CHAPTER 38
September 13. Thursday – 10:58 a.m. Dietikon, Switzerland
Nicklaus Kappel escorted Tolen from the building. Walking through the manor, they passed the German security guard in the kitchen. He had his head tilted back, sniffling. A female in a cook’s uniform was tending to his bloody nose with a red-stained cloth. The guard glared and mumbled obscenities in German as Tolen passed them.
Just prior to departing, Tolen had asked Anat for a complete list of the participants at the meeting last year, but the man refused. Tolen did not argue. There was not enough time to vet the list anyway, and with the information Anat had provided him, he was beginning to formulate a new theory.
How Boyd Ramsey had garnered an invitation to the gathering last year, Anat would not say. Tolen suspected it had something to do with his analytic abilities, and the fact Ramsey was a bit of a renaissance man who also held degrees in Biology, Philosophy, and Asian Humanities. It was odd to think Ramsey would accept Anat’s offer, although, even for an agnostic, $30 billion is one hell of a motivator.
Tolen discovered the taxi driver had been sent on his way. Therefore, Kappel arranged to have Tolen driven back to the airfield in one of Anat’s limousines. To Tolen’s surprise, Kappel climbed into the limousine with him and settled into the black leather seat far across the way. He had noticed Kappel’s extreme body language. Every time the man was put in a situation where he drew close to someone else, he became nervous and backed away. The man had an expansive personal space bubble. Tolen had never known anyone with such acute aphenphosmphobia.
Now, sitting across the way, Tolen saw the back of Kappel’s right hand. There were a series of small circular scars.
“Have you worked for Mr. Anat long?” Tolen asked in German.
The German responded in English. “Thirteen years.” He paused. “I want to apologize for my behavior when you came to the door. I was only doing my job.”
“I understand,” Tolen paused. “Mr. Kappel, were you included in the offer?”
“Call me Nicklaus, and no,” he chuckled. “It doesn’t matter, because it’s an impossibility. The eternal question is answered for each of us only in due time. Just because you tempt scientists and doctors with an outrageous reward doesn’t mean they’ll be successful. I’ve even advised Mr. Anat of my opinion, but he refuses to listen.”
“Does he normally take your advice?” Just then, Tolen’s phone rang. He elected not to answer in front of Kappel.
“He’s open to suggestions and heeds my input when he deems fit, but impending death makes rational men irrational. He follows his own counsel these days.”
For the rest of the drive, Kappel remained quiet. When they reached the airfield, Tolen was dropped off and thanked Kappel for the lift.
It was a bright, clear morning, and the airstrip was bustling with activity. In the distance, he saw the Learjet and began walking toward it. He was consumed in thought about Simon Anat’s bizarre offer and Nicklaus Kappel’s comments regarding his boss when his phone rang.
“Hello, Bar.”
“Hey, I’ve been trying to get hold of you. I’ve confirmed that Claudia Denoit from Reims, France, did fly into Switzerland on the same day as the others last year. She’s a geophysicist, by the way. That’s quite an eclectic group of professions all flying into Switzerland one day and out the next. Did you find out what they were all doing there?”
“Yes,” he responded as he reached the stairs to the plane. He briefly explained Anat’s condition and his offer for proof of an afterlife.
“Wow, didn’t see that one coming,” Bar exclaimed after Tolen finished. “Oh, I decided to check on the travel of some of the other people, specifically the victims, and guess what? Dr. Phillip Cherrigan was also there.”
“In Switzerland?” Tolen’s surprise was evident in his voice.
“Yep. According to records, he and his wife, Margaret, were there, but something seemed out of sync. I found a credit card receipt at a gas station in New Jersey for Margaret Cherrigan the night she was supposed to be with her husband in Europe, so I had Interpol send me surveillance video from the Swiss airport. Dr. Cherrigan can be seen walking away from the boarding gate with a woman. She looks very similar to his wife: long blonde hair, svelte figure, but it struck me that she was acting suspicious. I ran her image through the facial recognition database. Turns out it’s not his wife after all. It’s your buddy, Dr. Jade Mollur.”
