by Lynn Sholes
After scrolling through three pages of returns, she went back to the first page and reread one of the references. "Okay, this is really a stretch, but there's a manifest listing from one of the ships Velazquez furnished Cortes to sail from Cuba to Mexico. And it was in the year you mentioned-1517."
"What does it say?"
"Only that Cortes had among his personal items an object called a holy box or reliquary containing a sacred object. It was given to him by the governor."
"But we don't know what it was?"
"No, but there's also a reference to a diary of a Spanish officer who accompanied Cortes to Mexico. Apparently, there's a notation in the diary about a religious icon given to Cortes by the governor of Cuba."
"Now we're getting somewhere."
Sister Angelica made a note on a pad of paper, tore it off, then rose and walked to the bookshelves. "All of Professor Flores's books have been cataloged and stored in archival boxes." She ran her finger along a line of boxes about shoulder high. "Here it is."
She removed the box, opened it and checked the 3 by 5 identification card inside against the label on the box. Bringing it to the desk, she opened a drawer and removed a pair of surgical gloves. Pulling them onto her hands, she gently lifted the book-a small, dark leather-bound volume about the size of a passport, and a half-inch thick. She glanced at her notes, then, with great care, opened the diary. Using a desk knife, she separated the pages until she found the one she sought.
She read for a moment. "The officer referred to the relic as imagen verdadera which means true image."
"So it could be the veil?"
She turned to look at him and shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not."
"What's that?" Matt pointed to a piece of yellowed paper sticking out of the diary.
Sister Angelica used the desk knife to turn the page and expose a small sheet of folded notebook paper. "It might be one of Professor Flores's personal notes. Looks like the paper he always used, and I've found his one-page notes to himself stuffed in books before."
"Let's have a look."
She gently unfolded the paper. There were a few lines written in pencil. Sister Angelica looked at Matt with a broad smile. "It's Flores's handwriting dated 1981, and it says, Call William Groves with confirmation of the Veil of Veronica."
"William Groves?"
The nun looked up from Professor Flores's note. "Isn't he the billionaire industrialist?"
"Yes... " Matt drew the word out. He was distracted, thinking it quite a coincidence that Groves Avionics was the one responsible for blowing his boat out of the water, and now here was Flores's note connecting Groves to the veil. Some thin fiber wove all this together. "Would it be possible to get a photocopy of that?"
"Of course." She rose and went to a copy machine on a corner table. "Do you think this is what you're searching for?"
"Maybe. It definitely fills in a couple of missing puzzle pieces." While he waited for her to finish making the copy, he said, "On my way in, I saw the stone on the wall outside the building commemorating the spot where Cortes and Montezuma II met for the first time."
"Yes, there is so much history beneath our feet. Inside the hospital chapel was the tomb of Cortes, the great conquistador. He died in Spain but his remains were eventually brought here. It was his request before he passed away."
"What do you mean that it was his tomb?"
She turned to face him. "You must not have heard."
"Heard what?"
"Two weeks ago, his tomb was broken into and his remains stolen."
BEGINNING OF THE END 2012, MIAMI
SENECA HOVERED BEHIND THE side of the bed as the man came to the opposite side. His voice seemed deliberately loud, and the words slowly spoken. "Brenda. How are you feeling? Breathing a little easier?"
Seneca heard the hum of the motors as the head of the bed began to rise.
"Can you sit up for me?"
This was not the same voice as the intruder who had been in the room minutes before. Seneca's taut shoulders relaxed-she was sure it was the doctor this time.
"Doctor?" She stood and fiddled with the small gold hoop earring in her right ear.
He seemed stunned by her sudden appearance.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I lost my earring. I just found it on the floor as you walked in." She hoped the excuse didn't sound too lame or her nervousness give away the lie. "I don't think we've met. I'm Seneca Hunt, Brenda's daughter." She reached across the bed to shake his hand.
"Dr. Glaser. I'm consulting with Dr. Harris, the doctor at your mother's nursing home. I'm a pulmonary specialist."
"Dr. Harris? Dr. Liu is her doctor."
"I guess Dr. Harris took over some of his cases."
"Oh. Well, nice to meet you. How is my mother doing?"
"I was just about to listen to her lungs." He put his hand behind Brenda's shoulder for support. "Sit up for me."
Brenda gripped the bedrail and tugged herself forward to straighten.
"Good girl. Now, deep breath." There was a moment or two of silence other than Brenda's labored breaths.
The doctor leaned over and hopped his stethoscope from place to place on Brenda's back, appearing to listen intently. Shortly, he took the stethoscope from his ears.
"Okay, all done." He pushed a button and lowered the head of the bed to a partial upright position. "The nurse will get you up in the chair in a little while. Then you'll be able to look out the window."
"So, how is she?"
