Chapter 1

Jenny Marie Jenkins was ecstatic. Her frustrating career was hopefully over. She had worked quite a few years as the assistant curator for the Kansas City Museum of Art. They had just finished a monstrous addition that was the rage in all the national architectural magazines. Now they had room to display many of the exhibits she had been working on for years.

Her new job was technically announced as a sabbatical. She was leaving for Venice to be the new Curator for one of the worlds' most prominent art museums in the world. It was a sister museum to the one in New York City. For years, she had done research on the life of Marco Polo. Now she would be able to live and work in the unbelievable city where he lived until he was fourteen years old.

She had six months for a sabbatical to study and research whatever she wanted. If she didn't like the job or it didn't work out, she still had her old job to return to.

She had heard about the book:" The Travels of Marco Polo," a 13th-century travelogue written down by Rustichello Da Pisa, describing his travels through China between 1271 and 1291.

It was a very famous and popular book, even in the 14th century. The text claims that Marco Polo became an important figure at the court of the Mongol leader Kublai Khan, The book was written in French by Rustichello da Pisa, who was working from accounts which he had heard from Marco Polo when they were imprisoned in Genoa having been captured while on a ship.

Jenny had seen copies of the book and knew that two had actually been written. Rustichello had kept one, and given one to Marco Polo when he was freed. Polo took his back to Venice, where it influenced many to make world shaping events, including Christopher Columbus, who used the information as a basis for his premise that the world is round.

Jenny believed that the original was still somewhere in Venice. Her daughter Stephanie was staying on the mainland. Venice was no longer a true island. The government had built a spit to connect the mainland to the island, so busses could take more tourists out to the island and make more money. Stephanie knew English, Italian and Spanish and had been able to stay with her grandparents nearby, and work part-time at the Youth Hostel on Venice.

Her husband, Joe was not very excited to be going. He was quite a bit older than Jenny, so they had a number of differences when it came to friends, activities and even sex. They did not get along fantastically. It was O.K. but not spectacular. Jenny had met him after she had divorced her first husband, Sam. She and Sam had been high school and college lovers. They had married and were happy until she found out he had been cheating on her.

Life had been a struggle until she met Joe. She had been under the illusion that Joe was a stockbroker. It seemed to make sense; he was always on the phone doing business. She didn't know that he was a bookie that placed bets on sports games. He made a spectacular living. Jenny had no idea how spectacular. She had not been spectacularly in love with him; she just felt she would eventually grow to love him. It was hard to ignore his financial success. It was the best thing for her and her daughter, she tried to justify in her mind.

Joe had no objection to his wife's job; it kept her out of the way. The trip to Venice would be a technical struggle; but with all the computers and cell phones, he figured he could handle it for a few months.

Joe had been adopted by his parents who were from Italy. After they had made their fortune, they decided to retire back in Italy, where they had grown up. This set of coincidences seemed to be fortuitous for everybody. Stephanie had an exciting new job in an exciting city. Jenny's new job would unexpectedly get them all together.

From Dulles Airport, it would be a good eight hours flying non-stop to Venice. Jenny could hardly sleep, but finally woke up when the plane hit the runway. Stephanie and her grandparents were there to meet them and took them straight to the Hostel. It was getting late, so they went to a pizza restaurant nearby.

The restaurant was small; probably about six tables. Everybody seemed to be talking all at once. Stephanie could hardly wait to tell about her job and all the kids she had met from France, Israel, Spain and South Africa. She was going to take her parents to Murano and Burano to see all the glass-blowing and lace work; the pastel houses and gondolas. Summer was going to be great.

The next day, they took a bus from the mainland to the Island of Venice. They bought maps; took pictures of all the scenic spots along the Grand Canal. When they got to San Marcos Plaza, Jenny realized her cell phone didn't work. A shopkeeper explained the European phones used a different chip. He explained that there was a small camera shop near the first boarding stop on the Grand Canal. She would have to wait a while for the next vaporetto, which was their word for the water bus, a large boat.

Jenny waited for quite some time before finding another water bus going all the way back. Once back, she was able to find the camera shop and get the right chip for her phone. Jenny got impatient waiting for the next water bus.

The shopkeeper soon recognized her situation and asked her if she was waiting for another water buss. She said she was. "Was she trying to get to Saint Marks Plaza?"

"Yes I am," she said nervously.

"Did you know that you can just go down these back streets to get there?" He gave her a small printed map and made some awkward scribbles with a yellow felt tip pen. He tore it loose from a big pad of printed maps. "Dumb assed tourists!" he said as he smiled and waved to her.

Half frightened out of her mind, Jenny started out tentatively trying to follow the map. The "streets" weren't really streets. There are no streets as Americans understand. The passageways are narrow strips of waterway, barely wide enough for two gondolas to pass. On each side of the waterway are narrow sidewalks. The sidewalks have steps up at the intersections so the gondolas can go under them.

