by Tom Haase
Jibril had vanished.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
In the Cathedral, Granada, Spain
Scott felt Stephen grab his shoulder as he forced him down and flipped off the flashlight. Stephen’s forceful push flattened him to the stone floor. His lungs expelled all his air when he hit the ground; he gasped. A second later, Scott recognized the whizzing sound passing just to the left of his head, followed by the report of a gun firing. He had heard bullets overhead on the pentathlon team’s outdoor range when he was down range in the marking pits for the shooters. The sound of two more shots filled the air, one impacted near his right leg. Stephen, who he could barely make out in the shadows, had pulled a gun from somewhere and fired at something. What was going on?
Stephen fired again. Scott heard a yell. The bullet might have hit someone.
Then Scott heard running footsteps, the clang of a door opening, before slamming shut. The sound came from the direction they had entered. He surmised that whoever shot at them had used the same door he and Stephen had for their entry.
“What’s going on, Stephen?” Scott groaned and pushed himself up onto his knees with his hands. Then he stood up. Stephen offered the flashlight. “Better keep this off for a minute until we’re sure they’re gone.”
“Who—what the hell was that about?”
“My guess is the followers I showed you earlier got impatient and came to get the manuscripts and treasure from you,” Stephen said.
“Stephen, you saw the same empty hole. There was nothing there.”
“Maybe. But they didn’t get a look. We need to explore the cavern?” Before continuing, Stephen went over and peeked out the church door. “I think our friends are gone now.”
“What good can come from looking into an empty cavern?” Scott asked and immediately realized it was a stupid question. He knew research into any unknown area could produce unexpected results.
“You’re the academic,” Stephen shot back at him. “What kind of researcher doesn’t delve into every corner? Remember how the documents were found in the first place.”
They went back to the raised stone and Scott switched on the light again. He stepped into the opening and led the way down the rickety wood steps. Loud strains emanated from the steps with each decent footfall.
“Here,” Scott said. He picked up a small brown piece of paper. “It’s in Greek. This proves something was here. Damnit, we’re too late. Someone else got to it first.”
“I think you’re right. Something was certainly here at some time but now we’ve no way of knowing when or where it was taken,” Stephen said. They continued to search for a few minutes and Stephen found a silver coin.
“Well, nobody has been here recently,” said Scott. “Did you notice the dust, the marks on the floor, and the residue displaced when we moved the stone? It had to be a long time ago. Maybe the Moors came back and took it.”
“No. History notes no record of them returning after the surrender of the city in 1492. It had to be someone else.”
“The Moors and the monks,” Scott said, “were the only ones who might have known about it. They were the only ones who had access at the time of the surrender of the town. If it wasn’t the Moors, then it must be the monks.”
They climbed out of the hole. After replacing the stone, hiding the ropes inside the altar, and replacing the slab on the back of the altar, they went to the door. Stephen pocked his head out the door and scanned the street before they exited.
“There is no one out here now. We must be on heightened alert. That was their first move to attack us without any evidence that we possessed the document. They are getting pushy and we need to really take precautions. That’s why I have a gun, but I didn’t think they would move on us at this time.”
“Okay. But right now I need a drink,” Scott said. “Care to join me? I want to figure out another plan to get Bridget back. Do you have any ideas?”
“Thanks for the offer but I have to go. I’ll come by in the morning and we can discuss what to do next. Let’s sleep on it. I can’t imagine anything else we can do tonight. I think you should get some rest. We’re going to need it tomorrow.”
“We only have till noon tomorrow to get the manuscript or they’ll kill Bridget.”
* * * *
Jonathan left Scott and immediately dialed the Cardinal on his cell phone. He reported all the events of the evening and his plan for tomorrow. Then he made one more call before retiring.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Earlier the same day
Vatican City, Office of the Secretary of State
As he waited for the meeting to begin, Cardinal Puglisi thought about history. In the days of the Roman Republic—long before the days of the emperors—the Senate and the Roman people, the SPQR, made the laws. The head of the senate served as the elected consul. The Agnus Dei Society had adopted the names and forms of the ancient Roman Republic and tailored it to their present-day use. The order contained positions named: centurions, legates, tribunes, prefects, praetors, senators, and a consul providing a flavor of the ancient state order that had once ruled the known world.
“Cardinal Consul, the senate of our society is now in session,” said the Praetor, a bishop from Africa addressing Cardinal Puglisi.
Puglisi remembered that in the Roman Republic, the consul would call for meetings of the Senate. A Senatorial Quorum was defined as: one Consul, a Praetor, an Imperator, and two Senators. In the present-day order, the Cardinal, consul of the Agnus Dei’s senate, scrutinized the assembled men, noted he had a quorum, and formally convened the senate.
“Our Cardinal Consul convened this meeting at my insistence.” The Archbishop of Paris, Mathieu Durand, looked over the assembled clerics. “I refer to a matter I believe we need to discuss. I believe the Consul should not decide by himself, with respect, Eminence. I do not, repeat do not, support what I believe is the Consul’s agenda to remove the Pope.” He surveyed the others and prepared to continue when the Praetor raised his hand.
