|
Suddenly both men glanced up, clearly having heard something in the hallway—most likely Marta returning from the restroom. Hurriedly, Langdon pulled from his pocket a large Ziploc bag, into which he sealed the death mask before gently handing it to Ignazio, who placed it, with seeming reluctance, inside his briefcase. Langdon quickly closed the antique glass door on the now-empty display case, and the two men strode briskly up the hall to encounter Marta before she could discover their theft.
Both guards now had their guns trained on Langdon.
Marta wobbled on her feet, grasping the table for support. “I don’t understand!” she sputtered. “You and Ignazio Busoni stole the Dante death mask?!”
“No!” Langdon insisted, bluffing as best as he could. “We had permission from the owner to take the mask out of the building for the night.”
“Permission from the owner?” she questioned. “From Bertrand Zobrist!?”
“Yes! Mr. Zobrist agreed to let us examine some markings on the back! We met with him yesterday afternoon!”
Marta’s eyes shot daggers. “Professor, I am quite certain you did not meet with Bertrand Zobrist yesterday afternoon.”
“We most certainly did—”
Sienna placed a restraining hand on Langdon’s arm. “Robert …” She gave a grim sigh. “Six days ago, Bertrand Zobrist threw himself off the top of the Badia tower only a few blocks away from here.”
CHAPTER 42
VAYENTHA HAD ABANDONED her motorcycle just north of the Palazzo Vecchio and was approaching on foot along the perimeter of the Piazza della Signoria. As she wound her way through the Loggia dei Lanzi’s outdoor statuary, she could not help but notice that all the figures seemed to be enacting a variation on a single theme: violent displays of male dominance over women.
The Rape of the Sabines.
The Rape of Polyxena.
Perseus Holding the Severed Head of Medusa.
Lovely, Vayentha thought, pulling her cap low over her eyes and edging her way through the morning crowd toward the entrance of the palace, which was just admitting the first tourists of the day. From all appearances, it was business as usual here at the Palazzo Vecchio.
No police, Vayentha thought. At least not yet.
She zipped her jacket high around her neck, making certain that her weapon was concealed, and headed through the entrance. Following signs for Il Museo di Palazzo, she passed through two ornate atriums and then up a massive staircase toward the second floor.
As she climbed, she replayed the police dispatch in her head.
Il Museo di Palazzo Vecchio … Dante Alighieri.
Langdon has to be here.
The signs for the museum led Vayentha into a massive, spectacularly adorned gallery—the Hall of the Five Hundred—where a scattering of tourists mingled, admiring the colossal murals on the walls. Vayentha had no interest in observing the art here and quickly located another museum sign in the far right-hand corner of the room, pointing up a staircase.
As she made her way across the hall, she noticed a group of university kids all gathered around a single sculpture, laughing and taking pictures.
The plaque read: Hercules and Diomedes.
Vayentha eyed the statues and groaned.
The sculpture depicted the two heroes of Greek mythology—both stark naked—locked in a wrestling match. Hercules was holding Diomedes upside down, preparing to throw him, while Diomedes was tightly gripping Hercules’ penis, as if to say, “Are you sure you want to throw me?”
Vayentha winced. Talk about having someone by the balls.
She removed her eyes from the peculiar statue and quickly climbed the stairs toward the museum.
She arrived on a high balcony that overlooked the hall. A dozen or so tourists were waiting outside the museum entrance.
“Delayed opening,” one cheerful tourist offered, peeking out from behind his camcorder.
“Any idea why?” she asked.
“Nope, but what a great view while we wait!” The man swung his arm out over the expanse of the Hall of the Five Hundred below.
Vayentha walked to the edge and peered at the expansive room beneath them. Downstairs, a lone police officer was just arriving, drawing very little attention as he moved, without any sense of urgency, across the room toward the staircase.
He’s coming up to take a statement, Vayentha imagined. The man’s lugubrious trudge up the stairs indicated this was a routine response call—nothing like the chaotic search for Langdon at the Porta Romana.
77/205 首页 上一页 75 76 77 78 79 80 下一页 尾页
|
