Via Caravelli was a narrow, long street far away from any tourist spots, so Duo slid his hand into Heero's. They were very careful about public display, but in this virtually deserted suburb, no one was looking and probably no one cared.
"What a shame," Duo sighed, Heero almost missing his words. Architecture was a hobby of his and Duo wished he had more time to spend on designing himself. He had a good knack for buildings, lay-outs and architecture in general, the only thing he had really in common with Solo. When their father had been away on a business trip, they had holed themselves up in a corner of the large attic to build their own house, cathedral or school with anything they could get their hands on: matches, lollipop sticks, cardboard rolls… after Solo's death, architecture had been buried beneath Duo's sorrow, only to pop up now and then, especially when buildings were neglected. It brought out sadness and melancholy in him, as if the empty windows, flaky paint and half-rotten doors were somehow testimonies of the gap that Solo had left in his life.
And emptiness was what he felt in Via Caravelli. The ghost of splendor past was tangible, especially when the Via fanned out into a large square with a fountain, bronze with sculpted Gods to provide water for the thirsty visitors; even Pluto and Mars joined pouring their jugs into the large basin. There was no water. The bronze had eroded, the green color of algae a tell-taling sign of neglect. Heero noticed the mosaic pattern of the square, as well as the weeds growing between the cracks. The several pallazo all breathed an eerie silence, a barely audible sigh of defeat, as nature was slowly taking back what once was hers.
The Bartoli palazzo wasn't any different. Duo walked up to the iron gate, touching the lock. It was rusted, but still holding a couple of chains together. Heero came to stand next to Duo, examining the lock.
"I can pick it," he said. "I'm surprised it didn't crumble to pieces when I touched it. No one has been here in a long, long time."
"Do you want to check out the premises?" Heero asked.
"Yeah. I just want to take a look."
"All right, then."
Duo picked the lock and opened the gate just as far as to get himself through. Now they were at Bartoli's territory; the palazzo loomed in front of them, dilapidated and…aggressive. There was no splendor here, just cold harsh shadows, broken windows, weeds overgrowing the porch and walls. The dark stone of the palazzo radiated a cold, distant atmosphere, contrary to the neighboring buildings.
"Brrr, talking about a ghost house," Duo said. He had worked his way through the garden to the windows and was leaning against a dirty window pane, holding his hands above his eyes as he tried to peek through the crusted dust and cobwebs. "It's empty, just like the outside."
"No furniture," Heero stated. "Not even a couch or a chair left."
"Tiles are broken, there's a huge crack in that pillar supporting the stair case…I'd almost say there has been a fight. See that?" He tapped against the glass.
"Shells," Heero was quick to recognize the small, cylinder-shaped objects on the floor. "Gun fight."
Duo started to walk around the house, peeking through several other windows. Heero thought he might climb through one of them to enter the palazzo, but Duo stayed outside, shaking his head at the obvious decay of the building.
"This has been going on for years," Duo finally said. "Decades, is more like it. I doubt we'd find anything recent to lead us to Marco."
"At least we checked it out," Heero tried to offer some consolation. He had the feeling that they would come across Marco Bartoli sooner or later anyway. The palazzo had just been a temporary stop.
"Yeah. Oh hey, take a look at this?"
"What is it?" Heero closed the distance between them and stared next to Duo through the window. It was a different view of the hall, with the shells on the floor. "Why…"
Duo elbowed him in the stomach, not too hard, and held up three fingers. Heero changed his position immediately, turning his head as he kept his eyes on the window. There, reflected by the glass, was a man hiding in the shadow of a wilted tree. He was dressed in black.
"What are you carrying?" Duo mumbled. As he held his head down, Heero couldn't make out his words and guessed that he was asking about his weapons. All that he was carrying, was a small Beretta 8000, a gun perfect for civilian self-defense, but if this member of the Fiamma Nera was carrying heavy arms, the Beretta could prove to be bad match.
