“Oh no!” Waterson said pointing a finger at Zack. “I know that look.”
“What look?”
“You’re thinking of doing something crazy. I didn’t sign up for crazy. I’m outta here.”
“You’ve been bugging me to hire you for the past two years. I finally do, and now you’re just going to quit?”
“We were supposed to just flash a little cash and pick the thing up. No dead people involved.”
“Frank, I need your help. You know the area. You know the people. You’ve got the contacts.”
“You want to play hero and ride in wearing a white ten-gallon hat, you go right ahead.”
“Frank, a good man is lying in there dead!”
“Exactly. A good man is dead. I don’t want to join him.” Waterson turned to walk away and added, “You stay and play hero if you want. I’m not going to be your sidekick.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving.”
“What do you mean you’re leaving?”
“I need a drink.”
Zack stared at Waterson as he walked away.
When the going got tough, Waterson got drunk. Zack needed his help, now more than ever. The best thing to do was to let him cool off for a couple hours. One glance around and it was obvious—if he weren’t careful, things could go south real quick. What he really needed was to talk to the one person he knew could set his mind at ease.
Chapter 8
A mixture of anxiety, adrenaline, and fear brewed in the pit of Zack’s stomach as he waited for Father Giovanni to answer the phone. The priest had to be told what happened to his friend, and with a bit of luck, maybe his words would help Zack clear the fog that clouded his mind. It didn’t help knowing that Father Ferguson’s corpse lay only a few yards away.
How could a good man’s life come to such a horrible end?
Zack paced the grounds waiting for Father Salvatore Giovanni’s voice to come and set it all straight.
“Zack!” A jolly voice answered. “How’s Guatemala treating you? Is the heat getting to you yet?”
“Father . . . I have some bad news.”
“What is it son? Is it the National Police? Are they giving you trouble with the Bible?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“What is it, Zack? What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry Father . . . Father Ferguson . . . He’s dead,” Zack replied with a cold, cutting tone. There was a long silence and then Zack explained what he thought had happened but spared the gruesome details.
“Was anyone else hurt?” Father Giovanni asked.
“No. Everyone else is fine . . . given the circumstances.”
“Zack, I want you to get out of there. You hear me?”
“But the Bible—”
“Look, Zack, now is not the time to go making foolish decisions. This is serious. I know you. Trusting your impulses will only get you dead, you hear me? There’s only one thing to do, and that’s get out of that country right now.”
The look of fear on the faces of the nuns and the novices flashed through Zack’s mind. “How can I just leave? They need my help.”
“Zack, you’re an archaeologist not a superhero. We’ll get them the help they need. I’ll see to it personally. We’ll find another way to get the Bible. Get out of Guatemala now. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
And with those words Zack hung up.
PART II
AN EYE FOR AN EYE
— Matthew 5:38 (TYN)
A phrase that was first introduced into the English language with William Tyndale’s translation of the Bible
Chapter 9
An hour ago all Zack wanted to do was to get the Bible and leave this place. But now he felt a strange connection to it. As he went to look for Waterson, a voice called to him, “Señor Cole?”
He turned and saw a nun in her late thirties, dressed in a traditional black habit and white wimple approaching from Father Ferguson’s cottage. “Yes, Sister. I know this is a bad time for all of you. If I can help in any way—”
“You misunderstand me, señor. I wish to help you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Sister—?”
“Santos,” she finished. “Sister Graciela Santos. Sister Grace, please.”
“Help me how, Sister Grace?”
“You seek the Bible.”
Zack put a finger to his lips and motioned for her to follow him off the main street so no one would hear them. “What do you know about the Bible?”
“Señor, I know that you were coming for the Bible. You are Father Giovanni’s friend, which makes you a good friend of our church. We have suffered, in this country of evil men. They have abducted our parishioners. Murdered them. Not unlike what befell Father Ferguson this day.”
“I’m sorry for the pain this has brought you, sister. I’m still not sure what help you think you can give me.”
“It is simple, señor. I know where to find the Bible.”
Zack nearly grabbed the sister by the arm. “What do you mean? The Bible’s with the National Police. Isn’t it?”
Her smile turned secretive. “It was. Now it is not. That is what Father Ferguson would have told you, had you arrived last night.”
Right. Zack had been beating himself up over that all morning.
If they’d only been here last night . . .
If the plane hadn’t hit that storm . . .
If the transportation had been on time . . .
If they hadn’t made that idiotic detour to go to a bar . . .
If any of that . . . maybe he could have saved Father Ferguson.
As he looked into Sister Grace’s eyes, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. “Tell me again, Sister, what do you mean? The Bible was supposed to be in the hands of the National Police. I came to help negotiate for its return.”
Her face soured at the name. “The police here are easy to understand. Perhaps not good for Guatemala but this is not news. They are men who serve not God, not this country, not its people. They serve only money. It is what drives them. It is what motivates them. Find the right hand to put the right amount of dinero into and anything can be done. Right or wrong.”
