The Siege Page 4

  “No, but don’t you see, the TV cameras are focused on the cathedral side. That’s the best backdrop for all the stations. The cathedral says Florence. Nobody is looking at this small side street here behind the Florence Duomo. And besides, the fire escape is covered. It lets out behind this alcove, so no one will see us climbing down.”

  “What’s the name of the street at the bottom?”

  Wade frowned. “Piazza Delle Bullets.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “No, that’s really the name of the street.”

  “That’s a bad omen. And it’s taking a big risk,” Theia pointed out.

  “That’s what I get paid for, to calculate risk, and I think we have an eighty-nine percent chance of getting to safety.”

  “That’s pretty precise, but I’m not sure I like those odds, either.”

  “Well, the alternative is we wait here to be blown up or burned alive or shot. The terrorists know we’re holed up in our rooms. All they have to do is come and get us. They can pick us off one by one whenever they please. I say we take matters into our own hands and take our chances. I doubt if anyone knows about this fire escape. It only exists in our suite.”

  Theia hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

  “I think it’s the right move, but I won’t go without you.”

  “I’m not staying here alone.” Theia made up her mind. “What should we take?”

  “You don’t have to take anything, but I’m going to take my wallet with plenty of Euros, a passport, some bottled water, and snacks.”

  Theia gritted her teeth. “I can’t go anywhere without my passport. And I need to pick up my grandmother’s photographs and letters.”

  “You don’t have a choice. Do you really want to walk down to your room?”

  Theia bit her lip. “No.”

  “We’ll get everything later, then.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to go in the middle of the night?”

  “That actually makes a lot of sense. The odds would certainly be in our favor. Let’s study the map and see where we’d end up and how we could get to a police station from there.”

  “But if we go out in the middle of the night, none of the shops will be open. We’ll be wandering around Florence in the dark. And what if the Italian police mistake us for terrorists and shoot us?”

  “That’s true. It might be better if we go during the daylight so we can run into a shop or a restaurant and have them call for help. Can you speak Italian?”

  Theia shrugged. “Dov’è il bagno?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Where is the bathroom?”

  “That will come in handy,” Wade said flatly.

  “I can also say ‘Excuse me.’ ‘Scusa.’ ”

  “Perfect. If we run into a terrorist we can say, “Excuse me, but where is the bathroom?”

  Theia bristled. “Well, what can you say in Italian?”

  “Spaghetti.”

  She shook her head. “Well, Wade in the Water, lead the way.”

  Wade began gathering his wallet, his passport, his cell phone, a street map of the city, two bottles of water, and snacks into a pillowcase. He tied the top corners together and slung the makeshift bag over his shoulder.

  “I’m going to go first,” he said. “That way if they shoot at us, they’ll get me and you can scamper back up the fire escape. I’ll be right behind you when you’re backing down, so don’t be afraid.”

  “I’ll be afraid, don’t worry, but I don’t see any other way out of here if we wait around. It’s open season on Jews.”

  Wade opened the second window and climbed out onto the balcony. He looked down. “There’s no activity here. I think we’re good.” He climbed onto the fire escape and started down. “Okay, follow me.”

  Theia hoisted herself over the ledge and started climbing down the fire escape. After a couple of feet, they were completely hidden from view. Theia looked down and saw Wade a few feet below her, looking up.

  “Come on, you can do it. I’m right here.” He touched her heel. He was worried about her ankle, but the swelling seemed to have been reduced overnight. She was circling down at a steady pace.

  “What if they’re waiting down there at the bottom with guns?”

  “Most likely it will be the Italian police. It’s going to be okay.”

  “If you say so. I’m counting on you. If you’re wrong…”

  “Then you can blame me.”

  “I will. You can count on that.”

  Wade climbed down several more stories until he was almost at ground level.

  Theia moved faster. “Not so fast, wait for me.”

  “I’m right here. I’ll catch you if you fall.” Wade squeezed Theia’s foot lightly but possessively. “Just one more story,” he whispered. “You can make it. How’s the ankle?”

  “Still sore, but I just want to get out of here.”

  “We’re almost home, sweetheart.” He brushed his hand against the bottom of her foot and rubbed it.

  Theia was close to weeping at that endearment. “I wish I were home.”

  “Come on, you’re just a few steps away. You’re a trooper.”

  Wade reached the bottom rung and guided Theia the rest of the way. When she reached the bottom, he pulled her into his arms and held on tight. “We made it.”

  “Well, how do we know what we’ll find when we step out of this cylinder protector thing?”

  “We’re out of the hotel, aren’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then trust me.” He took her hand, and they peeked around the corner. “Come on, let’s see what’s out here.” They walked out of the protective covering and looked across the street.

  “There’s our hotel, surrounded by Italian police and helicopters.” He looked up. “Here’s a restaurant, Sasso Di Dante Antico Ristorante.”

  He pulled them inside.

  She walked up to a waiter. “Scusa, ma, we need help.” And then she fainted into Wade’s arms.

  Patrons and waiters gathered around Theia and fanned her with their menus.

  “Signorina, signorina.”

