The Phoenix Apostles

by Lynn Sholes

  "Sure. The French leader of the historic Reign of Terror."

  "Right. And founder of the Cult of the Supreme Being. A man so despised that when the state executed him, they guillotined him face up so he could see his death coming."

  "And?"

  "His remains were recently discovered stolen from the Catacombs of Paris."

  BAND OF BUTCHERS 2012, MIAMI

  SENECA SAT IN THE Air France waiting area of Miami Interna- tional Airport and people-watched. The majority of the passengers around her conversed in French. It was such a fluid language, she thought. Much more lyrical than English. She had intended to learn an additional language or two to assist her in her writing and travels. Being around Daniel had helped her with conversational Spanish. He encouraged her all the time to use it. She twirled her engagement ring around her finger.

  She felt uneasy moving on with her life so soon after losing Daniel and knowing that others were going to judge her. But they didn't understand. Daniel was the reason she kept going, the only reason. She would avenge him first. She had the rest of her life to mourn. As every day passed, the trail grew colder. Besides, Daniel had a different take on what people did when someone died. He refused to attend funerals, not out of disrespect, but like her, he abhorred the thought of death and what he considered the morbid celebration of one's passing. His famous saying was that he intended to live as long as he could so he would be dead as short a time as possible. Unfortunately, his mantra didn't come true, but it did rub off on Seneca.

  She glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes until boarding. Matt was late. The drive up from the Keys was always a gamble. Looking up, she saw him coming toward her through the crowd of travelers-forest green, long-sleeved T-shirt tucked into jeans, a knapsack slung over his shoulder-he waved as he approached.

  "Hey, lady." He bent and planted an affectionate kiss on her cheek before dropping into the seat beside her. "Sorry to be late. My insurance agent was faxing over some papers for me to sign for settling the payment of the boat loss. Had to wait for that or there would be a delay in getting a check."

  "So Groves Avionics is really paying for a new boat?"

  "Looks that way. And the amount they offered will buy a much nicer one than the one they shot up."

  "Speaking of Groves Avionics, is William Groves still alive?"

  "I'm pretty sure he's still around. But he's a recluse. I don't think anyone has seen him in years."

  "Anything I've ever read or heard about him paints him as a very strange bird."

  "Actually, I believe the current William Groves is the fourth generation of strange birds, each one more eccentric and secretive than the last. You should do a feature story on him. Might be interesting to meet the most famous man the world has rarely seen."

  "I doubt I'll ever get near him, but it's not a bad idea to try." Seneca made a mental note to look into doing a piece on the guy the media called the Last Tycoon.

  "I'm glad you decided to take this trip. I know it's a hard time for you."

  Seneca glanced at her ring finger. "It's rough. But I'm struggling to move on. I have to." She looked at Matt. "This trip means more to me than just my job. I have my own agenda as well."

  "I understand. Good for you."

  "I appreciate that."

  They sat in silence for a moment, then Matt spoke. "So, what's the game plan once we land at Charles de Gaulle?"

  The momentary sense of heaviness let go of its hold on her. "We get in around eleven in the morning. I've requested early check-in at our hotel. That way we can rest up for tomorrow night. My magazine has arranged for a special after-hours tour of the catacombs. A sister publication in Paris has lined up a guide that will take us to the area where the robbery took place. And we're allowed to take pictures-something that's normally forbidden. I lost my Nikon in the Mexican explosion, but I brought a digital point and shoot-eight megapixels. Had to max out my card to get it. Better than nothing. So anyway, we have dinner, then go meet the guide and head for the tunnels."

  "I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you okay moneywise with this trip?"

  "Normally, I wouldn't be. But Al showed up with airline tickets in his hand and insisted I take them. They were nonrefundable. I felt kind of funny accepting them-but, what the hell. He's doing everything he can think of to make up for lost time."

  "I'm surprised he didn't want to come along."

  "Oh, he wanted to, but I told him I really needed to take this whole father-daughter thing slow and easy. Having him on a roundtrip transatlantic flight would be way too much at this stage. He was considerate."

  "I think he has the best of intentions, Seneca."

  She shrugged.

  Matt swiveled in his seat to partially face her. "So what's the big news you promised on the phone this morning? I've been wondering about it all the way up here."

  "Let's wait until we get on the plane."

  "Come on, just give me a hint. It's the least you can do after what we've been through."

  She spoke just above a whisper. "There are more tomb robberies than we thought. A lot more."

  The Boeing 747-400 achieved cruising altitude, and the seatbelt sign switched off. It was already getting dark over the Atlantic as the flight attendants started moving the refreshments carts down the aisles. Matt sat at a window seat with Seneca beside him. He turned away from the window. "Okay, time's up. Tell me everything."

  "As you know, my long-lost father showed up in my life after no communication all these years. Now he's calling me almost every day. He wants to help us in any way he can. So he called some of his buddies in his hush-hush black ops fraternity and got information on past tomb robberies where it involved a famous person and only the remains were taken."

