by John Sneeden
“Not that I remember. Why?”
“He is the CEO of the organization your father worked for. I did some Internet research last night, and it seems he’s a very interesting man.”
“Oh?” Amanda sat down in a chair, her curiosity now piqued. “How so?”
“Well, for one thing, he’s deeply involved in transhumanism.”
“I’ve heard of transhumanism but don’t know much about it. Is it a bad thing?”
“His brand of it could be. It’s a broad movement, but at the core of their beliefs is the notion that the condition of man can be improved through the use of technology.”
“Hard to see anything wrong with that.”
“On the surface, you’re right. But when I began to dig deeper I saw there were some beliefs and goals that many would find disturbing. Essentially they believe they can bring eternal life to the human condition through the fusing of the human mind and soul with robotics and nanotechnology. They want to transform man into a new organism. One person called it ‘the next logical step in enhanced natural selection.’”
Amanda frowned. “So basically, they’re trying to play God.”
“Esattamente! That’s exactly what they’re trying to do. And without thinking through the moral or ethical implications. They’re moving ahead, working in the shadows without consulting the public at large. It seems fraught with danger if you ask me.”
“Do you think this might have something to do with why they killed my father?”
The Italian shrugged. “I guess we’re just going to have to keep following the trail until we find out.”
As Carmen finished her sentence, there was a tap on the door. She walked over, looked through the peephole, and then opened up.
“Bonsoir, mesdames,” Zane announced as he walked into the room.
Carmen closed the door behind him. “Bonsoir. You must be Monsieur Creep from the lobby.”
“Boy, word travels fast in this place.”
“Actually we were just talking about you,” said Amanda.
“Good or bad?”
“Well… I just learned some unsettling things.”
Carmen clicked a magazine into Zane’s Glock and handed it to him. “I told Amanda you couldn’t hit Lake Geneva even if you were firing from one of the cruise boats.”
“So, first I have Nigel book this hotel for personal reasons, and now I can’t shoot straight. You picked a hell of a partner, Carmen.”
“Oh, I think you’ll do.” She patted his shoulder as she walked by.
“So, we’re going over to the cathedral after dinner?” Amanda asked.
“I know it’s a bit early, but I’d like to look things over in advance,” Zane explained. “Your father wanted us there at ten o’clock, and I assume that means something is going to happen right about that time. That being the case, I don’t want to walk in blind. I want to know everything about this place—how we get in, how we get out, what else is around there.”
“It would have been nice to get over there while it was still light out,” Carmen added.
“Agreed, although perhaps we’ll have a little more cover now that it’s dark. The thing that concerns me is that we’re going to be pressed for time. In fact, the more I think about it, we may even need to split up.”
Amanda frowned. “I’m not sure I like that idea.”
“You and Carmen will be together,” Zane reassured her, and Amanda relaxed. “We have no idea what is going to happen at ten, so we need to be watching all sides of this place.”
“Zane, I checked the Internet, and St. Pierre will be closed by ten tonight,” Carmen said as she walked over to the window.
“I noticed that as well. Amanda’s father didn’t tell us a.m. or p.m., so we need to be there for both. My guess is that he meant ten in the morning, since that’s when the cathedral will be open, but I’m also mindful that Vienna didn’t pan out exactly as we had expected.”
Carmen parted the curtains and looked out the window. After staring down at the street for a moment, she frowned and looked back at Zane. “I think we’re going to have an interesting evening.”
“How so?”
“We’re getting hit with a bad storm. Correction, we’re getting hit with a blizzard.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“WOW. JUST, WOW,” Amanda said as she looked up at the front of the St. Pierre Cathedral, whose columned front was illuminated by a series of lights under the portico. She and Carmen were standing in the square while Zane went up to check the three massive wooden doors at the entrance.
The snow and the wind had picked up during the cab ride over, so Carmen leaned closer to her. “What did you say?”
“I just can’t believe how beautiful the cathedral is. European architecture is not my area of expertise, but it appears to be a combination of Romanesque and Gothic.”
“I can see the Romanesque part. Not sure I’d know Gothic if I saw it.”
“Look to your right at the addition. Think Paris.”
“Got it,” Carmen said, nodding. “I hate to say this, but I’m from Florence, and well… call me unimpressed.”
As Carmen finished her sentence, Zane returned, hands in pockets. “Nothing. No self-respecting priest would be out in this mess.”
“What now?” Amanda asked.
“Well, unfortunately we don’t have much time.” He looked at his phone. “If conditions were better, I’d say we should walk the square and see what else is here.”
Just as he spoke, Carmen spotted a couple coming toward them, arm in arm. As they passed, the man gave the woman a kiss on the cheek, his romantic inclinations apparently not dampened by the weather. Carmen continued to watch them as they walked across the square and turned right at the next street.
“Let’s go ahead and set up,” Zane said. “It’s still more likely that Ian meant ten o’clock in the morning, but we need to make sure we don’t miss anything tonight. It's possible that they hold some sort of service at ten o’clock. And if that’s the case, we need to be in that service.”