“I’m not aware the removal of the Pope is the subject of this meeting. I thought it was to discuss the documents recovered in Poland,” said Puglisi.
“That is what the consul tried to project, but the real reason,” said Durand. “I demanded the meeting is to rein in the cardinal in his efforts to unseat the reigning pontiff.”
The praetor turned to Puglisi. “Your Eminence, what is the good archbishop talking about?” The praetor’s face flushed in the realization that he may have been misled concerning the purpose of this senate session.
Puglisi calmly put his pen on the desk, and said, “Our society has protected holy mother church for a thousand years. It is our sworn oath to ensure her safekeeping and preserve the orthodox teachings of Jesus Christ. Anyone who tries to alter those precepts handed down from Our Lord must be stopped by any and all means. I’m now in possession of documents the Pope is about to use to publicly change the principles the church has preserved for two thousand years. We must stop him from altering the teaching of the living voice of the teaching church.”
“What evidence exists, consul? May we see it?” asked the Archbishop.
The cardinal reached into his desk and withdrew some typed pages. He scanned the pages and placed them back onto the desktop. “These documents come from the Pope’s office. One of his private secretaries obtained a copy for me yesterday. He is a loyal member of our society. I have not made copies for you since I don’t want any more of these abominations to come into existence. I will tell you what it says and you may examine it.”
The assembled senate shifted in unison in their seats. Archbishop Durand pounded his hand on the table. “This is not dogma or teaching but a working paper from the papal office. It does not mean he intends to announce anything of the sort. Precipitous action against him is outside our scope. He is the elected representative of Christ.”
“My dear Archbishop,” intoned the Cardinal, “our society has always protected the faith. T
his pope is posturing to change the apostolic order. The working papers as you call them are far beyond the initial planning stage. The first proposal is to allow priests to marry. The second is to liberalize the Pauline privilege, to expand it to anyone, thereby allowing speedy divorce within the church.”
The praetor asked, “Has the Holy Father asked for the College of Cardinals to approve these changes?”
“He has not.” Puglisi turned to the second page on the desk. “In addition, there are proposals for altering the church’s position on birth control, considering the HIV and world population problems experienced in many areas.”
“That is preposterous,” said one of the senators. “It would undermine the authority of the church and can not be allowed.”
The archbishop stood up. “He is the supreme leader of the church, he is Peter. Our oath binds —”
“Our oath binds us to our society, archbishop, even before the pontiff. We are the guardians of the true faith. Sit down.” Puglisi stood up and stared down at the man.
The archbishop put one hand on the chair and lowered himself into his seat.
“Years have passed since the society took action against a reigning pontiff, but now the time to act has come again,” Puglisi said. “We cannot allow this paper to become the teaching of the church. The last time we intervened, according to the record the consuls passed down, was to poison John Paul I just before he was to make a major announcement revealing to the world our maneuvering of the accounts in the Vatican Bank. In my opinion as consul, we need to act again. I ask for the senate’s approval to act.”
“What will you do?” asked a senator bishop from China.
“That, my dear senator, is not what I requested from you. I asked for approval to act. If the senate approves, I will carry out my duty as the head of the society on my own volition, in my own time. All in favor signify.”
Puglisi scrutinized each member present. Only Durand did not raise his hand. Instead, the archbishop shook his head and then lowered it. Puglisi took this as a sign that he acknowledged the vote. It passed by the majority present.
“Thank you. I formally adjourn this meeting.”
“But, Consul, what are you going to do? We need time to prepare for the repercussions,” asked the praetor.
“I believe it’s better if you don’t know. Your surprise and shock will be genuine. As I said, this meeting is over. Good day.”
Chapter Forty
Next Day – 6:30 a.m.
Granada, Spain
Scott woke early with his head pounding and perspiration running out every pour. The hotel room air conditioner apparently lacked the capacity to keep even this small space cool in the daytime. He got up, showered, and went down for a cup of coffee while pondering what to do next.
A trail must exist of what happened to the documents and treasure after it was take from under the altar. The only logical explanation focused on the monks. They, he concluded with absolute certainty, had somehow found it.
Bridget’s life depended on his ability to figure this out. Damn he hoped she wasn’t suffering. He would do everything he could to get her free.
“Good morning,” Scott heard as he sat down to drink his coffee.
He turned to see Stephen standing next to him. “Take a seat and let’s plan the next step.”
Stephen complied. Once he’d settled in his chair, he leaned toward Scott. “I think your deduction last night that if it wasn’t the Moors then it must be the monks is on the right track. My friend, Father Castile, phoned the abbot at the monastery to arrange a meeting. We are to visit him during morning prayers in a few minutes. The abbot will see us in the privacy of his office.”
“Doesn’t he have to go to prayers?”
“He’s the abbot and can exercise his authority. In a monastery the abbot is like the commander-in-chief. He controls everything that goes on within his domain.”
