Sign of the Cross paj-2

by Chris Kuzneski

  Payne smiled at the photograph. ‘I guess my parents were right. They are magical.’

  ‘Hmm? What was that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he fibbed, half embarrassed. ‘Out of curiosity, could I borrow this picture for a few minutes? I have a buddy upstairs who always tries to impress me with facts about everything, and I doubt he knows that story. Would it bother Petr if I carried this upstairs?’

  ‘Petr!’ Franz groaned. ‘I’m glad you said his name, because I almost forget to tell you. Petr sent me to find you. He wants you to go upstairs at once. Your friends would like to talk to you.’

  Excited by the possibilities, Payne thanked Franz for the news, then hustled upstairs with the photo. But when he entered the room he quickly realized he’d have to save his story for later, because the look on everyone’s face told Payne something bad had happened.

  Dr Boyd’s complexion was paler than usual, which made the bags under his eyes stand out like layers of football eye black. Maria sat to his left, her face buried on the table under her tightly clenched arms. And Ulster, whose lips had been frozen in a perpetual grin since Payne had met him, seemed to be frowning, even though it was tough to tell through the thicket that he called a beard. Jones was the last person Payne noticed, since he was sitting in the far corner of the room, but it was the look on his face that told Payne everything he needed to know.

  Somehow, some way, their mission had suffered a major setback. He just didn’t know how.

  Since Ulster had sent for Payne, he decided to start with him. ‘Franz said you wanted to see me. Is everything all right?’

  ‘Metaphorically speaking, I’d say we hit an iceberg.’ He pointed to a scroll that sat on the table before him. ‘This was one of the documents in my grandfather’s collection. It was sent to Tiberius by an injured centurion right after a war in the Britains. If you look closely, you can see where the soldier gripped it, for his blood stained the papyrus as he wrote his message.’

  Payne saw the stain yet had little interest in two-thousand-year-old plasma. ‘What did it say?’

  ‘He apologized for writing, which was an unspeakable breach of protocol for a centurion, then informed Tiberius that a hostile Silurian tribe had attacked his unit while they slept, slaughtering hundreds of Romans in the dead of night.’

  ‘And that’s important?’

  ‘Not by itself, but the next part is. You see, the soldier mentioned that General Paccius was one of the earliest victims of the raid, stabbed in his heart as he slept.’

  ‘And that’s bad, right?’

  ‘Bad?’ Boyd growled from across the room. ‘It’s bloody horrible! Since Paccius was slain, he obviously didn’t pilot the conspiracy against Christ, now did he?’

  ‘I guess not, although I don’t understand why that’s so horrible. Didn’t you just clear the name of Christ? As a Christian, I figured you’d be happy about that. You, too, Maria.’

  She flinched at the mention of her name, surprised that a man was actually asking for her opinion. ‘I wish that were the case. The only thing we cleared up was Paccius’s disappearance. After all of these years, we finally know why he was never glorified in Roman history books. He died without dignity, slain while sleeping on the battlefield.’

  ‘But isn’t that good for you? I mean, shouldn’t that end your speculation about Jesus?’

  Maria shook her head. ‘Now that Paccius is no longer a suspect, we have no idea who Tiberius would’ve turned to next.’

  ‘But that’s kind of what I’m getting at. How do you know he turned to anyone? Why are you positive he went through with his plan against Christ?’

  She said, ‘Because the artwork in the Catacombs tells us as much. Remember the carvings that illustrated the crucifixion of Christ? The keystone figure is laughing at Christ, actually mocking his death. Why would it be there — in a vault that Tiberius built — if the plot hadn’t succeeded? The carvings were historically accurate, so they were obviously created after Christ’s crucifixion. That’s the only way they could’ve gotten the details right.’

  The light finally clicked in Payne’s head. ‘Oh, I get it. See, I interpreted the artwork differently than you. You’re saying Tiberius was so thrilled with the outcome he decided to honor his accomplice in stone, chiseling his face up there as appreciation for a job well done.’

