Secret of the Thorns: Political Thriller (Donavan Chronicles Book 1)

by Tom Haase

  She helped him up the final steps and they reached the front door. “You really are what you say you are. Thanks for what you’re doing.”

  “You’re most welcome, ma’am,” he said, trying to mimic John Wayne in a western. “Now, they are all dead and I’m wounded by some attacker that came to rescue you. I’ve got to figure out how to explain all of this and stay in the good graces of these bastards. At least with your help there’s no one alive here to contradict my story.”

  They reached the front door and waited a second to listen for any sounds. He turned to look at her. She grabbed him and gently hugged him. “Ouch, watch the arm,” he said, trying to laugh. He was starting to feel the first tinges of shock setting in. She had to get out of here. He would need medical attention.

  “Ready?”

  “No, I’m too weak. I’ll stay here and try to continue my mission,” he said. “Now go.”

  He slumped to the floor with blood still pouring from his wound.

  When he raised his head, he watched her as she held the gun out in front, flung the door open, and stepped out into the street.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Hotel Lus Tilos, Granada, Spain

  Scott impatiently waited for Stephen’s return. He planned to question the man in detail about his involvement in this whole affair. Stephen’s answers so far had only scratched the surface as far as Scott could determine. Scott wanted to learn more about this man who dropped into his life, almost taking control.

  Scott needed to save his sister and he wanted to be the one in charge. Stephen’s help had proved valuable so far but the questions his assistance raised needed answering. Why was he here? What did he know about the transcripts? What was he after personally? All plagued Scott’s thoughts. He wanted answers, but they might have to wait until they found his sister.

  A knock at the door startled Scott.

  On the table, the code from the monastery lay in front of him as he had tried to relax his mind. The numbers and letters might make sense if he didn’t try to strain so intensely to unravel the meaning. The purported fact the real Crown of Thorns and the staff of St. Peter were among the priceless objects purported to be in the treasure did more than boggle his mind. The whole idea overpowered his reason and stymied his thoughts. This was something beyond the wildest imagination of a young college professor.

  If Bridget were here, she would probably solve the code in short order. He realized that this secret message was not a chess game, and not a simple, easy to solve, code.

  Another knock.

  “Coming.” Scott opened the door and found Stephen outside.

  “We need to go right now. I think I know where she is,” Stephen said.

  “Where?”

  “Not now. Time to go. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Scott grabbed his backpack, took the code from the table, and rushed after Jonathan, who was already going down the steps. “Where are we going?”

  “Father Castile got some information from his police friends. There is a house that they watch from time to time. He said it might be worth checking out.”

  “Wait a minute, Stephen. If they kidnapped Bridget, we should get the police. It’s almost noon.”

  “This is Spain. Not London or New York. By the time the police reacted, the entire city would know about it in advance. We go on our own to check it out first.”

  Scott had to jog to keep up with Stephen. Even with his slight limp he was moving like a charging lion. Scott tried to flip away the sweat with his hand. “How far do we have to go?”

  “Another block.”

  Stephen took out a gun, check it, and return it to his belt.

  The thought of more shooting, especially after the near misses last night, worried Scott. “Do you have to take that thing?

  “There will probably be more of them than there is of us. We’ll need help if Bridget is in this house.”

  “Then it’s even more important to get the police involved.”

  “This is just a reconnaissance. If we need help we’ll call for it.” Stephen stopped and looked around the corner. “Empty street. Let’s get closer. Come on.”

  Scott hurried around the corner passing by Stephen.

  When he saw someone come out of the house, Scott stopped. Gawked. Couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Bridget, holding a gun, not a hundred feet in front of him.

  He ran toward her, shouting, “Bridget, you okay?”

  * * * *

  The glare of the sunlight blinded Bridget when she opened the door. The sound of her name reached her, but her mind refused to recognize Scott’s voice. She turned, with the gun now pointing at Scott.

