The Venetian Betrayal Read Online Free Page B
Author: Steve Berry
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Thrillers, Bestseller
We'll need your clothes. May be the only way to determine its composition."
"Maybe not," he said. "I took a dip in that canal, too."
"Good point." The chief shook his head. "The arson investigators are going to love this one."
As the fireman lumbered off, Malone faced Cassiopeia and plunged into an interrogation. "You want to tell me what's going on?"
"You weren't supposed to be here till tomorrow morning."
"That's not an answer to my question."
Wet tangles of thick dark hair hung past her shoulders and roughly framed her alluring face. She was a Spanish Muslim, living in southern France. Bright, rich, and cocky--an engineer and a historian. But her presence in Copenhagen, a day earlier than she'd told him, meant something. Also, she'd come armed and dressed for battle--dark leather pants and a tight-fitting leather jacket. He wondered if she was going to be difficult or cooperative.
"Lucky I was here to save your hide," she said to him.
He couldn't decide if she was serious or teasing him. "How did you know my hide needing saving?"
"Long story, Cotton."
"I've got the time. I'm retired."
"I'm not."
He heard the bitter edge in her voice and sensed something. "You knew that building was going to burn, didn't you?"
She did not look at him, just stared off across the canal. "I actually wanted it to burn."
"Care to explain that one?"
She sat silently, absorbed in thought. "I was here. Earlier. I watched while two men broke into the museum. I saw them grab you. I needed to follow them, but couldn't." She paused. "Because of you."
"Who were they?"
"The men who left those machines."
She'd listened as he'd given his statement to the police, but he'd sensed the whole time that she already knew the story. "How about we cut the crap and you tell me what's going on. I almost got killed over whatever it is you're doing."
"You should ignore open doors in the night."
"Old habits are hard to break. What's going on?"
"You saw the flames. Felt the heat. Unusual, wouldn't you say?"
He recalled how the fire had descended the stairs then stopped, as if waiting to be invited further. "You could say that."
"In the seventh century, when the Muslim fleets attacked Constantinople, they should have easily routed the city. Better weapons. A mass of forces. But the Byzantines had a surprise. They called it liquid fire, or wild fire, and they unleashed it on the ships, totally destroying the invading fleet." Cassiopeia still wasn't looking at him. "The weapon survived in various forms to the time of the Crusades, and eventually acquired the name Greek fire. The original formula was so secret that it was held personally by each Byzantine emperor. They guarded it so well that, when the empire finally fell, the formula was lost." She breathed deeply as she continued to clutch the blanket. "It's been found."
"You're telling me that I just saw Greek fire?"
"With a twist. This kind hates salt water."
"So why didn't you tell the firemen that when they arrived?"
"I don't want to answer any more questions than I have to."
But he wanted to know. "Why let this museum burn? There's nothing of any consequence there?"
He stared back toward the burned hulk and spotted the charred remains of his bicycle. He sensed something more from Cassiopeia, as she continued to avoid his gaze. Never in all the time he'd known her had he seen any sign of misgiving, nervousness, or dejection. She was tough, eager, disciplined, and smart. But at the moment she seemed troubled.
A car appeared at the far end of the cordoned-off street. He recognized the expensive British sedan and the hunched figure that emerged from its rear seat.
Henrik Thorvaldsen.
Cassiopeia stood. "He's here to talk with us."
"And how did he know we were here?"
"Something's happening, Cotton."
Chapter SIX
VENICE
2:
0 A . M .
VINCENTI WAS GLAD THE POTENTIAL DISASTER WITH THE FLORENTINE had been averted. He'd made a mistake. Time was short and he was playing a dangerous game, but
"Maybe not," he said. "I took a dip in that canal, too."
"Good point." The chief shook his head. "The arson investigators are going to love this one."
As the fireman lumbered off, Malone faced Cassiopeia and plunged into an interrogation. "You want to tell me what's going on?"
"You weren't supposed to be here till tomorrow morning."
"That's not an answer to my question."
Wet tangles of thick dark hair hung past her shoulders and roughly framed her alluring face. She was a Spanish Muslim, living in southern France. Bright, rich, and cocky--an engineer and a historian. But her presence in Copenhagen, a day earlier than she'd told him, meant something. Also, she'd come armed and dressed for battle--dark leather pants and a tight-fitting leather jacket. He wondered if she was going to be difficult or cooperative.
"Lucky I was here to save your hide," she said to him.
He couldn't decide if she was serious or teasing him. "How did you know my hide needing saving?"
"Long story, Cotton."
"I've got the time. I'm retired."
"I'm not."
He heard the bitter edge in her voice and sensed something. "You knew that building was going to burn, didn't you?"
She did not look at him, just stared off across the canal. "I actually wanted it to burn."
"Care to explain that one?"
She sat silently, absorbed in thought. "I was here. Earlier. I watched while two men broke into the museum. I saw them grab you. I needed to follow them, but couldn't." She paused. "Because of you."
"Who were they?"
"The men who left those machines."
She'd listened as he'd given his statement to the police, but he'd sensed the whole time that she already knew the story. "How about we cut the crap and you tell me what's going on. I almost got killed over whatever it is you're doing."
"You should ignore open doors in the night."
"Old habits are hard to break. What's going on?"
"You saw the flames. Felt the heat. Unusual, wouldn't you say?"
He recalled how the fire had descended the stairs then stopped, as if waiting to be invited further. "You could say that."
"In the seventh century, when the Muslim fleets attacked Constantinople, they should have easily routed the city. Better weapons. A mass of forces. But the Byzantines had a surprise. They called it liquid fire, or wild fire, and they unleashed it on the ships, totally destroying the invading fleet." Cassiopeia still wasn't looking at him. "The weapon survived in various forms to the time of the Crusades, and eventually acquired the name Greek fire. The original formula was so secret that it was held personally by each Byzantine emperor. They guarded it so well that, when the empire finally fell, the formula was lost." She breathed deeply as she continued to clutch the blanket. "It's been found."
"You're telling me that I just saw Greek fire?"
"With a twist. This kind hates salt water."
"So why didn't you tell the firemen that when they arrived?"
"I don't want to answer any more questions than I have to."
But he wanted to know. "Why let this museum burn? There's nothing of any consequence there?"
He stared back toward the burned hulk and spotted the charred remains of his bicycle. He sensed something more from Cassiopeia, as she continued to avoid his gaze. Never in all the time he'd known her had he seen any sign of misgiving, nervousness, or dejection. She was tough, eager, disciplined, and smart. But at the moment she seemed troubled.
A car appeared at the far end of the cordoned-off street. He recognized the expensive British sedan and the hunched figure that emerged from its rear seat.
Henrik Thorvaldsen.
Cassiopeia stood. "He's here to talk with us."
"And how did he know we were here?"
"Something's happening, Cotton."
Chapter SIX
VENICE
2:
0 A . M .
VINCENTI WAS GLAD THE POTENTIAL DISASTER WITH THE FLORENTINE had been averted. He'd made a mistake. Time was short and he was playing a dangerous game, but
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