“Jade?”
“Also, it appears Dr. Mollur is broke. Dr. Cherrigan was funding their archaeological activities. Once he was murdered, his wife shut down her access to the funds. If you and Diaz hadn’t come along, once she left that jail in New Jersey, she didn’t have enough money to catch a cab. She’s practically destitute.”
Tolen had no response. He scaled the steps and entered the cabin of the Learjet. Reba Zee was sitting in one of the passenger seats reading a magazine. She waved at him and headed to the cockpit.
“Tolen, you there?”
“Yes, I’m here, Ms. Bar,” he said, feeling deflated. “Anything on Boyd Ramsey?”
“No,” she said flatly. “We know he flew into Spain in the summer. He didn’t try to conceal his movements at all, but then he just disappeared. The next we know, his fingerprints are at the Cathedral de San Salvador crime scene where Javier Diaz was murdered and the Sudarium stolen, then at the Costa Rican murder scene of Dr. Phillip Cherrigan, then on the communiqué sent to the Spanish press. As we discussed, each instance had a fingerprint from the ring finger of his left hand.”
“There’s one more person I need you to check on: Nicklaus Kappel,” Tolen spelled out the name for her. “He’s Simon Anat’s personal assistant. Give me his background and recent travel. I’m sure Anat has a private plane.”
“Where are you headed now? We only have ten hours before the Sudarium will be declared stolen, and I guess it goes without saying Vakind is anxious for some good news.”
“I’m returning to the Isle of Patmos.”
After hanging up and informing Reba Zee of their next destination, Tolen considered his options. The news about Jade was disheartening. She and Dr. Cherrigan had obviously been in attendance at Simon Anat’s gathering last year, which meant they were privy to the offer. That explained her fervor to continue the search even after Dr. Cherrigan’s death. So much for altruistic, or even archaeological, reasons, he thought to himself, wondering if she had killed Cherrigan and tainted the crime scene with Ramsey’s fingerprints. Even if she was not the murderer, she was obviously after the $30 billion, and Tolen had unknowingly been drawn into her hunt. Without Tolen and Diaz and the ability to travel at no cost on the CIA’s private jet, Jade Mollur would still be in Morristown, New Jersey, sitting on a street corner. She probably staged the car crash to make it appear she was a victim of an attack by the ‘True Sons of Light’ in order to get their attention.
To Tolen’s chagrin, it was painfully obvious that Dr. Jade Mollur was far from what she appeared to be.
Yet as pieces to the mystery slowly fell in place, greater and equally perplexing questions arose: how would the discovery of a cache of objects which belonged to Jesus Christ satisfy Simon Anat’s proof of life after death? How did the ‘True Sons of Light’ and Boyd Ramsey fit into all this?
Still, the most frustrating question remained: where was the Sudarium, and what was the medical laboratory technician, Aaron Conin, doing with threads from the relic? Obviously, he had conducted, or planned to conduct, tests. The Sudarium was said to have the bloodstains of Christ on it. If Ramsey, or whoever hired him, was trying to confirm that the blood on the Sudarium belonged to Jesus, they would first need a conclusive sample to match with it, but none existed. Besides, Anat wanted indisputable proof of life after death, not confirmation that Jesus existed.
One thing was certai
n: he had found the motivational trigger. Thirty billion dollars would drive a man or woman to do many deviant things, including murder.
Also, the date discrepancy still had him completely baffled. Conin had a sample of the Sudarium on August 24th, six days before it was stolen from the church in Spain on August 30th.
The answer suddenly hit Tolen like a shot. It didn’t make sense because it wasn’t possible!
Tolen walked into the cabin where Reba Zee was checking the instrument panels and gauges.
“Change of plans,” Tolen said. “I need to go to Oviedo, Spain.”
