The Florentine Cypher: Kate Benedict Paranormal Mystery #3 (The Kate Benedict Series) (17 page)

Frowning, she unplugged my mobile from the charger and reattached her own. Apparently we were having charger wars now.

“Should you call him back?” I asked.

Now I’d learned from Colin that Dante was an upright citizen, and that returning to England wasn’t an option, it seemed sensible to head back to Florence and accept the help Claire’s boyfriend was offering. We could do that as soon as we got Falcone’s approval to leave Venice.

Claire left another voicemail for him before taking a long look around the minuscule room. “My view is that the trip to Pianoro will be a waste of time, but I’d be happy to get out of here. How long until we hear from Falcone, do you think?”

I checked my watch again, my stomach clenching in a spasm of unease. If Falcone wasn’t being straight with us, we could be sitting here waiting forever, giving him time to alert his Custodian contact.

“Let’s call him and find out,” I said. “It’s been two hours since we saw him.”

Claire made the call to the number he’d given us. There was no answer, and she didn’t leave a message.

Sitting in silence, I contemplated our options. None was good. I wished we were in a city where we’d be able to get a taxi straight from the hotel to the station, but we had no choice but to walk or rely on the
vaporetto
, which made us more vulnerable to being seen by one of our pursuers.

“Let’s give Falcone another hour,” I said. “Then we’ll go to the station.” I had a sudden thought. “Do you think Falcone was tracking us somehow?” I said. “How did he find us at that cafe?”

Claire’s eyes widened.

“I know it’s possible to track people through their credit cards,” I continued. “So we shouldn’t use them to buy tickets at the station. But we don’t have any cash.”

“We need to find a cash machine,” Claire said. “Just use it once and move on quickly before anyone can trace the transaction? And then only use cash for everything.”

I stood up, ready to move. Action of any kind seemed more attractive than waiting any longer. “Good idea. We owe Brian some money too. Let’s go.”

“Okay, but we’ll have to wait long enough for my phone to charge fully. I’m sure Dante will call again soon.” She stared at the phone as though willing it to ring.

“I’ll get the cash,” I said. “I’ll move faster by myself and, if anyone’s looking for us, they’ll be expecting two of us.” I picked up Claire’s Venezia hat, gathered up my long hair and tucked it under the cap.

“You look like a boy,” Claire said. I ignored the comment.

“There has to be a
Bancomat
close by,” I said. “I’ll be straight back.”

Claire looked nervously at the room’s thin door and worn lock, but didn’t say anything. “All right. I’ll take another pass through the
Della Pittura
while you’re gone.”

The sun was warm on my back as I returned to the hotel. The first cash machine I’d found was labeled “
Fuori servizio,
” out of order, so I’d walked for fifteen minutes before finding another one inside a small grocery store scented with cheese and prosciutto. The machine had a layer of dust on it, which had made me think it wouldn’t work, but it did, spitting out clean, crisp euro notes.

Aware that Claire was alone in our dismal room, I hurried back through the busy streets, past restaurants full of locals and tourists. As always, auras made an appearance, swirling over the heads of strangers. And, as always, the knowledge that they were there made me sad and uncomfortable that I knew something so personal about the victims. I felt lonely and detached, with the melancholy feeling of not really belonging to the human race, something I’d experienced on and off ever since acquiring my unwanted psychic gift. Until it went away, life would never be completely normal for me, although I tried hard to make it that way.

Turning the corner towards the Villa Julia, I ran into the back of a small crowd of people blocking the alleyway. For a moment, I thought it was a tour group and began to politely elbow my way through. Then I smelled smoke. Panicked, I pushed forward, ignoring the complaints of the people I shoved out of the way. When I reached the front I saw red fireboats on the canal and black smoke billowing from the hotel windows.

A policeman blocked my way. “Move back please,” he said.

“I’m staying at the hotel. My friend’s in there.”

“Step back.” The policeman raised his hand to make his point just as sirens wailed and two motorboats emblazoned with the word
Ambulanza
sped up the narrow canal, throwing up a wide wake that splashed water on to the cobblestones. Someone behind me screamed as flames shot out of a first floor window, showering the street below with shards of broken glass. The crowd, as a single unit, shifted backwards, everyone murmuring nervously.

