“He’s right,” Amari said. “Evil isn’t the Bible’s fault. The Bible just warns us it’s there. For most people religion is a wonderful thing. It offers hope.”
“For you!” Jeremy spat. “Not for everyone.”
“And how are you changing that?” she asked. “By killing people and burning down churches?”
“It’s like a line of dominos. All I’ve got to do is knock the first few down.”
“Jerry, I know you’re trying to start a holy war,” Kevin said. “Maybe you think Christians and Muslims will finish each other off. But that’s never going to happen. Not because of what you’re doing. You’re acting crazy.”
“Crazy? You think I’m crazy? It took just one bullet to start World War I—the assassination of Franz Ferdinand. I’ve already killed four. Five if you count my stepfather. The two of you make seven. That gives me seven times the odds. Besides, it’s already started. Have you seen the news in Tucson? All it takes is a spark to cause a fire. And it was going so well, until you two came along.”
“Because of what we’re doing with the Shroud?” she asked.
“Of course, because of the Shroud. If somehow you’re right,” Jeremy said and pointed to the cathedral. “If you somehow prove that old rag came from Jesus, how many more people will convert to Christianity? You’ll tip the scale. It won’t be a fair fight anymore. Those people I killed would have died in vain. It would be cruel to let that happen. Un-Christian, don’t you think?”
“Jeremy, listen. I’m not that smart,” she pleaded. “If I figured this out, somebody else will. It’s just a matter of time. Killing us only turns us into martyrs. It will only bring the world’s attention to the Shroud. Just like the Christian martyrs helped spread Christianity.”
“You don’t think I thought of that?” Jeremy said. “You think I came all this way just to kill you? If I tried a little harder, I could have done that in Tucson.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cylinder shaped can with a curved handle. He displayed it proudly in his hand. “This is a military incendiary grenade. This thing will burn a hole in an army tank. After I kill the two of you, I’m going to kill the Shroud. I’ll finish what that fire started in 1532,” he said and slid the grenade back into his pocket.
“Jeremy, you’re delusional,” she said. “They have armed guards in there.”
“I’ve got a gun too. Besides, I’m a priest, remember? They’re not going to shoot me. They’ll be dead before they know what hit them.”
A man rushed toward them from the plaza—the man in the Mercedes. He aimed his gun and yelled, “Drop it, or I’ll shoot!”
In a flash, Jeremy spun around and shot. A bullet pelted the man’s chest. He fell backward, his gun skittering across the stone floor, inches from Amari’s foot. She eyed the gun, calculating her chances. Jeremy rushed forward and kicked the gun out of reach. “Nobody invited you to this party,” he said to the man who laid on the ground, clutching his chest. “Don’t make me waste any more of my bullets on you.”
“Leave them alone,” the Mercedes man pleaded, his voice strained because of the pain. “The police are on their way. If you leave now, you might escape.”
A rush of realization. Those men in the Mercedes. They weren’t stalking her. They were protecting her.
“Then I’d better hurry and finish this,” Jeremy said, keeping his eyes fixed on her and Kevin.
Jeremy cocked the revolver. Amari braced herself. Oh, God, please . . .
A gun cracked. Jeremy jerked his arm back and his gun toppled to the ground.
Kevin quickly stooped down and grabbed the gun. He brought Jeremy into the sites. “Don’t move, Jerry!”
Suddenly, Father Jacob ran into the underpass with his own gun drawn.
Jeremy steadied his wrist with the other hand. Red arterial blood gushed from the bullet hole in his wrist. “Ahhhhhoowww!” Jeremy wailed, his cry a haunting echo in the building-walled piazza.
“You’re not the only one pretending to be a priest,” Father Jacob declared, keeping his gun pointed at Jeremy.
“That really hurts!” Jeremy howled, trembling with pain. The tears in his eyes seemed to magnify their ruthless blue hue. The horror in his eyes morphed into hateful resolve. With his good hand, he pulled the grenade from his coat pocket, pulled the pin with his teeth, and cocked his arm to throw.
