Indisputable Proof

by Gary Williams

  No longer would Whitacre sit idly by and be an observer. He would become one of God’s soldiers, armed to carry the fight.

  In less than two days, Nelson Whitacre knew that he would once again be united with Shelly.

  CHAPTER 29

  September 12. Wednesday – 10:42 p.m. Flying over the Mediterranean Sea

  They were in the sixteenth hour of the flight when Reba Zee came over the intercom to advise them they would be landing within 45 minutes.

  Jade felt refreshed, renewed, despite the nagging flesh wound on her arm from the gunshot. She had caught up on sleep, and once again she felt the thrill of the hunt. She was eager to land on the Isle of Patmos and search the Petra, even though, as she kept reminding herself, it was a stone landmark the height of a three-story building. She deduced the next jar would be somewhere inside it, yet she had no idea where to look once they got there. Still, the thought of continuing the search was tantalizing.

  To her side, Tolen was resting peacefully. She had heard him working on his laptop throughout the flight as she had drifted in and out of sleep. He had only dozed off within the last hour. It seemed he could subsist on minimal sleep.

  Jade stared at Diaz across the aisle. He was looking at a TIME magazine. Like Jade, he had slept for a considerable time, snoring like an angry bull, but now he was wide awake. He perused the magazine, flipping to the next page after only a brief moment, pausing, then onto the next page. He spoke English very well, but she wondered how accomplished he was at reading the language.

  Diaz looked up at Jade as if sensing her thoughts. He maintained a bland facade. “I only look at it for the pictures,” he said with a touch of droll wit.

  Jade found herself smiling involuntarily. Diaz did not seem to have much of a sense of humor, so his sardonic comment took her by surprise.

  Diaz kept his eyes locked on Jade. He closed the magazine and lowered it to his lap. “What is in this for you?” he asked with his gravelly accent.

  The question surprised her. “Pardon me?”

  “What is in it for you?” His words had turned crisp and coarse, as if he harbored some malice.

  “You mean finding the cache of Jesus’ artifacts?”

  Diaz nodded slowly.

  He was baiting her, and she knew it. She rehearsed her response in her mind for a few seconds before speaking. “Well, I am an archaeologist, Diaz, and finding artifacts related to Jesus of Nazareth is the kind of monumental discovery that anyone who has ever worked in this field dreams of making.”

  “Fame and glory. That’s it?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat with a vexing gaze. His discontent was obvious.

  Before he had a chance to continue, she went on. “It would also substantiate the historical existence of Jesus Christ to non-believers. Can you imagine the religious singularity that it would bring about? No longer would people argue whether Jesus, the man, ever walked the earth. It would be a unifying truth.”

  Diaz relaxed back in his chair as his face softened slightly. It was obvious her explanation had been palatable to him, and he had no rebuttal. He looked out the cabin window.

  “Diaz,” Jade spoke softly, “two things: first, thank you for helping me in the underground tomb. I would have never made it without you. And second, I never offered my condolences for the loss of your brother, Javier.”

  “Javier,” he repeated amidst a long exhale. “I’ve been going so fast, I’ve hardly had time to think about him. He was a good man, a good brother.” His entire demeanor suddenly turned melancholy. “I am going to miss him dearly. He was my last surviving family member.” He turned to Jade. “Thank you. You also have my deepest sympathy regarding your partner’s death.”

  She was pleasantly surprised by his sincerity and warmth, yet the thought of Phillip’s death was still too painful to dwell upon. She chose to focus the conversation back to Diaz’s brother. “Did Javier have a wife? Children?”

  “Unlike me,” Diaz said, rubbing his stubbly face, “he had once been married. It only lasted a short time. There were no children.” He paused. “At his wedding, I was his best man. We were very close.” Diaz made a raucous snort which took Jade a moment to recognize as a laugh. “I remember writing a message on the bottom of his shoes so that when they knelt to take their vows, the whole congregation could read it.”

  Jade smiled. “What did you write?”

  Diaz grinned and replied, “It said, ‘I am’ on his left shoe, and on his right shoe ‘a virgin.’ ”

  “You’re kidding,” Jade laughed heartily.

  “No, we played jokes like this all the time with each other,” Diaz looked down at nothing in particular. “Now he has been taken from this earth far too soon. I no longer have him to talk to.”

  The conversation had turned maudlin once again. Jade felt for Diaz. His pain was deep.

  “My only consolation is in knowing he is with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.” He crossed himself. With that, he turned back to his magazine.

  With Jesus, Jade thought. She once believed in the same ideology. Based on their recent discoveries, it appeared Jesus was a real historical figure, but there seemed to be no way to prove His divinity. The stories had most likely been embellished, propagated by organized religion in the hundreds and hundreds of years following His death. While she believed in Jesus, the man, these days she struggled with the blind leap of faith to Christ the Savior, as she had done when she was younger. Her studies had revealed to her that the Emperor Constantine and the Council of Nicaea had determined the divinity of Jesus Christ in approximately 325 AD. It seemed odd that it took a consensus of religious leaders to arrive at this conclusion. Jade was well aware as an archaeologist that when men document history, some tampering with the truth and slanting of facts always took place, either to appease themselves or market the concepts to the rest of the world. There were no such things as unbiased historical records. She wanted to believe Jesus Christ was divine—the Son of God—but logically, she had trouble reconciling such dogma.

