The Girl Who Knew Da Vinci_An Out of Time Thriller Read online

  www.belleamiauthor.com

  Published Internationally by Tema N. Merback

  Calabasas, CA USA

  Copyright © 2018 Tema N. Merback

  Exclusive cover © 2018 Fiona Jayde Media

  Inside artwork © 2018 Tamara Cribley, The Deliberate Page

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author, Belle Ami., is an infringement of the copyright law.

  PRINT ISBN 978-1-7322071-0-3

  EBOOK ISBN 978-1-7322071-1-0

  Editor: Joanna D’Angelo

  Copy Editors: Patricia Grasso, Brenda Heald

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Also Available

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  About Belle Ami

  This book is dedicated to artists who dare to follow their dreams. Some of us dream of achieving great things while others just do them. Leonardo da Vinci never ceased his exploration of every facet of life, and his paintings often took second place to his other endeavors. He was the quintessential Jack of all trades, but in his case he was a master of all of them. Imagining what it would be like to know one of the greatest of minds in history, to call such a man friend, was rapturous and inspiring to me. It has led to a whole new journey in my life and the creation of a cast of characters that I hope will fill the pages of many books to come.

  Thank you Maestro.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you… Writers do not work in a vacuum, nor are their books created in a vacuum. Every person they have ever met, every person they have ever known contributed in some way to the pages plucked from their heart, soul, and mind. This book would not have been possible without the devotion and effort of my editor, Joanna D’Angelo, who worked tirelessly and held my “fingers” to the fire. She is a blessing and has brought out the best in me, and I thank her with all of my heart.

  Also, thanks to Fiona Jayde, who created one of the most artistic and beautiful covers I have ever seen. The Girl Who Knew Da Vinci cover is a masterpiece and I believe Leonardo would have been pleased.

  Thank you to my family who is so supportive of my journey as an author and encouraged me when others poo-pooed my efforts.

  Thanks as well to my copy editors Patricia Grasso and Brenda Gayle, talented authors in their own right, who applied their keen eyes to my book. Thank you to Renata Coppola, an elegant and artistic Italian woman, who edited the Italian translations in my book.

  Finally, I want to thank my readers for the pleasure I derive from your reviews and support. You make the hours spent alone in front of a computer screen worth it.

  Also Available

  Tip of the Spear Series

  Escape ~ Book 1

  Vengeance ~ Book 2

  The Only One Series

  The One ~ Book 1

  The One and More ~ Book 2

  One More Time is Not Enough ~ Book 3

  Holiday Ever After Anthology

  The Christmas Encounter ~ Featured Short Story

  Things that happened many years ago often seem close and nearby to the present, and many things that happened recently seem as ancient as the bygone days of youth. ~ Codex Atlanticus, fol. 29v-a

  ~ Leonardo da Vinci

  Prologue

  Florence, Italy

  Uffizi Gallery

  August 3, 1944

  Sophia Caro was scared, but not half as scared as she should be. The world was at war and she was in love with a German officer. She covered her ears as another explosion rocked the building, pressing closer into the arms of her lover, Gerhard Jaeger. Had it only been a few hours? It felt like the Germans had been bombing for days.

  “Florence will never be the same,” she whispered brokenly. After each detonation, the Uffizi Gallery strained and shuddered as if struck by an earthquake.

  Gerhard held her tighter, shielding her with his body. “It will my darling, you’ll see.”

  They planned to escape from Florence. Gerhard, who was no Nazi, would desert. If captured, he’d be lined up before a firing squad. Adding to her worries were her brothers who were partisans fighting the Nazis. She and Gerhard were set to flee back home to her family vineyard in the Tuscan hills. She’d be lucky if her brothers didn’t shoot Gerhard first and ask questions later. Time had run out and the man she loved with her heart and soul was prepared to risk everything for her and their unborn child.

  Another round of blasts shook the building. Huddling in the long central gallery of the Uffizi, dust and pieces of the frescoed ceiling rained down around them.

  “The ceiling! What if the building collapses?” Sophia couldn’t control the panic that seized her. Blistering heat and falling debris made it impossible to breathe.

  “We’ll be fine Sophia. The Uffizi has stood for nearly five hundred years. It will stand for another five hundred, I’m sure.” Gerhard kissed her forehead. “Longer than that bastard Hitler. It makes me ashamed and sick to be a German.”

  Sophia laid her hand against his cheek. “You’re an academic, an art historian, not a soldier. You’d do anything to protect Florence’s art treasures. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”

  “Have I done enough?” Deep lines etched his face.

  A massive blast brought another shower of plaster, covering them in a fine veil of white dust.

  “Heaven help us. When will it stop?” Sophia buried her face in his chest.

  “It won’t stop until the bridges are demolished. Even for the industrious Germans that could take most of the night.”

