by Tom Haase
Jonathan observed Scott search his eyes so he held his gaze without blinking. Finally, after a few seconds Scott seemed to make his decision. He gave a wry smile, and said, “I want to believe you. I guess I’ve got to have help so I’ll tell you what I know.”
Despite his reservations, Scott led Jonathan back to his hotel room and explained the entire map, chess set up, and code. He realized that Scott still reserved his judgment and probably some knowledge, as he was a stranger who somehow had inserted himself into their lives. Scott had finally realized that he did need some assistance if he were to rescue Bridget. That alone had made him reveal as much as he had.
“What about a list of items in the trove?” Jonathan asked, going to the window to look out. Just as he suspected, the two Iranian kept watch. Sitting in an open-air café fifty yards up the street they could observe the front of the hotel.
He turned back to Scott but didn’t mention what he saw from the window. Not yet, he needed to find out everything Scott Donavan knew. In the end, he would help him get his sister back. He couldn’t allow the Iranians to kill her and he understood that was exactly what those fanatics would do.
* * * *
Scott knew he shouldn’t be spilling so much information. But the man calling himself Stephen already seemed to know most of it anyway. And Scott needed him to help find Bridget. It made sense that the Iranians had her. Once they’d gotten what they wanted they would certainly kill her. Even now they might be subjecting her to torture. The police couldn’t help. Would they even believe Scott if he told them what was happening? And if the police found out about the killing in Warsaw would Bridget and Scott be charged with the death? No. Stephen was the only option.
“There are clues in the code for the map,” Scott said. “The notation next to the position of the king for example. It reads, ‘the altar moves the stone.’ I’m not able to determine what that phrase means right now. We need to go to the cathedral. That’s where the king’s position is on the map of Granada.”
“Any more clues? Anything to tell exactly where it is?”
“No. I think it’s designed only to lead one to the location of the items listed in the directory. The list isn’t specific, only general. If we find the place, there may be other clues.” Scott didn’t mention the note saying there were gold statues, two tonnes —the old name for ton— and silver. Nor did he reveal that some documents were mentioned but not by any title. There was still the matter of whether he could trust this man completely. Better to play it cool for now and tell him as little as he could get away with.
Stephen moved from the window. “Men are watching the hotel. Probably your sister’s kidnappers.”
Scott ran to the window and looked out. “Where are they?”
“Don’t be too obvious.” Stephen came up behind him and pointed. “Over there. They’re too far away to clearly see their faces but I’m sure that’s the Iranians. They must be watching you to see if you’ll lead them to the manuscript they want. They’ll keep their distance, at least until we find something.”
Scott’s breath caught in his throat. “Let’s get going. We need to save Bridget.”
“Just a minute. They’ll follow us. I need to make a phone call to an old friend here. As a Latin professor, I met many Catholic priests in my profession and I believe I know one here who may be able to assist us. I won’t divulge any of what we are doing to him. Okay with you?”
Scott nodded and with a pained look and the possibility of tears barely contained behind his tightly closed eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Three
On the Celle Reyes Catolicos, Granada, Spain
When Scott and Stephen entered the cathedral, a rotund priest standing near a side altar turned and walked toward them with a smile. As he neared, the priest swept a hand across his forehead, swiping away sweat. Stephen introduced him as Father Castile. Scott shook hands. Afterward, he resisted the impulse to wipe his hand on his pant leg.
“Why don’t you look around while I take a few minutes with the good padre?” Stephen said.
Scott didn’t care for this dismissal but forced himself to nod before strolling off to view the Stations of the Cross. He noticed many altars all along the side of the cathedral’s walls as well as the one centered in the nave of the building.
At the front of the church stood the main altar, which displayed a large crucifix in the center of its massive structure. Three gold sconces held tall candles to the side of the magnificent marble altar. Simple beauty emanated from this large structure.
Scott noticed a major difference from the churches he had seen in the States; here people walked all over the interior of the church versus the manner in the USA. He turned around looking at the impressive architecture of the cathedral with its massive side support columns and the magnificent multi-colored stained glass windows. He continued his sightseeing walk into the sanctuary. He walked toward the main altar; similar to St. Peter’s in Rome but without the ornate rococo columns holding up a canopy.
What did the clue mean? The altar couldn’t move stone. That had to be wrong. What was right? And how would it help him find the manuscript and secure Bridget’s release?
After a few minutes Stephen and the priest approached.
“Father Castile has some interesting information for us. Please tell, my young friend.”
The priest mopped his sweaty brow with a white handkerchief and motioned them to follow him to the side of the church near a confessional. The priest surveyed the area around them. “I think we are away from anyone who might listen,” he said.
Scott also scanned the area. He returned his attention to the priest. Something in the deep recesses of his mind rushed forth to issue a warning. You had better start taking my situation serious. What happened to Bridget could happen to you. Wake up out of your silly attitude of “It can’t happen to me” you are exhibiting in not making your own security paramount. The warning was like a claxon going off. He needed to heed it. He needed to focus on getting Bridget released.
