Medici Dagger

Chapter One I sank into the black leather sofa in my father's spacious office, leaning against a pillow that looked like a big, silky Chiclet. Tension rippled through the room. I glanced up at my dad, who was slumped forward in his chair, elbows on his leather-topped desk, forehead in one hand. His face was six inches from the speakerphone -- a boxy thing, separate from the telephone, that sounded even worse than they do today. Wedged between the fingers of his other hand was a number-two pencil that he nervously wiggled back and forth. The voice coming out of the phone belonged to Ensign Hector Camacho, a representative from the Coast Guard. "I'm very sorry, sir," Camacho said with professional dispassion. My dad winced as if he'd stepped on a thumbtack. "You're saying he could have gone down anywhere within a hundred-mile radius?""I'm saying that -- ""Can't you find that plane? You cannot fathom the importance of this, the devastating consequences!" Sweat glistened on my father's upper lip. "Try to calm down, Dr. Barnett," Camacho said. "I know how difficult this must be for you, losing, uh, Mr. Greer.""Henry!" Dad shouted, and then, as if in an afterthought, he said, "Oh, God...Henry." I knew Henry Greer was the pilot and courier my father had sent to France to retrieve a page of Leonardo da Vinci's notes."Was he a relation?" Camacho asked.My father ignored the question. "So there's no way at all to recover this airplane?""He went down in very deep waters, and probably at high speed, sir."My father snapped the yellow pencil and threw the two halves on the floor. "Jesus!" I squirmed in my seat and thought maybe I should take a walk. But I stayed."I know," Camacho said. "I'm very sorry." My dad was silent for what seemed like a full minute before I realized that he was crying. That got me, and I felt tears welling up, too. Out of the little box, Camacho's voice said, "Mister...um, Doctor?""You'll call me if anything turns up?" Dad said desperately. "Anything. A piece of paper. A scrap of paper.""Of course, sir." "A document of any kind. Anything with writing on it." "We'll call you immediately if anything at all is recovered, sir."My dad collected himself. "Thank you, Ensign," he said. "Goodbye." "Goodbye, sir," Camacho said, and disconnected.My father stared at the dead speakerphone. I got up and walked over behind him, my boot heels silent on the thick maroon carpet. When I placed a hand on his shoulder, I realized his shirt was damp from sweat."Dad?" I called softly. He slowly raised his head and looked at me through watery eyes. "It's gone, son," he whispered. "It's gone."On July nights the humidity in Georgetown was so thick it looked as if a plastic shower curtain had been hung in front of the moon. Sometimes, after my mom and dad had kissed me good night and closed my door, I'd get out of bed and kneel down in front of my second-story window, open it up, and poke my head out into the night. I'd squint up at the hazy yellow face of the moon and feel the air-conditioning going one way and the hot, sticky air going the other, until I'd start to sweat or a mosquito would nail me.The night of the plane crash I lay on my back in bed, propped up on my elbows. My mother leaned over me, dressed in her light blue cotton robe, scrubbed clean, no makeup. I breathed in the scent of her favorite soap -- apricot from Caswell Massey -- hoping to ease some of my worry. I watched Mom's eyes as she fluffed my pillow. Her eyes are the color of acorns,I thought. The serenity they normally radiated was absent that night. And my sheets were tucked in too tightly. I pried them loose with my toes. "You did the wash today, huh." "Nothing like fresh sheets, is there?" Mom said, managing a smile. "Okay, there we go. You can cozy up now." There was no chance of that happening. I laid my heWest, Cameron is the author of 'Medici Dagger' with ISBN 9780743420365 and ISBN 0743420365.