He didn't answer as he patted Brenda's hand. "Dr. Harris will be in to see you later." Then he turned his attention to Seneca and spoke softly. "Why don't we talk outside?"
Seneca followed him, scanning the hall in all directions, hoping the previous visitor hadn't returned yet. She needed to know about her mother, but she also had to get out of the hospital in a hurry.
"I'll tell you what, Alzheimer's or not, your mother is tough." He wrapped the stethoscope around his neck. "Day before yesterday I thought we were going to have to put her on a ventilator, but to our surprise she pulled out of it. Pneumonia can be extremely serious for someone with emphysema."
"Then she's going to be all right?" She glanced down the hall as she spoke.
The doctor's brow furrowed. "Ms. Hunt, you understand that this disease is progressive. It doesn't go away and doesn't get bet
His voice rang with compassion, and Seneca appreciated his sensitivity. She nodded.
"It will eventually be just too much for her lungs or too much strain on the heart. This was a close call."
She found herself whispering, "I know. I know." Seneca understood his drift. He didn't want to be so blunt as to say that her mother was drowning in her own fluids, that she wasn't going to be around much longer, that she's lucky she pulled through this episode and that things were only going to get worse-that this was the beginning of the end.
Seneca stood in the ladies room of the main lobby. She didn't dare go out to her car, sure that it was being watched. Where the hell was Al? When they parted at the airport, he'd said he was going to get his car and head straight to the hospital.
Seneca pulled her cell phone from her purse, pushed Al's name in her contacts list and put the phone to her ear. When she didn't hear it ringing, she looked at the display. Call failed. Damn. This building was like a fortress. No signal. Going outside and staying in the open while using the payphone would make her too vulnerable. She'd have to find another way to call Al. Perhaps a phone in one of the rooms.
Mustering her courage she left the restroom and headed to the elevator. Three women and a man joined her, waiting for the doors to open. Her pulse sped up. She had no clue what the man in her mother's room looked like. He could be the stranger standing beside her. There was no way of knowing.
When the doors finally opened, Seneca stepped inside and pushed the button for the third floor, deliberately avoiding the floor where her mother's room was. From hearing two of the women in conversation, she thought maybe they
were together.
"Two, please," one of them said.
Seneca obliged, pressing the second floor button. The man said nothing and neither did the third woman. When the elevator stopped on the second floor, the two women friends got off. As the doors of the elevator closed, Seneca was grateful that she wasn't alone with the man. Still, she held her breath as the elevator bumped into motion. The ride to the third floor couldn't have taken more than five seconds, but it seemed an eternity. Not daring to look at him, she glared at the doors and slipped one hand inside her purse gripping the Lady Smith.
At last the elevator thumped to a stop, and the doors opened. Seneca shot out and headed down the hall taking a quick glimpse behind her. The man got off but didn't appear to be watching or following. He moved slowly, glancing from room to room as if searching for a particular number.
Seneca peered in several rooms, finally finding one with the occupant sleeping. The second bed empty. She crossed to the bedside stand near the vacant bed. Resting her purse on the bed, she removed her cell phone and recalled Al's number from the list, then dialed it on the hospital landline phone.
A sudden jab in her back made Seneca drop the receiver. She knew instantly what it was.
"Keep calm and no one will get hurt."
Seneca's breath caught, and her mind tripped over the voice from behind her.
It was a woman.
CHAMPAGNE 2012, MIAMI
SENECA DID AS HER assailant ordered and turned around, the face of the woman holding her at gunpoint coming into view. "You were on the elevator." She realized she'd been suspicious of the wrong person. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
"Quiet." The woman stole a quick glance at the sleeping patient.
Seneca cut her eyes toward her purse, thinking of the Lady Smith.
The woman must have noticed. She picked it up and looked inside. "Oh, my." She obviously spied the gun, then met Seneca's gaze. "As long as you cooperate, you won't get hurt and your mother will remain unharmed. Do exactly as I say. We're going to go down the hall and take the elevator back to the lobby. Then we'll walk out and get in a car waiting for us. No sudden moves or you'll never see your mother again. Got it?" She waved the gun. "Now, let's go."
Seneca nodded. She watched the woman drape a sweater over the small pistol while keeping it aimed at her. Then Seneca led the way out of the room with her assailant right behind.
They rode the elevator down with a young couple. From there, they moved across the expansive lobby and out the main doors to the hospital portico. Stopping at a trash receptacle, the woman disposed of Seneca's purse. "You're not going to need that."
A black limo sat waiting, and as they approached, a man emerged from the back.
"Hello, Seneca." He held the door open for her.
"Carlos?" Her breath caught as she stared into the face of the TV Mexicali tech assistant from the Aztec dig site.
"Call me by my Nahuatl name. I am Coyotl. Get in."
Trembling first from fear that was quickly replaced by anger, Seneca slid into the back seat and watched him follow and sit beside her.
