Indisputable Proof

by Gary Williams

  For a moment, no one spoke, until Tolen finally broke the silence. “What are you hoping to find among the cache that will verify life-after-death?”

  Diaz smiled but did not answer, instead announcing, “Now, I am about to make the most astonishing and lucrative discovery in the history of mankind while Mr. Kappel is retrieving the Sudarium.”

  Tolen did not hesitate. “I’ve already warned authorities about Kappel. They’re tracking Anat’s private plane, so they’ll get him before he gets to the Sudarium.” It was a lie, since Bar had been unable to track the plane. Tolen wanted to see if his suspicion was correct about the location of the Sudarium.

  Diaz continued to smile. “Oh, I doubt it. Kappel had the luxury to be able to use Anat’s private jet whenever he wished, but Anat would sometimes question Kappel about his travels, and we couldn’t let the billionaire discover his true destination. The pilot flew the jet from Patmos without Kappel and returned to Switzerland. Kappel used other means of transportation to get to Spain to retrieve the Sudarium while Jade helped me continue the search by brilliantly solving the latest clue.”

  Diaz’s admission that the Sudarium had never left Spain was encouraging. Now, if only Bar could find it in time.

  “We found the third stone jar against this back wall,” Jade motioned. “It was in plain sight, but there was no clue; nothing but a bag of frankincense. There was no rolled parchment, and there’s nothing else in this room.”

  “Ah, correction,” Diaz cut in, “nothing here that we can reach.” He pointed to the roof above, which Tolen had noticed earlier. With the additional light, it was evident the ceiling covering most of the room was a platform with open space above it. “There is a second floor we must get to. It’s the only place left we haven’t examined.”

  Tolen again eyed the gap above where the back wall was separated from the platform. He estimated the lower ceiling to be 14 feet high. It would be impossible to reach without a ladder.

  Joseph of Arimathea liked to make things hard.

  “Enough of this discussion. Tolen, unless you want to see how Dr. Mollur looks with bullet holes, I suggest you find me a way to that second level.”

  CHAPTER 52

  September 13. Thursday – 9:12 p.m. U.S. Pacific Time (September 14. 6:12 a.m. Oviedo, Spain)

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

  The tall Italian man, Esposito, stood on the loading platform at the rear of the abandoned warehouse. A lantern cast pale light over his gaunt features. Before him, a horde of vehicles had amassed on the cracked cement pavement; 20 in all, each packed with a large payload of explosives. The drivers had all gathered, bunched in a group below him, their faint chatter rising into the air. Beyond the area, the desert stretched out, lost in the darkness of the cloud-covered night. Not far away, the noise of vehicles sailing past on the expressway could be heard.

  As a light wind pushed across the carpet of sand and into his face, Esposito drew in a deep breath, admiring the visceral smell of God’s earth. In the morning, he would watch the events on the news. The martyrs would have achieved a resounding victory against the vile government of the United States. The media would bring such focus, such attention, to the event that it would be felt to the very ends of the earth. Humanity was about to be changed, and he was leading the children of God to salvation. No longer would the misguided religions, the holier-than-thou men of cloth, question his cause. The true man of deliverance would be revealed to them. He was the second coming. Soon they would know. Soon they would understand.

  The only blemish on his plan was, somewhere along the way, one of the flock had become lost. The 21 had been reduced to 20, but that was inconsequential in the overall scheme of things. It was time to prepare his followers.

  “We are God’s catalyst for change!” he shouted abruptly.

  The 20 people below fell silent. They looked up at Esposito, hanging on his every word.

  “One of our brethren has abandoned us. He has opted to live with Satan. Still, we will carry out God’s will,” his tone suddenly quieted to a near whisper. “Our flagellation will be more than mere flesh wounds.” Esposito paused, turning his lanky body, eyeing each individual separately from one end of the group to the other. His face suddenly contorted. A vein ballooned on his forehead which threatened to break the skin and his words erupted. “Our flagellation will be the ultimate absolution!”