“You’re the boss!” Reba Zee declared happily, as if she enjoyed these sudden shifts in destination.
Tolen considered Diaz and Jade waiting for him back on the Isle of Patmos. Given Jade’s level of deception, it was conceivable Diaz’s life was in danger. He picked up his cell phone and called Diaz.
****
Diaz sat on the bed drumming his fingers on the top cover. He had lost patience hours ago.
Jade held a piece of paper as she paced from door to window and back again. She had been doing so continuously for the last 25 minutes. The paper contained the translated text from the roll in the second stone jar. She had been studying it and talking to herself for an hour, first at the table and now hastening back and forth across the room. Diaz thought he could see track marks in the carpet, and it was getting on his nerves.
When his cell phone rang, he answered it, not recognizing the international phone number. “Si?”
“Diaz, it’s Tolen. Please answer me with ‘yes’ or ‘no’ responses: is Jade still there with you?”
“Where are you? We’re losing valuable time.”
“Diaz,” Tolen’s words hardened. “Don’t say another word. Just listen to me.”
There was a peculiar tone in the American’s voice which caught Diaz’s attention; something grave. He curtailed any further outbursts, waiting for Tolen to continue.
“ ‘Yes’ or ‘no’ answers only,” Tolen reiterated. “Are you the only one who can hear me at the moment?”
“Yes.”
“Is Jade there with you?”
“Yes,” Diaz responded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jade giving him a curious stare. She had stopped pacing and was standing in the middle of the room.
“Two things: first, I understand your concern about our condensed time. I have a strong lead I’m following. Please contact the Cathedral of San Salvador and arrange for one of the docents or priests to show me the crime scene at the Cámara Santa. I’ll be at the church in three hours.”
Diaz did not like it, but he knew from Tolen’s tone there was no use in arguing. “Si, Señor.”
“Second, I’ve uncovered information that implies Dr. Mollur has not been completely truthful with us. I suggest you be on guard.”
Surprised, Diaz cast a wary eye toward Jade then broke off the gaze before she noticed.
“Given what I’ve just told you, do not disclose my activities to Jade. Tell her I’ll be back in a few hours. When you contact the church in Oviedo, do so without her knowledge. I don’t want her to know where I’m going.”
“I understand,” Diaz said. The accusation that Dr. Jade Mollur was somehow involved was startling, and Diaz was still reeling from the news when the line went dead.
CHAPTER 39
September 13. Thursday – 2 p.m. Oviedo, Spain
Tolen approached the Cathedral of San Salvador, admiring the elegant structure with its towering stone bell tower. Clarín, the Spanish novelist, had described it with poetic precision when he referred to it as a “stone finger pointing to heaven.”
He arrived at the central door of the cathedral. A robed priest shuffled past, turned, and asked in broken English if he were Samuel Tolen.
Tolen nodded.
“Uno minuto, por favor,” the priest said, ducking back inside.
Tolen admired the craftsmanship of the relief of the Transfiguration on the door as he waited in the comfortable Spanish sunlight before the entryway.
Shortly, a man in a black cassock appeared at the doorway and stepped outside. He sported a crew cut of gray hair and had narrow, accommodating eyes. His wrinkled face signaled his advanced years. Tolen shook the man’s proffered hand. “Mr. Tolen, I am Archbishop Juan Gustavo. Inspector Pascal Diaz asked me to show you the most unfortunate scene of the events which recently occurred at our magnificent church. I must insist we keep the visit brief. The Feast of the Cross starts at 9 a.m. tomorrow morning, and we have much to do to prepare. The Cuerpo Nacional de Policia has spent much time examining the Cámara Santa, and I suggest you seek them out for their details. I will allow you some time and try to answer any questions you may have.”
Tolen nodded. “Thank you, Archbishop. I understand what an inconvenience this is, but I think the time will serve both of our countries well. I will keep my visit short.”