“Father, before you start can you tell me when this church was built?” Scott asked.
“Good question, but not so simple to answer. That’s what I wanted to tell you. For the tourists the church was constructed in 1502, but more facts are to respond to your query in detail.” The priest again mopped his brow. “The area under and around the church has been used for Catholic services from early times, perhaps back to the first centuries of Christianity.”
“Why 1502?” Stephen asked.
“Well, this area contained a monastery before the siege ending in 1492. The center altar, we believe, is from the 1300’s. The monks took care of this place until after the capture of Granada by Ferdinand and Isabella. The royals then made Granada their seat of power for many years. The king rebuilt the cathedral where we now stand and had his and Isabella’s mausoleums built adjacent to here in the Capilla Real.”
“So the main altar is the one that was here during the Moorish occupation?” Scott asked.
“We believe so. The monks had to leave here shortly after the city fell to the Christian forces because the king ordered them out. He decided to build his burial crypt here and wanted them moved. The construction of the present cathedral began ten years after the capture of the city. The monks moved over to the Monasterio de Santa Paula. The abbot at Santa Paula has the records of their history. He is the direct successor of the abbots from the founding of the order.”
“What time does the church close?”
“At eight. If for some reason you’d like to come in after that I’ll have the door over there,” he pointed to a side door, “left open for you.”
“We need to go earlier. Bridget —”
“Thank you for your help,” Stephen said, cutting off Scott. The priest walked away clenching his soaked handkerchief.
“Do you have contacts everywhere?” Scott asked. He moved toward the center of the church. “I want to examine behind the altar.”
“I th
ink it might be better to come back later instead of doing anything now with all those people around,” Stephen said. “Let’s return at eight. We’ll get your sister, I promise.”
Scott wasn’t so sure. Where in the hell was she? He needed to take more action, but what? He had no resources and Stephen seemed to have what he needed. On his own he would not be able to get her back.
Hang on, sis. I’ll get you somehow.
Scott felt his stomach gurgle, awful gas pain and he fought to keep it from coming up into his throat. Again he thought, hang on, sis.
* * * *
Hashim walked on one side of the street and Jabril on the other. When the American exited the hotel with the man they had observed earlier, they followed the pair at a distance. After the American and the unknown man entered the cathedral, Hashim and Jabril bided their time by pretending to shop in the various side areas of the central plaza. The stores and street stalls sold everything from hookas to costume jewelry.
A half hour passed before the men emerged from the front portico of the church and went in the direction of the hotel. They followed the men to the hotel and again took up their observation positions. It was lunchtime according to Hashim’s stomach rumblings. Hashim ordered food at their observation post café. Jabril did the same. Hashim remembered the woman needed food. She would be starving by now. Unfortunately his immediate focus precluded any more thought of the woman. He would feed her when he could.
What were these men doing?
They didn’t appear to be searching for the manuscript of the Holy Koran. Going to church? A catholic church wasn’t the way to find it. Maybe they went to pray. They would need more than prayer to get the documents in time to save the girl from the wrath of Jabril. Hashim believed the man would kill her no matter what happened.
What could he do? He had to protect himself.
* * * *
As he and Scott strolled back to the hotel, Jonathan glanced over his shoulder and then back. “I think our friends have picked us up. There is no sense of sneaking off or trying to lose them. That might put your sister in more danger. If they know where we are and are following us then they have to keep her alive in case she is needed in some future negotiation. Besides, there aren’t a lot of ways to hide here and they certainly saw us go to the church.”
“Are you sure?” Scott made a slow turn around as if looking up at the towers of the cathedral. He couldn’t pick them out. “Maybe we should approach them and demand to see Bridget.”
“One is on the opposite side of the street following us. They won’t do anything in daylight. We’ll need to be extremely careful tonight. If we find what we’re looking for, they might decide to take it, eliminate us, and then kill your sister. Once they’ve got what they want there’ll be no reason to keep her or us alive. Right now we have no bargaining chip to demand anything.”
Scott walked and tried not to think about getting himself or Bridget killed. He hadn’t realized how much he needed and loved her. He had to do everything possible and soon.
Concentrate, he told himself. Figure out the clue. That’s the only way to get Bridget back.
Scott recalled seeing the map and the code containing the notation. “The altar will move the stone.”
What did it mean?
BOOK THREE
Chapter Thirty-Four
August 15, 1502 Anno Domini,
Monastery in Granada, Spain
“So good to see you again, Juan,” Filipo Torres said. He gave his cousin a hug and then held him at arm’s length and observed him.
“When did you return from your trip to the New World? I hear that you went with Christopher Columbus?”
Juan Ponce de Leon returned the embrace. “You are correct. I was with him on his second voyage. I’m pleased to find you as the abbot of this monastery on my return. From our days playing in the hills around our village, you have accomplished much.”
“So, my dear cousin, have you. I have learned that you’ve been appointed by the king as the Governor of Hispaniola.” Filipo’s voice exhibited his delight.
