Indisputable Proof

by Gary Williams

  She realized their conversation had gone silent, and she discarded the image, searching for something to say. “Prior to our teaming up to decode the message and search for the stone sphere in Costa Rica, Dr. Cherrigan had been involved with an excavation not far from the Giza Plateau. A section of floor in the basement of a hotel had collapsed, revealing an underground tunnel. Unfortunately the passageway ended after a short distance and no artifacts were found.”

  “I recall reading about it.”

  Again there was a lull, but it was soon broken by Tolen’s voice carrying over the sound of the engine and churning ocean. “There it is.”

  “There what is?” she said. His words had been so placid, the meaning had been lost on her. Then she saw the direction Tolen was pointing and turned to the south.

  There, shadowed in the gray stone facing, was the triangular doorway of Formacion Descartes Santa Elena.

  ****

  After a visit that morning to his sister Cecily at the German prison, Haufmer Langstrafenanstalt, Nicklaus Kappel had returned on Simon Anat’s private jet to the estate in Switzerland. Ever since his boss had become a recluse due to his condition, it was one of the few perks: nearly unquestioned use of the man’s private plane.

  Kappel was surprised to see two of Anat’s contemporaries—the obnoxious old Englishman, Walter Ganhaden, and the Brazilian, Shauna Veers, a woman whose face was so tight from cosmetic surgeries that her smile looked painted on—departing from the estate just as he arrived. As usual, his employer offered no explanation for their visit, and he did not bother to ask. During his tenure working for the billionaire, Anat had shared some of his most private thoughts with his personal assistant, yet the man also held some closely guarded secrets (like what lay behind the steel door on the second floor). Kappel’s role was to listen, respond when asked, and never ask too many questions.

  Kappel spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening catching up on his duties, which went unattended in his absence. As was usually the case these days, his employer seemed indifferent about where Kappel had gone with his jet or what he had been doing that morning.

  Now, as evening fell, in the privacy of his office, Kappel checked to see if anyone had responded to his email. There was only one reply: Gordon Nunnery. Kappel vaguely recalled him from the gathering last year. He reached down and removed a thick folder from the bottom drawer. He thumbed through it until he came to Nunnery’s file where he looked at the man’s picture and dossier.

  This is not a very imposing man, he thought. Then he smiled. Yet he’s enough of a threat to keep things moving ahead on target.

  CHAPTER 15

  September 11. Tuesday – 3:01 p.m. Northwest Coast of Costa Rica

  The ocean nestled against the sheer gray façade which towered above them, creating a deepwater shoreline. Fortunately, the base of the Formacion Descartes Santa Elena was just a step above the ocean surface, and, therefore, they would not have to scale the stone wall to enter.

  Tolen brought the boat to within 150 feet of the land formation before cutting the engines. He purposely kept the vessel at a distance in case anyone came by. He wanted it to appear they were trying to conceal their activity, when in reality he welcomed any of the ‘True Sons of Light’ who wished to engage them.

  After they weighed anchor, it took the efforts of both Tolen and Jade to get Diaz topside. The tough, roguish inspector was a mess; a puddle of queasy discomfort. They helped him into the small dinghy behind the boat. Diaz slumped in his seat and grabbed his head. “Please, God, make it stop,” he said through deep, labored breaths. He looked up at Tolen, who was prepping the outboard motor to pull the cord. “At first I thought I was going to die,” Diaz said, then formed his mouth as if to belch, yet nothing came out. His face was an unnatural shade of green. “Now I fear I’m going to live.”

  Jade looked at Tolen. A mild grin brushed across her face. “Maybe you should take his gun away from him.”

  “He’ll be fine once we get to firm ground.”

  Tolen could sympathize with Diaz. He had become seasick, or motion sick as it is also called, as a child, the first time his father took him on the water. To this day, he recalled the horrid feeling of headache, nausea, and dizziness.

