Cantata - finishing the story

[joegoda]

The Soverato hotel, built in the early 1700's in a classical baroque style, was a large forty room, three story structure housed behind an impressive double set of marble staircases which curved majestically around expertly manicured rose bushes. The exterior of the hotel gleamed in white stucco from the lowest floor up to the orange roof tiles. Four columns of marble held the curved roof of the entryway high above the visitor's heads.

As Wells mounted the left set of stairs, he noted the large number of discreetly armed men placed at strategic points around the perimeter of the building.

"Sarah, do tell me we aren't late."

"You are not late, Herbert," Sarah assured him. "The concert isn't slated to start for another thirty minutes."

"That doesn't give me much time." Crossing to the front desk, Wells presented a voucher that would let him into the concert. The young woman at the desk explained that the doors had already been closed for admission to the concert.

Wells put on his very best and saddest look. "Oh my," He said miserably. "What am I going to do?" He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. "My daughter will be performing and I promised her that I would attend." He looked at the girl behind the desk with tears in his eyes. "Is there a balcony, perhaps? I have missed so many of her performances, I don't...," his voice cracked with emotion, "I don't think she would ever forgive me."

"You are American, yes?" The woman looked at Wells and smiled, not unkindly.

Wells nodded. "Yes. Her mother and I met during the war and..."

"Ah," she said, nodding back. "I understand. I have a cousin who has an American father. You at least made the attempt." She sighed, and crossed her arms. "His father is a pig." She gave a serious look of disapproval at Wells, who continued to stand there before her, with his hat literally in hand.

"Please?" he said simply, letting a tear run down his cheek.

The woman let a long moment pass between the two of them before she dropped her eyes. "All right," she said finally. She pulled a ticket from below the marble counter and tore it. "That was your ticket." She gave one half of the ticket to Wells and pointed off to her left. "That staircase will take you to the third level. The balcony entrance is the third door to your left. I'm afraid you will have to sit far in the back, and it will be cramped." She gave Wells an mischievous grin. "Consider it your penance."

Well took his have of the ticket and pocketed it. "Thank you, thank you!" He headed off to the staircase to his right.

The right staircase was a mirror of the one on the other side of the entry hall. Broad white marble steps, bordered on the left and right by handrails held by delicate looking wrought iron newels. A thick carpet, magenta bordered with black, ran from the top of the staircase to the bottom, and Wells shoes left footprints in the soft nap as he took the steps two at a time.

"Herbert?" Sarah's voice purred in his ear.

"What," he said sharply. Wells didn't want to spend much energy or concentration speaking.

"Do you have a weapon?"

"No." He nodded to a man, dressed in a very expensive and black suit, who stood at attention at the top of the stairs. The man held his hand out, expectantly.

"You are late, Signor," he said in Italian.

"My apologies," Wells said, also in Italian. "I left from Sistiana last night." He dug in his pocket and found his ticket half and passed it to the man.

"Sistiana?" The man snorted. "You must have driven like the devil was on your tail to get here even this late." He passed back the ticket stub. "Use the third door, Signor." He pause, thought, and then said, "And move as quickly past the second door as you can."

"Oh?" Wells put the ticket stub in his pocket. "Very well." He nodded his thanks and moved down the broad hallway.

The plaster walls of the hall contained curved niches, which held statuettes of nudes, many of which were quite possibly hundreds of years old, or could have been made in china. The ceiling was curved overhead and frescoed in the highly decorated baroque style.

He passed the first door, wooden and solid looking. "Wonder what's behind there?"

"Quite possibly anything, Herbert," Sarah said. "It could lead to offices, or it could lead to a private box for the Pope. You could open it and find out."

"It was a rhetorical, Sarah," Wells said, moving past the door as quickly as he could. The second door was just twelve feet away. "I suspect that the first door is just offices. It's the second door that I was specifically told to ignore. I would think that it would be that mysterious second door that holds His Eminence."

Just as he came abreast of it, the mentioned door opened with a quick jerk, which caused Wells to stumble in surprise. A man's head, wearing dark glasses, popped into sight and caught Wells in his glare.

"Who are you?" the man asked Wells in English.

"Vittorio Catani," Wells stammered. "I'm late." He took his hat off and held it in front of him, protectively. "I'm sorry... I am supposed to use the third door." Wells tried to glance past the man, but his move was countered by the door closing a bit.