Chapter 46
A shot rang from Father Jacob’s gun. The bullet pierced Jeremy’s side. He hunched over from the pain and dropped to his knees. With his fist tightly around the grenade, he reflexively brought the hand down and applied pressure to his wound, his fingers still tight around the handle. Once he released the handle, the grenade would ignite within seconds.
“You . . . you ruined everything,” Jeremy uttered. His black shirt glistened wet as blood spread from his wound. His face grew pale. He drew in a long breath and exhaled. His eyes seemed to lose focus and his tense face relaxed. He fell forward with a thud, atop the grenade.
“Amari, get back,” Kevin said and pulled her behind a support pillar.
There was no blast. Just a spitting sound. She peered around the column. Smoke billowed from under Jeremy’s corpse, white sparks shooting out the sides. He pulled her back around the column and drew her face to his chest so she couldn’t see the blazing carnage. “It’s over now. For real this time. Everything’s going to be okay.”
She pulled free and chanced another glimpse of the terrifying scene. Flame erupted from Jeremy. The grenade hissed and sparked under his flaming torso. Two Italian police officers ran forward but kept a careful distance.
“Let’s go,” he said and ushered her around to the front steps of the church.
They stood in front of the church as more police rushed in, one carrying a fire extinguisher. Amari was stunned, staring into the square in front of St. John the Baptist Cathedral as she sorted what had just happened. Her eyes drifted heavenward and she mouthed the words thank you.
A moment later, Father Jacob and the man from the Mercedes joined them at the steps. Father Jacob had a bloodied gash on the left side of his forehead.
Amari rushed to the Mercedes man. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be sore tomorrow,” he said and pulled back his shirt to reveal a bullet proof vest. “Knocked the breath out of me, but I’m okay. What about you?”
“I am now,” she said. “Father Jacob? Were you the other man in the Mercedes? The driver? I got a look at him, but I never saw your face.”
“That was me,” he said.
“Why didn’t you guys tell us you were on our side?” Kevin asked.
“Our boss ordered us not to,” Father Jacob said.
“And who exactly is your boss?” Kevin asked.
“After you meet with the cardinal, I’ll introduce you to him. As for me, my name is Jacob Bonelli. My parents are Italian, but I was born in Fresno, California. Obviously, I’m no priest, but I did consider becoming one until I was drafted for the Vietnam War. My partner here is Mitch Parker. We served together in Special Forces over there.”
Mitch rubbed at his stubby beard. “I think you might have cracked a tooth,” he said to Amari. “We could have used someone like you back in Nam.”
“Sorry about that,” she said. “You should have said something. You shouldn’t have been sneaking around, following me.”
“We actually divided our time between the two of you,” Jacob said to her. “At first our mission was to investigate you, to find out everything we could about you and report back to our boss. He saw you on television and wanted to know if your claims were credible. We interviewed some of your neighbors. We know about your father, about how you learned the craft of weaving from your mother, and also about your mother’s death from breast cancer.
After you were assaulted in the library, our mission was to protect you. It wasn’t an easy task. I regret we couldn’t always do it, but you should know there were two other occasions, not including this last one, that we were able to
help. One attempt on Dr. Brenner’s life was thwarted, and one on yours, Amari. He came up behind you on his motorcycle one night, but he broke his pursuit when he saw us following. We tried to catch him but lost him in the desert. Our car was no match for his bike. Something similar happened with Dr. Brenner in the parking lot of his apartment.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” she asked. “You could have told my dad and you could work together.”
“Like I said, our boss ordered us not to. He wanted us to investigate your activities and protect you if we felt you were in danger. Nothing more.”
“So who is your boss?” she asked.
“We’ll discuss that later. Right now, you have a meeting with the cardinal. He leaves the country soon, so we must hurry.”
“Dang it!” Kevin said. “I left my briefcase in your car.”
“I’ll get your briefcase, Dr. Brenner. You go inside and I will meet you there.”
“You saved the Shroud, Jacob,” she said. “He was going to destroy it.”
