"He wasn't here himself, but I believe someone else brought the cross here. May I show you a picture of the object I'm looking for?" He pulled out Oliver's photograph and passed it over.
The priest glanced at it for a moment and then angrily threw it to the floor. "Santa Madre de Dios!" Holy Mother of God! "I was afraid when you began that this was what you were seeking. This is no holy object," he hissed, making the sign of the cross. "It's not Christian. Why do you seek it in God's house? It's profane. Look closely at the figure on the cross. That's not God's Son you're seeing. It's el diablo himself.”
He stood and said with finality, "Señor Sadler, I'm afraid you have made a very long trip for nothing. I must go about my business now."
Brian remained seated. "Father, I need your help. You barely glanced at the picture, yet you knew the figure wasn't Jesus. You know something about this cross. You may even have seen it before. Please. Please help me learn where it is. It's very important."
Now the old priest was becoming agitated. He sat, put his hand on Brian's knee and said, "You are involved in something very, very evil. I do not know why you seek the cross, nor do I want to know. You must stop this quest now. If you do not, you and your loved ones could be in terrible danger."
Brian was surprised at how upset he was. "I'm simply trying to solve a mystery. I'm trying to find Columbus's cross. How dangerous can that be? You know something about it, Father. Please help me. Tell me what you know."
"I will tell you this and then you must go. You are not the first person in my lifetime to come here seeking the Black Cross. You are correct that legend says it was Cristobal Colon's. But it is far more than that. Queen Isabel had no idea what it was - what power it held - when she gave it to Columbus. If she had known, she would never have done so.
"The Black Cross is not here, although it once was. I have never seen it myself. It was brought here centuries ago - in the late sixteen hundreds, so the story goes - by a man from Haiti who brought voodoo to Guatemala."
Oliver had unearthed the same tale while doing his research; he'd sent the article on to Brian and it was back at the hotel.
The priest continued. "For over a hundred years that cursed cross hung in this church and the townspeople suffered greatly from one malady or tragedy after another. At last a priest examined the relic closely and discovered the distorted figure hanging on the cross wasn't our Savior at all. It was the dark one - the devil. Suddenly he understood that the cross was evil - it was the source of everyone's suffering. He took it down and removed it and suddenly everything improved in the lives of our people. That's all I know, Señor Sadler. And you must go now. It is a busy time, as you said."
"Where did he take it?"
"According to legend, he hid it in a cave somewhere in the mountains that surround our city. That is all I know."
"I'm sorry, Father, but I've come a long way just to talk to you. Please tell me what you know. You said I'm the second person who came here looking for the cross. Who was the first?"
"Walk with me, my child," he said, taking Brian by the arm and ushering him out of the office and through the sanctuary. He said nothing until they were outside in the courtyard. Brian knew exactly what he was doing. The priest had successfully maneuvered Brian out of his office and out of his church. This meeting was almost over.
"I didn't say you were the second person who came here looking for the cross - I said you were not the first. Two others came. Fifty years ago I was a young priest here. By then the cross had been gone for centuries, but everyone remembered the legend. One day an odd thing happened. An unusual pair of Americans - an old man and a young girl – walked into the church and asked me about it. I told him what I knew. I have never spoken of it since and I wish I had not done so today. Nothing good can come from that false idol."
Brian couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “Thank you, Father,” he said. “Can you tell me what they looked like? Was the man dressed in a heavy suit and wearing a necktie? Was the girl perhaps ten years old, pretty with chocolate skin and dressed in an old-fashioned white pinafore?”
"How do you know those things?" he replied in astonishment. Suddenly he grew wary and afraid. "What are you doing here? What is this about?"
"I have no idea," Brian muttered as he turned and walked away. "I have absolutely no idea."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Brian went back to the hotel, both intrigued and confused. The priest's remarks had sent cold chills down his spine. Five decades earlier an old man in a suit and tie came to the church, looking for the cross. He was accompanied by a preteen girl in an old-fashioned dress. The people in the lobby this morning matched those descriptions. He had watched the elderly gentleman, totally out of place in a wool suit and tie in the stifling heat of Guatemala, walk through this very lobby hand in hand with a girl wearing a dress and pinafore that had been out of fashion for a hundred years. Now a simple question about who they were had morphed into a puzzle that required a solution. Without a doubt they were part of his search for the original cross. Somehow, fifty years ago, two people had visited the church who had been the same ages and dressed the same as these two. Who were the man and girl, and how were they connected to two others five decades ago?
After meeting the priest, Brian dismissed any notion he'd be home tonight. He'd made a long journey to this remote village because Oliver believed he might find important information. He had done just that and he couldn't leave without answers.
Of several articles Oliver had emailed, two mentioned the cross. One was an article in Archaeology magazine that described a Haitian folktale. There had once been an ancient cross made of ebony and encrusted with precious stones. It had belonged to Christopher Columbus; many entries in his logbook and journal mentioned it, but after the Christmas Day wreck of the Santa Maria, he never said another word about it. The archaeologist who wrote the article believed that Columbus left the cross at La Navidad in 1493 and it was lost when the fort was destroyed and its inhabitants murdered.