"Blegh, I've only got my HK on me," Duo said, referring to his Heckler & Koch P7. He couldn't carry his Uzis in public for obvious reasons and besides, their usual weapons, including Heero's Remington, were packed and stacked in the Cessna they were going to fly to Tibet with, all on Duo's personal account. Their guns and equipment weren't suitable for a commercial flight, and Duo hated being pressed with two hundred other people in an airplane. "What are we going to do now?"
"So far, he thinks we haven't noticed him yet. Keep moving around the palazzo."
Duo nodded, and moved to the right. The man in the shadows stayed put, but as soon as Heero followed Duo, he moved as well.
"Damn. We need a way to split up."
"How about this," Duo said and he grabbed the wooden window casing to hoist himself up. Kicking the remainders of the window out of the way so he wouldn't cut himself on the glass, Duo jumped inside, coughing as his action stirred up a huge cloud of dust.
"What are you doing!" Heero hissed.
"I'm splitting up," Duo winked. "See you on the flip side!"
He disappeared out of sight. Heero could just see the tip of his braid being swallowed by the darkness in the palazzo, and then he was completely gone. Their enemy made handy use of the shadows of the huge bushes and large trees in the garden, hiding behind the thick, leafy branches. He knew this territory, that was for sure; Heero remained standing still, wondering if the other man was going to approach him now, killing them off one by one, or if he was going to wait for Duo to return, so he could kill two birds with one stone.
The Beretta was stuck in his waistband at his back. Any move he would make to retrieve it, would call the other's attention. Heero knew he was quick, but was he quick enough to grab his gun, turn around and aim and shoot? He took a deep breath. It looked like the decision was taken out of his hands. The man stepped out of the shadows, gun in hand, aimed at Heero's back. Heero's own hand slid towards his waistband, a movement so familiar that he couldn't stop it. He wasn't going to be shot in the back here in an overgrown garden of a dilapidated palazzo in Venice.
"Stop. Don't move." The voice of the man was harsh, his accent heavy. Heero held his hands still.
"You have to speak up," he said. "I can't hear you very well. Slight accident during your attack on the Manor."
The man didn't respond and approached Heero until he was just three meters away from him.
"Turn around. Slowly. Hands up. Up!"
Heero obliged. He stuck his hands up in the air and faced the cult member. The red insigne in his right shoulder told Heero more than enough.
"Where's the other one?" The man asked.
"I can't hear you very well," Heero said. "I told you, slight accident during your attack on the Manor."
The thug showed a crooked grin. "You killed Marcello. Too bad you didn't get killed in the blast."
Having a hard time to read his lips, the thug's heavy accent not making things any easier, Heero tried to piece the words he could understand quickly together. He needed to stall for time, but he didn't know how long; Duo had disappeared into the palazzo a few minutes ago and he probably hadn't had time enough to sneak up on the thug from behind.
"Why are you looking for the sword?" Heero asked.
"I'm not going to answer any questions from you. I'm not stupid. Where's the other one? Call for him."
"He went inside," Heero said. "Where's Marco Bartoli?"
"Don't you dare call his name, bastardo."
"You have an awful big mouth," Heero said coolly. "I don't like being called a bastard. I don't like being blown up. I don't like you."
"Too bad. You can call for the other and die together, or I'll just kill you right here and kill your friend later."
"You wouldn't survive." Heero mimicked the thug's grin. "He's Death incarnated, you know."
"Don't fuck with me," the thug growled and stepped closer, cocking his gun and pointing it at Heero's head, right between his eyes. Before he could pull the trigger, he felt a weight being pressed to his head, followed by an unmistakable sound: another gun cocked and ready to fire, right at his ear.
"Don't worry," a suave voice wrapped itself around his ear, "you're not his type. You're not his type at all. Now drop your fucking gun."
"I don't care." The thug didn't move, but didn't shoot either. "I'm ready to die for our cause."
"You're a cheap mercenary," Duo said. "A nameless, faceless goon who wants to die for some asshole who doesn't give a fuck? Who sleeps well at night even knowing that people die for him?"