The buildings are probably probably thirty to forty feet apart and rise three, four or more stories up on each side. The sun seems to bounce and reflect all the way down to the water surface. The pastel faces of the stone structures send mirrored sparkling reflections on to the blue green mirrors around the gondolas and their singing guides.

Gradually, Jenny began to enjoy her walk along the obscure pathways, smiling at the people sitting in the open-aired restaurants. The aroma of freshly boiled lobsters or shrimp made her hungry. She could hardly wait to get her husband and daughter and bring them back to the newly discovered restaurants.

Somehow, the map didn't seem to match the streets she was on. It was getting late. Jenny started to get concerned. She tried to double back. Nothing seemed to work. Soon she could see the restaurants closing. People were leaving. She could not seem to find the boarding points for the water buss. Once she got back to Saint Marks Plaza, it was vacant. Everybody had gone. The shops were closed. The vendors were getting on the last water busses. What should she do?

She tried to call her husband and then Stephanie. She got some recording and realized they had not changed out their chips. Jenny tried to back track. The lights were starting to go out. Deep down, Jenny knew; Venice is only a tourist spot. Nobody lives here. After dark they all go home.

Frantically she tried to follow the maps back to the start of the Grand Canal. Surely, there would still be one more water buss.

Jenny was frantic. She was starting to hurry. She tripped and stumbled. She hit the whitewashed cornerstone of a building. It chipped. Under the flake; 236 Fra Mauro "Holy Shit! Can this be real? This was the address in Rustichello's book; The Adventures of Marco Polo." Where he had lived and raised his children and died after he returned from China.

Jenny got up. Once she dusted herself off, she noticed some light coming through the window. The Glass had been covered with a dark tinting material. Behind that there were wood shutters both inside and out. "What was the big secret?"

Jenny walked back and for the along the sidewalk. She tested the doors; locked. She knocked. "Hello, ... hello ... Is anybody in there?" she shouted meekly.

Jenny walked over to a space between the buildings. Most of them were connected. This building had about sixteen inches between the buildings on each side. She was able to turn sideways and slide between them. She was getting dusty. Spider webs would have ordinarily gagged her, but she was oblivious to everything now. She saw a crack of light up about eight feet. There seemed to be an access panel of some kind that had been bordered up.

Jenny took off her high heeled boots. Because the buildings were so close together, she was able to lean her back against one building and brace her feet against the other and inch her way up. When she got to the light, she wiggled the plywood cover until it came loose. It was about sixteen inches square.

Jenny was paralyzed with fear as she wiggled in. She stuck her head in and wiggled in until she was upside down. She was thankful that nobody could see her. Her short summer dress was all over the place. She was covered with soot and spider webs. Her long reddish brown hair was a complete mess.

Jenny was able to pivot herself around until she was hanging by her hands. She could not see the floor. She let go, hoping for the best. She must have hit the edge of a table with one foot. Her uneven landing pivoted her body so she hit the floor with a loud crash.

When she gathered her senses, she could see about three huge figures with hoods silhouetted by the lights in the adjoining room. Her dress was up above her waist. Her nude/transparent fabric panties did little for her modesty. Jenny was more frightened than embarrassed at this point.

She curled up, straightened her skirt back over herself and rose gingerly. Nothing was broke. The men split up and approached her; one straight on; the other two on each side. They grabbed her by each arm and led her into the light of the next room.

Jenny struggled to adjust to the light. When she could see, it looked like a Klu Klux Klan meeting. The figures were huge hooded demons. They were barefoot. They had wide brown leather belts around their waist. The grey gunny sack style hooded robes covered them from head to foot.

Then she saw it: CAMBALALAUK. She knew what it was. There was a theory among many historians that Marco Polo took much more than the stories of spaghetti, pizza, chopsticks and the modern day compass to Italy from China. There was an unproven secret that he had taken much more that had not been published in Rustichello's book. There was speculation that there was another book.

The circle parted. The men brought her to the center of the circle and then stepped back. They went to their spots within the circle and sat down. A huge man had been sitting on a heavy carved oak chair with ornate carvings. He stood at the top of several steps leading up to his chair.

He threw his head back and the hood fell behind him. Giovanni Contadino! She recognized him. There had been speculation within the Archaeologist circles that he was the head of the secret society: CAMBALAUK.

Historians had argued this fact vehemently. How could a black man be in charge of this Chinese society; if there was indeed this secret society?

He extended his hand. She handed over her purse, but kept her boots. Giovanni looked in the large hand bag. He threw out her map. He threw out her apple. He picked up her wallet and threw the remaining contents on the ground. He fished through the wallet and threw out the money and travelers checks. He pulled out her master card, passport and drivers license.

"Jenny Marie Jenkins. Are you from Kansas City? Are you from the Art Gallery? Are you the one who published the articles about the possible existence of Cambalauk?."

Jenny's head dropped. How could she deny his questions?

"That's me, but I am here strictly on vacation. I had no idea you were here. I stumbled on this place by accident. I promise you that's true."

"It's kind of hard to climb up the side of a building in a dress; pry off a duct cover and climb through a vent by accident. I think you are here to spy on us and write an article to expose us. Right now, people are not sure we exist. I don't quite see how we can let you go; do you?"