*
It was decided that they would take up positions at the front and the rear of the cathedral. Zane insisted they remain hidden, on the off chance that the thugs had been able to follow them to Geneva.
After briefly scanning the area, Carmen decided that she and Amanda would stand behind a large tree that stood on the opposite side of the square, and from there they would watch the front entrance. Zane would then cover the rear of the cathedral on his own.
As soon as he confirmed that the other two were settled behind the tree, Zane walked around the side of the ancient structure. He passed a couple more groups of people trying to scamper their way home, but none looked suspicious. When he arrived at the rear, he stopped and looked for a place to hide. The area was mostly dark, with the only illumination coming from a lantern hanging over a small door at the back entrance. He found a group of trees about twenty yards away that weren’t overly large but would give him some cover and maybe even shelter from the snow.
Zane turned around and looked back at the cathedral. It was perfect. Setting up at the tree would give him a clear view of the entrance. Although it didn’t seem possible, the snow was falling even harder as he got down on one knee next to the trunk of the largest tree. The wind was blowing sideways, dropping visibility down to just about zero.
I need to talk to Ross about inclement weather pay, Zane thought as he settled in.
Even though Geneva was used to rough winter storms, Zane doubted any scheduled event would still be on tonight. The weather was bad, even by Swiss standards. That said, they would wait it out and see what happened. Zane couldn’t help but think about how clever Higgs had been with the clue he had left in Vienna, and that they could expect him to come through in Geneva as well.
Zane glanced at the time again and noted that it was five minutes before ten. They would soon know if the night was going to give up any secrets. He thought about what they would do next if t
hings came up empty tonight and again in the morning. He knew that at some point they had to go inside and look around, perhaps even talk to some of the staff. That might raise questions, but it also might be their only hope of finding out what Higgs had left behind.
But what if the cathedral had nothing to do with the clue? After all, Higgs had only given them the name of the square, Place Bourg-Saint-Pierre. Zane quickly dismissed that thought. They’d look elsewhere if they needed to, but the cathedral needed to be the focal point for the moment.
Just as Zane was about to check the time again, he heard the noise. Despite the wind, it was distinct to his trained ears. It was a scraping sound approximately fifty yards away. Seeking greater concealment, he moved to the other side of the tree and removed the Glock from the pocket of his trench coat. He remembered the events in Vienna and wasn’t going to take any chances.
The sound came again, louder than before. Finally, Zane figured out what he was hearing. What had seemed like scraping was actually the sound of someone walking down the alley to his left. The person was wearing boots or heavy shoes that occasionally rubbed against the frozen surface.
A gust of wind blew across the back of the church, further lowering visibility. Zane leaned around the tree and squinted as the sound of each step grew more and more distinct. The gust died down, and Zane could finally see the shape of someone walking. As the person drew closer, he realized that it was a man of slight frame, walking slowly, with his head down. When the man reached a point even with the tree, Zane drew back so as not to be seen.
A few steps later the man turned left, causing the hairs on the back of Zane’s neck to rise. The man was moving directly toward the rear door of the church.
And it was ten o’clock.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PASTOR PHILIPPE BACHAND kept his head low as he walked up the steep alley toward St. Pierre Cathedral. The snow was blowing too hard for him to raise his head, but then again, looking up wasn’t necessary. He had made the walk virtually every night for the last six years and knew every twist and turn of the route like the back of his hand. In fact, he once joked to his staff that if a crack developed in any of the stones, he would know immediately.
Having lived in Geneva for most of his adult life, Philippe could tell that the storm blowing in was not the typical one that hit Geneva in December. It was going to be bad. He had seen the soot-black clouds rolling in during his afternoon walk along the waterfront a few hours earlier, and as he looked down at his feet, he observed that the stone pathway was already covered with about an inch of snow. He knew he’d need to be careful when he returned home in an hour or so.
As the alley leveled off, Philippe lifted his head and stole a quick glance ahead. The light at the rear entrance to St. Pierre glowed like a small beacon in the storm. A couple more minutes and he would be inside the old cathedral, shielded from the wind and praying to his Lord. His nightly vigil had deepened his faith, allowing him to set aside time to be alone with God, regardless of what was going on in his life. Philippe had always come here during the worst storms of life, and he wasn’t about to let an actual storm stop him.
Just about the time that he exited the alley and crossed into the courtyard, the strange feeling hit him. He sensed that there was someone out there, hiding in the storm, watching him.
Are you speaking to me, Lord? He paused for a brief second, but when the feeling passed, he continued on his way.
"That was strange," he muttered under his breath, unable to quite discern what had just happened.
The snow was blowing sideways when he finally stepped under the light at the rear of the cathedral. He was so glad Mario had changed the bulb the week before. He’d have a rough time getting it open in the dark on a snowy night.
Removing his thick gloves, Philippe dug into the pocket of his coat and removed a bulky set of keys. He chose the largest one and inserted it in the weathered lock. It turned with a groan and a click, and the heavy wooden door slid open.