  "Does he think there's anything to make of it?"

  "Not really. He said there's no obvious threat from someone collecting old bones. He added that at worst, it was ghoulish and creepy, but not a threat to anyone. Still, he was eager to help."

  "He's right, it is creepy. So what did he come up with?"

  She bent over and pulled a folder from her carryon bag. "I just hope all this pans out and we find a connection to Montezuma's tomb. Then we'd know who was responsible for the explosion in Mexico-we'd know who killed Daniel and the others." She sat up and opened the folder. "Okay, not including the Aztec Emperor, there have been eleven other tomb robberies over the last two years that fit our criteria. We've already discussed Bloody Mary, Elizabeth Bathory, and Tamerlane. And we're headed to Paris to investigate the missing remains of Robespierre. That leaves seven more. This whole thing seems to have started about twenty-four months ago when the unmarked grave of Ilse Koch was opened and her remains removed. The grave was in an unattended prison cemetery in the small town of Aichach, located not too far from Munich."

  "I don't remember anything about that in the news."

  "Other than locally, it wouldn't have attracted much attention outside Germany."

  Matt appeared in thought for a moment. "Ilse Koch. Wasn't she a Nazi at a concentration camp?"

  "Wife of the Buchenwald commandant. Among other things, she had inmates with interesting tattoos killed so that their skin could be made into lampshades for her home. Totally drunk on power and sadistically cruel toward the prisoners, they called her the Bitch of Buchenwald. She was one of the first prominent Nazis to be tried by the US military. A war crimes tribunal sentenced her to life in 1947. She committed suicide by hanging herself at Aichach women's prison in 1967."

  "Human lampshades." Matt shook his head. "You can't make up stuff like that. Okay, she definitely qualifies for our ever-growing club of mass murderers. That leaves six more. Let me guess. Ted Bundy?"

  "I'm afraid Ted would be small potatoes in our band of butchers. No, our next missing body belongs to a guy who caused the death of so many people, their corpses floated on the Nile River in quantities sufficient enough to clog the Owen Falls Hydro-Electric Dam. Before he was through, he was responsible for
the deaths of over three hundred thousand people."

  "Idi Amin Dada?"

  "You're really good. He was forced to flee into exile in 1979. He fell into a coma and died in 2003 at King Faisal Specialist Hospital in Saudi Arabia. He was buried in a simple grave in Ruwais Cemetery in Jeddah. Six months ago, his body was discovered missing from the burial plot."

  "Okay, he definitely qualifies." Matt chewed on his lower lip as he seemed to digest the information so far. "That leaves five. Who's next?"

  She referred to her notes. "Remember King Herod the Great from the Bible? He was responsible for what's known as the Massacre of the Innocents. He ordered the execution of all young male infants in the region to avoid the loss of his throne. This was after the Magi dropped by on the way to Bethlehem and told him about the newborn King of the Jews. Some accounts claim that the number of babies slaughtered was over ten thousand. His tomb was discovered by an archaeologist from Hebrew University a little over a year ago at King Herod's winter palace in the Judean desert about twelve kilometers south of Jerusalem."

  "Let me guess-only his remains were missing."

  "Correct."

  Matt shook his head. "Unbelievable. And number four?"

  Seneca watched the gleam of excitement showing in his eyes. "Remember during our dinner at the Lorelei when you told me about Tamerlane and you said he was supposedly related to Genghis Khan?"

  "Yes."

  "Eighteen months ago, an international archaeological dig team uncovered what was believed to be Genghis Khan's palace in rural Mongolia. Soon after that, they found his tomb. It had recently been opened and resealed. Lots of grave goods were still inside. But..."

  "His remains were missing."

  "You got it."

  "How does he fit into our specs?"

  "Similar to Tamerlane." She scanned her notes. "For instance, in Iraq and Iran, he is looked on as a genocidal warlord who caused enormous destruction to the population. The invasions of Baghdad and Samarkand resulted in mass murders-portions of southern Khuzestan were completely destroyed. Among the Iranian people, he is regarded as one of the most despised conquerors along with Alexander and Tamerlane. Same thing in much of Russia, Middle East, China, Ukraine, Poland, and Hungary. Genghis Khan is reviled as a mass murderer who committed untold crimes against humanity."

  "Your father outdid himself with this research. You know, I feel like Casey Kasem counting down the top ten hits. And number three is?"

  "Slobodan Milosevic. He unleashed wars in Bosnia and Croatia, creating two million refugees and left a quarter million dead with his ethnic cleansing. In 2006, while he was being tried for crimes against humanity, he died in his prison cell of a heart attack. His body was returned to Serbia for burial. Eight months ago, maintenance workers found his grave opened and his body missing."

  The flight attendant came by and filled their drink order. Matt waited until she moved on down the aisle. "I'm finding this fascinating."

  "Hold your fascination for the next one."

  "What are we up to?"

  "Number two." She looked at her notes again then back at Matt.

  He gave her a "tell me" expression.

