Free The Venice Code by J Robert Kennedy Page B

people running past tents won’t go unnoticed. Two men strolling toward the south gate shouldn’t attract any attention.”
    Giuseppe smiled in relief as Marco turned to their companions, shaking their hands. Giuseppe did the same, still thankful for their ignoring orders and following him inside the tower. If it weren’t for them, he and his master would surely be dead now.
    With one final expression of gratitude, Marco stepped onto the road and set a brisk but reasonable pace, Giuseppe casting a final wave over his shoulder and following. To their right were the large round tents of the nomads, the Bedouins, occupying the entire south-western quarter of the city. As he continued to catch his breath from their ordeal, the southern gates slowly increasing in size as they neared, he wondered if those in the tents were permanent residents or merely travelers. And if travelers, what was their purpose here? Was it the crystal skull now slung over Marco’s shoulder, or were they merely traders? All he was sure of was if they were at cross-purposes with them, he and his master would surely die, for the Bedouin’s penchant for and ability to fight was legendary.
    The gate continued to get closer as their pace remained brisk and he began to wonder if his master intended to walk right through them, but as they neared the final tent, the gate only five hundred paces ahead, if that, Marco suddenly veered off the road and into the snow covered field.
    With the city still bathed in darkness Giuseppe was certain anyone manning the gate or the towers could not have seen them, however his master was cutting it awfully close. Almost fifteen minutes had passed since they said goodbye to their companions in this endeavor, and Giuseppe stood with his master between two guard towers on the southern wall, their torches casting a blinding glow just as his master had predicted.
    “How will we scale this wall? It’s far higher than that at the mosque.”
    Marco jerked a thumb at his pack strapped to his back. “There’s a length of rope with a hook in my pack. Get it for me.”
    Giuseppe undid the straps holding the pack closed and found the rope in question, coiled at the top. He removed it, handing it to his master as he retied the pack. Marco began to approach the wall, wrapping a portion of the rope around his arm, leaving the rest in his right hand with the hook. They were within ten paces of the massive stone and mud barrier when footfalls in the distance, rapid and heavy, had them spinning.
    A robed figure was rushing down the road.
    Followed by at least a dozen men, giving chase.
    As the figure approached, Marco turned and rushed to the wall, spinning the rope with the hook several times then tossing it in the air and over the wall as Giuseppe continued to watch the figure, hand on his sword, ready to draw it should it become necessary.
    “Climb!” hissed Marco.
    “You first, Master. I will hold them off while you make your escape.”
    “Brother! Go! Now!”
    The voice was still low but insistent. But it was time to make a stand, the first figure too close. “Master, I insist. Go now, I will follow you immediately!”
    Marco shook his head in frustration then grabbed the rope, quickly scaling the wall. Giuseppe saw him reach the top then grabbed the rope himself, taking one last look at the robed figure. The man tossed his head covering back and Giuseppe gasped.
    It was Roberto.
     
     

 
     
    Laura Palmer’s Flat, London, England
    Present day, one day after the kidnapping
     
    “They must be after the Mitchell-Hedges skull,” said Laura, sipping a glass of ice water, she having indicated to Acton she had had enough wine for the evening with a wave of her hand over her glass when he had tried to fill it.
    Reading hadn’t been so quick, holding his own out. Acton’s friend’s cheeks were flushed and his voice a little louder than normal, he on his fourth glass, but with the bottle now empty, a third bottle had already been