  There was rousing applause. He quieted the group with a wave of his hand.

  He spoke softly. “You know the plan. We will receive our signal from The Prophet. Only when we have confirmation will you go through with your mission. God will give you the strength. He is everlasting, and so shall you be.”

  “He is everlasting!” the group shouted in reply.

  “Please bow your head.”

  Twenty heads bowed at the same time; forty eyes closed.

  Esposito looked over them. “Dear God, we are the enlightened. We understand Your will, and vow to carry out Your orders against the armies of evil. We ask that You welcome us into Your house once our earthly deed is done. We will never ask for anything more than to be in Your heavenly presence. Amen.”

  “Amen,” came the collective response.

  “Now go. Get into position. The midnight hour is quickly approaching. Talk to God. Tell him you are coming.” You may also want to give the devil a call and let him know that 200,000 sinners are on the way, Esposito thought with inward bemusement.

  The gathering dispersed, speaking in low murmurs. Esposito could hear some whispering Bible verses, others saying prayers, and still others beseeching God for strength as they made their way to their respective vehicles. Headlights came on, engines roared to life. A slow procession of cars, vans, and SUVs left the parking lot, circled around the abandoned warehouse, and returned to the highway like a long, blessed snake slithering across the earth toward its destiny.

  It was glorious.

  He was alone now, standing on the loading dock breathing in the still air. Esposito turned. The lights in the distance glowed brighter on the horizon than they had any right to. He imagined this was how Sodom and Gomorrah had appeared just before the godless cities burned, sparked by God’s eternal flame.

  Before tonight was done, the brilliance from the actions of the 20 would be unmatched. A new chapter in the Bible was about to be written.

  CHAPTER 53

  September 14. Friday – 7:52 a.m. Egyptian Time (6:52 a.m. Oviedo, Spain)

  2 hours 8 minutes until the start of the Feast of the Cross

  “What makes you think I can find a way to that second level?” Tolen asked.

  Diaz returned with a scowl. “Because you’re very resourceful,” his tone hardened, “and I’m growing impatient.”

  “Have you searched this entire area?” Tolen asked, turning to address Jade.

  She was valiantly trying to mask her fear. “Yes, there’s nothing in this lower level; no images or clues.”

  Tolen thought for a moment. This entire underground complex was unique. Although it had many of the traits and features of Egyptian tombs, it had enough differences for him to realize it had been altered by someone long after the ancient Egyptians had constructed it. The modification had probably occurred during the first century of the Christian era, most likely by Joseph of Arimathea.

  “Well?” Diaz prodded. “I suggest you look around. You are free to go anywhere you like, but if you don’t return here within ten minutes, I will end Jade’s life.”

  Diaz was expecting a miracle. The chance of Tolen figuring out a means to reach the upper floor in ten minutes was miniscule. Still, he reasoned Joseph of Arimathea would have provided a way. In fact, Tolen was sure of it. In each location, the first-century Christian had orchestrated unique and challenging hurdles which had to be overcom
e, yet they were never insurmountable tasks.

  Tolen wandered to the center of the triangular room after Diaz allowed him one of the electric lanterns. He turned in a circle, scanning the walls. He looked to the back wall where Diaz still had the pistol aimed at Jade. His eyes searched up the wall to the gap in the ceiling.

  Tolen recalled one of his father’s favorite sayings, ‘When nothing seems right, look for an out-of-the-box solution.’

  Or in this case, Tolen thought to himself, an out-of-the-triangle solution.

  He turned toward the other two. “Exactly where did you find the third stone jar?”

  “Right there,” Jade pointed to the wall at a spot several dozen feet to the right of the entrance to the tunnel. Tolen eyed the spot and started slowly toward it, moving his eyes up the wall as he neared Diaz and Jade. Diaz’s body tightened as if he were fearful Tolen would attack. He grabbed Jade by the shoulder, backed her up, and pressed the barrel of the pistol hard into Jade’s back. She winced in pain.

