a few hours of fishing in.”
    “Yes, sir,” said Dawson, standing. “Good hunting.”
    “You too, Sergeant Major,” replied Clancy as Dawson opened the door. “Oh, and Sergeant Major?”
    “Yes, sir?”
    “Try not to blow up half of London this time.”
    Dawson snapped his sandaled heels together and gave the Colonel a Sergeant Bilko salute.
    “Yes, my Colonel!”
    “Piss off!”
    Dawson stepped out and closed the door as a roar of laughter erupted from the other side. The smile on his own face quickly faded however as he recalled the events that had ended with dozens dead, all innocent, due to the manipulations and obsessions of one crazed man.
    The President of the United States.
    Stewart Alfred Jackson.
    And he couldn’t help but wonder if his son was another innocent, caught up in his father’s affairs, or a willing participant.
    All he could say for sure was that this time they wouldn’t be manipulated into doing anything.
     
     

 
     
    Outside the Red Mosque, Karakorum, Mongol Empire
    March 29 th , 1275 AD
     
    Giuseppe’s arms pumped, his chest heaving from exhaustion. Never would he have thought he’d long for the simple hand-to-hand combat they had just experienced. At least it involved little running. But now the four of them were sprinting across the city in the darkness, hoping to not be spotted and praying the massacre at the mosque wouldn’t be discovered until they were long gone.
    Marco led the way, his level of energy remarkable. Giuseppe was gasping, sucking in lungsful of air and near collapse. The two young men appeared none the worse for wear.
    Who would have thought the life of a slave would leave you weak?
    He couldn’t remember the last time he had run so hard for so long. Thankfully Marco suddenly came to a stop at the side of a building. Giuseppe dropped to the ground, lying on his back, gasping for air as the others gathered around, all taking a knee.
    “Try to slow your breathing, my brother,” said Marco calmly, placing his hand gently on Giuseppe’s chest.
    It didn’t help.
    Marco turned to their companions. “This is the end for you two. We will continue through the nomad’s camp to the southern wall, then once over, will make haste to the south, and eventually safety.” Vincenzo opened his mouth to protest, but Marco cut him off with the raising of his hand. “Your duty now is to Father Salvatore. All I ask is that you remain here until we are out of sight to cover our escape, then return with caution to the church. I suggest you leave your weapons here then burn your clothes once you return as they are soiled in blood.” Marco looked from man to man. “There must be no evidence you were involved. If you are questioned, and someone says they saw us enter the church, confirm this. Don’t deny it. Simply tell them that we sought sanctuary then left shortly after, claiming we would be back, but never returned. Remember our horse is there. When things have calmed down, you may sell it and our belongings and donate it to the church.”
    Roberto and Vincenzo reluctantly agreed, stripping themselves of their weapons as Marco rose, holding out a hand to Giuseppe, his gasps shallower, but exhaustion still his master. Giuseppe reluctantly took the hand and let himself be hauled to his feet.
    Marco smacked him on the back. “Do not fear, my brother. We will walk most of the way. Two