The envoy nodded, again adjusting his skull cap. “We appreciate the offer of a ten-year delay. And though I and others may agree with Father Jean about the importance of truth, there are many in the Vatican who will never acknowledge Jesus’ mortality no matter how strong the science or how long the delay.”
Cam nodded. “Thank you for your candor. And that’s why we can’t let these bones go back to Rome with you. As for the hardliners, in some ways our giving you an ultimatum should help you deal with them. You can present it to them as a take-it-or-leave-it scenario. If they reject our proposal, we will go public immediately.”
The envoy rubbed his fleshy chin. “Yes, that might help.” He gazed up at the ceiling. “I am also concerned that some in the Vatican might order the Basilica to cede the bones to the Vatican immediately. It would be a difficult order for Father Jean to ignore.”
Cam smiled. It was a subtle threat, well-played. “I am curious how the argument to turn the bones over would be made,” Cam said. “Clearly the Vatican would have a valid claim to the bones of Jesus. But how would the Vatican assert that claim without first acknowledging the possibility that the bones existed? Either the bones ascended to heaven or not—they can’t be in two places.”
“Well-argued, Mr. Thorne,” the envoy said, smiling.
Amanda jumped in. “There are two more things, Emissary. First, Cameron and I would like free and complete access to the Vatican archives.”
He took a deep breath and sighed, making a note on a legal pad. “I believe that should be acceptable.”
“And second, we will be providing a complete report of all of our research to a dozen high-ranking Freemasons in both Montreal and New England.” She and Cam knew they couldn’t trust the Vatican, and they didn’t relish the thought of spending the next decade feeling like they had a bull’s-eye on their backs. “In fact,” she continued, “a handful of local Freemasons have this material already.” Cam sipped at his juice to cover his surprise; this last statement was a flat-out lie. Not that he blamed Amanda. There was no reason to make anyone feel like this whole mess could be wiped away in the next couple of hours. “These Freemasons can be counted on to keep these secrets, just as Father Jean and his predecessors have done through the centuries. However, should anything happen to Cameron or myself, they will make our findings public immediately.”
“I understand,” the envoy said. He stood, using his arms to lift his mass from the chair. “I will need to consult with my superiors. Personally, I appreciate the concessions you have made. Eventually this decision will be made by the Holy Father. As you know, he answers only to God.”
Father Jean smiled and offered a half-bow. “With all due respect, Emissary, it seems like God is telling him pretty loudly what he needs to do. Hopefully the Holy Father is listening.”
The envoy returned to the function room a few minutes before noon. Amanda noticed a bounce in his step. “The Pope has agreed,” she whispered to Cam.
“How do you know?”
She smiled. “I just do.”
“The Holy Father has accepted your proposal,” the emissary announced, smiling. He turned to Father Jean. “Apparently he was listening to God.”
Father Jean bowed. “Well done, Emissary.”
“He has one concern, however,” the envoy said.
“Yes?” Cam responded.
“How are we to be sure that there are no others who know of your … findings? We must be sure there are no leaks. We will need the ten years to prepare the parishioners.”
“Fair enough,” Cam said. “I’m pretty sure Salazar won’t be saying anything, assuming he survives. Not that he even knows what we found here in Montreal.”
Amanda added, “And Eliza and Buckner still have much to gain. They’ll keep quiet because in the end it will help Astarte fulfill her destiny.”
“Not to mention Eliza is looking at some jail time here in Canada,” Georgia said. She looked over to her Canadian counterpart, who nodded. “My guess is she’ll be amenable to cutting a deal.” Georgia continued. “My boss in Virginia is the only other one who knows about this.”
“Can he be trusted?” Amanda asked.
She shrugged. “That’s his job. He keeps secrets. And the whole reason for this mission was to keep all this quiet.”
The envoy nodded. “Are there any other loose ends?”
Astarte cleared her throat. “Um, yes. Excuse me, but may I ask a question?”
Father Jean looked to the emissary, who nodded. “Of course, Astarte,” Farther Jean said.
