Connell entered the room at the FBI office and sat down at the computer. “I’ve got the video from the arresting officer’s squad car.” He punched a button, and a screen slowly scrolled from the ceiling as Gerly, McNulty, and Vakind looked on. A picture appeared. It was a black-and-white image shot from inside the squad car, aimed out through the windshield, focused on a green SUV pulling recklessly out of a gas station. The police car followed and came up behind the SUV as it approached the Interstate on-ramp heading east. The vehicle ahead hit the brake lights, then sped up and continued under the overpass and took the on-ramp to the west. The policeman followed the green SUV for another mile before pulling Whitacre over and discovering the explosives in the vehicle. Whitacre was arrested.
“Play that back from the beginning,” Gerly requested.
Connell did. At the point where the squad car first came up behind the SUV after leaving the gas station, Gerly suddenly said, “Stop it there.”
Vakind saw it as well. “Did the arresting officer see Whitacre come off the Interstate before he pulled into the gas station?”
“No,” Connell responded. “He only noticed the SUV when it pulled out and then followed him west on the highway.”
“I know what you’re thinking. I saw it, too,” McNulty said. “He hit his brakes approaching the east on-ramp as if he was considering going in that direction.”
The faces of all four people in the room suddenly arrived at the same conclusion.
Vakind voiced their consensus. “He wasn’t originally travelling west toward Los Angeles. He had turned off the Interstate for gas and then went west only when he realized the police were tailing him. He had been heading east on I-15.”
Gerly rose and walked over to a roadmap of the western United States on the near wall. He started at Los Angeles and ran his finger east out of the city on I-15. He slowly followed the interstate as it banked up and crossed the Nevada border.
He stopped when he arrived at Las Vegas. There was a collective inhale.
He turned to the others in the room. “Oh lord.”
“Shit,” Connell exclaimed, shaking his head, “it’s Spanish. Depending on the translation, Las Vegas is Spanish for meadows, or, in some cases, fertile valleys!”
The room stirred with macabre anticipation. “Okay, we know the city,” Vakind said in a settling voice, glancing at his watch. They had twelve minutes to go. “Does the phrase ‘21 out of 28’ mean anything in the context of Las Vegas?”
“Twenty-one: blackjack?” McNulty offered.
The memory of Whitacre’s response during the interrogation suddenly struck Vakind. Just as Whitacre had paused at the east on-ramp and then turned west when he saw the police officer following him, when Vakind had flustered him, his statement during questioning had followed the same change of direction: ‘Those who gamble…,” Whitacre had paused before restating and continuing. ‘Those who gamble with God’s will, know exactly who they are.’
Whitacre was not quoting some proverb from the Bible as Vakind originally thought. He was literally referring to those who gamble…in Las Vegas. “The target is the casinos, the hotels,” Vakind said.
Connell looked up from the computer with a bleak stare. “I just did a search. Twenty-one out of the twenty-eight largest hotels in the world are in Las Vegas. MGM Grand, Luxor, Venetian, Bellagio, Mandalay Bay…taking into account room capacity, employees at the hotels and casinos, and various patrons, there may be as many as 220,000 people in those combined hotels at midnight. It’s the perfect target for religious zealots: Sin City.”
****
Bar drove frantically through the Spanish streets until she was within several blocks of the Cathedral of San Salvador. Crowds of people were on the sidewalk, moving toward the cathedral. It was eleven minutes before 9 a.m. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed Vakind. He answered on the second ring.
“I’ve got the Sudarium!” Bar practically shouted into the device. “I’m close to the church now! The archbishop gave me a way to get into the Cámara Santa without being seen!”
Vakind’s voice was steady, as always. “Ms. Bar, we’ve identified a threat to 21 hotels in Las Vegas. The potential casualty is nearly a quarter million people. There’s no time to evacuate without causing pandemonium and alerting the terrorists. You have to get the Sudarium back to the Arca Santa in time. Terrorists will be monitoring the activity at the cathedral. You cannot be seen returning the Sudarium, and no one can know you’re CIA. Understood?”