“Oh my god,” I whispered to myself, as the ambulance crews unloaded stretchers from the motorboats and ran into the building. Smoke, thick and oily, rose high into the air above them.

“Please let me pass,” I begged.

The policeman’s face softened but, feet apart, he blocked the way. “The firemen will ensure everyone is out. Wait here with me.”

The smoke made me cough, and my eyes watered. In the hazy light, firemen emerged from the hotel entrance bearing a stretcher. I peered past the policeman to see that it was occupied by the young Australian, Brian. Even though I felt sorry that he’d been hurt, I was sure he’d be okay. He’d had no aura when he came to our room earlier in the day.

More firemen appeared with a stretcher bearing another of the Australians, who was conscious and talking to the men who carried him. But where was Claire? I jumped when another window shattered, splashing glass like chunks of ice into the canal.

Then I spotted her coming out of the front door, gripping her bag to her chest. A paramedic had his arm around her shoulders. “That’s my friend,” I said. “Can I go over there?”

The policeman turned to check and then nodded. I ran to her, wrapped my arms around her. “Are you all right? I was scared.”

“I’m fine.” She pushed me away so she could watch a stretcher being loaded onto one of the boats. “What happened to the Australians?” She turned back to the paramedic. “Will they be all right?”

“Yes,” he said. “Only a little smoke inhalation. Nothing serious. Now let’s get you on the boat. You must go to the hospital for a check-up.”

Claire and I looked at each other and I shook my head slightly. “I’m really all right,” she said.

It was hard to discern in the miasma, but her aura was still there. So the fire hadn’t been the threat to her life, obviously. Whatever it was, the danger was still out there. I quickly changed my mind. The hospital would be a safe place for us to gather ourselves and work out how to get to the train station.

“You should go, Claire,” I said. “To be sure.”

I talked to the paramedic. “Can I go with her?”

“
Certo
.” He led the way to a water-borne
Ambulanza,
where he settled us both on a bench. Then he put a blanket around Claire before sitting down next to her. Another admirer, I realized. He gripped her wrist under the pretext of taking her pulse.

“What caused the fire?” I asked him as the boat puttered slowly past the crowds of onlookers.

He shrugged. “Could have been a kitchen fire. That place is famous for not meeting building codes.” He eyed us both for a few seconds. “I can give you a list of safer places to stay if you’re going to be in Venice for a while.”

“Why are we doing this?” Claire asked me in English. “I don’t need to go to the hospital. We should keep moving.” Black smudges covered her cheeks and her eyes were red and watering.

“If the fire wasn’t an accident, then we’re in the best place for now,” I said. “Did you see anything?”

“No. When the alarm went off, I shoved everything in my bag and waited in the room, hoping it was a false alarm. Then I smelled smoke, which was scary, so I went out into the corridor. It was hard to breathe, but when Brian and two of his friends came out of a door further along the hall, I shouted to them for help. Brian ran over and he more or less carried me down the stairway.”

She took a deep breath. “Someone ran past us on the stairs and jostled us so violently that Brian let go of me and he fell the last few steps.” A tear spilled down her face, smudging the soot into grey swirls on her skin. “Luckily, a group of firemen came in through the front door, saw him on the floor, and called for a medic. They got him on a stretcher and then helped me out.”

“The man who passed you on the stairs… did you recognize him?”

She shook her head. “No, but if it was someone who’s chasing us, he’ll know where we’re going, won’t he? I mean, the hospital is the obvious place for him to look next.”

“Yes, but my thought is to make a speedy exit as soon as we arrive. Our pursuer, if there is one, won’t expect us to leave the hospital immediately. We have the advantage, for now at least.”

As if to reinforce what I’d said, the
Ambulanza
sounded its siren and we watched as gondolas and delivery boats cleared the way ahead of us. The boat sped smoothly through a network of canals, heading north before emerging into open water with views towards the island of Murano. We slowed, cruising alongside the Fondamente Nove to a dock outside the SS Giovanni e Paolo hospital.