The woman took the seat facing them. She tapped on the privacy window separating the passenger compartment from the driver, and the car started forward.
"Good job." Carlos nodded to the woman. "He's going to be pleased." He turned to Seneca. "I'd like you to meet my associate, Ilse."
Seneca's mind stumbled over the name. Ilse-as in Ilse Koch, the Bitch of Buchenwald? It couldn't be. Ilse Koch was as dead as Idi Amin had been before Seneca met him on the island. "I don't understand any of this." She glared at Carlos and her fury spewed out. "Damn you! You murdered Daniel. Bastard!" She lurched, striking him with a solid blow to his cheek.
Carlos responded quickly, pinning her arms behind her and shoving her head to her knees. He rammed her wrists up, making her yelp with the pain. "Oh, that hurts doesn't it? I suggest you calm yourself, unless of course you don't mind a little pain." He nudged her elbows up again. "And I said to call me by my Nahuatl name. Coyotl."
Seneca bit down on her bottom lip hard enough she was certain she tasted blood. "Let go of me."
"How do I know you won't try that again?"
She nodded.
"Swear it on your dear Daniel's grave."
Seneca struggled not to attempt to rip away from him. "I swear." She couldn't bring herself to say on Daniel's grave.
Carlos slowly released his hold but only after giving one last thrust on her arms. "Sit up. Easy."
Seneca drew herself up and rolled her shoulders to help take the kink out. "What's this all about? Where are you taking me?" All she could think was that they probably needed to get away from any witnesses before killing her.
Ilse said, "Let's just say you've won a vacation in the Bahamas. Aren't you the lucky one?"
"Fuck you." Seneca immediately wished she'd kept her mouth shut.
"I like your spirit," Ilse said. "You remind me of myself. I'd prefer this to be a more civil trip. Things will go much better for you if you simply don't resist." She rested the gun in her lap as if making a point and removed a champagne flute from the onboard bar. "I don't see any reason not to travel in style. Champagne?"
Carlos lifted a bottle of Krug Brut and uncorked it, the foam washing over the lip of the neck. He poured a glass and held it out to Seneca.
She shook her head.
"Come on, don't be a party pooper," Ilse said. "Convince her."
He offered her the champagne again. "Have a drink in memory of your dearly departed."
Son-of-a-bitch, Seneca thought. Just the idea of joining him in a drink ignited a rage in her, but she didn't dare show it. She took the glass as he filled two more.
Seneca saw that they were coming to a stoplight. No way was she going peacefully. She needed some of her mother's gutsy strength right now.
"Cheers," Ilse said as the car came to a halt.
Seneca lifted her glass and threw the champagne into Ilse's face. In the same instant she twisted and reached for the door handle.
"That was a mistake." Ilse slammed the butt of her gun into the back of Seneca's head.
TRANSLATION 2012, MIAMI
AL REACHED TO THE passenger seat of his car and unsnapped the latches on his briefcase. He'd stored his cell inside when they took off from Panama. After leaving Miami International and promising to meet Seneca at the hospital, he had stopped for gas and to get some cash from an ATM. Seneca was probably wondering what was taking him so long. Maybe even talking herself into the notion that he had let her down again and decided not to comethat would be just like him, she would assume.
Palming the cell, he felt for the power button. As soon as the phone found the network, he heard a brief tone; a notification that he had voice mail. Al entered his code to retrieve his messages. There was only one. He heard a woman's voice in the background. "Keep calm and no one will get hurt," it began.
Al stomped on the accelerator and turned the volume up on the cell. He listened until he heard the woman say, "Now, let's go." Then silence.
Jesus H. Christ, why didn't I turn on my cell when we landed?
Al was only a few blocks from Jackson Memorial. Within a short time, he pulled up under the hospital portico and jumped out, bumping a man in a wheelchair and an attendant. "Sorry."
Bursting through the doors, he shouted at the woman behind the information desk across the lobby. "Call security. Now!"
Startled, the woman glared with eyes wide and mouth dropping open. Al had nearly reached the desk when a man in uniform darted forward and blocked him, one hand resting on the butt of his holstered gun.
"Hold it right there." The security guard punched the walkie on his shoulder. "Code yellow, main lobby."
"It's okay. I'm not a threat. My daughter's been abducted. Seal the hospital until it's been searched. They could still be in the building."
Al stood in the office of the hospital's chief of security. It had taken him more time than he wished to ea
se the minds of the security personnel and hospital administrator, wasting precious moments. But what was done was done. The window of possible opportunity had been missed, and there was nothing he could do about it. Even hearing Seneca's message that had automatically gone to his voice mail hadn't really convinced them she had been abducted. ILIAD had finally stepped in and not only squelched their questions, but also had arranged for complete hospital security clearance and access to anything Al requested.
Obviously impressed with Al's credentials, the security guard was now making every effort to appease and earn Al's respect to the point that it was embarrassing.