"Yeah," the man said. "You're right, old man. Third door." The man chuckled darkly. "Better hurry, too. You got," he looked at his watch, a Rolex knockoff, "fifteen minutes. Auditorium's already dark." He closed the door sharply.

"What do you think that was about, Herbert?"

"That, Sarah," Wells muttered, "was a checkpoint. I wish I could have seen into that room. That's where Hamilton's trainees and the Pope are."

"I would say that is a safe guess," Sarah agreed.

"No guess, Sarah. The guy was wearing a cheap watch. Trainees don't make enough to afford the real thing." Wells reached the third door and put his hand on the gold handle. "No more talk, Sarah. We're going to be in close quarters here."

"Very good, Herbert," Sarah said. "If you need me, call." The earbud went dead.

The door opened to a small balcony, only three tiers. It wasn't as crowded as Wells had been led to believe. There were only twenty or so others here. Wells sighed with relief. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to get closer to railing for a view of the stage. He stood for a few seconds at the back and let his eyes get adjusted to the dim light.

Once he could see more clearly, he made his way down two steps and found a seat on the very edge of the balcony. He looked over the edge and scanned the audience. The people seated below were just blobs of dark shapes, and even though there were only fifty or so in the audience, there was no way that he could spot Besi among them.

The orchestra on the small stage below was still tuning their instruments, making noises that sounded at once organized and discordant, almost, but not quite musical.

Wells stood up and returned to the back of the balcony. "Sarah?" He whispered.

"Yes, Herbert?"

"Did you check the roster of Hamilton's men for any discrepancy?"

"Yes, Herbert. There were none. All men were accounted for."

"Hmm." Herbert let his eyes wander around the hall. "Thank you, Sarah. If you find any thing unusual, let me know."

"There is something, Herbert," Sarah said, "although I don't know how unusual it may be."

"Oh?" Wells raised his eyebrows. "Do tell."

He was visually checking along the curve of the room where the walls met the ceiling. It was not a terribly large room, as the building was not constructed as a concert hall. Perhaps fifty feet by fifty feet square, and taking up two stories. The stage at the opposite end of the room from his was, of course, on the lower floor and its wooden platform projected only a mere five or ten feet into this one, with most of the stage tucked away beyond the proscenium.

The walls and ceiling were plastered stucco, filled with flowing designs carved into them and acted as sound baffles, aiding the acoustics of the room. There were spaces, horizontal slots, about two feet tall, interspersed between the wall and the ceiling at points where spot lights and other lighting apparatus could be projected downward onto the performers.

Those horizontal slots would also be useful as gun ports, where an assassin could lay in wait. That would explain why Hamilton chose this as a training operation. A small venue with an easily controlled audience. A five man task force, plus the Pope's own guards, would make this a well protected fortress without much trouble.

As long as they were looking for someone who wanted to assassinate the Pope.

"Yesterday," Sarah continued, "a repair call went out to a local roofing contractor to repair some of the roof tiles. It may be a normal situation, although, due to the nature of what you are looking for, I thought it prudent to make mention of it to you."

"Thank you, Sarah," Wells said. He moved down to the lowest tier of the balcony and took his seat again, with his eyes scanning the domed ceiling. He no longer worried about the spaces where the walls met the ceiling. Hamilton's men were more than capable to handle that. The ceiling though... that might be a whole other matter.

It is possible that the security team knew about the repair call. It's even possible that they checked into it, checked out the men on the repair crew. It's also possible that they missed someone, and that someone might be crawling around the space between ceiling and roof.

A hush came over the crowd and the houselights dimmed further. The performance was about to start. A spotlight flashed on to Wells' right and pointed at the stage. A distinguished man, grey haired and bearded, dressed in full tuxedo and tails, stood before a microphone.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he spoke in rich toned Italian, "thank you so much for coming. As you are aware, this is a benefit for the La Casa Orfanos di Trieste. You will find envelopes next to your seats, and please feel free to use them as donation envelopes, as every Euro you donate goes to a wonderful cause."

There! A tiny glint of reflected light from polished black metal against the dull white plaster caught Wells' eye. It hadn't been there a second before.

"Sarah!" he whispered urgently. "Can you patch through to Hamilton's men?"

"I can, Herbert," Sarah assured him. It will take me almost two seconds though to get the right frequency."

"Do it and send a coded message that there is an assassin in the ceiling. I would bet they hadn't thought to look between the plaster and the rafters. Do it quick!"

A second passed. "It is done, Herbert."

