CHAPTER 7

The landing wheels kissed the tarmac, and the Gulfstream G6 taxied along the runway of Florence’s small Peretola Airport. Behind a row of riot police, hundreds of young Tuscan girls screamed, cheered, and threw flowers.

The door of the jet opened, and the star himself appeared, ramping up the excitement level.

“Wassup, yo?” greeted Jonah Wizard.

The throng went berserk for ten solid minutes, while Jonah pretended to be surprised and overwhelmed by such a reception — as if it didn’t happen everywhere he went.

Camera flashes exploded, and a babble of questions rose from the assembled reporters and paparazzi.

“Jonah, is it true that Gangsta Kronikles is being rereleased in 3-D?”

“What about the rumor that you’re training to be a cosmonaut on a Russian space mission?”

“Why have you lost touch with your mother, Cora Wizard, the sculptor?”

“Jonah, what’s the reason for your trip to Florence?”

“Since when does there have to be a reason?” Jonah replied airily. “Florence is off the chain! I’m just here to kick it with some homeys and soak up a little culture.”

Toward the rear of the crowd, Amy and Dan paid no attention to their famous cousin and his usual hip patter. Their eyes were on Jonah’s entourage, who were unloading the star’s luggage from the G6’s cargo bay. More specifically, they watched a muscular young man handling an unwieldy parcel that was carefully wrapped and secured.

While the shrieking crowd surged to follow Jonah’s progress to the terminal, Amy and Dan intercepted the burly member of Jonah’s posse.

“You got it?” Dan hissed.

The young man turned and raised the flat visor of his Wiz-Up Tour 2010 baseball cap to reveal the grinning features of Hamilton Holt. “Hey, guys. How’s it going?”

“How should it be going?” Amy asked wearily.

Hamilton turned serious. “Any word on Reagan?”

“We saw a picture,” Amy informed him. “They all look okay, but you’ve got to figure they’re pretty shaken up.”

“Let’s check out the merchandise,” Dan prodded.

“Not here,” Hamilton warned. “There’s a VIP suite in the terminal. Jonah’s meeting us there.”

“Check it out.”

Jonah removed the bubble wrap and held up the picture for his three cousins.

Dan took a step backward. The shock was almost as powerful as it had been the day before at the Uffizi. “It’s perfect! It’s every bit as disgusting as the real one!”

Amy nodded. “And so fast. We only called you yesterday.”

Jonah shrugged. “Even the Janus take a short cut every now and then. You can do a lot with digitization these days. You break the picture down to squares and reproduce them one at a time. The other two are just as fly.”

“You mean, just as hog ugly,” Hamilton amended.

“The serpents don’t help,” Dan put in critically. “Live fat spaghetti. Look — that snake’s biting the body of another one. Lady, if you’re thinking of a modeling career, forget it!”

The rapper clucked sympathetically. “You guys just don’t appreciate the power of the visual image. The Wiz used to be like that—until Gangsta Kronikles. When you’re in the film industry, you understand the whole picture’s-worth-a-thousand-words deal.”

Hamilton rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”

Jonah picked up one of the “Medusa” copies. “Just look at this sucker. It’s every slasher flick ever made packed into a single stomach-turning moment. That’s why the Janus always respected Caravaggio. Back in the day, we tried to marry him into the family—Rembrandt’s aunt, I think. He didn’t go for it.”

“If she posed for this picture, I can see why,” Dan agreed.

“That wasn’t it,” Jonah told him. “The Janus records say Caravaggio was part of something bigger than the Cahills. Remember, the family was pretty new back then — only a few generations past Gideon’s time. But I think the real reason artists love the ‘Medusa’ is the whole Da Vinci connection.”

“Leonardo Da Vinci?” asked Amy, overawed.

“The story goes that somebody gave Da Vinci a shield to decorate, and he painted the face of Medusa on it—you know, turn your enemies to stone.” A flash of the world-famous grin. “Nobody’s ever seen Da Vinci’s shield, but according to legend, Caravaggio used it as a model for his own ‘Medusa.’”

Hamilton frowned. “How many ‘Medusas’ are there?”

“Only one ‘Medusa’ that matters,” Amy told him with certainty. “The one we have to steal from the Uffizi.”

Dan took a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and held it out in front of Jonah and Hamilton. “Here’s some more stuff we’re going to need.”

Jonah whistled. “I hope you’ve got some crazy evil-genius strategy, ’cause — straight up — I don’t get it.”

Amy favored him with a slight smile. “You’ll see.”