  “Sis, don’t shoot me, for Christ sakes.”

  Scott. How had he found her?

  She lowered the weapon. He came up and hugged her.

  He glanced back at the house. “Bridget, watch out. There’s one of your kidnappers,” Scott said as he tried to take the gun from her hand.

  “Stop. He’s a friend. Step back into the house with us for a second. Make it fast.” She whirled and forced Scott inside. Scott shut the door.

  “What the hell happened here? Are they dead?” he asked as he pointed to the bodies.

  “Yes,” Anthony said. “Your sister is a super shot.”

  “Did you shoot him too?” Scott pointed at the bandage on Anthony.

  “No. Listen. He’s the one who rescued me and they are the ones who tried to kill us. I’ll explain what happened later. Right now we need to go.”

  Anthony looked at Bridget, and said, “Thank you. Now go. I must stay here to answer questions about three armed men who supposedly attacked us in this house. We were just praying when they burst in and started firing. They left me for dead. I have to get back into their good graces after this, especially as the only survivor with no one to corroborate my story. One favor.”

  “Name it,” Bridget said.

  “When you get to the states, to Washington, call Brigadier General Mary Jean Bergermeyer at the Defense Intelligence Agency. She runs our operations. I send her emails from an Internet café when I am able. Tell her what happened here and that I’ll be out of touch for a while. They will watch me closely when I get back after this. It’ll take some time for this to pass, maybe months if they believe me. Jibril failed in the mission to get the Koran. With him dead, I had to stop following you because of my wounds. I hope that will satisfy the inquisition that will follow my return to Warsaw.”

  Bridget went over and tightened the bandage on his wound.

  Scott seemed totally confused at what was going on. He stood there with his hands on his hips and exhaled forcibly. No time now. She’d have to explain it later.

  “I started all of this,” he continued, “by telling the Imam about what you discovered in the Warsaw museum. I never thought it would get to this. Now I have to call the police so I can get medical treatment. There needs to be an official report to support my statement back in Poland. I’ll slip away after medical treatment and head back.”

  “We’ll do what you ask,” Bridget said. She tried to give him the gun.

  “No, you take it, wipe it clean, and ditch it. They can’t find it here as it did the killing. Don’t take the car as it is rented to me and they will find you too soon if you use it. Besides, I don’t want it to look like I aided in any way your escape. Hey, where is the man you were with?” he asked as he looked at Scott.

  Scott stared at him a second and then looked around. The door remained closed. He opened it and looked out. “I left him at the corner. We’ll find him.”

  “What’s his name?” asked Bridget.

  “Stephen. I can’t remember his last name.”

  “You two get going. Get out of this town as fast as you can. These people will send more after you and you need to make sure they can’t pick up your trail. You don’t have the manuscripts, so I imagine you’ll keep looking for them. Good luck.”

  “You can bet on that. Thanks for everything. Goo
d luck.” Bridget grabbed Scott’s hand, hid the gun under her blouse, and pulled him out the door.

  “Now we go get the treasure,” Bridget shouted.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Thirty Minutes After Bridget’s Escape

  Abbot’s Office, Granada, Spain

  “How’s the abbot doing?” Jonathan asked. He looked around the office. Everything inside appeared as before the attack. A repairman toiled outside to get the window replaced.

  “I moved him to a Catholic hospital in Madrid by helicopter,” Father Castile said. “They’ll care for him with no questions by the police. Two other members of our society took care of the body you left us.”

  Jonathan slapped Father Castile on the back. “Well done. Thank you.” He walked over to the safe. “Did he give you the combination?”

  “No. That, he said, can only transfer from one abbot to the next through a holder of the combination. He’s one of the monks the abbot trusts. I don’t think even your credentials could get him to reveal that name.”

  “I must return to Rome.

  Father Castile nodded.

  Jonathan gave him the gun before getting out of the car at the airport. Two hours later, Jonathan sat in business class on his way to Rome.