Wells was rewarded by the sounds of footsteps running in the hall outside the balcony door. The house lights came up full and the man on the stage stopped speaking, and instead raised his hand up to shield his eyes from the light. He looked up to the balcony. Not the balcony where Wells was sitting, though. The balcony that was entered by door number two.

The man on the stage raised his hands to the audience, who had started to make uneasy noises. "Ladies and Gentlemen! Please. Be calm." He smiled broadly, the confident showman. "I am sure that it is only a momentary technicality, soon to be resolved."

He brought his hands together in a loud clap. The audience stopped its purring and grumbling and settled down.

"Thank you!" The man brought his hands down and clasped them before him. "While we wait for the issue to be resolved, let me introduce you to the wonderful woman who will be receiving our gracious donations. She and her mother are the founders of the Orphanage, and it is because of them that many of our own youth have found a path away from crime and evil. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Kaylee Gianni!"

He held his right hand out to his side, and made waving motions, calling someone from the wings. Kaylee stepped out, a bit nervous.

She was wearing a simple black gown, strapless and floor length, that clung to her figure. Wells looked for the slight telltale bulges that would have showed that Kaylee was wearing the vest he sent. They weren't there.

Wells went cold. He closed his eyes tight and waited. It was out of his hands now, either she would be safe, or she would die.

He heard the Kaylee clear her throat and start to speak.

"Thank you," she said, and was interrupted by two loud popping sounds, in rapid succession.

The popping was followed by a cracking, as if the walls were giving way. Someone in the audience screamed then and Wells opened his eyes.

A section of the plastered ceiling was hanging from its wire base, suspended above the floor and swinging. Red light spilled from the hole and Wells could make out shadowy forms moving in the dim light.

His eyes went immediately to Kaylee, who was standing on stage, mouth and eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. Her mouth closed slowly and she looked at the audience. She smiled, although a bit wanly.

"Well," she said, "it appears that we have prepared a performance to bring the house down."

This caused a nervous chuckle to run through the audience.

Wells nodded and smiled. Kaylee was certainly resilient. A part of him wanted to laugh in joy, and another part wanted to break down and cry. Neither part was allowed to emerge. Instead, Wells started to take his seat, but froze in place. Kaylee was looking directly at him.

The two of them shared a stare long enough that the rest of the world became uncomfortable. Realizing that heads in the audience were starting to turn towards him, to seek out what had captured Kaylee's interest, Wells quickly sat down, out of sight.

Kaylee broke from her spell, coughed politely, and continued. "Thank you all for coming, and we, my mother and I and the children of La Casa Orfanos di Trieste are extremely grateful for any and all that you contribute. It is with your generous donations that we can continue our very important work and help those children for whom hope was lost to find their rightful place in the world, so that they too, may become proud citizens of Italy."

The audience, having mostly recovered from their shock but still wary of the bits of ceiling hanging above them, applauded politely.

"Thank you," she continued. "But you did not come to hear me speak," Kaylee said, smiling and shaking her head negatively. "You came to hear the world famous Italian Chamber Orchestra directed by Maestro Giovanni Froio! So, please excuse me as I run off the stage and make room for the rightful performers. Thank you all! An now, the Italian Chamber Orchestra."

Kaylee bowed from the waist, and her hair fell over her shoulders. She back off the stage and into the wings. She stopped the hotel manager and asked what had happened.

The man shook his graying head miserably. "They say there was an assassin in the ceiling! He was caught and killed by the Americans guarding the Pope." He sighed. "This will be very bad for business. Very bad, indeed."

"An assassin?" Kaylee's hands flew to her mouth and her face grew pale. After a few moments, she whispered, "Signor Valdetti. Are you sure?"

Valdetti shook his head, sadly. "Who knows? It might have been a very large rat. The Pope has already left the hotel. He won't even hear the Orchestra. This is very bad news for us."

Kaylee wrinkled her brow. "Well, at least, rat or man, it has been taken care of, yes? That has to be good. It shows that people are safe here."

"It shows," Valdetti said miserably, "that the Soverato hotel will let anyone crawl around their ceilings. The newspapers will have my head."

"Let us hope not, Signor Valdetti. You are a good man." She smiled reassuringly and placed a slim hand on the older man's arm. "Perhaps this will be good, eh? You know what they say?"

Valdetti shook his head. "No. What do they say?"