“Well, sure.” Zack began pacing. “But like you said, this isn’t news. What’s it got to do with the—” She smiled at him as he stumbled to a stop. Zack put it all together in an instant. It was a skill that he had honed over the years. “So,” he said, thinking out loud, “the National Police returned the Bible to Father Ferguson . . . for a price.” The sister nodded. “That’s why he was murdered. He had the Bible. Do you know who did this, Sister?”
The smile fell away from her face. She lowered her eyes and tugged at her habit. “Two men arrived last night. I did not know what they had done until this morning.” Her strong facade melted away, and tears began to fall.
Zack placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Do you know who these men were?”
“One man was a police officer and the other was a man known as El Tigre. He is a sicario for La Víbora Mara.”
Zack started pacing again. “I’ve heard of them.” They were a nasty group of people with roots in Los Angeles. They’d been implicated in burglaries, kidnappings, extortions, murders, not to mention, arms trafficking, money laundering, and the run-of-the-mill drug trafficking. Dealing with corrupt police was easy. Dealing with an established gang was another matter entirely. “Any idea why a terrorist organization would be after a Bible? Those guys don’t strike me as heavy readers.”
She shrugged both shoulders. “Terrorist is a word Americans use. Here, La Víbora are merely part of doing business. I am sure they want the Bible for the money. To sell.”
“Fair enough.” A plan was starting to form in the back of his mind. “You said you knew where to find the Bible?”
She nodded, and a smile returned.
Chapter 10
It wasn’t long before Zack knew everything Sister Grace kne
w about the assassin-for-hire known only as El Tigre, his employer La Víbora, and where to locate them.
“There is one more thing I must show you,” the sister said.
Zack followed the sister down the main road back to Father Ferguson’s cottage. Inside, she directed him through the modest abode until they reached a wooden door.
The sister paused, lowered her head, and whispered, “Que Dios lo tenga en su eterna Gloria.“
Zack roughly translated her words, ‘May God rest his eternal Glory.’ The sister trembled as she spoke the words. It was clear that she felt uncomfortable going in this room. The sister opened the door and stepped inside. She walked toward a large desk at the far end of the room and repeated the same words. She opened the center desk drawer, removed a medium sized postal express envelope and handed it to Zack without a word.
The envelope was addressed to the Chicago Museum of Biblical Antiquities but hadn’t been sealed. Zack opened the envelope and a folded slip of paper fell to the floor. He picked up the paper and unfolded it. The paper was about six inches long by four inches wide and looked to be the title page of a book.
The front was decorated with a beautiful, ornate woodcut of two angels sitting atop two pillars. The center panel contained text that read, ‘The New Testament as it was written, and caused to be written, by them which heard it. To whom also our Savior Christ Jesus commanded that they should preach it unto all creatures.’
Was this the title page to the Tyndale Bible? It looked old enough.
Zack turned the page over and read the list of books of the New Testament, the table of contents.
The page looked very similar to the title page of the Stuttgart copy of the Tyndale Bible—the only copy with its title page still intact. But this page was different. Along the bottom were two sets of Roman numerals.
iiij, xviiij, iiij, iiij, xxviiij, xij, xviiij, vi, xxi, vij, xx, x, xi, xxiiij, iij, viiij, xxvi, xxxij, xi, xi, xxxij, xij, ij, xv, xx, i, vij, xiiij, xij, xxij, xij, xx, xxvi, xiiij
* * *
xci, ccxiv, clxxv, cxxxi, cclxxx, lxxix, ciiij, xiiij, cccvi, ccxxxvij, lxxvij, ccix, ccij, cccix, cxi, xlviij, clxxxv, cclxxxi, ccciiij, cccix.ij, xiij, xxxi, cclxxxviij, cclv, cx, xxv, lxxxiij, ccxxxvi, cciiij, xcvi, ccxiij, cclxxiij, cxxxi, clxij
The numerals looked as if they had been printed the same time as the rest of the page and didn’t appear to be hand-written. There didn’t seem to be any reason or logic to the progression of either sequence.
“What’s this?” Zack asked the sister.
She shook her head. “I do not know. Last night Father Ferguson asked that I mail the envelope today . . . He said it was important that it get to the museum. I thought you should have it.”
“Do you know if Father Ferguson removed the page from the Bible?”
“I do not know.”
“Do you know what these numbers along the bottom mean?”
“No,” she said, sadly, “I don’t.”
Not much to go on.
Again he kicked himself for being late and not being here when Father Ferguson needed him. All he had were vague ideas of where the Bible was and a string of numbers that didn’t make much sense.
“Sister, do you have a copy machine?”
“We have a scanner and printer in the library. Would you like me to print you a copy?”
“Yes, please. Both sides,” he said. He’d examine the page in detail later and it would be better to work from a copy than risk damaging the original. “After we make a copy I think you should send it to the museum as Father Ferguson requested,” he added.
“I will drop it at the post when we are finished.”
“Can you trust the post?”
“It is slow, but it will get there.”