  Bridget’s appearance outside the kidnapper’s house had taken him by complete surprise. He had ducked behind the corner when Scott raced to his sister. He knew it wouldn’t be prudent to reveal himself to her. She would almost certainly recognize him from the plane. She had somehow escaped her captivity and brandished a weapon. He didn’t need to have her as an enemy and that would be what would happen if he tried to stay on to help. The role he had played with Scott would not go down well with his sister. She would remember him as a priest and turn Scott against him, because of the deception he employed in Granada. Besides, they still did not have the items he needed. Best to let them go and follow in order to achieve his end.

  He had Father Castile stop at their hotel on the way to the airport, but they had already checked out. He certainly expected such precautions now they understood they were the hunted. He would catch up with them in due course. He kicked himself for not putting a tracking device on Scott.

  Jonathan boarded his flight and when the plane reached cruising altitude he placed a call on the airplane telephone attached to his seat. He waited for a few seconds, not giving the Agnus Dei greeting.

  “Hello.” Cardinal Puglisi’s shrill voice reached his ear across the distance.

  “Sorry, but I’m on a plane. I’ll arrive in Rome at six this evening.”

  “Visit me at eight.” The cardinal hung up.

  Jonathan made one more call and then tried to get some sleep.

  He arrived at his apartment at seven-thirty, showered, put on his cassock, and arrived at the office of the Vatican Secretary of State at eight. The cardinal did not return until eight thirty.

  “Come in, Father McGregor.” He shut the door and went to sit behind his desk. “Tell me. What happened?”

  Jonathan related the events of the last two days in Granada. He could see the displeasure mounting in the cardinal as he finished.

  “So you don’t have the writings of Peter. You failed in your mission.”

  “Eminence, isn’t it just as important to recover the crown of thorns of Our Lord and the staff used by Saint Peter?”

  “Yes, yes. It’s important . . . but you haven’t yet cleaned up the trail.”

  “True, but I know where it leads now. I believe I can recover all the items when the two Americans lead me to them.”

  “You don’t even know if the treasures you describe are even with the writings of Peter, or if they will pursue the documents.”

  “No, not for certain. I think the likelihood is high that they will. The crown of thorns found by Saint Helena hundreds of years after the death of Our Lord and the claim of recovering the true cross of Christ has always strained credibility.”

  Jonathan watched for a reaction by the cardinal but none appeared. “The document we found in Granada does not seem far fetched in my opinion. Peter certainly could have brought the crown of thorns with him to Rome. The succeeding popes cared for it and his staff until the invasion of Rome. They sent many things to Spain for safekeeping. Many years after the devastation of the Eternal City, the Popes no longer had records of exactly what had gone to Spain. The Spanish, after the Moorish invasions, lost track of what they had. They couldn’t read the Arabic languages anymore and didn’t realize the value of the items Rome had sent centuries before. Only the documents, gold —”

  “It’s all still theory; you have no proof,” Cardinal Puglisi interjected.

  “True, but a lot better than the Saint Helena story. At least, Peter had the ability and the capability to keep the crown with him. He was there. The gospels put him at the tomb on the resurrection day and he was the first one to enter. The clothes are mentioned but not the crown. He could have easily taken possession of it at the grave. Are we to believe that somehow hundreds of years later the mother of the Byzantine Emperor miraculously found the true cross and a crown of thorns? That strains credulity, but everyone bought the story and relied on it for centuries. It makes more sense that Peter had it all along. Tradition says that to put the true crown of thorns on one’s head, the gift of true prophesy or future sight is given.”

  The cardinal moved to a sideboard. “I have heard that it does.” He poured them both a drink. Handing a glass to Jonathan he raised his glass in a toast. “Maybe you have something there. It would be better to get all of these, including the gospel, at one time. We could use them to solidify the next election of a pontiff, especially if I could see the future. What a treasure that would be.” The cardinal no longer had the fierce irritation in his voice.

