Indisputable Proof

by Gary Williams

  Tolen continued to weave among the trees, circumventing the activity. He kept track of the sun’s position to ensure he remained on course. Thankfully, the woods were thinned out as the lush summertime foliage had already died away, signaling the approach of autumn. With each step, Tolen felt a barrage of pain from a multitude of aches.

  Minutes later, he reached the only other house he had seen on the road. A car was parked on a dirt driveway. Tolen limped up to the front porch. Tattered grocery bags and fresh vegetables were scattered everywhere: on the porch, down the steps, and on the ground. Tolen spotted a purse, its contents spilled out among the vegetables. A large metal ring held a series of keys. Car keys.

  A minute later, Samuel Tolen was on the road headed back toward the airfield where Reba Zee was waiting. The ringing in his ears had subsided, and he was finally able to think with clarity. None of it made sense. He had confirmed Boyd Ramsey’s fingerprints had been planted, but he had no idea why the man’s body had been rigged as a trap.

  The only certainty was that Dr. Jade Mollur appeared to be involved up to her neck.

  Tolen pulled out his cell phone. Fortunately, it had survived virtually unscathed. He dialed Diaz’s cell number with mounting concern for the inspector’s well being.

  It went unanswered. He redialed. Still no answer.

  CHAPTER 42

  September 13. Thursday – 4:12 p.m. Oviedo, Spain

  16 hours 48 minutes until the start of the Feast of the Cross

  “Bar,” Tolen said as he neared the airfield. “Have you found out anything regarding Nicklaus Kappel?”

  “What’s going on? You sound…stressed.”

  “Let Vakind know I found Boyd Ramsey. He’s dead and apparently has been dead for some time. I found him in the basement of Javier Diaz’s house. His corpse was rigged with explosives which detonated.”

  “That’s terrible! Are you okay?”

  “Anything on Kappel?”

  “Yeah...um…whatever instinct caused you to check on him appears to be well founded. He doesn’t have a criminal background, but his sister, Cecily, is incarcerated in Haufmer Langstrafenanstalt, a German prison, and will be for a very long time, for armed robbery. The two are close in a creepy way. They were in foster homes in their teens after their father died. It seems they had an incestuous relationship. From what I’ve uncovered, Kappel is desperate to get Cecily out of jail. He testified as a character witness at her trial and his testimony vacillated from a crying tantrum to a fit of rage. He was only permitted to visit her, for the first time, this week. German prisons are not known for being corrupt, but with enough money I’m sure he could buy her way out. If he’s after Anat’s reward, there’s your motive.

  “Kappel also called the hotel on several occasions in Costa Rica where Dr. Phillip Cherrigan and Dr. Jade Mollur stayed. Oh, and get this: Anat’s private jet took off from Switzerland about the same time you and Reba Zee departed from Zurich International Airport en route to Oviedo, Spain.”

  “That’s why he drove me to Zurich airport,” Tolen said aloud, “he was also flying out.” He paused. “Bar, can you track the movement of the plane?”

  “No, not like I could if it was in the U.S. They filed a flight plan for a town in southern Switzerland, but they never landed there. I checked. If we had started tracking it by satellite the moment of departure, I could have followed it, but there’s no way to know where it’s going now.”

  “Can you tell if it’s landed somewhere?” Tolen asked.

  “If you have a destination I can confirm with the airport or airfield.”

  “Try the airfield on the Isle of Patmos.”

  “Give me a sec…”

  Tolen could hear Tiffany Bar typing quickly.

  “Whoa, Anat’s jet did land on Patmos this afternoon; at an airstrip to the north of the one you used. The plane’s already left the island, though. How did you know?”

  A bad feeling settled in the pit of Samuel Tolen’s stomach.

  ****

  It was 8:32 p.m. when Reba Zee landed the jet on the well-lit runway at the Patmos airfield. Tolen had changed into a fresh set of clothes and tended to his assortment of cuts and scrapes. He had already ruled out involving the local authorities, since he was not willing to risk the entanglement of an investigation which would have taken hours to explain. Besides, the homing beacon he had secretly placed in Jade’s PC bag clearly showed she was still in the hotel. With Bar’s information that Jade and Dr. Cherrigan had been in contact with Nicklaus Kappel, it was apparent now that Jade and Kappel were working together. Given the inability to contact Pascal Diaz on either his cell phone or the hotel room phone, Tolen had a mounting concern for the inspector’s safety.

  Reba Zee arranged for a priority rental car to be waiting for Tolen when they touched down. He reached the hotel in less than twelve minutes toting a handheld digital display. The signal remained strong, signifying Jade was still in the room. He reached the fourth floor landing in less than a minute, deposited the digital display in his pocket, and drew his Springfield, checking the magazine to ensure he had a full seven-round clip with an eighth bullet set in the chamber. He eased up to the hotel room door and pressed his ear against it listening for any sound. An older European couple, speaking Italian, emerged in a hurry from a nearby room. They were bickering about where to go for dinner. Tolen calmly slipped the gun back into the holster underneath his coat and nonchalantly walked past them so as not to draw their attention. Once the couple was inside the elevator, and the pneumatic doors swished shut, he spun around and quickly returned to the door. Again he pressed his ear to the door but detected no sound coming from the room. He drew the Springfield once more.