"You don't know who we are," the thug bristled, "Marco Bartoli is our leader! For centuries, the Fiamma Nera has reconstructed and dominated history…"
"Funny that we've never even heard of you before the search for the sword of the Khan started," Duo said, deadpan.
The thug snorted. "Fiamma Nera will rise again as soon as we have the sword!"
"Where's Marco Bartoli?" Duo asked, pressing the muzzle of the gun harder against the other man's head. "I have a bill I'd like him to pay."
"Your Manor means nothing to him. Your gun means nothing to me. Shoot. Just shoot! In the reflex I'll pull my own trigger, killing your friend. And there will be many more of my friends, wanting to kill you!"
"You're insane," Duo hissed. "You're all insane! Why does Bartoli want the sword?"
A chortled laugh. "Don't you think the question is: Why does Noventa want the sword?"
"What?" Duo was distracted and for a fraction of a second, loosened his grip on the trigger. The thug didn't hesitate and fired at Heero, who had started to move as soon as Duo had sneaked up from behind. The bullet missed him, drilling a hole in the cement of the abandoned palazzo. Before the thug could fire again, Heero had already yelled "Duo, get away from him!", pulling out his Beretta with one, swift movement, and pulled the trigger himself.
"For honor and glory of Marco Bartoli!" The man's words were cut off brusquely when the bullet hit him right in the chest. One brief moment of surprise, another brief moment of realization dawning on him and then it was over - he sagged to the ground, limp and with a soft sigh, his life escaping him.
Duo stared at the body, lifeless in front of him, his own Heckler and Koch in hand. His eyes were wide and Heero couldn't read his expression very well - was it shock, fear, anxiety? He quickly covered the distance between them, grabbing Duo at his free wrist.
"Duo. Duo! Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Duo immediately replied, pulling his hand away from Heero's. "I can handle it, Heero."
"Of course you can. I was just worried about you."
"I know. I'm sorry." Sighing, Duo tucked his Heckler & Koch away, shoulders drooping. "This is so crazy. These people don't care if they get killed, all for an artifact?"
"Are we sure they're only after the artifact? What he said about the Fiamma Nera…"
"I'll contact Howard and ask him if he can find out more about them. If it's an ancient cult, perhaps then there's more to find than what Quatre knew about it."
Heero cupped Duo's face, looking at him, examining him. There was harshness on Duo's face that he didn't like, but he refrained from asking again if he was all right. He heaved a sigh of relief when Duo moved towards him, slipping his arms around him for a brief hug.
"We have to be at the airport early tomorrow for our flight to Chengdu," Heero finally said, briefly stroking Duo's hair. "We'll go back to the hotel and rest up for the expedition ahead of us."
"You're right. What about him?"
Heero didn't care for the thug. "We'll make an anonymous phone call to the polizia about the body. Let's get out of here."
Rome Fuimicino Airport was crowded and hectic, but the taxi skipped the regular terminals serving the 'regular' passengers: tourist and business travelers, and drove straight to the pier destined for 'private' passengers: exclusive business flights and private jets. Howard had arranged for a Cessna Citation X in Duo's name; the prospect of flying a plane himself again had Duo all excited, wriggling in the back seat of the taxi.
Heero took out their luggage (one suitcase only) as the rest of their equipment had been previously loaded on the plane. He carried his own laptop with him all the time; no one else, safe for Duo, got to touch it. After paying the driver, Duo all but danced to the hangar, its giant doors already open, and he laughed and whistled out loud when seeing the Cessna.
"It's a beauty!" He exclaimed enthusiastically. "Howard sure knows how to get the best!"
"How long has it been since you've flown?" Heero asked stoically. Duo jabbed at his shoulder.
"Don't be afraid, you wimp! I have more flight hours clocked than you, my dear!"