A deep voice broke the silence behind him. “Bonsoir, monsieur.”
Philippe jumped and then swiveled around, while still holding the door open. Standing behind him, just inside the perimeter of the light, was a tall, handsome man with long brown hair that flowed out from underneath a black toboggan. Philippe saw that the man’s left hand was hanging at his side, but the other was buried at a weird angle in his right coat pocket. The placement of the hidden right hand concerned him.
“Bonsoir,” Philippe answered nervously, using his back to keep the door open.
The man took another step closer. “Est-ce que vous parlez anglais?”
“Yes, I speak English,” Philippe answered.
“I know this may seem weird approaching you in the middle of a storm like this, but I think you might be able to help me with something.”
Philippe realized from the accent that the man was American. “Sir, if you would like to come back in the morning we would be most happy to help you—”
“No, it’s not that kind of help,” said the long-haired man. He paused for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “Do you know a man named Ian Higgs?”
Philippe’s eyes widened a bit, but he didn’t answer. He took a slight step backwards and was now partly inside the building.
“You do know him, don’t you?” the man asked. “Look, I’m here on his behalf. Something—”
Before the man could finish, Philippe stepped quickly back, slammed the door, and turned the latch. He then stood there for a moment in the dark, catching his breath. His heart felt as though it was going to beat out of his chest, but he was safe.
Could it really be true? His thoughts flashed back to a meeting that had taken place in his office about a month before. It was the last time he talked to his American friend, Ian Higgs. It was coming back clearly now, almost like a vision. They were sitting in Philippe’s office at the rear of the cathedral, and Ian was drinking a cappuccino.
The American had come to say good-bye. He told Philippe that he was going to return to the States, and he expressed his appreciation for all that the pastor had done to minister to him during his time in Switzerland.
Despite the lucrative pay, Philippe could tell that the new job had weighed heavily on his friend. The only good thing was that it had caused him to explore faith for the first time in his life, which in turn led him to travel regularly to St. Pierre for spiritual guidance.
About fifteen minutes into their conversation, Ian had set his empty cappuccino cup on the table and just stared at Philippe. Philippe was not about to say anything, as it was obvious the American was about to convey something important. A few seconds later, Ian had drawn a deep breath, pulled something out of his knapsack, and handed the object to Philippe. It was a gift for his daughter, Amanda, and it was only to be given to her, and only if she came to the church to claim it. The statement that it was only to be given to his daughter, and only if she showed up, was strange enough, but it was Ian’s next statement that Philippe found even more disturbing. Ian said it was possible other people might come to the cathedral asking questions, and under no circumstances was Philippe to give the gift to them or even discuss what it was.
Alarmed, Philippe had peppered his friend with questions. At first, Ian had been reluctant to answer, but he finally settled back into his chair and told Philippe about the company he worked for. It turned out that his work wasn't what he had been promised two years prior. The company was involved in dark things—so dark that Ian realized he could no longer work there. He told Philippe that he feared what his employer might do to retaliate.
Philippe spent the next few minutes trying to convince Ian to go to the authorities, but to no avail. Ian believed he needed to make his way back to the States and talk to the right people. He also said that some of the things he had discovered would be hard to prove. He even made Philippe promise that he would never discuss their conversation with anyone except his daughter, Amanda.
When Ian l
eft the office that day, the two friends embraced. Philippe hoped that Ian’s fears were unfounded, but those hopes were dashed a few weeks later when he watched a local newscaster report on the American scientist who had been murdered on the streets of London.
Philippe had thought of calling the authorities immediately but then remembered his promise not to discuss the matter with anyone. Hearing from Amanda Higgs would solve everything, but thus far she hadn’t made contact. Thankfully, no one else had either—until that night.
That thought echoed in Philippe’s mind as he gathered himself at the back of the cathedral. He realized he needed to act quickly, so he walked down the dark corridor and into the nave. The cavernous space was mostly dark, with only a couple of small lights on near the front entrance. Stained glass windows rose majestically up on each side of the nave behind the rows of stone arches.
Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Philippe walked in front of the altar and down a hall on the other side. He would check one thing before calling his friend who worked with the Geneva police department.
Philippe had almost reached his office when he heard a loud click. He thought it had come from the direction of the nave, but he couldn’t be sure. Sounds had an odd way of echoing in the old building. He retraced his steps and peered down the aisle, toward the front. It was mostly dark, but nothing seemed to move. It was probably the long-haired man trying to get in. Philippe smiled at the thought—it would take a small army to penetrate those doors.
He made his way back down the hall again and entered his office. There were no windows in the room, so he took the liberty of lighting a candle on his desk. The flame flickered to life, illuminating an antique desk, chairs, and a bookcase filled with various editions of the Bible and a number of theological books.
Philippe pulled out a chair, sat down, and moved the candle to the other end of the desk in order to cast light on a small black safe that sat on the floor. Philippe leaned forward and pressed a series of numbers into the safe's keypad. The keypad screen turned green, followed by a buzzing sound. He turned the handle and opened the door.