A minute later, Bar parked illegally along the street and sprang from the vehicle still two blocks away. Throngs of people were on the sidewalk. She wrapped the silver-covered box in a white shawl which she had brought with her aboard the plane. Using a handheld GPS, she determined the location of the Cámara Santa and moved quickly down the block, navigating around several buildings.
She felt a crushing urgency. She ducked around the corner and found that the alleyway to the north side of the Cámara Santa was empty. She located the ground-level grate and pulled it free, squeezing inside on her hands and knees.
The air underneath the Cámara Santa was stifling and foul. She used the flashlight as a guide and crawled across the dirt-covered ground, awkwardly toting the Sudarium in the box. Bar had studied the architectural layout and knew that the rectangular antechamber, or cella, accounted for most of the square footage of the building adjoining the Cathedral de San Salvador. The overlapping Cámara Santa, where the religious relics were stored, was at the far end. She crawled her way to the end, sucking in dust. She found the trap door underneath the floor just as Archbishop Gustavo had advised she would. Bar withdrew the key from her pocket, inserted it into the overhead lock, and prayed the years had not rusted the locking mechanism. She tried to turn it, but there was no give. Her worst fears appeared confirmed: time and weather had rendered it inoperable. She continued to try anyway. On the fourth try, with a strenuous turn of the key, the lock finally sprang open to her excessive relief. She gave the trap door a shove, and it rose with a creak and flipped over out of sight. Light invaded the area. Bar wasted no time rising through the trap door and stepping up into the Cámara Santa, still carrying the silver box wrapped in the shawl.
Ahead, the arched gate separating the room from the cella was locked. She spied an assortment of reliquary items around her, but a long stone platform in front of the trap door where Archbishop Gustavo said the Arca Santa would be, was empty.
The elation of recovering the Sudarium was replaced by the deflated realization she was too late.
****
Esposito had remained at the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Las Vegas waiting for the stroke of midnight and confirmation from The Prophet in Oviedo that the Sudarium was missing. Once he received word, he would communicate to his people to proceed with the eradication of Las Vegas. Each of the 20 martyrs had confirmed they were in place with their vehicles primed with the explosives, either in the parking garage underneath each hotel or ready to ram their cars, trucks, and SUVs through the front entrances. Each disciple had taken a vow to carry out his or her assignment, and Esposito had no doubt each would see it through to completion.
Now the hour was fast approaching. The nighttime sky to the northeast was about to burst with the newfound light of God; far brighter than the scandalous city of sin had ever known.
CHAPTER 60
September 14. Thursday – 9:50 a.m. Egyptian Time (8:50 a.m. Oviedo, Spain)
10 minutes until the start of the Feast of the Cross
Diaz stepped farther into the chamber, taking in the various objects lining the shelves. “This is it?” he said with a sour tone. “Clothes, shoes, and robes? Where is the gold, the silver?”
Jade looked at him in confusion. “What gold and silver? What are you talking about? These are the objects which once belonged to Jesus…His cl
othes…the cross He was crucified upon. These are priceless artifacts. They will have a staggering impact on humanity!”
“They are of no consequence to me,” Diaz sneered. “I assumed, based on the Copper Scroll, there would be valuables here.”
Jade felt an overwhelming frustration. “There is nothing more valuable than the contents in this room. Don’t you understand that?”
Diaz reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded sheaf of papers. “This is the most valuable thing in this room. This, and the sample of blood I now have in my possession.”
Tolen understood. “Aaron Conin’s findings; the test data on the Sudarium. What evidence did you find in the blood when the white cells were reconstituted?”
“The same results I will find in the sample in my pocket. Once we deliver the vial, the report, and the Sudarium to Anat, and he replicates the test results, Kappel and I will be very wealthy men,” Diaz nodded vigorously, seemingly giddy with the thought of his upcoming riches.
“Please tell me,” Tolen asked, his voice tentative. He felt a weakness he had not experienced since his mother had died. “What makes you believe you can prove life after death?”
Diaz only smiled. “I have proof of Jesus’ divinity. That is all you need to know.” He looked at Jade and silently motioned her toward him. She complied reluctantly.
