Page 59 of Chasing Caine
The sound of the drill pressed into my brain, reminding me of our mission. It was not to admire Samantha’s graceful movements or her tactics. The camera was still in my hands, and I slung the backpack over my shoulder.
The walls of the southern entryway into the Casa were mostly intact, save a portion which hadn’t survived the excavation and stood only four feet high. Standing, adjusting position, climbing atop the wall across the street—which I should have had more respect for—I angled myself until I had a clear view through the storage room door, past the garden and into the tricilium.
An icy shard stabbed into my spine. The person’s face and body were covered against the dust spraying up from where they were drilling into the Minerva wall, above her head. My hands shook as I clenched the camera. The Minerva wall. That was Samantha’s wall. The ice on my spine thawed quickly, replaced by bubbling rage, and I lurched forward.
Photos.
First, photos.
I lifted the camera, finding it difficult to take a good shot, as my hands continued to tremble. I took five, launched myself over the wall, and ran across the street. They wouldn’t hear me over the drill. There, I could hop the gate and dash forward into the storage room. Keeping my head low, I propped the camera on the crumbled wall separating the storage room from the garden and got clear shots.
My watch showed nine minutes had passed. I put the camera away and studied the figure. Full body covered in white coveralls, which included a hood and facial gear. Male, but not Cristian’s body type. No other parties. A small black case sat by his feet, no doubt for transporting the piece once he’d removed it.
I checked my watch again as the seconds counted down to the ten-minute mark. Were we to run in or walk? Say anything? We should have discussed this in more detail. Adrenaline coursed through my body, and I tried breathing through it, but he was cutting out Minerva’s face.
Five seconds.
I moved to the edge of the doorway leading into the garden.
As my watch finished counting down, I prepared to run at the man.
“Hi! I’m lost. Can you help me?” Samantha approached from the atrium before I was two steps into the garden.
I paused. Her eyes flicked to me and she made a subtle movement, which was unmistakably telling me to get back into the storage room.
The man stopped his drill and turned to face her. In perfect English, he said, “This building is off limits.”
He hadn’t noticed me, so I snuck to my hiding spot, peeking out to watch. How would this play out? She smiled politely, speaking in English, in a softer tone than she normally did. With her badge tucked away, she looked like the consummate tourist.
“Is it?” She pouted, putting her hands on her hips. “I got separated from my tour group. We just finished at the Central Baths and were going to the Vettii house next. I was taking some pictures on my phone and didn’t notice they’d left.”
He pulled down his hood and mask, moving his goggles to his forehead.
Cazzo!
It was Umberto.
Get out of there, Samantha!
Her naïve expression faltered for the briefest moment. And she giggled. She never giggled.
He apparently didn’t recognize her. She was putting on a performance, playing up the difference between her appearance and demeanor Wednesday and today. Umberto had barely glanced at her that day, focusing all his attention on me.
I ducked behind the wall separating me from the garden and took a deep breath, fumbling for the camera to take more pictures. I captured him smiling at her, her ruse working. Brilliant.
Umberto raised an arm to the western entrance. “Go back out the way you came, along Via di Nola, and turn right onto Vicolo dei Vetti. There will be signs.”
“What are you doing there? Do you work here?” She pulled out her phone and turned away from the wall to snap a selfie. She smiled and gave a peace sign to the phone, then leaned closer to include him in another photo. Once she was done, she gestured at the wall with her phone and stepped closer to it, her smile growing. And her eyelashes fluttering. “Is this Venus?”
Five minutes had passed. I set the backpack on the ground and returned the camera to it, less delicately than I should have handled such expensive equipment. But I didn’t want to take my eyes off her for too long. She hadn’t given a signal in my direction or looked worried, so I waited. Perhaps she’d been able to get through to Special Agent Skinner and was stalling until the authorities arrived.
“No,” he said, moving close to her. “This is Minerva, goddess of wisdom.”
She tilted her head, playing at a coy smile. “Minerva? I’ve never heard of her.” She was toying with him. It must be stalling. This must have been her way of covering both doors.
“Have you heard of Athena?”
“Yeah, isn’t she the goddess of war or something?”