  There was no way to know how many would be inside. Since Anat’s jet had already departed the isle, it appeared Kappel had come and gone, although there was a possibility he had remained behind with Jade. If Kappel was using Anat’s plane without the billionaire’s knowledge, he might have sent it back to Switzerland.

  Tolen weighed his options. He had gone through multiple attack scenarios on the drive over. Considering the probability that Pascal Diaz was being held prisoner, this might very well turn into a hostage situation. The other possibility was that Pascal Diaz was already dead, and this was a trap. Jade knew Tolen would eventually return, especially if the phones went unanswered. For him to enter via the front door might be playing right into her hands, but there was no time for anything other than a direct approach. He would do so as cautiously as possible.

  Checking to ensure the hallway was clear, Tolen knelt down. He shifted the automatic pistol to his left hand as he gently grasped the door handle with his right. He turned it so slowly it took nearly a minute to rotate the knob an inch. He had expected to feel a hard stop during the rotation. Surprisingly, the handle continued to turn. Spinning it another half inch, to his surprise, he found the door unlocked. He paused, concerned that at any moment the door would release inward and blatantly announce his arrival.

  Tolen took a deep breath. He could wait no longer. With a quick turn, he thrust the door open, falling back against the hallway wall to the side of the door, bracing for gunfire or explosives to erupt from the room.

  He was met with only silence.

  The faint light from a table lamp limped into the hallway.

  He waited several seconds, drew in a deep breath, and rounded the corner with his gun leveled, prepared to fire at the first sign of movement.

  Instead, what he saw caused him to freeze in his tracks.

  The naked corpse of a female was suspended on the wall upside down next to the bed. It was covered in a veil of impossibly ashen skin, with a ghastly face full of deep bruises and lacerations. The bloodshot eyes, encased in dark eye sockets, were open and void. The body more closely resembled a demonic creature, with its contrastin
g white skin and red eyes, than a human being. The woman’s feet were bunched together near the ceiling, restrained by wire which disappeared into the wall. The body was vertical except for her arms which were extended perpendicular to either side and were also tied to the wall by wire which sunk beneath the surface. The victim’s hair, although dark like Jade’s, was long and had been pinned up on her head. Blood had pooled a foot below on the carpet.

  Tolen moved to the bathroom, checked the shower, and returned to the bedroom to confirm the closet was empty. He then holstered his weapon and stepped up to the wall, kneeling down to get a closer look at the battered face. Only then did he recognize the lifeless features of the French woman, Claudia Denoit. On the blood-stained carpet below the body, he saw a tiny object no larger than a shirt button mired in the coagulated substance. It was the homing device he had placed in Jade’s PC bag.

  He pulled a plastic glove from his coat pocket and put it on. He touched the woman’s arm and found it stiff. Rigor mortis had already begun to set in, indicating death had been more than three hours ago.

  Tolen rose and retreated a few steps, still eyeing the wall.

  The symbolism was obvious. The upside down position, the arms stretched out at shoulder level, the gathered feet. The morbid positioning of the woman’s body resembled an inverted “T.” It was reminiscent of the Apostle Peter who, when he learned he would be crucified on the cross, asked to be martyred upside down, stating he was not worthy to die upright in the manner of his Lord Jesus Christ.

  Under normal circumstances, Tolen would have immediately notified local authorities of the crime, but these were not normal circumstances. He simply could not afford to get caught up in an investigation.

  Tolen surveyed the rest of the room for any signs of a struggle, but all seemed in order. In fact, it had been completely vacated and thoroughly cleaned. Even the bed was made.

  He looked to the table. The second stone jar was gone.

  What had become of Pascal Diaz? The thought of the Spaniard’s fate was disquieting. If Kappel and Jade were capable of the atrocity on the wall before him, there was no telling what they might have done with the inspector.

  With this latest murder of Claudia Denoit, the charade continued. By staging another Apostle-style murder, Kappel and Jade had once again implicated the ‘True Sons of Light,’ a group that Tolen now knew to be fictitious. The “True Sons of Light” had been an elaborate creation invented so that Jade could stage an attempt on her life, draw the CIA’s interest as a target, and continue the search for the cache of Jesus’ earthly objects on the CIA’s bankroll.

  It sounded clean, but there were several gaping holes in this rationale which tugged at Tolen, such as what was being accomplished by continuing these murders, and what was the significance of intentionally involving highly skilled agents from a multitude of international intelligence agencies, including the CIA, in their nefarious activities. Forcing this elaborate union with the CIA was a hell of a risk, comparable to “inviting the fox to guard the henhouse,” as Jaspar Tolen used to say. There must have been a pressing need to continue the search for the cache of Jesus’ belongings which overruled the danger of drawing worldwide attention to their activities.