That writer believed the cross never left Haiti, but today Father Rodriguez had mentioned a different story - a legend about a man who had brought the cross to Chichicastenango. That was what Brian wanted to know about and Oliver's second clipping enlightened him.
A centuries-old chronicle written by a Franciscan friar in Chichicastenango was discovered in the 1950s. It mentioned a magical cross of ebony that was brought here in 1687 by a Haitian named Pierre Duplanchier. The friar described the cross as Satanic and evil and he believed that Duplanchier's mission was to establish voodooism in Spanish-occupied Mesoamerica. According to the friar's report, Pierre spent more than two years in Guatemala doing exactly that.
The priest believed the original had once hung in his church and it had been hidden in a cave centuries ago. Brian wanted to learn more about where it might be. There was something else to consider too - the priest's story that a man and a girl came to the church fifty years ago, dressed identically to the pair he saw this morning. If the tour bus returned this afternoon, he intended to approach them.
Brian was happy when the tour bus at last pulled up to the hotel's entrance. The guide stepped out and helped the girl and her elderly companion exit first. Then the others followed.
He had been baffled when the priest described the pair who had come to the church five decades ago. Why would another old man with a child, dressed the same as the ones years ago, be back here today? All afternoon he'd tried to come up with an answer but only ended up with questions. What were they doing? What was the significance of their dated clothing? Were they in costume? Who were they to each other - grandfather and granddaughter? That was what it appeared to be, but Brian was beginning to wonder if he could base any assumption on appearances alone. Now at last he would have a chance to confront them.
He approached them as they walked through the lobby toward a set of stairs at the rear. He extended his hand to the man, introduced himself and said he was researching relics. That proved f
ruitless; ignoring him, they walked away and he played what he hoped was his hole card.
"It's about the Black Cross."
They paused for a fleeting second. He had obviously hit a nerve because the man turned and demanded that Brian leave them alone. Despite waiting all afternoon for them, he had to let them go for now. He couldn't afford to blow everything by creating a scene.
Starting plan B, he walked into the bar, an extension of the lobby with an inviting outdoor patio on its far side. He surveyed the room, looking for people he'd seen board the bus this morning. He saw several couples engaged in quiet conversation over cocktails.
He pulled up a stool at the bar next to an overweight couple in their sixties and asked in English for a beer. His voice was a little louder than it should have been - he wanted the man and woman to know he was American. And it worked. The man turned and said, "Where are you from?"
"Dallas. And you?"
"Saddle Brook, New Jersey. Oblowski's the name. I'm Stan, this is Sandra." The woman gave him a half-smile and a wave.
"Brian Sadler. Beautiful town, Chichi. What brings you two here?"
"The wife signed us up for a rejuvenation conference. Not like restarting your marriage." He laughed heartily, nudging his wife in the side until she pulled away. "We've been married too damn long for that. It's a kind of health thing. Make you live longer. You know what I mean?" He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "Costing me a damned fortune, if you want to know the truth. And some damned girl's running the show - it's bizarre."
"Shut up, Stanley," she said suddenly. "You're not supposed -"
"I don't give a rat's ass what they told us. It's my money and I can tell this guy the whole thing if I want to."
"You signed a form -"
"What’re they gonna do – sue me?”
This was going perfectly. Brian had hit the mark on his first try. This guy could give him information, especially if Brian could get him away from his wife. They made small talk for fifteen minutes; they asked what Brian did for a living and he explained that he owned Bijan Rarities, an antiquities gallery that had started in New York City and now had stores in London and Dallas.
Sandra leaned in and looked at Brian closely. "I recognize you. You're on some TV show, aren't you?"
"Guilty as charged," he admitted with a smile. "Are you interested in archaeology?"
"Nope," she said dismissively. "Just saw your face once or twice when I was flipping channels."
"Looking for the Home Shopping Network," Stanley jested. She didn't smile. She wasn't the friendliest person, he observed, and her husband was eager for company.
They discussed everything from football to favorite cities, and finally Sandra had had enough. "See you in the room," she announced, climbing laboriously off the stool. "Keep your mouth shut, Stanley," she added in a half-whisper that was loud enough for Brian to hear. "You don't know this guy from Adam and we're not supposed -"
"Go on upstairs, bossy," he said, swatting her on the bottom. She shot him a venomous look and walked out.
Brian ordered another round of beers and Stanley said, "Now that the old ball and chain's gone, I'll tell you an interesting story." It was obvious that the guy was craving a little man-time away from the shrew he was married to, and Brian hoped he'd learn what this was about.
"Like I already said, we're on some kind of rejuvenation seminar." Stanley raised his eyebrows in skepticism. "The stuff people do to keep the wives happy. This stupid few days is costing me forty grand, and what do we get for it? Who the hell knows? Today was the first of two days, and after sitting through today's session, I don't know why I spent the money. Why the hell did we have to come to some shitty third-world country? What's wrong with the Marriott in Hackensack, for God's sake? Know what I mean? Is there something special about coming here? Or is the girl trying to make all this more mysterious and spiritual so we feel like we got something for our money? Bullshit if you ask me. But the wife wanted to do it and we have plenty of money."