  Tolen removed his jacket. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jade do a nearly imperceptible double-take when she noticed the linear scar on his right forearm. She refrained from asking the obvious question. Instead, she helped him load the tools—pickaxes, flashlights, rope, electric lanterns—into the dinghy. Then they took their seats. Tolen sat aft and cranked the small outboard motor. Diaz was in the middle, head down in his hands. Jade was on the bow, staring appreciatively at the formation in the slate wall.

  Once the motor started, Tolen grabbed the tiller and aimed the small craft for the wall. The brisk wind and steady current forced Tolen to tack ahead, aiming to a point at the wall before the formation in order to offset the forces of nature.

  Ahead, the triangular opening grew larger. The discovery of Joseph of Arimathea’s tomb, if made, would be monumental. Not in his wildest dreams would he have foreseen the find of a biblical site in South America. The thought of it still seemed improbable.

  The sunlight angled in from the west, lancing a shadow across the recessed opening and darkening the inside. In fact, there was no way to tell how deep the cave extended, because it faced due north, so the sunlight never reached very far inside.

  Tolen had found no information to suggest anyone had ever ventured into the cavity. It was apparently relevant enough to have been named, yet not distinctive enough to be worthy of closer investigation—or at least no one had documented their findings. This was probably due to its inaccessibility.

  Tolen looked to either side and behind. There were no boats visible on the horizon, only whitecaps dotting the vast blue terrain to the north. A cloudless sky stretched overhead. In the slower-moving craft, the sun’s warmth intensified as the cool wind became shielded by the cliff facing. The air remained saturated with salt and sea. The rumbling motor propelled them forward despite the current’s best effort to draw them backward.

  “This is crazy,” Diaz muttered, his face still in his hands. “No one traveled here from the Holy Lands across the ocean two thousand years ago.”

  “Actually,” Tolen began, “in 1970, Thor Heyerdahl, a world-renowned explorer and archaeologist from Norway, sailed a twelve-meter papyrus boat from the old Phoenician port of Safi, Morocco to Barbados. His journey crossed the widest part of the Atlantic, some 3,200-plus miles. Heyerdahl proved that modern science has long underestimated early seafaring technology.”

  Jade gave him a subtle smile, apparently impressed once again with his knowledge.

  Diaz offered no response other than to continue to bemoan his discomfort.

  Nearing to within fifty feet of Formacion Descartes Santa Elena, Tolen cut the motor speed to half. Just then, the boat abruptly stopped, jerked forward, and stopped again. Tolen killed the engine.

  Diaz lifted his head weakly. “What’s….the matter?” he asked in a throaty voice.

  Jade looked at Tolen with palpable concern.

  Tolen lifted the motor by tugging on the powerhead and tilting the prop out of the water. The skeg, the extended piece that guards the prop, had impacted something under water. With the lower half of the motor now raised, he could see the twisted metal at the end. “There’s a rock bed, or possibly a seamount just below the surface adjoined to the underwater base of the wall. We struck it.”

  “A subduction zone?” Jade asked.

  “There’s no way to know. We don’t have a depth finder. It means we can’t take the boat all the way in. Even if we kept the motor up and paddled, it’s not worth the risk of slicing the bottom of the craft on a jutting piece of underwater structure. We’ll have to swim the rest of the way.
The tide is low, but rising. I’ll pull the long lead rope to the formation, and we’ll tie the boat up there so it doesn’t drift away.”

  Jade looked down at the water. Diaz had plugged his face in his hands again.

  Tolen opened a rear compartment and tossed a 25-pound anchor out from the stern. Then he tied it off on one of the cleats.

  “How can we swim over there and carry the tools?” Jade asked, still eyeing the water. She seemed anxious.

  Tolen removed three life jackets from underneath his seat. He tossed one to each person. He grabbed the two pickaxes and, one at a time, launched them across the water into the Formacion Descartes Santa Elena where they landed with a clang and were lost from sight. He took the extra coil of rope and draped it over Diaz’s shoulder and neck like a bandolero wearing a gun belt. The man hardly seemed to notice in his sickly state.