  ‘Exactly. Only we don’t know who helped Tiberius or what he did to convince everybody that Jesus was the Messiah. According to the scroll, Tiberius wanted to stage something so amazing that people would talk about it for years. But we don’t know what that was.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘No,’ she assured Payne. ‘If we did, we’d have something to pursue. But as it stands now, we don’t know where to look next. Paccius’s death has knocked the wind from our sails.’

  Payne leaned back, astonished. How could four of the smartest people he’d ever met be so blind to the obvious? ‘I don’t want to step on any toes, but I think I might be able to help.’

  ‘Oh?’ she said in a less-than-confident tone. ‘How is that?’

  ‘By telling you how the Romans amazed Jerusalem.’

  ‘Jon,’ Jones whispered, ‘this isn’t the time to be joking around.’

  ‘Who’s joking? The truth is, I have a theory about Tiberius. In fact, I’m surprised you guys haven’t figured it out by now. It’s actually kind of obvious.’

  ‘Obvious?’ Boyd snarled. ‘We’ve been thinking about this for two days now, researching day and night, trying to grasp this bloody thing, and you mock us by calling it obvious?’

  ‘Just a second. I wasn’t trying to insult you. The truth is, sometimes a person can become so immersed in things that he loses sight of the obvious. And I think that’s what’s happening here, because I’m pretty sure I know what the Romans did to fool the masses. Remember when I said I’d interpreted the archway differently than you? Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to fill you in on my theory. I think it could be the key to everything.’

  ‘Your theory is the key?’ Boyd laughed. ‘Oh, this ought to be rich.’

  ‘Professore! You’re being rude! If it wasn’t for Jonathon, we’d probably be dead right now.’

  Payne looked at Maria and thanked her, glad to see at least one person was taking him seriously. ‘Now, I admit I don’t know a whole lot about first-century Jerusalem, but if I remember correctly, you’re searching for an event in Christ’s life that would’ve amazed everyone.’

  ‘Let me cut you off right there,’ Boyd snapped. ‘We examined each of Christ’s miracles — turning water into wine at Cana, feeding the hungry of Bethsaida, and so on — but didn’t feel any of them were miraculous enough to influence the masses. Furthermore, Tiberius claimed that his event needed to be staged in Jerusalem, and Christ’s miracles were performed elsewhere.’

  ‘Doc, if I’m not mistaken, Tiberius talked about staging a single event, an act so magical that people couldn’t possibly ignore it, no matter how hard they tried?’

  ‘Or words to that effect, yes.’

  ‘But only one event, not two or three?’

  Boyd nodded. ‘That’s correct. The scroll refers to a single act that future generations would sing about for eternity. Something magical and mystifying in the heart of Jerusalem.’

  Suddenly, Payne was more confident than ever. ‘If that’s the case, then there’s only one event in Jesus’s life that can fit your criteria… And trust me, people are still talking about it.’

  50

  Henri Toulon had a history of showing up late and going home early. So Nick Dial was far from surprised when he called Interpol and Toulon was nowhere to be found. It wouldn’t be the first time that they butted heads — partially because Dial got the position that Toulon had coveted and partially because Toulon was an agitator who loved picking fights with everyone. Yet Dial put up with all the bullshit because Toulon did his job better than anyone he’d ever worked with.

  After leaving a message, Dial focused on
the bulletin board in his Boston hotel room. He looked at the crime photos from all three cases and tried to figure out a connection. A priest from Finland who was kidnapped in Italy yet was killed in Denmark. A prince from Nepal who was kidnapped in Thailand but murdered in Libya. A ballplayer from Brazil who was kidnapped in New York, then crucified in Boston. What was the thread?

  Jansen, Narayan, and Pope were healthy men under the age of forty. None of them were married, had children, or had significant others of any kind. In fact, all of them went out of their way to avoid relationships. Jansen had taken a vow of celibacy, Narayan preferred prostitutes, and Pope was a borderline recluse. On the other hand, their list of differences was twice as long. They practiced different religions, had different ethnic backgrounds, and came from opposite ends of the globe. They spoke different languages, had different jobs, and had no connections other than the way they died.