  The nose of the plane dipped, and the craft angled downward. They were on their approach to the airport on the Isle of Patmos. The sky outside was pitch dark. The only noise at the moment was the drone of the engines.

  Tolen remained still, in a sound sleep by her side.

  CHAPTER 30

  September 12. Wednesday – 11:58 p.m. Isle of Patmos, Greece

  Bahadur Aslan pressed his wet back uncomfortably against the jagged wall of Kalikatsou. He had been positioned here for nearly four hours now, ever since darkness had fallen over Petra Beach. His sixty-six-year-old body was stiff and fatigued. Earlier in the day, he and his partner, Mecnun, had been able to monitor activity on the Petra from comfortable chairs along the beach as they blended in with the European tourists. Once darkness had fallen, they had taken positions on either side of the massive rock at the tip of the short peninsula overlooking the bay. The thunderstorm an hour ago had drenched them. To add to their irritation, minutes ago a mild wind had arisen, chilling them to the bone.

  Shaking, Bahadur wrapped his soggy, sour-smelling coat around himself with one hand while he used his other hand to prop the stock of the rifle on the stone ground.

  He looked up. The moon was masked by a collage of translucent clouds, yet the penetrating light soaked the beach across the way. The dark swells of rocky earth behind lifted quietly on the horizon as a ghostly backdrop. The smell of salt filled the air. Waves tumbled gracefully onto the sandy beach, barely audible from where he stood. Otherwise, there was silence as the dark bay tossed lazily with gentle swells.

  Few tourists had ventured out; only stragglers who stayed on the beach until dusk and then had made their way inland to hotels, restaurants, and other destinations. Since nightfall, Bahadur had only observed one couple strolling in the dark, and they had scampered of
f into the dunes behind the beach, probably for a clandestine session of lovemaking.

  Thus, the waiting continued.

  Bahadur heard faint voices riding in on the wind. Nervously, he squatted and grabbed the binoculars from a rock ledge to his side. He was cloaked in darkness, shielded from the moonlight by the towering side of the Petra, but still he rose slowly. He did not want to risk any sudden movement that might reveal him in the shadows. He brought the binoculars to his eyes and surveyed the beach. There they were: a man and a woman, walking barefoot along the shore at the edge of the waterline. The woman, wearing shorts and a tight tee shirt, had short hair and an alluring figure. The man holding her hand was larger, bulky but not overweight, wearing a jacket and pants rolled up to his knees. No doubt, this was another couple on vacation looking to screw under the Greek moonlight, Bahadur thought with an inward shrug. Such things were outside his experience any more.

  The salty breeze brought another unwelcome chill.

  Bahadur kept watch as the couple continued up the beach toward him. Their words, although indistinguishable, became louder and carried a lively, flirtatious tone. The woman laughed, and their banter filled the air. The man gave her a playful shove, and the woman nearly toppled over in the surf. Her laughter ceased, and she rejoined the man, taking his hand into hers.

  The closer the couple approached, the more uncomfortable Bahadur became with their presence. Bahadur considered sneaking around to the far side of the Petra to alert Mecnun, but he refrained. That would be ridiculous. They were obviously no threat. He would simply monitor the man and woman until they were clear of the area.

  The couple paused, turning toward each other in what Bahadur was sure was a lovers’ gaze. They hesitated, then slowly hugged, but something was wrong. Their embrace looked awkward, contrived.

  After a brief moment, the couple broke away and resumed walking toward the Petra, never once looking toward the colossal fixture. Something was not right. In the dark, Bahadur quietly hoisted his rifle. Raising it to eye level, he sighted the woman’s chest in the crosshairs of the scope. Even with the cool winds, his fingers were wet from perspiration as he touched the trigger. He had never shot another human being. The notion of murder was difficult enough, but killing people who were most likely in the wrong place at the wrong time was hard to justify. He tried to steel himself, protracting the argument in his head. They were behaving too suspiciously. He convinced himself that this was not just an innocent couple out for a stroll on the beach.

  He struggled to maintain his aim and stop his shaking.

  The couple was now within 50 feet. He would allow them only a few more steps before sealing their fate. He would shoot the woman first then deal with the man. He prayed their faces remained dark and cloaked. He did not want to see their expressions.

  He silently willed them to stop. They never did. He pivoted slightly and used the side of the stone wall as a brace to steady the weapon. Bahadur aligned the crosshairs at the center of the woman’s torso, took a deep breath and held it, then gently squeezed the trig—.

  With startling force, the rifle launched from Bahadur’s hands with a whizzing sound. Dazed, he heard the distant sound of a male voice yelling, “Get down!” His hand ached. Bahadur looked down at it in the dim light and saw the dark fluid gushing from a ragged hole where his palm should have been. The sight of torn veins and exposed meat turned his stomach to mush. It had to be a bad dream. He continued to stare blankly at his wounded hand, wondering why he did not feel anything. He wheeled around, delirious, confused as to what to do next. A severe cramp struck his right leg, causing him to buckle. He grabbed at it and collapsed to the hard stone.