  "The Nazis were so infamous that they've given us two members of this club. Number two is none other than the Angel of Death himself, Dr. Josef Mengele. He performed cruel and grotesque experiments on camp inmates at the Nazi Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. There's no telling how many were sent to the gas chambers as he stood on the train platform inspecting new arrivals and directing some to the right, some to the left, his white coat and white arms outstretched evoked the image of a white angel.

  "After the war he escaped to South America, where he lived under the name of Wolfgang Gerhard. He drowned while swimming at a beach in Brazil in 1979. In 1985, authorities exhumed his body so forensic tests could be conducted to prove his identity. After that, the Sao Paulo Institute of Forensic Medicine stored his bones under heavy security in anticipation that some fringe group might want to steal the bones of one of their folk heroes. Recently the Institute discovered a break-in. A special safe holding only Mengele's remains was found empty."

  "Do they suspect one of the fringe groups?"

  "So far, none have claimed responsibility or bragged that they have his bones."

  "And the last one on the list?"

  "I've saved the best for last. This next robbery has to take the prize for the most brazen and bold. Can you imagine the balls it would take to steal the remains of the Russian Tsar, Ivan the Terrible, from inside the Kremlin?"

  "My God, when did that happen?"

  "Two weeks ago. And here's the wildest part of all. A guard on duty the night of the robbery claimed the thief was none other than the president of Russia himself."

  Matt sank back in his seat and counted them down on his fingers. "Montezuma, Bathory, Tamerlane, Bloody Mary, Genghis Khan, Mengele, Koch, Milosevic, Herod, Amin, Ivan the Terrible, and now Robespierre. Twelve members of our band of butchers. What do you think it all means?"

  "It's either the most ghoulish prank in history or we're sitting on some kind of time bomb."

  MASS GRAVE 2012, PARIS

  "THANK YOU FOR MEETING us so late at night," Seneca said to the man that Planet Discovery Magazine's sister publication had arranged to escort her and Matt into the catacombs. They stood on the sidewalk along Avenue du Colonel Henri Rol-Tanguy just outside a red brick building with a large unmarked metal door. The traffic had thinned from the daytime rush.

  "This is the best time," the guide said. He unlocked the door and motioned for them to follow him down a flight of stairs. "No one to disturb us. Besides, where we're going, it's always night." He was maybe five-foot-eight with a thick mustache and dark hair combed straight back that accented a narrow, taut face. He wore a black leather jacket over a sweater, heavy work gloves, and dark trousers that appeared as if beneath them there was some kind of knee padding. In one hand was a large battery lantern-a backpack hung on his back like a camel's hump.

  At the bottom, a small gallery led into a dark tunnel. Running along the upper left-hand side of the tunnel's arched ceiling was a bundle of thick electrical cables. A string of light bulbs spaced too far apart created a soft circle separating one black patch of tunnel from the next. The dank smell irritated Seneca's nose as the chilly dampness seemed to creep into her skin.

  "I guess they don't spend a lot on electricity down here," Matt said, a few paces ahead of Seneca.

  "No need." The guide said, still leading the way inside the tunnel. "This area is mainly for tourists, and the less light, the more dramatic their experience." He paused for a moment and turned to face them as he spoke. "Where we're going, there is no light, for the dead have no eyes."

  "That's nice," Seneca said under her breath as she flipped on the switch to the flashlight the guide had given her. Matt had received one as well.

  Again the man paused. "Save your batteries. You're going to need them later." Forging ahead, he said, "The catacombs are what's left of les carrieres de Paris, the quarries of Paris, dating back to the Romans. During the late seventeenth century, the city cemeteries became overwhelmed with bodies causing disease from improper burials, open mass graves, and decomposing corpses. So it was decided to relocate all the bodies into the tunnels." Again he paused and glanced back. "We will soon be surrounded by the remains of seven million Parisians."

  The trio came to a junction. As the guide motioned toward the right, Matt pointed to the other tunnel and asked, "Where does that one go?"

  "That is one of many entrances to a honeycomb of rock quarries estimated to be three hundred kilometers long. No one goes into that maze unless they wish to remain forever lost below the city. We go this way, not too far."

  To Seneca, the gravel sounded like walking on kernels of corn. Like the previous tunnel, this one was cold, damp, and poorly lit.

  "This is the Ossuary of Denfert-Rochereaux," the guide said as they came to the end of the passage and entered
a room whose ceiling appeared to be held up by a series of fat, square columns painted with white geometric designs. "You are about to be greeted by a million sets of bones."

  As the guide shone his light around, Seneca saw human bones stacked from floor to roof, forming a wall whose thickness was impossible for her to judge.

  "My God," she whispered with a gasp as her eyes followed the endless wall of brown bones-neatly stacked layers of human femurs separated by a quilted layer of skulls and then another of bones. Moving from one room to the next, the staggering number of remains overwhelmed her. "I never imagined this."

  "No one does," the guide commented, leading them slowly past thousands of the dead. "It's ironic that just below the streets of the City of Lights is the largest mass grave in history."