“The Pope is very powerful, right?”
The Emissary gave her a funny look. Probably not too many little girls running around the Vatican. Finally he bent low and smiled at her. “Yes, very powerful.”
Astarte turned to Georgia. “And your boss is very powerful also, right?”
Georgia also smiled and nodded.
The girl took Amanda’s hand. What was the young princess up to? Astarte put her mouth against Amanda’s ear. “I would like them to use their power to make it so I can live with you and Mr. Cameron. There’s no place else for me now. I don’t want to live with Eliza. And Uncle Jefferson is dead. I would like to live with you.” She backed off and looked up at Amanda with wide eyes, the same imploring cobalt eyes that had lured Amanda into the bathroom four days earlier. “If you want me to, that is,” the girl said.
Amanda dropped to a knee and clutched the girl to her chest. The little girl’s heart thumped against hers. “Of course, of course we do,” she breathed.
“What?” Cam asked.
Amanda smiled at him, tears pooling in her eyes. She took his hand and held it to her cheek, Astarte’s soft breath warming their joined fingers. “We’re going to need to make room in our little castle for a young princess.”
EPILOGUE
A light snow had fallen overnight and the morning sun glistened off the powdery crystals sprinkled atop the flat edges of the round stone tower. Cam brushed the snow off a bench with his glove so Amanda, Astarte and he could sit. They sipped hot chocolate in the cold December air, staring at the fieldstone structure. He never got tired of studying the Newport Tower.
A month had passed since their adventures in Montreal. Cam had knee surgery, their other injuries had healed and, at least so far, nobody had taken any shots at them. Georgia had arranged for an agent to retrieve Venus for them while Salazar recovered from his injuries in a rehab center in Montreal.
“I thought the tower would be taller,” Astarte said as Venus tugged her to her feet and sniffed at the snow.
Amanda responded. “At one point it might have been. In any event the tower is probably the oldest structure in North America. It was built long before Columbus arrived, we think by the Knights Templar or their followers.”
The girl cocked her head to one side. “Why is there no roof?”
“There probably was at one time, a domed one,” Amanda said. “And also a wooden structure built around the tower, called an ambulatory. But this is all that is left.” A group of amateur archeologists had recently uncovered the remains of ancient wooden posts that would have supported the ambulatory. The structure probably originally resembled London’s Temple Church, built by the Templars in the late 12th century.
Cam limped around the tower to the west side, opposite the sun. He snapped a picture just as the sunrays burst through one of the narrow tower windows. He returned and showed the image.
NEWPORT TOWER WINTER SOLSTICE SUNRISE
“It looks like a starburst,” Astarte gasped, clapping her hands joyfully.
“It does,” Cam laughed. He had been hesitant about Astarte moving in with them—most couples did not assume guardianship of an eight-year-old girl before planning their own wedding. But now, a month later, it seemed as if she had always been part of their lives.
“How long before the … illumination?” Astarte asked. She had just learned the word and was pleased to use it correctly.
“Another couple o
f hours,” Amanda said. She pointed to a window on the east side of the tower. “At a little before eight o’clock the rising sun will pass through that window. As the sun rises higher in the sky and moves to the south, the light beam it casts through the window will shine on the opposite wall of the tower, moving lower as the sun gets higher. Do you see what I mean?”
Astarte nodded.
“Now, in ancient times the people feared that the sun was going to disappear every December as it sank lower and lower in the sky and the days got shorter and shorter.”
“And without the sun people would die.”
“Right. So when the sun finally began to climb again and the days began to get longer, the people held a big celebration. Today we call it Christmas, but in ancient times it had nothing to do with Jesus Christ. It was a celebration of the rebirth of the sun. The sun is reborn every year on the winter solstice.”
“That’s today, right?” the girl said. “December 21.”
Cam stood and led Astarte to the tower. He pointed to the archway joining two stone pillars on the far side of the structure. “See that egg-shaped stone at the top of the arch?” She nodded. “That’s called a keystone—it actually holds the arch up and prevents it from falling. But see how it is a bit off-center, and also a different color than the other stones?”