“I doubt that,” Jacob said. “The Shroud is in a thick vault underneath the church. He wouldn’t have gotten close.”
“Then why would he even try?”
“Because he’s insane,” Kevin answered. “Was insane anyway.”
Chapter 47
Amari used the church office phone to call her dad and ensured him she was fine. She couldn’t talk long, though, because the cardinal was waiting. She learned that her dad had called to warn the local police. Unfortunately, because the room was registered under Jacob’s name, the police had no way to locate them.
Later that morning, Amari, Kevin, Cardinal Ragazzi, Professor Luigi Messina, and Father Como sat in front of crumb littered breakfast plates. The last few drops of coffee in fine china mugs and juice in crystal glasses sat on a long table inside an ornate ballroom. Cardinal Ragazzi wore an ankle-length cassock with red buttons down the front. A red sash wrapped his stomach, and he wore a matching red cap over his silver hair. A gold cross hung from a chain around his neck. He sat nodding with interest as Amari and Kevin made their individual cases, flipping through papers and showing pictures. It was slow going because, even though Cardinal Ragazzi and Professor Messina spoke a little English, Father Como had to translate, especially when it came to Kevin’s technical jargon.
When Kevin had wrapped up his presentation, the cardinal asked that Amari and Kevin wait in the hall while he spoke with his science advisor. Jacob waited for them in the hallway, the cut on his head now cleaned and bandaged.
A few minutes later, Professor Messina came out. He took Kevin’s hand and cupped it within his own as he shook, and then moved to Amari and shook her hand. “Thanks a so much. I, uh, very impressed. Now, I have class to teach. Arrivederci,” he said and walked down the hall.
Father Como came out next and asked them to come back inside. Jacob waited for them in the hallway. When she and Kevin sat, Cardinal Ragazzi smiled pleasantly and nodded as Father Como did all the talking.
“First of all,” Father Como said, “Cardinal Ragazzi would like to thank you for your hard work and remarkable dedication to the truth concerning the Shroud. He heard about what happened outside and has been made aware of the attempts against your life as a way of preventing you from delivering this information. He appreciates your bravery and will most certainly keep both of you in his prayers. As for your research, he and Professor Messina are most intrigued. However, he does not have the authority to allow access to the Shroud. The permission must come from Pope John Paul. And unfortunately, protocols for getting approval to study the Shroud are long and tedious. There is no guarantee a further sampling of the Shroud will be allowed. However, Dr. Brenner, Cardinal Ragazzi wants you to continue developing your tests. Once you have perfected your techniques, then perhaps the Vatican will allow another sampling.”
“So what you’re saying is maybe,” Amari said.
“Yes, maybe. Maybe in a few months, maybe a few years, but I think eventually more study will be allowed. In the meantime, all your research will be forwarded to the Vatican. You have done an outstanding job,” Father Como said. “You should be very proud.”
“Okay, well, thanks,” Kevin said and stood. “That French crepe was awesome.”
“Before you go, there’s one more thing the cardinal would like to add. Something that might give you solace, perhaps a way to view things differently as you wait for Papal approval.”
“We’re all ears,” Kevin said and sat back down.
“Cardinal Ragazzi wants you to realize that God desires people to have free will. If absolute proof was offered, then people would worship and obey out of fear, which is no worship at all. It would make them slaves to that fear. God wants people to come to him out of love, not fear. If someone chooses by his own will to reject God, he must be given that option. This person will believe the carbon date. But if someone chooses to believe, most of the evidence supports that belief.”
“More than ninety-nine percent of the evidence says the Shroud came from Jesus,” Kevin said.
“And for those who wish to deny that evidence, they may cling to the carbon date. ‘Seek and you shall find, knock and the door shall be opened.’ Cardinal Ragazzi encourages you to publish your findings. Publicize them. Make them known to the world. That way, when people do seek, you can make it easier for them to find. And, of course, we will also, with your permission, make your findings public knowledge.”
Amari and Kevin looked at each other and nodded. “You have our permission,” she said. “Just, would you mind keeping our names out of this? Just in case there’s someone else that might, you know, want to kill us over it.”