  Sophia covered her ears to muffle another round of successive blasts. “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.” She crossed herself, wondering if God would listen to the pleas of a now-and-again Catholic. She felt a trickle of sweat roll down her cheek. Gerhard pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it away.

  “Amore mio, I promise you it will end by dawn. My contact, Deiter, assured me that the Ponte Vecchio will not be destroyed. When they’ve finished bringing down the rest of the bridges the explosions will cease. Then you and I will leave this nightmare of a war behind.”

  A series of booms echoed again through the city and the reality of their situation returned. She held her stomach, protecting the small bump that protruded.

  He covered her hand with his. “I hope you packed something substantial for our journey, my love. You need to keep up your strength for our child’s sake. Besides w
hich,” he said, “I’d hate to be arrested for a grumbling stomach.”

  “This is Italy,” she said with a quirk of her lips. “We aren’t going to die of starvation.” She looked around. “What have you done with the painting?”

  “I had to cut it from its frame,” he said with a grimace. “I wrapped it in tissue paper and rolled it paint side out. Then I rolled it in lamb’s wool and fit it in a thick cardboard tube. I think it should be safe from the elements. My backpack is waterproof.”

  She knew he’d do anything to keep her and their unborn child safe, but the painting worried her. It seemed to her an unnecessary risk to take a painting from the Uffizi, even if he meant only to keep it safe. It was a bone of contention between them.

  “It’s twenty-seven kilometers south of Florence to my family’s vineyard in Montefioralle. I’m afraid much of it is uphill.”

  “We’re young and strong, Sophia. If I have to carry you up a mountain, I will. It should take us about six hours to walk twenty-seven kilometers; we can manage that. Didn’t you say the area is famous for its Chianti?”

  “The best Chianti and the most beautiful village in Italy. You will never want to leave.”

  “Sounds like a good place to wait out the war, a glass of wine in hand, a bambino on my lap, and a goddess in my bed. The perfect place for us to begin our new life.” He drew her close and caressed her abdomen.

  It seemed impossible that amid the chaos of war their child had been conceived. She hadn’t meant it to happen and feared he’d think she’d entrapped him. But when she told him, he was overjoyed, professing his excitement to be a father. She knew, then, that his love for her was true.

  Sometime after dawn, the explosions ceased and the Uffizi Gallery grew quiet. Gerhard had kept his military uniform on until the last second. But now the die had been cast and it was time to escape. He discarded his uniform and donned the clothes of a civilian. Sophia straightened his collar while he stuffed the fake identity papers into his pocket.

  “Well, Giorgio Bandini, accountant from Pisa, are you ready to begin the next phase of your life?”

  He grabbed her around the waist and kissed her. “So long as I’m allowed to make love every night to the most desirable woman in the world. Shall we go, angelo mio.”

  Sophia knew the Vasari Corridor like the back of her hand. If need be, she could walk it blindfolded. The concealed passageway above the bridge would be their escape route. She gave silent thanks to the clever Duke Cosimo I de’Medici who, in 1565, had ordered Giorgio Vasari to build the secret corridor. It allowed the Medici family to travel from the Palazzo Vecchio to the Palazzo Pitti in safety and privacy. During the five years Sophia had worked at the Uffizi, instead of walking the crowded Ponte Vecchio below, she’d chosen to walk the three-quarter mile from the Uffizi to the Pitti in privacy, just as the Medici family had.

  Holding a candle for her, Gerhard followed her through the unmarked secret door near the Botticelli room and down a flight of stairs. She unlocked another door and, after he passed through it, she locked it behind her. The minute the door shut, it was as if the air changed. The eerie silence was disconcerting after the hours of continuous bombings.

  “Don’t worry, it always feels like you’ve entered another world,” she said.

  “Cooler. I’ll take it.” He shifted the heavy backpack to his other shoulder.

  Taking his hand, she led him through the twists and turns of the corridor. “Before the war these walls were hung with Medici portraits. Now they’re hidden in storage vaults. The war has altered the world forever.”

  “Not forever, amore mio.”

  They continued through the corridor until she paused and whispered, “We’ve reached the Ponte Vecchio. The corridor is built above the bridge and invisible, but we’d better snuff out the candle now. There are too many windows where we might be seen. Besides, we won’t need it, the sun is rising. There will be plenty of light.”

  Gerhard blew the candle out and again took her hand, kissing it. “Where you lead, I will follow.”

  When they reached the center of the bridge they came to a series of large windows where the rising sun shed enough light through the panes of glass for Sophia to see across the Arno. Gerhard had warned her it was happening, but to see it made her gasp in horror. What had been one of the most beautiful sights in the world, the Ponte Santa Trinita and the Ponte alla Carraia bridges, had been destroyed. All that was left were piles of rubble, much of it submerged beneath the Arno River.