That was the undeniable truth - Heero hadn't been as often in the position to fly like Duo, and he trusted him to handle the plane well. He trusted Duo with his life, and that was mutual, so he boarded the plane with utmost confidence. Waiting for Duo to deal with last-minute paperwork, Heero sat down in the cockpit and took out the metallic clipboard with the flight plan. They weren't going to make it to Chengdu in one flight; they had to refuel at Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi, India. Howard had also arranged for accommodation in India; spending a night at the airport hotel to give the both of them well-needed rest after such a long flight. Heero checked the itinerary and had to admit that Howard had done his work thoroughly.
"All right, co-pilot Yuy, why don't you contact the tower while I start her up," Duo said, glowing and smiling like a kid unwrapping his Christmas present. Heero hadn't heard him boarding the plane, let alone entering the cockpit; one of Duo's many specialties was to move without a sound. Not even Heero himself could be as silent as Duo if he wanted to be. He grabbed his headphones just like Duo.
"Wingflaps up," Duo said, flicking the switch. "Carburetor heat in cold position. Full throttle. Air speed indicator at 75 knots." His fingers danced over the control panel, switching and shifting buttons. Heero reached the control tower, reciting their registration number and itinerary.
"We're moving into position for departure," he said, quickly reading off their position on the control panel. "Northeast," he rattled off the coordinates. Duo moved the plane forwards, starting to taxi to the correct runway for take-off. The engines increased in power, the humming sound boosting to an intense, thrumming noise. The plane taxied forward to the center line of the runway, where Duo positioned the Cessna meticulously before coming to a full stop. He did a quick double-check to see if all the instruments were working properly while Heero waited for confirmation from the control tower.
"Are we clear yet?" Duo asked impatiently. Heero shushed him and listened into his headphones.
"Yes, we're clear!" He motioned at Duo, and he replied by increasing the speed. Engines roaring again, the plane moved forward, faster and faster, and the end of the runway came quickly in sight. Duo pulled up the nose of the plane and the Cessna came loose from the ground, leaving the airport behind.
"Ciao, Italia," Duo grinned. "I'll miss your wonderful pizza, but not your crazy Mafiosi!"
"Duo, we don't know if the Fiamma Nera is tied to the mob," Heero answered. He checked the data on his clipboard while Duo had the plane climb higher, adjusting the instruments as he went.
"Aw, come on, I was just joking. Seriously though, that thug claimed that the Fiamma Nera was an ancient cult. Why couldn't they have connections to the mob? We know that they're well-funded and well-equipped, so there has to be some big money going around."
"It might be Bartoli himself."
"I'm not sure. The Maria Doria sank so long ago, and even though he got quite the nice sum from the insurance company, Bartoli himself was a young lad when it happened. What about the rest of his family? His mother, the widow? They would need money too."
"Whatever they did with it, they didn't spend it on the palazzo," Heero said, the memories of the dilapidated building fresh in his mind. "It looked like no one lived there for decades."
"Bullshit," Duo said. "About the cult, I mean. Solo had intensive records on all cults in the world. Cults like to think they're secret, but they're not. People have one, big weakness: they blab."
"Just like you," Heero quipped.
"I blab and blather all the time," Duo was in an excellent mood, "you really wouldn't like me when I'm not blabbing! It's a fun word, actually: 'blab'. Who made that up anyway?"
"Just pay attention to your control panel," Heero answered, "and when we're back on solid ground, I'll use my laptop to give you the answer."
"Nerd," was all that Duo said.
The steady hum of the engines and the smooth, uninterrupted flight made Heero a little drowsy. Duo still had a firm smile on his face, looking outside as if he could stare straight into heaven. The silence was warm and comfortable; Duo only spoke if he changed something, to let Heero know what he was doing. For the rest, they spend hours in peaceful silence, even when the plane was set to auto-pilot. Before they left, Heero had asked the hotel's kitchen to prepare food for them and they had kindly provided enough to stock the entire fridge with sandwiches and bottled water.