  “Easy, Diaz,” Tolen said, passing by and moving around the square stone pillar which stood before the main corridor of the tunnel. In the hallway, he turned right, into the room with the second-story ledge wrapped around the walls. He studied it for a moment, making a mental calculation before taking the stairs on the far side that led up. Once on the seven-foot-wide ledge, he walked along the back wall until he arrived at the right wall. The limestone was in pristine condition, and it only took a moment for him to find what he was searching for.

  “Diaz!” he shouted. “In here!”

  Diaz reached the room in an instant, hustling Jade in front of him. “What is it?” Diaz growled.

  Tolen turned back toward the wall. “It’s here. The Boswellia sacra. The tree whose extract creates frankincense.” He guided his fingers along the limestone, sliding them up and over and then down again, each time in a straight line. “There’s a thin crevice in the stone which forms the outline of a doorway.”

  Tolen thought for a second. He backed away, lowered his shoulder, and charged into the wall, slamming into it with force. A generous section of the wall collapsed inward. Pieces of the fractured stone could be heard landing far below in the adjacent room. Tolen looked through the aperture and saw he was level with the second floor ledge of the triangle room, separated by the ten-foot gap.

  By now, Diaz had forced Jade up the steps, and they were standing a short distance away. “One room connects to the other,” Jade reasoned aloud as she viewed the ledge of the triangle room through the opening Tolen had created.

  “Well, it doesn’t exactly connect,” Tolen conceded.

  There was an earthly groan, and the floor began to vibrate. Debris and dust rained down from the ceiling. Diaz’s eyes went wide, and he seemed indecisive whether he should run or keep the gun on Jade. The rumbling stopped as quickly as it had begun. It was followed by a noise like a babbling brook which went on for several long seconds before the silence returned.

  “What in God’s name was that?” Diaz asked.

  Tolen could only shrug. “Remember, our friend Joseph of Arimathea likes to leave traps.”

  “Go! Now!” Diaz barked at Tolen, waving the gun away from them. He forced Tolen to walk on the ledge circumnavigating the rectangular room to arrive at the steps from the other direction. Once Tolen began to descend, Diaz and Jade followed behind.

  With Tolen in front by several yards, Jade was shoved ahead of Diaz so he could adequately keep both of them in his sight.

  They returned to the main passageway, and Tolen took a right, away from the triangular room and toward the ascending staircase where he had first entered this complex series of rooms. The air was almost solid dust. Tolen coughed and covered his mouth trying to breathe. He heard Jade and Diaz hacking behind him.

  The threesome saw it as soon as the light penetrated the white cloud. The corridor was now a solid wall of sand piled up to the ceiling. Somewhere in the belly of the long corridor, the earth had caved in, and a mountain of sand now blocked their only way out.

  They were permanently sealed inside.

  CHAPTER 54

  September 14. Friday – 7:32 a.m. Oviedo, Spain

  1 hour 28 minutes until the start of the Feast of the Cross

  Bar sat in her rental car in the parking lot of a store just outside of Oviedo watching the sun rise over the bank of trees at the horizon. The store would not open for another hour. It was as inconspicuous a place as she could have hoped.

  Within minutes, a second and then third car arrived, parking beside her. A driver exited each vehicle and climbed into the back seat of Bar’s rental car. Bar had chosen an obscure location for a reason. Tolen had warned her not to reveal her status as a CIA staff member, since any such presence in or near Oviedo would be considered an admission of guilt, and the terrorists would strike against the U.S. earlier than planned. She had to maintain secrecy. These were the only two people who would know her true identity and purpose for being in the country.

  The first man leaned forward, offering Bar a handshake as she swiveled to face the backseat. “I am Chief Inspector Carlos Nuñez,” the man said in Spanish. Nuñez was in his mid-fifties with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair and a fair complexion.

  “It’s a pleasure,” Bar replied in the same language.

  The second man wore a black cassock. “Thank you for coming, Archbishop Gustavo. I know this is a stressful time for you,” she continued speaking in Spanish to the two men.

  “Senorita, the Feast of the Cross begins in less than two hours.”