“Let’s go. We only have until noon to free Bridget.”
At the monastery, Gregorian chanting filled the air. A monk, small in stature and wearing large size glasses, met them at the front door.
“I am Abbot Juan Michael,” he said.
Juan Michael then led them to a small office down the hall from the main entrance. Books formed three-foot columns against one wall and a writing desk stood in the center with a monitor on top; on the floor sat a computer. The walls were bare except for an ivory crucifix with candles its base. On the West wall, a window on the ground floor allowed a view of the street they traveled to arrive at the monastery’s entrance.
“Abbot Juan, we are looking for information. We believe shortly after the fall of Granada a document turned up in the hands of this monastery. It was, we believe, a copy of ancient Latin text. We’re trying to find out what happened to it five hundred years ago,” Scott said without revealing the true nature of their quest.
“Are you accusing the monks of stealing?”
“No, No. Please forgive me,” Scott hurried to say. “I’m in a rush and not watching my words. Someone’s life is in danger, we are trying to find a document, and other items we believe were once buried in a cavern under the main altar in the cathedral. We found the place, but it is empty now and since the king moved your predecessors from the cathedral to your current location. We are trying to track down the items.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about. If it’s some sort of treasure hunt you’re on, I suggest you leave. There are no ancient Latin texts here. We’re men of God and as you can see, we lead simple lives.” The abbot stretched out his hand pointing to the door and attempted to guide them toward it.
“Would it be possible for us to search in your library? There may be something we could find to help us.” Stephen asked.
“Of course our library is open for anyone doing research. It is small and in the next room. Let me lead you there.” The monk seemed glad to get them out of his hair.
After the Abbot departed, Scott began to pull books off shelves, looking for anything that might give a clue to the missing documents. The library had no cataloging system and after a half hour, they returned to the abbot’s office.
“Scott, I’ve an idea,” Stephen said before they entered. “It just came to me. I should’ve thought of this earlier. Please play along when we go into the abbot’s office.” He knocked, waited for the voice of the abbot, and then opened the door.
“Could I have a moment of your time, Abbot?” Jonathan asked. He looked at Scott. “Would you wait outside for a minute?”
Scott didn’t understand what to do. He didn’t want to leave but if going would help get to the documents he might as well comply. He nodded and left, closing the door.
* * * *
“I’m sorry, sir, but could you give me your name again?” the abbot asked.
Jonathan pulled out his wallet and presented his Papal credentials. The abbot stared wide-eyed at the identification card. “You are the Pope’s secretary?”
“Yes, Abbot. Let me fill you in on some things I don’t want my friend outside to learn.”
Jonathan told him of the search for the missing documents that might contain an original of the Holy Koran, some unknown Latin and Greek manuscripts.
“I believe, Abbot, you are hiding something from us,” Jonathan said. “I understand why you did it up to now but I can invoke the power of the papacy to get you to assist us. Do you want to help me on your own or do I have to use my authority?”
The abbot’s demeanor changed and he acquiesced as Jonathan thought he would. Jonathan reprimanded himself. You should have thought of this to start off and not wasted so much time. The idea came to him when he found a diary in the books of the library. He remembered a case he had handled for the Pope in a monastery in Germany. There the Abbot Book had provided the answer to the problem the Roman Curia had uncovered in a deviation from the liturgical ritual of the mass by the monastery.
“Where is the Abbot Book? The record you hand down from abbot t
o abbot over the centuries. I know it provides the continuity for the order of this monastic house but it might help us.”
“Since you know it exists, I can’t deny it.” He went to a panel in the wall and pulled a candle sconce under the crucifix. A door opened in the wall. The abbot opened a safe and brought the book back to the desk in the center of the room.
“I’ll leave you with this. Do not take anything from it. Do you agree?”
“I do. May I make copies if I need to?”
The abbot nodded and left, leaving the door open. Scott entered. “What’s going on?”
“The abbot remembered another book which might help us. We can examine the old documents but not take anything from the book.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Now we examine it. Time is running out for Bridget.”
Chapter Forty-One
San Matias District, Granada, Spain
Upon returning to the Imam’s house, Hashim followed Jibril down to the girl’s dungeon. Hashim’s heart raced in anticipation. Would he have to take out Jibril?
“We need to feed the girl and make sure she doesn’t die on us from heat or something. At least for now,” Hashim said as he gathered bread and water.
“I want to kill her now. I don’t want to feed her.”
“In good time,” Hashim said.
Jibril opened the door to Bridget’s room and end went in, with Hashim following.
Hashim removed the tape from her mouth even though her eyes glared at him furiously.
“Damn you,” Bridget shouted
“If you don’t want the water and rolls I brought you, just say so.” He had to be hostile with Jibril present.
“I need to pee first,” she snarled.
“You want the water and rolls or not, lady?” Hashim demanded.
“Forget the lady shit. I need to pee.”
Hashim moved over and put the tape back on her mouth. “You are already in a sitting position so go ahead and pee. No way can I let you loose.”