  To Dial it was clear this case wasn’t about the victims. It was about the message.

  While sipping coffee, he shifted his focus to the crime scenes themselves. Normally he would’ve worked with a single map because his cases were usually contained in a limited area. In this case, though, he had to look at the entire world because his victims and their locations were so scattered.

  To keep track of things, he used a series of pushpins, each color representing something different. He marked the hometowns of all three men with white pins, placing one in Lokka, Finland, one in Katmandu, Nepal, and one in São Paulo, Brazil. Next he located their abduction points with blue pins: Rome, Bangkok, and New York. Finally he tracked the murder sites with red ones, a fitting color, considering how much blood was found at each scene.

  Nine pins in total, scattered all around the map. Three in Europe, two in Asia, two in North America, one in South America, and one in Africa. The only continents not covered were Australia and Antarctica, which was fine with Dial. He didn’t feel like fighting dingoes in the Outback or frostbite at the South Pole.

  A ringing phone snapped him back to reality. He hustled over to his desk. ‘This is Dial.’

  ‘This is not,’ teased Henri Toulon.

  Dial wasn’t in the mood for games, so he got right to the point. ‘Last night when I arrived in Boston, I found an interesting fact about the latest victim… He wasn’t dead yet.’

  ‘What? You mean he’s still alive? I heard on the — ’

  ‘No, Henri, he’s dead now, although that wasn’t the case when I was landing at Logan. In fact, according to 911 logs, the cops didn’t know about it until I was in America.’

  Toulon paused for a moment, letting the information sink in. ‘But how can that be? We were faxed about the murder last night.’

  ‘That’s my point. We knew about the case before there was a case. Looks like we’ve got another taunter.’

  Toulon mumbled a bunch of curse words in French, then shouted to one of his assistants in German, which illustrated why Toulon was so valuable to the department. He could speak a dozen languages, which enabled him to talk to nearly every employee at Interpol, witnesses from multiple nations, plus NCB officers from around the world.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he apologized. ‘I had the fax right here on my desk, but some asshole on the late shift messed with my things again. I’m telling you, Nick, if you want me to be efficient, I need an office of my own.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood, Henri. Just tell me about the fax.’

  ‘It came from a police station in Boston, maybe ten minutes before I called your cell phone. It said another victim had been found at the baseball stadium in Boston, and they needed someone from our office to verify its link to our other cases.’

  ‘Do you have a name or a number or a station location?’

  ‘I had all of that, Nick, right on the fax. It came in on stationery.’

  Dial growled softly. This was the best lead they had, and someone at his office had lost it.

  ‘Nick?’ Toulon said. ‘Hans is checking the fax machine right now. It stores the last fifty documents in its memory, so there’s a chance we’ll be able to print another copy. I’ll also check our phone records to find out where the fax came from. That way, you can investigate the suspicious fax machine before you leave Boston.’

  Dial took a deep breath. Maybe this wouldn’t be a total disaster after all. ‘Get me that info as soon as possible. This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.’

  Frankie Cione loved hanging out with Payne and Jones. He didn’t know if it was their coolness under pressure, their good-natured teasing, or the fact that they were tall. Whatever it was, Frankie knew that they were special. Not only did they go out of their way to make him feel important — something his friends and colleagues rarely did — but he got the sense that they actually liked him for who he was, not what he could do for them.

  After Payne and Jones left Milan, Frankie pondered ways he could continue to help them. It took him all day to figure it out, but he realized that they had left several scraps of evidence in his possession, including photographs of the helicopter crash site and data from the car rental office. Of course Frankie had no idea where any of it was going to lead, yet the thought of helping them in any capacity was enough to give him chills.

  Francesco Cione, Italian private eye. No case is too big, although I’m quite small.

  Laughing to himself, Frankie realized the pictures of Orvieto were the best place to start, since Payne and Jones had left his office before they had a chance to enlarge them all.