  Only after someone had lifted him up and put their arm around him did his thoughts coalesce around the fact he had been shot…twice. He looked at his mangled hand, then at his leg where blood was spilling out onto his pants through a dark, wet hole in the fabric.

  “I’ve got you, Bahadur. I’ve got you,” the man whispered. “Quiet now so we can get away. Rafet is waiting.”

  Even in his fog, he recognized the man’s voice. Mecnun pushed him along, circling the Petra to the back side against the bay.

  ****

  Tolen broke into a full gallop toward the Petra from the white sand dunes where he had been positioned. His first shot had dislodged the rifle, and the second shot had disabled the man. As he suspected, the second man stationed at the Petra had come to the first man’s aid, and they were now circling behind the monstrous outcropping for cover. In doing so, they were trapping themselves. Between him and Diaz, they could flank their position and force the men to surrender. It was imperative they capture the two alive.

  Tolen neared the massive stone. It was as wide at the base as a house and as tall as an aged oak tree. Diaz was waiting for Tolen in the shadows with the Beretta 9mm Tolen had provided as a replacement for his lost firearm in Costa Rica. He had just put his shoes back on. As planned, Jade had hidden somewhere off the beach once the shooting had started. Tolen feared Diaz and Jade would have trouble pulling off the ‘couple in love,’ and he was right. He had been forced to take the shot much earlier than he preferred. Luckily, he had still found his mark both times.

  Tolen silently gestured for Diaz to circle the Petra to the right. Tolen went left. They would corner the two assailants at the backside of the stone where it abutted the bay. With one injured, there was no danger of them swimming away. If Tolen’s suspicion was correct—that these were also novices and not trained mercenaries—apprehending the two men should be relatively easy.

  Tolen eased around the stone, slowly circumventing its rocky side. The moon was shining on the bay, and the farther he went, the lighter it became. Halfway around, he heard a rumbling sound. The smell of the saltwater suddenly blended with the aroma of diesel exhaust. Instinctively, Tolen abandoned all efforts to approach stealthily and rushed around the stone. He arrived at the back and was met by Diaz approaching from the other direction. The two men heard the strain of the diesel engine accelerate and watched the dark form of a fishing boat race away from the Petra, parting the water, leaving the bay for the open sea. The assailants had gotten away via a water escape, something neither Tolen nor Diaz had anticipated, taking with them any chance of closing in on Ramsey and the Sudarium.

  Diaz threw his hands up in disgust. “Maldígalo todo!”

  Tolen felt immense frustration. He was off his game. He should have anticipated the move.

  Looking out over the bay at the vessel fading away into the darkness, he could hear his father’s words: You can stand there defeated, or deal with those elements within your control and move on. Which makes more sense? Tolen gathered himself and turned to Diaz, who was still pacing on a small stone ledge. “Let’s see what we can find.”

  CHAPTER 31

  September 13. Thursday – 12:06 a.m. Isle of Patmos, Greece

  “Any chance they’ll return?” Jade asked apprehensively after Diaz returned with a coil of rope they had hidden near the beach.

  “Extremely doubtful,” Tolen responded.

  Jade peered upward at the gargantuan mound of stone before them. It was as if the natural formation had sprouted from the sea. Like a giant lump of unmolded clay, it was pockmarked with massive indentations and jutting stone fingers casting eerie shadows on the grassy knoll below. “Wow, I knew this thing was big, but I had no idea the true size of it. It could take hours, even days, to examine the visible surface area, and that’s if we can even reach it at all.” Something caught her eye in the darkness, running up the side of the stone. “Are those...steps?”

  “They’re hewn from the rock,” Tolen began. “I read they were carved long ago, possibly during the early Christian era, by hermits who took refuge here, including the Apostle John.”

  “Let’s get on with it,” Diaz said, extracting a flashlight from his coat. H
e aimed the light to lead them to the base of the irregular stairs as he turned toward Jade. “Once again, we have no idea what we’re looking for, right?”

  “I think it’s a safe assumption to say we need to find a tiny image of either gold or frankincense since we located myrrh at the Costa Rican tomb,” Jade responded.

  Tolen, who had been carrying the rope, hoisted the coil and handed the rifle to Diaz. “Here, you carry this,” he said.

  Diaz looped the harness over his shoulder and pitched the weapon on his back. He began to ascend the stone steps. Jade followed on Diaz’s heels. Tolen went last. They each carried a flashlight.

  It was a precarious climb, especially in the dark with nothing to hold onto. They could only brace against the rock wall to the side as they went. The steps were fashioned from the rough stone, cut at different widths and lengths and were unevenly spaced. With a slight breeze swirling around the massive formation, Jade felt a twinge of vertigo as they climbed. The tang of briny air was constant.

  She trained the light down, taking one step at a time, ensuring she had firm footing. At each step, she paused, raised the flashlight and examined the stone wall to the side, running her fingers over the craggy surface.

  Jade felt a certain mystical aura surrounding this place. She was most likely traveling the same ancient staircase the Apostle John had once climbed. A mild shiver passed through her.