“Yes. It’s orange.”
“Now I want you to look around the entire tower and tell me if you see any other stones the same size and shape.”
Astarte slowly circled the structure, dutifully peering between the archways linking the eight pillars which supported the tower. She shook her head. “That’s the only one.”
Amanda had wandered over with Venus, her jacked unzipped despite the weather. Lately she seemed never to get cold. “This is called ‘having eyes that see,’ Astarte,” Amanda said. “The men who built this tower were very smart. And they were excellent masons. The fact that the stone is slightly off-center is no accident—it is a sign, calling attention to itself. And its unique shape and color are also signs. Again, we are supposed to pay attention.”
Astarte pondered this for a few seconds. “The shape is an egg. Is that important also?”
Amanda smiled. “Yes. But you’ll have to wait to see why.”
A small crowd had begun to form—in recent years the winter solstice illumination had become popular among Freemasons, New-Agers, Wiccans, Native Americans and generally anyone with an interest in history or religion. On a sunny day like today there would likely be hundreds of people viewing the spectacle.
“We still have an hour,” Amanda said to Cam. Astarte made friends with a young boy; together they began to build a snowman while Venus rolled in the snow. “This is a good chance to show you what I’ve learned.” They had been so busy coordinating Cam’s knee surgery, arranging for testing of the scroll, consulting with Father Jean regarding the DNA testing on the bones, and making arrangements for gaining custody of Astarte that they had little time to follow up on the research that led them to the discovery of Jesus’ bones in the first place. But Amanda had made some discoveries last night she was anxious to share.
“Okay,” she said. “I think Leonardo da Vinci knew all about Jesus usurping John the Baptist and not really being immortal. His paintings are full of clues.”
“Someone should write a book,” Cam said.
Amanda tossed a mitten-full of snow in his face. “Just listen.” She took a deep breath. “First, let’s start with Salome. Remember, she’s the one who asked King Herod for John the Baptist’s head after she got Herod and his guests all aroused with her dance of the seven veils.”
Cam nodded. Herod had married Salome’s mother, Herodias, who had been married to Herod’s brother. Herodias and Salome were upset because John the Baptist condemned the marriage as illegal under Jewish law. “Nice family. The stepdaughter seduces the stepfather, who also happens to be her uncle, and convinces him to behead the chief rabbi.”
“So back to da Vinci. The Italian word for Salome is Salomina.” She wrote out the name on a small pad of paper. “Salomina is an anagram for Mona Lisa.” She sat back against the bench. “See that?”
“Okay,” Cam said. Interesting, but hardly earth-shattering.
“And what does the name Mona Lisa mean?”
Cam shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think it means anything.”
“Exactly. For centuries scholars have been trying to figure it out. Nobody’s come up with a good answer. I think it was da Vinci’s way of saying, ‘Hey, pay attention to Salome. Pay attention to John the Baptist.’”
“Okay. We know da Vinci used anagrams and word plays a lot. And he was definitely an initiate.” Most historians believed he belonged to one of the ancient secret societies. “But I’m not sure the anagram is enough proof….”
Amanda smiled. “Don’t worry, I have more.” She shifted on the bench. “Do you remember the name of John the Baptist’s mother?”
Cam shook his head. “Mrs. Baptist?” He ducked another mitten-full of snow.
“His mother was Elizabeth. In Italian that’s Elisabetta, spelled with an ‘s’ instead of a ‘z.’ And mother in Italian is Madonna. So look at this.” She wrote out MadONnA eLISAbetta on the pad, with certain letters capitalized. “So Mona Lisa could be code for Elizabeth. Another tie back to John the Baptist.”
“Hmm.” This could still all be a coincidence, except for da Vinci’s reputation for wordplay and imbedding secret meanings in his paintings.
“So here’s where it gets really interesting.” Amanda smiled and opened her laptop. “This is a picture of the Mona Lisa. What are the two things you notice right away?”
MONA LISA, LEONARDO DA VINCI
“I would say the smile—it looks like she’s keeping a secret. And also she looks sort of … androgynous.”
