Michael White - The Medici secret

It was as if the author had become bored with his own story and changed gear suddenly. Or perhaps he had slipped into a delirium and had begun describing a fantasy. This was something quite extraordinary. Niccoli was famed for his rationality and his devotion to learning and the Arts. So what was this all about? Had the scholar temporarily lost his mind? What he had suddenly started to describe bore no relationship to fifteenth-century reality.

The surprise lasted only a few moments before it was swamped by a far stronger emotion, one Clifton would never have imagined. During his fifteen years handling priceless documents and previously unseen antiquities, he had never once been tempted to stray. But now, looking at these extraordinary pages, he felt completely overwhelmed.

He reached for the scanner attached to his laptop and quickly swept it over each of the pages in front of him, storing the information on disk. Without considering for a moment what he was doing, he returned the documents to their former positions, switched off his computer and left the room. Outside the door to the vault, Clifton passed through the X-ray security check, followed the guard to the surface and left the building, numb with excitement and anticipation.

Venice, present day The afternoon train to Florence was packed and Jeff was lucky to get a seat, even in first-class. Squeezed against the window by a huge woman in the aisle seat, he contemplated the countryside speeding past. Maria had been happy to look after Rose and Jeff had promised he would make it up to his daughter when he returned; he expected to be back in Venice the next day.

Even though he had met Mackenzie only two or three times, he was still finding it hard to believe the man was dead. He hadn't seen Edie for nearly three months. She had promised to visit him in Venice while she was working so close by in Florence, but she was always too busy and he had not felt inclined to intrude on her. But this news, combined with what he had learned from the mysterious Mario Sporani, had propelled him to do something. He had phoned her straight away and now here he was on the first train to Florence.

Mackenzie, he knew, was an abrasive character with plenty of enemies and few real friends. He was respected for his knowledge and his huge experience, but many of his colleagues considered him an overbearing egomaniac who believed his own publicity a little too much. He was certainly not popular with other academics, but Jeff found it hard to believe he could have been murdered for his character failings.

He opened the Corriere della Sera he had bought at the station, and on page three he found a full report on the murder. Mackenzie had been garrotted. One of the team had found his body at around 8 am. yesterday. The Florentine police were being predictably tight-lipped about the details. Jeff noticed next to the main feature a report on the fanatical group, Workers For God, who had been protesting outside the Medici Chapel since the arrival of Mackenzie's team. He read it with growing interest. Florence, 17 February With yesterday's shock news of the murder of one of the world's most renowned science popularisers, Professor Carlin Mackenzie, Florentine police have cracked down hard on the Workers For God organisation. For three months now this group, led by the charismatic but elusive Dominican priest Father Giuseppe Baggio, has held daily vigils outside the Medici Chapel, but yesterday morning the protestors were asked to disband immediately. According to official reports, Father Baggio instructed his followers to ignore a police request to leave the vicinity, which prompted Immediate intervention by the authorities. Fortunately, the group then made no further efforts to resist and the protestors were escorted away while Father Baggio was held for questioning. The priest left police headquarters before lunch-time yesterday but refused to talk to reporters who had gathered outside, claiming he would only speak to a local Catholic magazine, THE VOICE.

Father Baggio and his group have been vocal in their insistence that the bodies of the Medici should not be tampered with. The leader of the group recently told THE VOICE, 'I believe Professor Mackenzie and his team are risking their very souls by doing this ungodly work. They are working for the Devil and they will pay for their sins.' Father Baggio is famous for his fundamentalist outbursts from the pulpit, and there have been claims that his extreme remarks and protestations have drawn reproof from his superiors. The priest has made it clear to all who would listen that he sees himself as a latter-day Savonarola, the fanatical Dominican cleric who ruled Florence briefly at the end of the fifteenth century before being burned at the stake in the Piazza della Signoria in 1498. Bagglo makes no secret of his ambition to, as he has put it, 'scourge modern Italy of demonic forces'. In recent years he has protested against gay groups, attacked local television stations for broadcasting what he calls 'pornography', and most notoriously, he and his followers made a failed attempt to vandalise several pieces on display at a recent Robert Mapplethorpe retrospective. Now, with the man who Baggio claims is 'working for the Devil' murdered in his own laboratory just yards from where Workers For God have been protesting, some are starting to point the finger of suspicion in the direction of Baggio's organisation. Emerging with the crowd through the gates at Stazione di Santa Maria Novella, Jeff paused and surveyed the main concourse, a rather scruffy place with a grimy ticket office to one side and newspaper stalls lining the other. It was a railway station that offered no clue about the splendours of the ancient city beyond. He and Edie saw each other at the same moment.

They hugged and it felt to Jeff as though she didn't want to let him go. When they pulled apart, Jeff could see she was putting on a brave face. 'It's been far too long,' she said simply.

Jeff followed her out to the car park. He threw his bag into the boot of Edie's tiny Fiat and squeezed into the passenger seat.

'God, it's good to see you again.' Jeff smiled at Edie as she drove down the long slope from the station and on to the road.

It was busy, the streets choked with cars. Edie headed down Via Sant' Antonino. Jeff looked at the ancient buildings, office workers, tourists, street hawkers, shopkeepers and tradesmen, a medley of human activity that had been pursued in Florence with little change for more than a thousand years. 'I guess it's been pretty rough,' Jeff said.

'A lot of people despised my uncle, and to be honest, he could be a real pain in the arse, but this has come as a terrible shock.' 'Why didn't you call me?'

'I thought to, several times, but I don't know… I didn't think you could help and I didn't want to worry you unnecessarily. Besides, I was stuck in the police station with my lawyer until late last night. The police have questioned the whole team at least once and none of us is allowed to leave Italy until they've completed their inquiries.'

She swung the car into a space behind the Medici Chapel and then led the way into the building through a side door. Jeff followed Edie down the steps into the burial chamber. The lights were low and it was eerily quiet. In a room off the main chamber, they could see a man slowly removing his lab coat. 'Have you met Jack Cartwright?' Edie asked. Cartwright offered Jeff his hand. 'Nice to see you again,' he said rather stiffly. Jeff looked puzzled.

'We met at Edie's thirtieth birthday… in London.'

'Yes, yes, of course,' Jeff replied. 'That was so long ago.' He grinned at Edie. She gave him a false smile.

'I'm sorry to hear of your loss,' Jeff added seriously. Jack Cartwright, a man in his early forties, was a highly regarded specialist in the study of ancient DNA. Although much admired in academic circles, for years he had lived in his stepfather's shadow.