  “Look at what they’ve done,” she said. “How could they be so callous?” She turned to him. “This is so hard. So much needless suffering, and to destroy bridges that have stood for over four hundred years. Truly, the world has gone mad.”

  “Tesoro, we cannot save the world.” He took her hand and kissed her palm. “We must protect our unborn child.”

  They left the bridge behind and continued until they arrived at the façade of a church. They walked past a large window over the balcony that gave a dramatic view of the central aisle toward the nave and the main altar.

  “Where are we?” asked Gerhard.

  “Santa Felicità Church. The Medici family often watched the Mass from this vantage point.”

  With a heavy sigh, she turned and followed the corridor’s path as it cut through rows of houses. Whenever they passed a window, they could see tons of concrete and rubble below. The Germans had mined Oltrarno, decimating the neighborhood.

  Gerhard blew out a breath. “It will take the Allied forces weeks to find a way through this devastation.”

  She nodded. “We could exit the corridor at the Boboli Gardens, but I think it’s better we exit through the secret door in the Pitti Palace.”

  “Agreed.” He smiled, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “I think this will be a story to tell our children and grandchildren. Si, amore mio?”

  She returned his smile. When he spoke of their future, it filled her with hope. She cradled her belly and walked ahead.

  Chapter 1

  Los Angeles, California

  Getty Museum

  August 3, 2018

  If she didn’t get a good night’s sleep soon, she would go mad.

  Angela Renatus sat at her desk and stared with bleary eyes at her computer screen. Headaches and insomnia had kept her up night after night for weeks. It had all started when she began her internship at the Getty Museum six weeks ago. She’d always been a sound sleeper, but now her nights were plagued with vivid dreams that left her wary and unsettled.

  The intercom on her phone lit. Extension 212. It’s him. She shuddered. “Yes, sir.”

  “Angela can you come into my office, please.”

  The pounding in her temples accelerated.

  “I need your research on the Botticelli in ten minutes.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll print what I have so far.”

  “Don’t bother. Just email it to me and I’ll read it before you get here.”

  Trembling, she hit send, then picked up her cup and took a sip of water. The dream job of a lifetime had become a nightmare. Landing an internship at the Getty Museum had been a coup, but she couldn’t stomach working with Dr. Alberto Scordato, the director of the museum. She’d begun to dread being called into his office, trying to come up with ways to avoid being alone with him. It sucked up a lot of her mental energy. What little she had left, given her lack of sleep.

  She needed coffee before facing him, and she needed a minute to collect herself. In the employee kitchen, Kathryn Hayes, Scordato’s administrative assistant, was refilling her coffee cup.

  The woman turned to her and must have read her distress. “Angela, dear, are you all right?”

  Recovering herself, Angela forced a smile. “Just tired, I guess. Haven’t been sleeping lately. I have to meet with Doctor Scordato in a few minutes.”

  Kathryn’s s
mile faded. “I’ve worked for that man a long time and I know how difficult he can be. Don’t let him get to you.”

  “It’s just that I fought so hard to get this internship. This is supposed to be the gold star on my resume, my paved-with-gold path into the art world. Instead, I’m struggling to survive.”

  Kathryn tilted her head. “I’ve seen many interns come and go over the years, but you, my dear, are putting them all to shame with your long hours and coming in on weekends. Too much work and not enough fun isn’t healthy.”

  “I’ve been doing that for years. I’m not sure I know any other way.” Angela shrugged.

  “Honey, this isn’t the end for you; it’s just the beginning. It will all work out, you’ll see.” Kathryn stared at the coffee in her cup as if she were trying to decipher tea leaves. “He’s done this before, Angela.”

  “Done what?” Angela said, a chill skittering up her spine.

  Kathryn hesitated. “He has a penchant for the ladies. You know how men are. Just be careful when you’re alone with him.”

  Angela gripped the counter, watching the coffee flow into her cup. “There are too many jerks in this world. My dad taught me how to fight. I can take care of myself.”

  “Is Scordato the reason you haven’t been able to sleep?”

  “No, not him, although his behavior is far from professional. I’m not sure why I’m having trouble sleeping. It’s strange, really. It’s been so disruptive that I’m keeping a journal to help track my dreams and how often I wake up throughout the night. So far, it’s only shown me how vivid my dreams are.”

  “Are they nightmares? Do they frighten you?”

  “No, not really,” Angela replied. “They’re about Leonardo da Vinci and his friendship with Fioretta Gorini.” Her lips quirked. “Isn’t that odd?”

  “Maybe the dreams are a message,” Kathryn suggested. “Believe me when I say, there’s life after the Getty. I can assure you, a qualified academic like you will have no problem doing well in the art world.”