  Tolen removed a large plastic bag from his pants pocket and proceeded to place the flashlights, electric lanterns, and his Springfield pistol inside. He motioned for Diaz’s weapon, and the man groggily complied. Then Tolen closed the bag off, making sure it sealed shut, and tied it to the end of the bow rope. “Diaz, if you can get that coil of rope over, I’ll get the rest as I take the bow rope. I’ll go first, followed by you, then Jade. As I stretch out the bow rope, you can both use it as a guide. Hopefully, we’ll avoid any jagged rock protrusions if we go slowly. Everyone take your time, and keep your shoes and clothes on,” he said, happening to look at Jade.

  “Did you think I was going to strip starkers before you two?” she asked, arching her eyebrows.

  “Let’s go,” Tolen shrugged as he grabbed the plastic bag and lead rope. He slipped over the gunwale into the water.

  Diaz pushed himself up and plopped over the side of the boat. Jade was last, entering the water tentatively. Next to the boat, the threesome stood upon a forest of jagged rocks four feet below the surface.

  Even with the weight of the flashlights and lanterns, the plastic bag, with its pocket of air, remained buoyant. Tolen kept a firm grip on it as he started trudging forward. Diaz followed behind, and Jade fell in line after the two men.

  With any luck, the stone protrusions at their feet would remain at the current depth and not impede their progress. As Tolen proceeded further ahead of them, the lead rope stretched out, and Diaz and Jade grabbed it as they went. Not surprisingly, the water was warm as the waves sloshed against Tolen’s chest, slowing his progress.

  Halfway to the opening, the pointed rocks below became increasingly deeper. The tips also sharpened. Without shoes, their feet would have been cut to shreds. Tolen was forced to swim, gliding into the teeth of the swells. In turn, Diaz and Jade also went horizontal, paddling across the surface. Tolen maintained a firm grip on the lead rope and plastic bag as he swam vigorously, knowing he only had to cover another fifteen feet. He was a strong swimmer, and even fully clothed, he cut through the swells. Within seconds, he reached a flat, underwater stone ledge which angled slightly upward into the shadows of the wall crevice. He climbed onto the dry stone, turned, and helped Diaz up, and then Jade. Tolen noticed a chalky smell as the threesome took a moment to remove their life jackets and allow their clothes to drain water. Tolen tied the end of the line around a fortuitous rock formation with a curved stone that created a small circle, perfect for his needs. Then he proceeded to open the plastic bag and disperse the flashlights and lanterns. He handed Diaz his pistol and returned his own weapon to his wet holster under his left arm. Each switched their flashlight on.

  Reaching the Formacion Descartes Santa Elena was easier than he had expected. Yet when he looked into the cave where the lights cut through the shadows, Tolen knew the real challenge was just beginning.

  There was a three-foot-high, uneven rectangular opening in the back left corner of the recess. It was irregular enough to be the work of nature, but precise enough to be manmade. Tolen made his way over to it, knelt down, and shined his flashlight inside. “There’s another cave.” He crabbed through, and Diaz and Jade followed.

  This second cave was clearly natural with its seven-foot scabrous ceiling. It was also completely empty. A dozen feet in, it ended at a wall of craggy black-and-gray stone. There were no other outlets.

  They were at a dead end.

  CHAPTER 16

  September 11. Tuesday – 3:33 p.m. Northwest Coast of Costa Rica

  “There’s nothing here,” Diaz remarked. Jade noticed his voice sounded nearly human again. The stable footing had cured his seasickness almost immediately.

  As Tolen surveyed the walls and floor, Jade detected a faint burnt smell.

  “Someone has been here,” Tolen said as he moved to the rear left corner of the cave floor and kicked at a low, dark pile of soot. Dust stirred into the air. “Ashes. Probably from a campfire. No telling how long it’s been here.”

  Jade shot him a discouraged look.

  “It doesn’t mean someone found the tomb. May have simply been someone seeking shelter,” Tolen tried to reassure her.

  She appreciated his attempt to mollify her, but she was not convinced. She desperately wanted this to have been Joseph’s tomb.