“Spot on. That’s what most people notice. Let’s focus on the androgynous part first.” She clicked at the laptop. “Now take a look at this. This is a da Vinci portrait of John the Baptist.”
ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST, LEONARDO DA VINCI
“Wow. He looks almost feminine—look how delicate his hand is. And where’s his facial hair?” Almost every portrait of John the Baptist portrayed him with a thick beard, to show his hermetic lifestyle.
“Now look at the smile.”
Cam nodded. “Same smile as the Mona Lisa. Like they are keeping a secret.”
“Now look at the two faces. What do you see?”
Cam studied the features. “Holy shit. The features are almost identical. Same nose, same mouth, same skin tone. And look at the chin. It’s like they were brother and sister.”
Amanda waited until he looked up at her before responding. “Or mother and son.”
Cam couldn’t help but chuckle; the entire past month had been so surreal and sometimes downright bizarre. “Oh my gosh, you’re right. That could be it. The Mona Lisa is supposed to be John the Baptist’s mother.”
Amanda smiled. “Mona Lisa. Madonna Elisabetta. Mother Elizabeth.”
Cam mulled it over a few seconds. “So why are they androgynous? And what’s the secret they know?”
“I’m betting the secret they know is the same one we just discovered: Jesus is not divine, and he usurped half the godhead from John the Baptist. And it’s not just the smile—look how John the Baptist is pointing up to heaven, as if to say, ‘I’m going up.’ In fact, whenever da Vinci painted John the Baptist, he is pointing to heaven.”
“Wow. Good stuff, Amanda.”
“You know, the divinity part is a big deal to us today, but I think back then what was really important was the concept of duality: The godhead is supposed to be both male and female, sun and earth, yin and yang, Mars and Venus, king and priest. The Baptist is shown with feminine qualities as a counterbalance to the male-dominated Church. God is supposed to be both male and female. That was a key part of Gnostic belief. The Templars knew the truth. And so did da Vinci.” She gestured toward the images. “Da Vinci painted thes
e portraits so that people with eyes that see would know all this. That’s the secret behind their smiles.”
Cam nodded. “Duality. You’re right, that’s it.” He studied the images. “And that might be another reason why John the Baptist is always pointing up to heaven. As above, so below. Heaven and earth. More duality.”
Amanda leaned over and kissed him lightly. “Well done. No wonder I love you so much.” She pulled up another image on her laptop. “We looked at this on our drive to the Catskills. It’s da Vinci’s Virgin of the Rocks.”
VIRGIN OF THE ROCKS, LEONARDO DA VINCI
Cam studied the painting. There was a lot going on here. They had already noticed the oddity of Jesus praying to John the Baptist. Cam noticed that the rocks were all phallus-shaped, which was probably da Vinci mocking the idea of the Virgin Mary truly being a virgin. “The babies are the same age—isn’t John supposed to be six months older than Jesus?”
Amanda nodded. “Supposedly, yes. But I think da Vinci is showing them here as twins. Equals. In other portraits they are shown as light-haired and dark-haired twins. Again, duality.”
“And look at baby John holding up two fingers.”
“Right. Duality once more. He’s saying, ‘There are two of us.’”
Cam sat back on the bench. He had been so engrossed in their discussion that he hadn’t notice the park filling with people. In about twenty minutes the illumination would begin. He shook his head. “Da Vinci was really good. He had to reveal all this without getting himself killed. If the Church knew what he was really up to….”
“It wasn’t just him. Other initiates kept the secrets also.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re going to show me another painting?”
She grinned. “Just to close the loop on all this. And also to prove how brilliantly insightful I am--”
“Oh boy. Here it comes.”
“I often wondered why so many of the paintings of Mary Magdalene depict her with a skull. The conventional explanation is that the skull represents death. But if that’s the case why is she so often portrayed staring longingly at it, like this?” She turned the computer screen toward Cam.
Thief on the Cross: Templar Secrets in America (Templars in America Series Book 2) Page 32