  “I assure you Archbishop, I will only take a few minutes of your time. It was imperative we meet in a secluded place. We fear that if anyone knows I am with the CIA, the terrorist strike will occur immediately.”

  Archbishop Gustavo ran a nervous hand over his gray stubble of hair. The lines in his face seemed to be growing deeper with each passing second. “Please proceed,” he said.

  “Chief Inspector,” Bar started, “did you uncover anything at Inspector Diaz’s apartment?”

  A troubled look crossed over Nuñez’s face. “No, Señorita, we did not. I hope you know accusing the inspector is very disconcerting. Pascal Diaz is a tenured officer with the Cuerpo Nacional de Policia. He doesn’t always follow protocol, but it’s difficult to believe he’d steal the Sudarium and kill his own brother.”

  “I assure you Chief Inspector, we don’t make this claim lightly. All evidence points to Diaz and a second man who have partnered in the crime. If they’re successful, the reward for them is substantial. Chief Inspector, does Diaz own any other property where he might be hiding the Sudarium?”

  “No.”

  “Any safe deposit boxes?”

  The Chief Inspector shook his head no. “Not that we know of.”

  “Any place you can think of?”

  Again he shook his head.

  Bar felt frustration building. Nuñez was cooperating, but he was not offering any support. It was clear he resented the CIA making a claim that his man was responsible.

  A cell phone chimed, and Nuñez pulled a phone from his coat pocket and answered.

  “Chief Inspector Nuñez,” he answered.

  “I see,” he said after a long delay.

  There was nearly a minute more of silence. “Thank you,” he said, and ended the call.

  Sadness fell over Nuñez’s eyes as he looked at Bar. “That was the coroner. Tissue samples were found at Javier Diaz’s house after the explosion this afternoon. DNA tests matched it to your former CIA analyst, Boyd Ramsey. Also, we checked the key to the Cámara Santa maintained by the police as you suggested. All fingerprints had been wiped off of it. It seems,” he exhaled, swallowed, and continued, “you may be right about Inspector Diaz.”

  “Did Diaz do anything suspicious in the time
leading up to his trip to the U.S.?” Bar asked.

  Nuñez seemed to regard Bar’s question with more thought this time. “No, nothing I recall.” A look of remembrance brushed the man’s face. “Wait…there was one thing odd. I drove him to the airport the day he left for America. He had me stop along the way at the Asturias Province Cemetery to visit his family mausoleum. He said he wanted to see his father before he left the country.”

  “Why was that odd?”

  “Pascal Diaz hated his father. Also, it was 30 minutes out of the way to the airport. I had never known him to visit there before.”

  “Was he carrying anything when he went inside?”

  “Not that I recall, but he was wearing a long trench coat. I waited in the car. He was there only for a few minutes.” He paused momentarily before rushing on. “I must go now. I am needed back at the office.”

  Bar felt a small ember of hope. She thanked the Chief Inspector for his time and turned toward the other man as Nuñez exited the car. “Archbishop, is there any way to stall the ceremony beyond 9:00 a.m.?”

  The man’s narrow eyes fixed her. “I am sorry. I have already explained to your partner, Agent Tolen, that delaying the Feast of the Cross is not an option. The service will proceed as planned. I received an edict from the Pope himself.” He looked at Bar for a moment before he looked down. As if she had loosened his resolve, he held up an aged skeleton key. “Take this,” he said. “It unlocks a trap door directly beneath the Arca Santa in the Cámara Santa. Alfonso II had it secretly installed when the Cámara Santa was constructed in the 9th century in case the building was captured by the enemy. It would have allowed a way to enter without being seen and reclaim the religious reliquary items within. I will have the priests slide the Arca Santa and its base forward in the room. There is a small ground-level grate on the north side wall of the Cámara Santa. It is very tiny, but I believe you can fit through. Once inside, go to the left until you come to the key hole in the floor above. This key will unlock the trap door. If you do retrieve the Sudarium, you will be able to return it without being seen.”