  Tolen turned away from the wall, deep in thought. Obviously, Simon Anat’s reward was the key. Tolen closed his eyes, willed himself to calmness, and allowed his mind to work. Events and dates of relevant activities, starting with Aaron Conin’s murder on August 24th through the Sudarium’s display tomorrow morning, tumbled through his thoughts. He mentally linked the chronological order of the events to players and clues they had uncovered along the way. Removing all preconceived assumptions of guilt, it all parlayed into an interconnected maze of motives, timing, and facts. He knew the truth was embedded within this tapestry of clues, still waiting to be solved. He could feel it. Still the answer eluded him. He opened his eyes.

  Tolen was about to remove the plastic glove from his hand when he had an epiphany, and he stopped cold: what if the culprits needed the CIA’s involvement and public attention for another reason?

  He was roused from his thoughts by boisterous voices which quickly grew louder. Tolen recognized the accent and dialect as belonging to the older couple he had passed earlier in the hallway on their way to dinner. It seemed they had been unable to come to consensus on where to eat. Tolen looked to the door where the voices flowed. With chagrin, he realized he had been so caught up in the gruesome scene that he had failed to close the hotel room door behind him. Now, the Italian couple stood silently in the doorway, their mouths hanging open, their eyes transfixed in horror at the body pinned to the wall behind the dark man wearing a single plastic glove.

  The woman released a blood-curdling scream. Tolen left the room in a hurry, pushing past the couple just as the man withdrew his cell phone and began punching buttons with a shaky finger. As Tolen reached the stairwell, he heard the Italian man speaking in broken English reporting a murder and then giving his description of the man fleeing the scene.

  CHAPTER 43

  September 13. Thursday – 12:14 p.m. Keene, California (9:14 p.m. Oviedo, Spain)

  11 hours 46 minutes until the start of the Feast of the Cross

  The tall Italian man, Esposito, stood inside the condemned fellowship hall. He picked up his cell phone from the table and called his contact in Oviedo, known to him only as The Prophet. The man’s name was concealed so that even if the authorities apprehended Esposito or any of the 21 martyrs in the States, they would not be able to ascertain the true identity of the trigger man in Oviedo. The phone call was answered on the second ring.

  “Have you seen the news?” Esposito asked before he heard a greeting.

  “If you are referring to the elevated terror threat level by the U.S., then yes, I have.” As always, The Prophet’s voice was serious, focused.

  “We must go forth with the strike. I can band our brethren earlier than planned, and we will make the journey now. The Americans have admitted their guilt with this action. They took the Sudarium and fear our retribution.”

  The Prophet’s voice was directive. “Patience. There has been a reported attack of an American military installation in Kuwait. I have people checking the validity of this incident now. If we determine it to be a ruse to cover up the elevated terrorist warning, we will strike. I should know within minutes. I will call you.” The phone line went dead.

  Esposito looked to the closet. He could feel a festering hatred toward the Americans and their godless society. He was anxious to make the United States aware of the critical mistake that their Central Intelligence Agency had made in taking the Sudarium. It was time they paid the price for their smug actions.

  God’s relics are not to be desecrated by the godless.

  Several uneasy minutes passed before Esposito’s cell phone rang. It was The Prophet. “We have a man outside the American base in Kuwait. He has confirmed there was an explosion and a burning building on the U.S. installation. Sources on base are reporting casualties. This was the catalyst for the elevated terror alert. We will wait until the start of the Feast of the Cross at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. As planned, I will send you a text message from the Cathedral of San Salvador the moment I confirm the Sudarium is missing.”

  “Understood.” The Italian hung up. He was disappointed and agitated. They had identified prime targets, one that would strike at the underbelly of this atheist country. Whereas the radical Islamic terrorist attack of September 11, 2001 took the lives of less than 3,000; their actions would eclipse that total by seventyfold.

  He ached for the attacks to begin.

  Esposito wandered back to the table and sought out the King James Bible lying at the end. He opened to the scripture echoing in his mind. It had informally become their theme:

  And said unto them, it is written. My house shall be called the house of p
rayer; but you have made it a den of thieves.

  Yes, the tall Italian thought with pleasure, in the valley we will strike.

  CHAPTER 44

  September 13. Thursday – 10:29 p.m. Isle of Patmos, Greece (9:29 p.m. Oviedo, Spain)

  11 hours 31 minutes until the start of the Feast of the Cross

  On the drive back to the Patmos airfield, Tolen felt a gnawing in his stomach as he recalled a critical piece of the Hebrew text found in the Costa Rican sphere.

  The third jar marks the end of your journey, but all three will be needed.

  The first jar was still onboard the plane in a locker. If Jade and Kappel were going after the cache, they would need it.

  Tolen called Reba Zee on her cell phone. She did not pick up. His concern escalated.

  Tolen arrived at the dark airfield within minutes. He brought the rental car to a screeching halt just outside the gate. He left the engine running and hurried through the gate, racing toward the lone jet on the tarmac. It was after ten, and traffic on the runway had gone quiet. The hatch door was open, and the ramp folded out as he had left it, but the plane’s interior light had been doused.