  Wade tried to explain their predicament, but the waiter spoke only broken English. A tourist finally understood that they had been in the hostage siege, and someone called the police. A police officer on a motorcycle pulled up in front of the restaurant.

  Wade told the policeman where they had come from, and he made a call. Soon the restaurant was surrounded by police. Wade showed the police the way up to the hotel on the fire escape. They made more phone calls on their police radios. They spoke in Italian, barking orders. From what Wade understood, the police were going to climb back up into the honeymoon suite and storm the hotel from there. Within minutes a team of police with guns were headed toward the roof.

  Theia swam back into consciousness.

  “Give her some space,” Wade said, indicating for the spectators to stand back. “She needs something to drink. A soda? Anything? We haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

  “Ah,” said the waiter. Food was a concept he understood. Within minutes, a platter of cheese, antipasto, and salad, with some fresh bruschetta, napkins, two plates, and silverware appeared before them. Then the waiter brought over drinks and two slices of pepperoni pizza.

  Theia took a swig of the soda and stuffed the pizza into her mouth. “Mmm,” she said, wolfing down the rest of the slice. She stabbed a slice of provolone with her fork and piled some salad on her plate.

  “Wade, try this. It’s amazing.”

  Wade followed suit. Suddenly, they heard rapid gunfire, followed by explosions that rocked the front of the Duomo for the next hour. They looked over at the hotel, and the windows were filled with smoke. People were running out of the front of the hotel, while police headed inside. The injured were carried out in stretchers. Some people were being brought down the fire escape and into the restaurant, which had become a staging area.

  “What’s going on?” Wade asked the
restaurant owner.

  “You are heroes. The police went up the fire escape and rescued the hostages on your floor and the other floors and brought them down, and then they went in after the terrorists. The siege is over.”

  “How many were hurt?”

  The owner pointed to the copy scrolling across the bottom of the television. “All of the terrorists are dead, five hostages killed.”

  The police officers shook Wade and Theia’s hands.

  “Can we go back into the hotel and get our things?”

  “Once we put out the fires,” the policeman explained.

  Theia breathed a sigh of relief. Wade called his parents. Theia called hers and assured them she was all right.

  The tour guide came over to the restaurant to see Wade and Theia.

  “Ah, the newlywed heroes. I heard what you did. You took a big chance climbing down the building. But I’m glad you did.”

  “We’re not newlyweds,” Theia pointed out, but no one was listening. “When can we get back into our rooms?”

  “In a few hours. Once we get everything settled, we’ll continue with the tour.”

  Theia shook her head vehemently. “I-I’m leaving the tour.”

  “That is not necessary. But of course, that is your choice. You will get a full refund.”

  “I need to get to Greece, to Crete, to be exact.” Theia asked the guide, “How do I do that?”

  “Crete lies off Greece’s southern coastline,” said the guide. “You can go through Brindisi and take a ferry across, but that would take a long time. Or you could fly to Milan and then on to Crete. That would be the easiest route.” He explained the options and agreed to make all the arrangements for them.

  “So why exactly are you going to Crete?” asked Wade. “Why not Athens or Mykonos or Santorini? Those are the more popular tourist destinations.”

  “Because my grandmother was born in Crete, in Chania, and so was my real grandfather. He was a wonderful painter. I never met him. I didn’t even know he existed until I read my grandmother’s letters. Neither did my mother. I had planned to spend more time in Florence, studying the art at the galleries and in the churches.”

  “At least you got to see the Uffizi.”

  “It wasn’t nearly enough time.”

  “I saw you crying in front of The Birth of Venus.”

  “Were you following me on every excursion?”

  “You caught my attention from that first night at the reception,” Wade admitted. “I wanted to meet you. I guess I have been following you. I almost came up to you in the museum then, but you looked like you wanted to be alone.”

  “I love Botticelli. If only I could paint like him.”

  “Are you a good artist?”

  “I don’t know how good I am, but I am an artist, like my grandfather.”

  “Would I have seen anything he painted?”

  “No, he didn’t survive the war. He was killed in a boat explosion on his way to Auschwitz. He didn’t have a chance to make a name for himself. My grandfather was good enough to study under Chagall. He could have been the next Chagall or Monet. I often wonder what could have become of all those other lost souls. What they could have been, what they could have contributed to the world—to medicine, science, the arts, the love they could have found, the children they could have had. Think about the six million people who perished in the Holocaust, their potential, what the world lost.

  “I would have loved to see my grandfather’s work,” Theia continued. “It could have been an inspiration. But I paint because I have to. People say it’s a gift. I have to be true to it. I dream about my paintings before I paint them. I see scenes in my head. I wonder if my grandfather did the same thing. There is one scene I keep seeing over and over, but it’s too terrible to put on canvas. I’ve been dreaming about it ever since I found out what happened to my grandfather.”

  “What scene is that?”

  “The night my grandfather died. The same night my mother was born.”

  Wade opened his mouth to speak, but Theia put her finger to his lips to quiet him. “Do you believe in heaven?”

  “I don’t think much about it.”

