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over one job or another.”
    “Who?” Marco asked. “Hitler?”
    “Michelangelo,” Kate said. “He would have had a dozen different reasons to walk through here, regardless of the time of day, most of them business-related, no doubt. But some of those walks were for reasons having nothing to do with work.”
    “Like what?”
    “He was a celebrity, or as close to one as they had in those days,” Kate said, always keen to reduce Michelangelo to basic human terms. “It must have been difficult for him to walk the streets without attracting public attention and running the risk of being stopped and asked questions he might not have been in the mood to answer.”
    “Like Mick Jagger,” Marco said, smiling.
    “Well,” she said, “it’s not crazy to think of him in those terms. Like a Renaissance rock star.”
    “So, if Michelangelo is Jagger, does that mean da Vinci was one of the Beatles?” he asked.
    “Anyone but Ringo, I suppose.”
    “This corridor was probably used for so many purposes,” Marco said, gazing up at a Bernini painting. “You walk through the streets of the city and you don’t even notice its existence. Visible to all, but seen by none. In its own way, it is the ultimate Renaissance invention.”
    “If you feel that way, then you must believe some of the rumors are true,” Kate said.
    “As I am sure that you believe all of them,” Marco said.
    “Not all,” she said, “just most. I never thought the rulers of the day kept prisoners here or used this place to dispose of bodies. There were too many other hidden haunts in the city to serve that purpose. Besides, this corridor wasn’t built for bloodshed. It’s too elegant, too regal to be stained that way. The Medicis were a methodical bunch, each movement planned, each site designed for its own specific purpose.”
    “Correct,” Marco said, standing across from her now, his back against a stonewashed white wall, arms folded casually across his chest. “The purpose of the Vasari Corridor was to allow the rich and powerful a way to cross from one end of the city to the other without any worry of being seen. I don’t think there was anything more sinister to it than that.”
    “That was only one part of it,” Kate said. “They had other plans for this corridor, and they shared those plans with only a handful of people.”
    “Look, I love Oliver Stone movies, too,” Marco said. “And I’m the first to listen to any plausible conspiracy theory, but I never lose sight of the fact that they are nothing more than what they are—theories.”
    “This was more than just a showroom, and a lot more than a passageway,” Kate said, scanning the walls. “This was a hiding place, a long corridor that was both secure and free of prying eyes. This was the perfect place.”
    “To hide what?”
    She turned and faced Marco. “What mattered most to the Medicis,” she said. “Their treasure. You know from all the reading we’ve both done that the family’s one fear was to lose the fortune they had amassed, either by takeover from another ruler or a fall from power. They were no different than any other rich family, back then or even today. It just makes sense that they would look to make sure they were covered, in the event that hard times ever hit them.”
    “So you think they hid their money inside the corridor?”
    “Maybe,” Kate said. “Or maybe what they thought would be even more valuable to them than money.”
    “If it’s not money, then it could only be works of art,” Marco said.
    “But not just any works,” she said. “The Medicis needed to be absolutely certain that the art and sculpture they deemed worth hiding would be of great value not only in their lifetimes, but to subsequent generations. And as far as they were concerned, that work would belong to only one man.”
    “You want to believe that it was Michelangelo,” Marco said. “Which might be true, assuming any part of your theory is true. But he wasn’t