When we pulled to a stop, the paramedic assisted Claire off the boat and put her into a waiting wheelchair. I followed him into the Emergency area, along a corridor, and into a cubicle with a bed and a chair.

“A nurse will be here soon,” he said. “
Arrivederci signorine
.” He looked sad at having to leave Claire behind, but he managed a brave smile. We heard the stomp of his boots fading as he made his way back along the hallway.

It was a weirdly familiar experience, standing in a cubicle in a hospital with Claire hurt and vulnerable. I was impatient for this to be over, for her to be safe. She was suffering; she’d lost her father, her brother was missing, and she was in more danger than she knew.

“We need to go.” I said.

Claire stood up, supporting her weight on the arm of the wheelchair. “I’m all right,” she said. “But I feel motion-sick.”

We left the cubicle and turned away from the main reception area, hoping for an exit at the rear of the building. Corridors with arched ceilings, tall columns, and floors of multicolored tiles made it seem as though we were in a museum, not a hospital. Eventually, I caught sight of an exit at the end of a long hallway. The door opened into an alley that led back to the Ospedale
vaporetto
stop. We were now even further from the station than we had been before, a long looping waterbus ride west and then back towards the station.

While we waited for the
vaporetto
, I called Falcone on the number he’d given us. Whether he could be trusted or not was still a question, but we had very few options. This time he answered immediately. I blurted out the details of the blaze.

“We’re on our way to the train station,” I said.

“I’ll meet you there,” he said. “Under the main timetable board.”

As I finished the call, Claire flagged down a passing water taxi. “How much to take us to Santa Lucia station?” she asked. He quoted us an exorbitant amount of money but said he’d get there in half the time the
vaporetto
would take.

We boarded the boat and hunkered down on the bench behind the wheel, holding on to the sides as our driver opened up the engine. At any other time, I might have enjoyed the thrill of the ride, the wind on my face and the white water that streamed behind us, but the bouncing motion only added to the nausea I was already feeling. I was delighted to arrive at Ferrovia, where we disembarked after handing over most of our precious stash of euro notes. Weaving our way through a mass of people, we climbed the steps to the entrance of the low-slung modern building.

A quick check of the timetable inside showed that the next train to Florence, stopping in Bologna, left in twenty minutes. I bought tickets, extracted more cash from the nearby machine, and then we waited for Falcone. He strode in a couple of minutes later, his black coat flaring out behind him. His aura still swirled over his dark hair.

“Tell me more about the fire,” he ordered.

Claire repeated everything she’d told me.

“I’ll ask questions and find out if it was set deliberately or not,” he said. “But you know some of these places are firetraps. No insulated doors, old wiring, and unreliable kitchen appliances.”

“That’s what the paramedic said.”

While we talked, I looked around nervously. A young man in a black parka seemed to be watching us. Falcone saw me glance in his direction a few times. “Don’t worry,” he said. “He’s one of mine.”

We walked to the platform with Falcone lagging behind us, talking quietly with the young man in the parka. There were only a few people waiting there.

“Federico will accompany you to Florence,” Falcone said. “He will take you to the Comando Carabinieri, and they will be able to help you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I feel safer already.”

Falcone shrugged. “I wish I’d given you protection earlier today, before this incident with the fire. But I wasn’t able to go to get a police escort assigned because of the stolen car and drug alert, and Federico was out on another case.”

“Were you able to get the alert lifted?” I asked. “Or talk with the man who wants the key?”

“Not quite yet,” Falcone replied. “The alert cancellation requires several levels of approval and a stack of signatures on documents. You know what Italian bureaucracy can be like. And I have left messages for my contact. I’m confident he will return my calls as soon as he hears I’ve located the key. Don’t worry. It’s all in hand.”

“What about the Carabinieri in Florence?” Claire asked. “Are they going to arrest us for stealing cars and smuggling drugs?”

“No. You will meet with
Colonnello
Bartolomeo. He’s a colleague of mine. There will be no problems. And he will do everything possible to locate Ethan, if your brother is indeed in Italy.”

“There’s one more thing,” I said. “We are planning to stop in Bologna to make a visit to someone who might know something about the book and the key. He—”