“Unfortunately, I’ll have to refuse. I plan on telling the king this month. To be the governor takes more money than I can amass in the time left me to prepare to take up the post,” Ponce said.
“It’s a fine spring evening, come and join me for a private dinner. I may be able to help you, cousin.” Filipo led Ponce to an elegant private room in the back of the abbey.
The room overlooked the cathedral’s towers. A cool breeze flowed through the open window and the two men sat at an oblong mahogany table. The silverware, the gold-rimmed plates and wineglasses glittered in the candlelight.
“Filipo, I didn’t realize the monks enjoyed such exquisite trappings in their vow of poverty,” Ponce declared.
“I assume you know that you’re not even here as a member of the royal court. You’ve not seen any of the things I’ll show you. After dinner, I think I can assist you, dear cousin. But, first, let’s enjoy some of my poverty,” he said with a chuckle.
When the meal finished, Ponce pointed at him, and asked, “How did you get to be an abbot at your young age?”
“You must give me your sworn oath of silence on everything I’m going to tell you,” Filipo answered.
“If I must, then I give you my word as a member of the royal court, but more importantly, as your cousin and life-long friend.”
Filipo relayed what had transpired in the run up to the surrender of the Moorish king. He explained about the booty he had taken from the cathedral to enrich his monastery and his own position. The monks elected him abbot for the improvements he made to their lives and to the church. Then Filipo told Ponce about the treasure.
“You see, Juan, I can use this to aid you in your new appointment. Besides, some people are now looking into the wealth of this monastery. I’m getting increasingly concerned I might come under ecclesiastical scrutiny for excessive temporal indulgence. I need to rid myself of what remains and you are welcome to take it to finance your governorship.”
Ponce huffed. “My lord but you are a devious one. How much are we talking about?” He placed his wine glass in front of Filipo for a refill. Filipo gladly obliged him.
“There were all kinds of precious gold decorations, cups, plates, and ingot bars. It took me weeks to move what the Moors left to my new hiding place here in the monastery. Tons of gold, silver, and many documents.” He stopped here to watch Ponce’s face and was delighted by his cousin’s reaction. The man’s mouth had dropped open.
Filipo continued, “I’ve burned many of the documents as they were written in Arabic. We had cleansed them from our country and I wanted to cleanse all that remained of them. The Greek and Latin scrolls are still here. I used most of the gold to improve the monastery when it was needed. Now I need to get the remainder out of here. Some church tribunal may soon descend upon me to look into how this monastery is so extensively wealthy with no means of outside support other than the work of the monks. I think I can handle them as long as no physical wealth can be found. That is why I am offering this to you.”
“You want me to take the whole remaining treasure the Moors left?” Ponce was shaking his head after asking the question. Then a smile emerged on his face.
“Yes, on condition that you tell me at all times where you keep it using the merchant code we learned from my father. Also, if I require some additional funds for the monastery, you will donate them before you depart. That way it will look legitimate as a donation from a royal court member to the church. I can use that as a way to explain past improvements to our monastery. Others, who want to remain anonymous, provided earlier gifts. No one would complain if the monastery prospered from such gifts. I could use that as the reason for our improvements. You and others would have given me donations in the past.”
“I’ll use your gift to outfit my ships and to support my governorship in the New World. Before I sail I will make a large donation to you as the abbot to pray for my success.
There you have my word to accomplish all your requests, dear cousin?”
“Yes. Before you go there is another secret you must know.” The abbot waited a few seconds to ensure his words would convey the weight he intended.
“Along with all those things there is, however, one last thing I must reveal to you. I’m sending two sacred relics with you. If they stay here and are discovered, I fear what the inquisitors would do to me. I want you to know they have miraculously been preserved in the same state as they were then. It has to be an act of God to have such a thing be still the same as then.” He told Ponce de Leon what they were and instructed him, “Guard them with your life. Go with the blessings of Almighty God. I hope you will be able to return them in years to come.”
* * * *
The years passed and, as Governor, Ponce De Leon delivered on his promise to keep the abbot informed of his whereabouts, of the location of the relics and of the gold. To keep others from discovering the nature of his messages, he used the cryptogram communication he’d learned as a child from Filipo’s merchant father, the same one the merchants and ships’ captains employed to conceal the real amount of cargo from the tax collectors. He continued to give generously to the church in the New World.
Ponce de Leon used this old yet unique Spanish method to tell the abbot where he kept the remaining treasure just in case something happened to him and Filipo needed to recover his gifts. The relics, he always assured the abbot, were safe.
Filipo kept the correspondence he received in return from his cousin in the Abbot Book. This collection of all-important documents and notes by previous abbots had remained in the personal possession of the head of the monastery since 1245 A.D.
In the year 1521 A.D., with all of his possessions, Ponce de Leon sailed from Puerto Rico with two ships and landed on the Florida shore. He named the new land Florida, the Terra La Florida, because he discovered Florida on Palm Sunday. He landed near the present-day town of St. Augustine.