Stanley was proud of that last part, changing the subject to explain that he had owned a successful business selling scrap metal. He'd started there right out of high school and twenty years later he became the owner. When he sold the company a few years ago, he'd pocketed several million dollars and now he and Sandra were set for life, at least financially. It was impossible for Brian to miss the poor guy's frustration - here he was retired and with no money worries, but wallowing in a desperately unhappy marriage that had become a burden because neither of them cared about making it better.
Brian eased the discussion back to the seminar. "For all that money, what are you going to come away with?"
"My question exactly! Ask Sandra - no, you'd better not. She'd kill me if she thought I was telling any of their little 'secrets,' so this'll stay just between us - okay, buddy?" He took a swig and continued. "Sandra heard about this thing from a friend of hers. Apparently you'll never read anything about it anywhere - we tried to look it up on the Internet and got nothing. I know this is going to sound crazy, but you know how women are. They get desperate to keep from getting old. Hell, I could care less if my boobs start sagging, but you don't want to say anything about hers. Know what I mean?" He laughed and asked Brian if he was married. Not wanting to get the conversation off track, he said he was single but had a girlfriend.
Stanley put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Don't let her reel you in too soon. You're still a young buck and you should wait as long as you can. Sandra and me, we got married right out of high school. Big mistake. Huge. I never got to find out how much fun I could have had. I've been married forever, seems like."
"Are they selling anti-aging products or some kind of spa treatments? Where did you all go today?"
"We rode the damned bus for an hour and ended up on some mountain. You're not going to believe this because I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there. There's these two people who are running the show. Maybe you've seen them around the hotel. One's an old geezer who's wearing a suit he bought in 1920. The other one - are you ready for this? - the other one's a little girl. She's dressed all in white like something out of a fairy-tale picture book when you were a kid. There's something really strange about her - something I can't put my finger on - but she's actually the head honcho."
"I'm not following you," Brian interjected. "Are you saying she's the huckster? The one selling the anti-aging program?"
"I know it's hard to understand. I don't get it either, but it's not exactly like that. So far she's not actually selling anything. Here's what happened today. She and the old man rode in the front seats of the bus, up there by the guide and our driver. None of us knew what they had to do with this seminar until we got up to this cave."
A cave in the mountains?
"We got off the bus, went down a hill and filed into this big cavern. It had some electric lights strung up and enough wooden chairs for all of us to sit in. At the front, there was a table with a lot of stuff on it and two more chairs. Those turned out to be for the girl and the old man. They came in and the man welcomed us, but he's so old and feeble I could barely understand him. I told the wife it was odd having someone as decrepit as him at a rejuvenation seminar. I hoped he wasn't there to give a testimonial, you know?" He laughed, and Brian did too.
"Anyway, the old guy said we would spend two days together and all of us who wanted to accept it would leave with a special gift, one that would change our lives forever. Then he sat down and for a few minutes nothing happened. We all sat there looking at each other. I started to think all this was a little hokey, you know what I mean? We all fidgeted around in our seats and some people began whispering about what the hell was going on, but finally the girl got up and walked over behind the table. She put her hands in the air and began to say some kind of chant. I’m telling you, I was getting a little creeped out when it kept going on and on. She was whispering, but in the cave the acoustics were really good or something. Everyone could hear her, but the wor
ds weren't in English, so nothing made any sense. It was like she was saying a prayer in some other language."
Suddenly a beefy hand grabbed Stanley's arm. "What the hell are you doing?" she snarled at him. To Brian she said, "I don't know who you are or what you're after, but you're not going to pry any more information out of my husband, who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut." She called for Stanley's check and Brian said it was on him.
"Why does that not surprise me?" she spat. "Buy my stupid husband a drink and he'll tell you anything."
Stanley winced in pain as she gripped his arm tightly, virtually dragging him off the stool and through the bar. He turned at the door, waved and smiled sheepishly as she kept her viselike grip on him.
Nice lady, Brian thought sarcastically. He'd learned just enough to whet his appetite. He went to the concierge desk and arranged for a local guide with a car to meet him early tomorrow morning for a day of sightseeing. He wasn't sure how, but he was determined to find that cave.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The girl and her companion walked into their hotel room and she slammed the door. They were both rattled from their encounter with the stranger.
Marcel lit a cigarette, his old hands trembling as he held the match. He walked to the armoire and took a bottle of Fresca from the minibar. It wasn't the club soda he used at home, but it would do. He pulled a flask from his suitcase and mixed himself a strong drink.
"You'd better be fixing two of those," she said in that childish, nagging voice he detested. She was becoming such a demanding bitch these days. At his advanced age, it was getting harder to let things go.
"You're ten years old. You weigh seventy pounds, Eve. You can't tolerate alcohol; we've been over this a hundred times. You know how little it takes to get you tipsy. Believe me, it's not a pretty sight - a child staggering like a drunkard after a rough night." It was the same feeble excuse he'd used before; he didn't expect it to work this time either and he was right.
The Black Cross (Brian Sadler Archaeological Thrillers Book 6) Page 9