The Archbishop gave Tolen a subtle nod of agreement. There was an unspoken understanding of the ramifications if the Sudarium was not returned before the next morning’s events began.
He led Tolen inside, and they strolled down the long center aisle. Given the Archbishop’s advanced age, he was quite spry and moved with purpose. Today’s work for the elderly man was far from perfunctory. Preparing for the start of the Feast of the Cross was surely one of the most hectic and trying days of the year for the Archbishop.
Tolen marveled at the architecture inside the cathedral. Massive columns shot upward to a vast arched ceiling with ornate images, occasionally interrupted by magnificent stained glass windows. The eight-sided dome in the center lifted to a staggering height. Carved figures and reliefs were almost everywhere he looked. Tolen had read that the Cathedral was classical Gothic at heart, but a litany of styles had been integrated into the church design since its original construction in the 8th century. Various influences were clearly visible in the cloisters, choir, naves, narthex, and ambulatory—everything from Pre-Romanesque to Baroque, and even Romanesque, exemplified by a collection of fabulous column-statues. It was almost like walking through centuries of historical architectural progression.
Beyond the nave and before the choir area, several priests busied themselves fussing over a tapestry that hung at the front of the main altar where the image of the Divine Savior was situated on a four-column baldacchino. Nearby, the images of the other prophets who took part in the Transfiguration story mentioned in the Gospel came into view. The altar was further surrounded by eight magnificent paintings depicting scenes from the life of Jesus Christ embedded within a complex array of decorative masonry. Above it all, the colorful Churrigueresque cupola towered into the air.
On one side of the altar, Tolen eyed two robed priests who were putting the final touches on a diorama. Tolen recognized the scene as Mary and Joseph tending to the baby Jesus in a thatched cradle. The revered couple was depicted by life-size mannequins replete with period clothing being arranged with care by the priests. Baby Jesus was a simple toy doll wrapped loosely in a small, off-colored blanket.
“In preparation for tomorrow’s celebration,” the Archbishop announced, obviously noticing Tolen’s gaze.
More priests were milling about the transept on the left, before disappearing out of sight. Their voices stayed low, softly echoing in the vaulted chamber. The smell of freshly polished wood lingered in the still air. Tolen figured the pews had just been attended to for tomorrow’s ceremony when thousands of people would converge on the cathedral and spill out into the side streets and avenues, having journeyed from nearby towns and distant lands to pay homage to the treasured and venerable holy relic: the very cloth that staunch believers say covered the bloodied face of Jesus Christ while He still hung upon the cross immediately after His crucifixion; the cloth that most believed was now tucked safely away in the Arca S
anta in the adjoining Cámara Santa relic room.
Tolen suddenly felt an irrepressible urgency to find the Sudarium.
The Archbishop continued on, directing Tolen to an opening at the apse wall where steps led up to a small room. Light shined ahead on the length of the room, accentuating its rough stone-masonry walls and barrel-vaulted ceiling. To the sides, pilasters were adorned with carvings of the twelve Apostles, two set upon each of six pilasters.
At the end of the room, Archbishop Gustavo approached a second, overlapping room with a much lower barrel-vaulted ceiling. It was set apart from the first room by an archway where perpendicular iron bars and an iron-barred door prohibited access. Unlike the entry room, this secured room—which Tolen recognized as the Cámara Santa—was filled with artifacts.
The Archbishop stopped before the locked gate and turned to Tolen. “The Cámara Santa was built to house the holy relics obtained during the Asturian Monarchy: the Cross of Victory, Cross of Angels, Agatha Box,” he said, sweeping his hand before him with a swish of his robe as he pivoted, “and, of course, there are also the reliquary items stored in the Arca Santa.” He pointed to a large, black, oak reliquary chest in silver gilt adorned with repoussé in the center of the room. “This is where the Sudarium is usually—” He stopped himself. A pained expression crossed his eyes. “That is where it is stored.”
“Had anyone else opened the chest recently before the theft?”
Indisputable Proof Page 25