“I think we can do that. Our public records will state the research, without revealing your names.”
“Thank you,” she said. “That would be great.”
The cardinal rose and offered his blessings, then disappeared behind a gold painted door. Father Como escorted her and Kevin back to the hall where they found Jacob waiting.
“So how did it go?” Jacob asked.
“It went well,” she said. “I’d say we achieved our goals, wouldn’t you, Kevin?”
“Absolutely. Now I just gotta get down to work and develop more tests so the Pope will have more to go on. It might take years, but this is the first step. Next, I gotta find the money.”
“You never know what might happen,” Jacob said. “Follow me. My boss wants to meet you.”
He led them down a long hall with a high molded ceiling. Antique oil paintings lined the walls of the hall. Jacob spoke as they meandered their way toward a staircase. “If it seems like I have the run of this place, it’s because my boss is friends with Cardinal Ragazzi. He gives the church millions every year. That kind of charity buys a lot of loyalty.”
“Your boss is a rich dude,” Kevin said.
“Rich not only in money but in spirit. His name is Ernesto Galliano. His parents are from Italy, from the region of Perugia, north of Rome. When they immigrated to the United States after World War II, Ernesto’s father started a car part manufacturing plant in Fresno. He supplied parts for GM, Chrysler, and Ford. The company grew and opened several factories across the United States and Mexico.”
“Amari’s car might need a few parts,” Kevin said.
“Funny,” she said.
Jacob grinned and continued his talk. “As I was saying, they had Ernesto in 1952, but it was a complicated pregnancy, and they couldn’t give birth again. Ernesto is an only child. Ernesto was drawn to God at an early age and wanted badly to be a priest. His mother encouraged his desire, but his father wouldn’t have it. Instead, he groomed Ernesto to manage his business. In 1970, Ernesto went off to Berkeley and, unfortunately, his parents divorced. His mother moved to a mountain estate in Chivasso, just east of Turin. Ernesto remains very close to his mother and often stays with her in her estate. He divides his time between here and Fresno.”
“So you follow him out here?” she asked.
“Yes, we are part of his private security.” They reached a flight of stairs. “This way. Ernesto was praying in the cathedral, but he should be finished now.”
As they descended the stairs, Jacob finished his story. “In 1974, Ernesto’s father died and left a billion-dollar company to his 22-year old son. However, Ernesto sold the company and dedicated himself to serving God. He works closely with Catholic Charities. He founded the Rossi Foundation—his mother’s maiden name—and he turned his father’s estate in California into an orphanage for abused children.”
“Wow,” she said. “What an inspiring story. But what does that have to do with us?”
“His fascination with the Shroud that lies beneath this church. When he became aware of The Shroud of Turin Research Project, he was captivated by the possibility that the Shroud was the true burial cloth of Christ. When the carbon date came out, he was very skeptical because every other shred of evidence suggested the Shroud was genuine.”
When they reached the foot of the stairs, Amari noticed Professor Messina speaking to another man. They said their goodbyes and the professor proceeded down the hall, toward the exit.
Jacob walked over to the man the professor was speaking with. He was young, mid-thirties maybe. He had black, wavy hair and a beard that looked like it could have belonged to Jesus. He even had scars on his forehead that looked like they could have come from a crown of thorns. He wore no jewelry and even his simple wardrobe, a beige tunic-like shirt and blue jeans, seemed to be something Jesus would wear if he came to minister in 1989.
“Amari, Dr. Brenner, I want you to meet my boss. This is Ernesto Galliano.”
Ernesto bowed his head respectfully. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. I apologize for not coming forward sooner, but if your attacker saw you associating with my men, then he may have targeted them first, and then come after you. They are like brothers to me, so I couldn’t put them in that sort of danger. It was better that they hid in the shadows. That way, they would have the element of surprise and perhaps stop this monster.” Ernesto gripped Jacob by the ball of his shoulder. “Which they did, I understand.”
Carbon-14: The Shroud of Turin (An Amari Johnston Novel) Page 27