  The initial picture he examined was one that Jones had scanned into the computer. Frankie took his time searching every centimeter of the film, blowing up the image to eight times its normal size and viewing it from four different angles, before he decided it was time to move on. After clearing the file from his screen, he thumbed through the rest of the photographs and settled on the last two pictures in the roll.

  At first glance there was no visible reason for his selection, though Frankie figured if Donald Barnes was as obese as Payne and Jones had claimed, then something had to motivate him to walk halfway across the plateau and take additional photographs of the wreck. And since that something didn’t jump out at him, he hoped he might find it under magnification.

  By moving his mouse, Frankie was able to slide the image in any direction. That allowed him to focus on several areas of the crash site that Payne and Jones had never seen.

  The first section of the photograph proved to be nothing more than a shadow created by a wisp of smoke and the rays of the summer sun. The second was a rock, partially covered in green moss, while the third turned out to be part of the rotor blade that Boyd had fractured with his toolbox. The fourth section, though, proved to be much harder for Frankie to define. So much so that he was forced to magnify it to five times its normal size, then brighten the pixels of the image before he could even hazard a guess as to its identity. After doing all that, there was little doubt in his mind as to what he was looking at, for the scene was quite horrific.

  Buried in rubble at the base of the cliff was the flattened corpse of an Italian soldier. His head had been crushed by the initial impact of the avalanche, while the rest of him was mangled by the 400-foot drop that followed. Limbs pointed backward. Entrails oozed from his midsection like uncooked sausage links. Blood covered everything nearby.

  ‘Mamma mia!’ Frankie said to himself. ‘This be why fat man is killed! Not because he speak to my friends. He dead because he film this body!’

  And he was right, too. Of course, that was nothing compared to the evidence that Frankie was about to uncover next. Evidence that would help Payne and Jones put everything together.

  51

  The hush that filled the room reminded Payne of his days with the MANIACs. Everyone was staring at him, waiting to be briefed. Eventually, Maria couldn’t handle it any longer.

  She said, ‘Tell us what you’re talking about. We’re dying to know.’

  Payne grimaced at her choice of words. ‘It’s ironic t
hat you mentioned dying because that has a lot to do with my theory.’

  And just like that they realized Payne was talking about the crucifixion. The crucifixion. That was the event that Tiberius had used to trick the masses. It had to be. Nothing else made sense. Especially if you consider the artwork in the Catacombs.

  In Payne’s mind the hand-carved images of the archway weren’t there to mock the death of Christ. They were there to honor a special moment in Roman history. And the only thing that would make Christ’s death an important event to the Romans was if it wasn’t a real crucifixion. It had to be a ploy, an event staged by Tiberius to help the Empire get a stranglehold on the new religion and the flood of donations that was bound to follow.

  ‘For the good of all things Roman, we shall begin at once, using the Nazarene as our tool, the one we have chosen as the Jewish Messiah.’

  Boyd considered the theory. ‘Why are you so certain that Tiberius faked the crucifixion?’

  ‘Why? Because if Jesus wasn’t the Son of God, how can you explain his resurrection? Either they faked his crucifixion to make it look like he came back from the dead, or they didn’t, and Jesus is actually the Messiah. I mean, those are the two possibilities, right?’

  Payne figured, without assistance from Rome, there was no way a mortal could’ve cheated death and made a triumphant return to society. Not after what they put him through — or seemed to put him through. If Jesus wasn’t the savior, the only thing that could’ve saved his life was the mercy of the Empire. However, mercy was the one thing they weren’t known for.

  Maria said, ‘Not to play devil’s advocate, but wouldn’t it be impossible to fake a crucifixion in first-century Jerusalem? They’d be lacking the special effects that modern magicians have. Plus they’d be dealing with an unwilling subject.’

  Jones motioned toward Payne. ‘Hey, you’re talking to an expert in that field. Jon’s been studying magic tricks for as long as I’ve known him.’