Kaylee laughed. "They say there is no such thing as bad publicity. People will come here just to see the hole in the ceiling where God himself struck down the assassin. Is it not a miracle the ceiling did not come down into the audience? Does that not speak to you of some Divine intervention?"

She could almost see the gears turning in the man's head. A sly smile appeared on his face and he nodded, slowly at first, then with greater agreement.

"Perhaps you are right, Signorina Gianni. Perhaps you are right." On stage, the orchestra was into the beginning movement of Dohnanyi's Serenade for String Orchestra. Valdetti turned away to listen. "The Orchestra is sounding better than ever today," he said.

Kaylee nodded and smiled. "Yes, Signor Valdetti. They do. Today is a good day, I think." She hugged the man and begged his indulgence. "I must leave. I believe I saw someone in the audience that I owe an apology to."

"Then go, Signorina Gianni!" Valdetti said emphatically, as only an old Italian can. "An apology is something that should never wait. It is something that, if not set free, will always be a prison to your heart."

"You are, Signor Valdetti, absolutely right." She kissed his right cheek first, then his left and said her goodbyes. Running as fast as her gown would let her she went through the back hallway to the hotel lobby.

The girl at the desk frowned at her as she ran past. "Be careful! You might slip in those heels!"

At the top of the staircase, Kaylee was detained, briefly by the security guard. She showed him her credentials, and he allowed her to pass by, after a warning to go to the third door only.

She opened the door to the public balcony and scanned the faces that turned toward the door to see who had so rudely interrupted their concert.

Herbert Wells was not among them.

Comments

[capi.livejournal.com]

The walls and ceiling were plastered stucco, filled with flowing designs carved into them and acted as sound baffles, aiding the acoustics of the room.
(( "acted" doesn't work here... how about... "into them, acting as..." instead perhaps? ))
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"Thank you, Sarah," Wells said. He moved down to the lowest tier of the balcony and took his seat again, with his eyes scanning the domed ceiling. He no longer worried about the spaces where the walls met the ceiling. Hamilton's men were more than capable to handle that. (( of handling in place of to handle?? ))
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"Do it and send a coded message that there is an assassin in the ceiling. I would bet they hadn't thought to look between the plaster and the rafters. Do it quick!"
(( This is a character issue, and totally your call: you can stick with "i would bet" or you can soften it to "they may not have thought" or "they may have overlooked" or something to that affect, which has slightly less hubris in it. Tough call. Wells knows his stuff. He's not arrogant, tho. Your choice, entirely.))
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"Thank you!" The man brought his hands down and clasped them before him. "While we wait for the issue to be resolved, let me introduce you to the wonderful woman who will be receiving our gracious donations. She and her mother are the founders of the Orphanage, and it is because of them that many of our own youth have found a path away from crime and evil.
(( oh, evil is a very strong word for so gracious a man to use in such a setting. He might use it, for shock value, to up the donations. He might. But he strikes me as a man of cultured ways, who would not want to slap people in that way, who might, instead say something more... gentle.... such as.... hmmmm.... "away from crime and a life of degradation" or something to that affect, if you see what i mean? Again, your call. ))
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She was wearing a simple black gown, strapless and floor length, that clung to her figure. Wells looked for the slight telltale bulges that would have showed that Kaylee was wearing the vest he sent. They weren't there.
(( *wince* Oh no...... suspense rising!! ))
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"Thank you," she continued. "But you did not come to hear me speak," Kaylee said, smiling and shaking her head negatively. "You came to hear the world famous Italian Chamber Orchestra directed by Maestro Giovanni Froio! So, please excuse me as I run off the stage and make room for the rightful performers. Thank you all! An (( typo - and?? )) now, the Italian Chamber Orchestra."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kaylee bowed from the waist, and her hair fell over her shoulders. She back off the stage and into the wings.
(( If Kaylee *must* bow from the waist wearing a strapless gown, dear heart, make it "slightly", please? *L* And you have "she back off" the stage... typo? ))
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Herbert Wells was not among them.
(( OH NO!!!!! *tries not to cry* ))

Tell me this is not over!! Tell me!!!

[joegoda.livejournal.com]

tonnes of typos, yes, yes! I had a Sherry's fete to attend, so I was hurried. I agree, A slight bow for Kaylee, a bit of modification for Valdetti, a change of wording for Wells.

Wells, is, by the way, very arrogant in that he knows what he is doing when he is doing it. He does tend to avoid the limelight, though. Direct attention is a baad thing.

And no... this is NOT over. There is at lease one more chapter.