He snapped a few detailed photos with his phone just in case and followed Sister Grace into the church library. When she finished he folded the hard copy and put it in his wallet.
Zack accompanied Sister Grace into the courtyard and she walked across the street to the post office. Zack needed to find that Bible but first he needed to find Waterson—and the truck that had mysteriously disappeared.
Sister Grace returned and asked, “Is something wrong, señor?”
“Sister, have you seen my friend?”
“He left.”
“He left?”
“Si. About an hour ago.”
“Did he say where he was going or when he would be back?”
“No. He just left your belongings and drove off.”
Zack clenched his fists. How could Waterson leave him stranded? This is why he preferred to work alone. He wanted to shout or scream, but refrained himself and bit his bottom lip. “Sister, do you know where I can find transportation?”
“You will be going for the Bible?”
“Yes.”
“Come, I will take you.”
“No. It’s much too dangerous, Sister,” Zack said. “Just give me directions and I promise you, I’ll bring back the Bible, and I’ll make the men who did this pay for what they have done.”
Sister Grace grabbed him by the arm. “We do not believe in vengeance, Señor Cole. We leave that to God.”
She turned with him in tow and walked toward the church.
Chapter 11
Zack hadn’t been to church in a long time and wasn’t sure what to do. “Sister, why don’t you go ahead? I’ll wait here.”
“What is wrong, señor? You do not wish to pray?”
“It’s complicated.”
The events of that Christmas Eve twenty-two years ago still haunted him. He was with his parents driving home from Midnight Mass when a drunk driver lost control and crossed the center divide. The driver hit them head-on and killed his parents instantly. Zack was in the backseat and survived with minor injuries. He was just ten years old.
“I just assumed you were Christian,” Sister Grace said. “It’s okay, señor. Everyone is welcome in the house of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”
“Oh no, Sister. I am Christian. It’s nothing like that.” Zack’s eyes began to swell.
After his parents’ death, his grandfather raised him, but he could still recall the anguish and grief he felt for years after the accident. Every night he prayed to God with all his might to bring him back the only thing he ever loved—his mother and father.
The sister gave Zack a puzzled look. “Then, I do not understand.”
Zack recalled his tears and his words forming prayers, but God never responded. He never stopped believing in God, but at some point lost his way and stopped talking to Him.
“It’s just been a while,” was his answer.
“His door is always open.” Sister Grace took him by the hand and led him up the stone steps to the heavy wooden doors that stood open and welcoming.
It was cooler inside, and quiet in that way old churches seemed to get. The main area had two rows of pews, twenty or more from the back where they stood, up to the raised altar at the front. Behind the altar hung a huge cross, adorned with a ceramic painted Jesus. A red cloth was draped over the altar itself. Everywhere Zack looked he saw dark wood—the paneling, the support beams and the ceiling trim. Stained glass windows let in light from outside in hues of reds and blues and greens.
Zack stood next to Sister Grace, with his head bowed, as she whispered a prayer. She thanked the Lord for His many blessings and asked that He guide them on their journey. He admired her faith. Was she as scared as he was when he was a little boy? Was she as confused by this unjust death as he had been all those years ago?
A voice from the back of the church snapped Zack out of his spiraling thoughts.
“Sister Grace!” Another nun walked briskly toward them. She wore a gold cross over her habit and looked like she was the one in charge. “Sister Grace,” she said and paused for a breath. “Señor.” Another breath. “You must come, quickly.”
“Reverend Mother, what is it? What’s wrong?” Sister Grace asked, picking up on the panic in her voice.
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“The police are here and they seek the American.” She looked at Zack, her eyes filling with panic.
“How did they . . . ?” Zack began, as he tried to piece it together. Someone had told the police he did it, that he’d killed Father Ferguson? Did Waterson call them? He wouldn’t do that, would he? Had someone from the church called?
“No one from the church called,” Mother Superior said, answering his unasked question.
He pushed away the questions. It didn’t matter who had done what. The police had arrived, and if he didn’t get out of there, they would arrest him for a murder he didn’t commit.
Zack turned to Sister Grace. “You can’t come with me. Not now.”
“You will leave the country or seek the Bible?”
“I have to find this El Tigre person . . . the man responsible for Father Ferguson’s murder. The only way to do that is to find the Bible. If I leave the country I won’t have an opportunity to prove my innocence.”
Sister Grace looked to Mother Superior. The Reverend Mother gave the sister a nod and then turned to Zack. “Sister Grace will assist you.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“I do what the Lord compels me to do, Señor Cole,” Sister Grace said. “He keeps my life in His hands. It is up to Him when I will die, and it won’t be a moment before He wills it. I trust in God,” She didn’t ask the question, but still it rolled around Zack’s mind. Did he trust in God enough to keep them alive? He wanted to say yes, but hesitated. “You came to help the church Señor Cole . . . now let us help you.” Her eyes held a glint of determination.
Zack didn’t bother arguing. He was running for his life and Sister Grace was set on going with him. But he didn’t like putting another person’s life at risk, especially a woman who had given her life to the Lord.
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