"Please don't hurt me. I am here on sabbatical to the big art museum on the Grand Canal. You can check the articles on the computer. This was not planned. It was an accident."

"Well, now, Mrs. Jenkins, I think you are going to have to do some convincing. You are going to have to pay for your intrusion. What would be the sentence in your country? I think you are here to verify whether or not there was a third manuscript by Rustichello Da Pisa. Is that right Mrs. Jenkins? I know you've written several papers on the issue."

Jenny looked at him imploringly. "That isn't true. I write those stories and an intellectual exercise. If somebody had said they were true, I would have made the argument they do not exist."

"Yes, but you're here, and we have you. We have the opportunity to stop the stories."

Jenny was petrified. She had no answer. Her head bowed. She put her hands over her mouth, not knowing quite what to expect. Would they kill her to keep her silent?

The last thing in Giovanni's hands was boarding passes and hotel receipts for her and her daughter. It gave their names and room numbers where they were staying. He didn't say anything about them, but she clearly knew he had them. They made silent eye contact. There was an unspoken threat that was loud and clear to her. She was in control of the welfare of her husband and daughter. The cult could go get them if they wanted.

"I'm curious whether you are as attractive as some of your pictures. Right now, you look like a pig." Giovanni pulled a comb and brush out of her bag and tossed them to her. They fell at her feet. Jenny bent over to pick them up; one in each hand. She could see the progression of threats that would be coming if she did not cooperate. She knew she had to do whatever it took to keep her daughter and husband out of this.

Silently, she pulled the rubber band out of her long reddish brown hair. She leaned forward and began combing the braids and cobwebs out of her hair. Trying to procrastinate whatever he had in mind, Jenny tried to re-braid her hair into a fishtail pattern down the right side of her face. It was a very loosely braided French braid along her right side rather than down her back.

When she was done, she stood there with the comb and brush in each hand.

"The dress is beautiful, but it's dirty. Take it off."

Jenny wanted to gag. What were her alternatives?

Jenny reached for the hem of her short summer dress. It rose up to meet her fingers as she forced the first button through the eyelet. Her copper toned legs came into view as she raised the dress. She tried to keep the sides together as she moved her hands up to the next button. The room was silent. The men were mesmerized by her beauty. One by one, the buttons and the eyelets parted until her sheer nude panties came into view. Jenny tried hard to keep the sides together as her fingers moved above her waist.

When the last button at her low neckline was free, she clung to the sides desperately. She looked up at Giovanni, hoping for some empathy. There was none. Jenny was devastated as she slid the sides over her shoulder. She pulled the garment around in front of her and held on.

The only sound other than the flickering candles was: "Drop it!"

The light summer dress fluttered to the ground around her feet. She did have a bra and panties; technically. Jenny self-consciously crossed her hands across her front; her left hand grabbed the fishtail braid and used it to support her arm across her breasts to hide her long-stemmed pink nipples. Her right hand lowered to cover what little pubic hair she had. The stretch fabric did nothing but form a psychological of modesty between her and her tormenters eyes. Yes her private parts were covered; but not obscured.

"Next." The words from her tormenter seemed to flutter the room full of candles; at least they all shuddered when he spoke.

Jenny reached up behind her; arched her back and self-consciously freed the clasp. Her hands sprang back in front of her to grab the fabric before it could come away from her. It was useless of course. The alabaster white breasts were clear through the fabric. She was not quick enough to keep her long pink nipples from peeking out of the top of the fabric. They were twice to three times as long as anything the men had ever seen.

Giovanni didn't say anything. His glare seemed to bore through her closed eyes. Jenny was filled with embarrassment as she pulled her arms away and let the transparent fabric flutter to the floor.

She was too devastated to cover up. She could feel the stares from her tormenter in front of her. She seemed paralyzed by his presence.

She didn't need to look up. She knew he had the room numbers where her husband and daughter probably were. Her arms could hardly pull their own weight as she raised them to hook her thumbs between her waist and the waistband of her panties. It didn't take much for the panties to slide down and catch at her knees. Jenny crossed her arms over her breasts as she raised first one knee and then the other to let them fall the rest of the way.

Naked. She was naked. Everything was showing. She could feel the breeze from the overhead fans as it rushed across her most private and intimate secrets. She felt waves of goose bumps wash across her body; goose bumps of embarrassment; goose bumps of despair; of humiliation.

Giovanni raised his arm. A couple of men came over with a dishpan of water, and towels. She felt one man run a wet face cloth down her back. He made her raise her arms out level with her shoulders. He washed her sides; then her front. She felt pressure on her head; forcing her down. She put her hands on her thighs and leaned forward. He put his foot between hers and forced her legs apart. She felt the washcloth go over her again. Now it went down past her waist; between her thighs. It went between her legs. Jenny felt more than water on a cloth. She was covered in humiliation as the cloth paused between her legs. This man was not trying to clean her anymore. The hand moved slowly, exploring everything.