"If you're tired, you can go sleep in the plane," Duo motioned with his thumb to the inside of the plane, where there was room enough for at least eight passengers. "Snoozing in a chair can get you cramped all over."
"No, I'm fine," Heero said and took the clipboard again. "Besides, you're doing all the hard work around here. Don't you want to take a nap?"
"Later, perhaps. I'm not working that hard, thanks to our friend the autopilot."
"Have some more water. You'll dry out easily at this altitude."
"All right, hand me a bottle."
Heero went out of his seat to walk towards the small pantry to retrieve another bottle. Taking two out of the fridge, one bottle for himself as well, he walked back, marveling at the luxury of the interior. He had never asked if Howard had leased this plane or if it was property of the Maxwell family. He assumed the first; Duo didn't like to talk about finances, and Heero knew that his money wasn't in any liquid funds, but all stuck in the famous Maxwell collection.
"Here you are."
"Thanks, dear." Duo unscrewed the cap of the bottle and sipped some water. "Ah, delicious."
Heero sat down and buckled up again. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah." Duo sat comfortably reclined in his seat, he was buckled but kept quite the leeway instead of being strapped in tightly. "Hey, do you remember what that tug said, back at Bartoli's palazzo?"
"Something about the sword?"
"That I was asking myself the wrong question. Not what Bartoli wanted to do with the sword, but Noventa."
Heero snorted. "Don't worry about that. He probably said it just to rile you."
"I'm not sure." Duo frowned. "That afternoon, with Trowa and Quatre coming over, G was also there, remember?"
"How could I forget? He poked so hard in my ears that I thought I would turn deaf permanently!"
"I'm glad your hearing improves by the day," Duo grinned nonetheless. "Anyway, you know G is a leading authority on immunology and cell biology, right?"
Heero nodded. "I know."
"Guess who his new case study is?"
"Sylvia Noventa." It popped right up in his mind.
"Exactly. There's doctor-patient confidentiality of course, so he couldn't tell me that much - but it boils down to Sylvia's system attacking her own cells, degenerating her from the inside."
"That's why she tired so easily," Heero said. "Her body has to fight off the attacks it creates itself. No wonder her hands were shaking."
"It's awful," Duo said. "Can you imagine living with a body that's its own worst nightmare? G is going to study her case, but he doesn't know if he can develop a treatment soon enough to save her."
"That is, if a treatment is possible," Heero said. "I don't want to be too negative, but…"
"I know." Duo shifted in his seat. "Poor girl. Yet, the sword…"
Heero was doodling on the papers on the clipboard. "The sword of Kolanuhm gave him longevity."
"No," Duo said sternly. "I think it gave him eternal youth."
"Nuh-uh. Sylvia showed us a picture of him, middle-aged."
"Yeah, middle-aged when he supposedly had ruled over a hundred years by then."
"Fine. Any way you look at it, the sword prolonged his life, aging him much, much slower than usual life would. Satisfied?"
"Satisfied." Duo chuckled softly. "But, we agree on one thing: the sword influences the lifespan of the wielder."
"Exactly. Do you think…" Heero got an inkling as to what Duo was implying, "…that Noventa wants to use the sword to help his granddaughter?"
"When Sylvia wields the sword, her lifespan will be extended, provided that the sword grants its power to any wielder." Duo drummed with his fingers on the control panel. "That would mean that doctors have more time to concoct a cure for her."
"Ah, but there's the catch," Heero tapped in rhythm with Duo's drumming, "we don't know if the sword grants its power to 'any wielder'. I think it speaks for itself that the sword never is mentioned again, in any document, story, legend or whatever, after Kolanuhm's death. And if I had just killed a mighty ruler, I'd be sure to rob him of any artifact that made him so powerful."
"It's probably just an old man's hope," Duo said. He turned his head towards Heero and stopped drumming as he moved up his hand to touch Heero's hair. "Hope is for the living."
"Hope is for the living," Heero repeated and leaned into his touch.
Chapter 5 | Chapter 7 |