  Jade turned and felt the rock edge along the lower rectangular entrance they had passed through. “This opening is manmade. See? There are tool marks,” her voice gained back some enthusiasm.

  “What does it matter?” Diaz said. “There’s nothing here.”

  Jade strolled to the left wall and began to examine it. Tolen flicked on one of the electric lanterns, throwing suffused light about the room.

  “The cave appears natural,” Tolen remarked.

  “I would agree,” Jade said, sliding the tips of her fingers along the smooth surface. Tolen and Diaz came to her side.

  Diaz remained disinterested. “We got soaking wet for nothing, and now I get to ride back in that boat while my stomach turns in knots again. It’s time to leave this treasure hunt and talk to the authorities about Dr. Phillip Cherrigan’s death. Time is running out.”

  Jade spun around. “We’re not going anywhere until I’ve had a chance to examine this room.” Her words were clipped, her tone annoyed.

  Diaz offered a single grunt and took a seat on the stone floor. “You do what you have to do. Then we’re leaving.”

  Jade’s eyes shot daggers at the man. She started to turn away in disgust then wheeled back on Diaz. “Do you realize the discovery of artifacts which could validate Jesus’ existence would be earth-shattering?”

  “One does not need physical evidence to know that Jesus existed and was the Son of God,” Diaz responded calmly.

  “That’s the point, Diaz,” Jade said. “You don’t require tangible evidence, since your beliefs hinge on your faith; but a cache of Jesus’ possessions, incontrovertibly tied to the man, would be proof to others who may not have the level of faith you possess.”

  Diaz’s brow furrowed. “You speak of this cache as if we don’t already have objects from His past, when, in fact, we do. The Sudarium, the Shroud of Turin...those linens once touched the body of the Savior.” Irritation had crept back into his voice.

  “Even you must realize, Diaz, there’s no way to prove the authenticity of either relic indisputably,” Jade added. “These, too, must be categorized as items of faith.”

  Diaz looked incensed. “So you think the Sudarium is a fake?”

  Jade tightened visibly. “I never said that.” Stay calm. “My understanding is there’s no positive proof to claim it even existed in the first century.”

  “It’s mentioned in the Bible!” Diaz fumed, his rising agitation evident.

  Tolen responded calmly. “If archaeologists could find tangible evidence, those who doubt Jesus’ historical existence would be forced to accept the truth. The find would be monumental for both historians and biblical pundits.”


  To Jade, Tolen seemed introspective as he spoke this time.

  “There’s also the possibility that the earthly objects of Jesus may be referring to his remains,” Jade said. She was thinking as an archaeologist, but even as the words left her lips, she realized it was a mistake to bring up the point in Diaz’s presence.

  “His...what?” Diaz screwed his face. “There are no earthly remains of Jesus Christ! Have you not read the biblical account of the resurrection?! I will listen to no more of this blasphemy!”

  Jade gave up on Diaz. She continued to guide her fingers over the wall, keeping the flashlight in her other hand to provide focused light.

  Tolen spoke, “What are you hoping to find, Jade?”

  “Another symbol like we found on the Harvard sphere, perhaps,” She turned to Tolen, her hazel eyes pleading as she lowered her voice. “This has to be the place. The description matches the clue so perfectly. There’s got to be something we’re missing.”

  Tolen joined Jade at the rock face, and the two meticulously inspected the left wall. It took about twenty minutes to examine every square inch, but they found nothing unusual—no images or symbols. It was merely a flat wall of stone. Jade turned and drifted to the wall behind them.

  Tolen looked at the wall where Jade now stood, then at the back wall. Diaz was seated in the middle of the room watching them. He had unshouldered the rope, taken his shirt off, and was wringing the seawater out of it.

  “Let’s examine this one next,” Tolen said, motioning to the rear wall.

  Jade followed his recommendation.

  The two began studying the wall judiciously. It appeared to be the same as the other three walls. Tolen stepped back and studied it momentarily.

  By now, Diaz had also come over to see as he struggled to get his wet shirt back on.