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Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna
June 13
Matteo stepped out of the car on Babenbergerstrasse. He larmed the car and walked around the building to the entrance. He walked up to the cashier. A man in a short-sleeved shirt and tie said welcome in German.
Matteo said in English.
”Good day. I'm here to pick up four tickets to the gala June 14.”
”Your name, sir?”
”Matteo Francesi.”
The cashier stood up. Turned his back to the glass. Flipping through a card index. Picked up the phone.
”Excuse me, Mr. Francesi. One minor problem. If you kindly can wait.”
After a few minutes another man met Mr Francesi in the lobby.
”Mr. Francesi?”
”Yes”, Matteo said quiet.
”You are at Gregorianum?”
”That's right.”
The man handed over an envelope. Matteo opened and saw four invitations.
”You are welcome.”
They began to run out of supplies out at the cabin. Matteo drove from Vienna to a shopping center on the outskirts of the city. He went into a supermarket and filled a cart with canned food, vegetables, dairy products, bread and meat. He drove toward the house. Parked outside the barn.
He heard shots from the ranges. He left the food and went to the barn and studied the men.
Juan was an exemplary athlete with soft wrists, powerful when needed. Marco was mediocre. Luca miserable. However, he had risen above the armrest level. The training was luckily not the most important. It was more a precaution with a desire to not be needed.
He took out Juan, Luca, Marco on the grass. Put them on fitness training. Four stations, push-ups, torso, squats, bench press. Cooked dinner in the meantime. Through the window he kept an eye on the training. After half an hour he opened the window and shouted that the food was ready.
After dinner Matteo sent Marco to the shooting range. Luca rested on the sofa. Juan went running. Matteo sat down in the armchair. He opened the Montepulciano manuscripts of Bellarmine. Read what the Great Doctor wrote about thirteenth century writer Boccaccio and his suspicion that the author admired Thoth like so many other infidels.
Matteo read a quote from Boccaccio's Decameron collection of short stories.
Ventos Agere Mercurii sets.
He tested Luca and asked him to translate. Luca sat up and translated without problems.
”It is Mercury who controls the winds.”