  “I do. I was with my grandmother the night she died, and she reached out her hand to someone and smiled. She was the happiest I’d ever seen her. I saw a young man, very handsome, standing at the foot of the bed. I didn’t know who he was until I found the photographs. But I know she saw my grandfather. He was looking as young as he was the day he died.”

  “What photographs?”

  “I didn’t find them until my grandmother died and we cleaned out her house. They were in a shoebox in her closet. There were the pictures of my grandmother and the grandfather I never knew and their families. And their letters, his to her and hers to him. That’s when I found the letter asking me to go back, to add our pictures to the wall of photos in the synagogue to show that our family had survived. All of the other families, except ours, had already returned, made their pilgrimage to the synagogue to post pictures of their families. When I read the letters, saw the pictures, I knew I had to come. My grandmother had already given me a gift of this tour when I graduated college. So I thought I’d take a tour of Italy and make my way to Crete afterward. I’m glad we had a few days in Florence before the attack. Didn’t you love the Uffizi Gallery? I could have spent all day there. And there is wonderful art everywhere in this city, everywhere you turn, especially in the churches.”

  “Is that one of the reasons you’re going to Greece? For the art?”

  “Of course I’m interested in the art, but it’s mostly to find out more about my heritage. My family roots are in Greece, so I’m making a pilgrimage. And who knows what fate has in store for me? Maybe I’ll meet my future husband. My grandmother always said she wanted me to marry a Greek man. Now I think I understand why. I’m hoping to find inspiration for my paintings. The views are supposed to be breathtaking, the beaches gorgeous, the blue of the water and the stunning simplicity of the white architecture a stark contrast, which I’m hoping to capture in my own work, or at least allow to influence it.”

  “You believe in fate?”

  “Of course. I’m Greek.”

  “And I trust the odds,” Wade said. “The odds of you falling in love when you get to Crete and meeting the man you are going to marry are not in your favor. And how do you know you haven’t met him already?”

  Theia shook her head. “Just keep those negative thoughts to yourself.”

  “Won’t you be disappointed if we don’t finish the tour?”

  “I’d love to see Capri and Venice; of course I would. And my painter’s education wouldn’t be complete without a visit to Rome. Rome would have been the next stop on the tour, but I’m glad to be done with it. It’s jinxed. I think I’ll just go on my own and make my way over to Crete.”

  “Want some company?” Wade asked. “I’ve never seen Greece.”

  “I thought you wanted to go home.”

  Wade stared into Theia’s eyes. “I’m not ready for this trip to end.”

  “Well, suit yourself. If you want to tag along, I wouldn’t mind.”

  Wade grinned and took another bite of his pizza.

  “How did you say your grandfather died?”

  “It’s a long, sad story. I’ll tell you when we get to Crete.”

  Part Two

  Theia’s Journey

  “A painting is not thought out in advance. While it is being done, it changes as one’s thoughts change. And when it’s finished, it goes on changing, according to the state of mind of whoever is looking at it.”

  ~Pablo Picasso

  Chapter Three

  Theia and Wade rested side by side on lounge chairs on the upper deck as the ferry sliced through the Ionian Sea toward the Mediterranean and Crete. Wade had concocted a makeshift arrangement of towels to elevate Theia’s foot.

  “How’s your ankle?” he asked.

  “Much better, thanks to you.”

&
nbsp; Theia’s body was relaxed, calmed by the movement of the vessel and warmed by the sun. She was as loose as a lounge lizard. Wade was turning pea soup green on the shifting deck.

  “Remind me why we didn’t fly?”

  “Because you wanted to save money,” Theia said, smiling. “That’s the actuary in you. I, on the other hand, was up for adventure, thus the ferry.”

  Theia rooted around in her beach bag and took out a handful of wrapped candies. “Here, take these.”

  “What are they?”

  “Ginger candies.”

  “What will they do?”

  “They’ll keep you from puking all over me and the boat. Seriously, they should help with your motion sickness.”

  Wade accepted her offer, reaching out for the organic remedy. “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts,” he said, popping a piece of the candy in his mouth and pocketing the rest.

  “Ha, ha. How original. I’ve never heard that one before.”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Ginger doesn’t work for everyone, but it’s usually pretty effective. And focus on the horizon; don’t look down.”

  Wade’s eyes were fixed on hers.

  “And don’t look at me.”

  Wade lifted his eyes toward the sea. “You’re right. We should have flown. I’ll know better next time.”

  “Well, we’re almost there. And I love being on the open water. To me, it’s the only way to see a city when you travel.”

  “Well, I’m Swiss, so we’re landlocked.”

  “Swiss? Is that what you are? How convenient. Mr. Neutrality, don’t rock the boat, no pun intended.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Take it however you want,” Theia retorted. “Are you sure you booked us a hotel on the island?”

  “Of course. I’m nothing if not organized.”

  “I appreciate you floating me the money. We’re not getting reimbursed for our tour for a few weeks, and I’m sort of short on cash. Artists don’t make much, but I promise I’ll pay you back.”

  “I’m happy to do it. Like I said, I’ve never been to Greece, and I’ve always wanted to go. I hear it’s beautiful. And so is the present company.”