  They clinked glasses and sipped the wine.

  Jonathan put his glass down. “What are your instructions? Am I to continue to trail them or return to my duties in the papal office?”

  “I want you to stay away from the papal offices. The society’s senate met recently and made a decision.” He relayed the senate’s decision to remove the Pope. “You will stay away on an extended leave to work for my office. You will be gone from the papal offices when it happens. I want you to go after the Americans. Get the treasure you described, erase all trails, and return everything to me. Am I clear?”

  “Perfectly. I will need some support from your office to track their movements and some money to pursue them. I believe they now intend to travel to America.”

  “Call my secretary tomorrow. He’ll provide whatever you need for the duration of your mission. Go with God.” He put one hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, shook his hand, and then returned to his desk.

  Jonathan walked out of the office feeling apprehensive. He didn’t mean the “Perfectly” he had answered to the Cardinal. For the first time, he realized exactly what the Cardinal had ordered. The Papal Secretary of State somehow expected him to eliminate the two Americans after they found the treasure.

  First, the Donavans had to find the place, hidden since the sixteenth century. Where in the New World would it be? It had to be somewhere Ponce de Leon would hide his gold. They would lead him to it. No matter how long it took, or how far he had to go, he would recover these precious items for his church. That was his sworn duty and he had never failed to do his duty.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Barcelona, Spain - 8:30 p.m.

  “Thank God we’re off that bus,” Scott said. At last he felt a little safe so far from Granada.

  “My ass is sore,” Bridget whined. “I’m exhausted, I just wished we could have used the car to get this far but I know that would have been stupid,” she declared.

  “Let’s walk over to Las Ramblas Avenue and take a room at the Las Ramblas Hotel,” Scott said.

  “At least we’ll be out of the rain. I think we should share a room for safety, just in case,” Bridget added.

  “I was here a few weeks ago and there’s a lot to see.�
�� Scott shouldered his backpack and started off; Bridget agreed and followed.

  In the hotel, they took turns in the shower. Scott knew they would talk about the events in Granada over dinner.

  Leaving the hotel to find a place to eat, he was glad the rain had stopped. They turned left and Scott led them down the street toward the harbor. Not a hundred yards from the hotel, they noticed a little restaurant. Descending four steps to the main entrance from the street level, they opened the door. Rows of tables stood against the right wall and an aisle on the left led back to the kitchen. All but one table had diners and they took the vacant spot. Scott ordered a bottle of white wine and some calamari.

  “I think we can relax,” Scott said. “No one would have followed us here. We left the hotel in Granada within minutes of your escape.”

  “I don’t think anybody could have followed us first to the taxi then the railway station.”

  “If they did, we lost them at the bus station.” Scott chuckled. “Shit, I couldn’t even follow what we did.”

  “Remember Anthony’s warning,” Bridget said. “They’ll come after us. We have to be careful.” Bridget took a large gulp from her wineglass and dropped a piece of calamari into her mouth.

  Scott continued, “We have to plan the future.”

  “Not till I eat. I’m starved. But remember, we have to keep our guard up. The bastards caught up with us more than once. We can’t let it happen again.”

  After a dinner of lamb and potatoes, they sat at the table finishing the bottle of wine. Bridget declined dessert.

  “Okay, bro, what’s your idea?” Bridget asked. “What do we do next?”

  Scott didn’t answer. He only swirled his wine.

  “Well, now,” Bridget shook her red hair from side to side like she used to do when they were kids, “we’re both professors at universities with stable jobs.” She stopped and took a deep breath. Then she continued in a hushed tone, “Until three days ago, I was leading a normal and safe life. Now I’ve been kidnapped, killed a . . . what, a terrorist, and according to you, you were shot at in the cathedral. You found some new code to lead us to this crown of thorns and the staff of St. Peter, along with the treasure and the manuscripts.” In a slightly increased volume she concluded, “Does this sound like the job of college professors?”