“Now it’s time for you to do me one last act, Señor Tolen. Find me a way out of this place. I believe you know by now the penalty for failure.” He positioned the gun at the back of Jade’s head, and she flinched.
“What does it matter?” Jade said dejectedly. “You’re going to kill us both anyway.” A tear trickled down her cheek.
“Well, if that’s how you feel—”
“Why did you kill Javier?” Tolen cut him off. “What was the real reason?”
Diaz looked at Tolen, freezing him with his gaze. “I told you, it was an accident.”
“What about the ramifications?”
Diaz crinkled his face, flexing his fingers around the gun. Jade raised her shoulders in a silent plea for Tolen not to aggravate the man. “What ramifications?”
“We’re standing in a room with tangible objects which confirm the existence of Jesus. You have the evidence of an afterlife. You are a man of faith, Pascal, yet you murdered. You killed your brother, you killed Boyd Ramsey, and you killed Aaron Conin. Surely you realize you will be judged for your actions.”
“There were…extenuating circumstances. Javier was an accident. Boyd Ramsey was a thief. He would have stolen the Sudarium and never returned it. It has always been my intention to make sure it is delivered back to the Cathedral de San Salvador. As for Aaron Conin, the man was greedy; after glory and money. He was not a good man. My actions against each were vindicated.”
Tolen raised his eyebrows. “Greedy? Interesting. The same could be said of you.”
Diaz creased his brow and his forehead darkened as he repositioned the pistol at Jade’s temple. “I will give millions to the church, charities, and orphanages; more than Simon Anat ever dreamed of giving away.” He uttered his words as if desperate to land on the right combination of benevolence that would appease the guilt Tolen was churning up within him.
Tolen continued to push, shoving absolution out of Diaz’s reach. “You’re going to buy your way into heaven? How many times have we heard that from convicts and murderers?” A ghost of a smile crossed his lips.
Diaz’s rage flared. “No, Señor, I am not going to buy my way into heaven! I will be a humble servant of God, as I have always been.”
“Money changes people, Diaz,” Tolen said, taking a casual step next to the coffin. “It always has, and it always will. You can throw money at charities, feed the poor, save the whales…make yourself feel good…but in the end, you will be judged as an evil man. No fortune can scour away the blood on your hands.”
“It matters not!” Diaz screamed balefully. Jade shuddered, grabbing her ears as the sound reverberated in the enclosure. Diaz’s hand holding the gun was now shaking in anger.
Tolen had hoped to infuriate Diaz to the point that the man would divert his attention from Jade to him. If he did, Tolen was going to take his chances and rush Diaz, but Diaz had not taken the bait. His anger was now endangering Jade.
Tolen noticed the wall behind Diaz above the shelf. There was a distinct outline. He studied it, trying to be inconspicuous. At that moment, he recalled a line of the text discovered inside the stone sphere:
Only the man who has patience, is meager, and holds faith will arrive safely.
Holds faith. Tolen now knew what he had to do if they were going to get out of here alive.
CHAPTER 61
September 14. Thursday – 8:58 a.m. Oviedo, Spain
2 minutes until the start of the Feast of the Cross
Bar desperately moved through the atrium into the narthex at the rear of the church concealing the silver box inside her shawl, pressing it to her chest as she threaded her way through a sea of people. A considerable distance away, near the altar, Archbishop Gustavo was wearing a worrisome frown and looked as if he had aged ten years since she had seen him in the backseat of her rental car only a short time ago. To the Archbishop’s side, another priest was tending to something low and out of sight. The Arca Santa was perched behind, elevated on a stand with its lid open. To the side was a diorama of Mary and Joseph and a thatched cradle. The pews were jam-packed with people and a general hubbub arose into the rafters of the cathedral. Bar sensed a collective anticipation within the bustling congregation that was incongruent with the usual ceremony.
Archbishop Gustavo happened to look up. Bar pleadingly sought out his wizened eyes. He looked her way for a moment then turned to say something to the other priest. Dejectedly, she knew he had not noticed her. If she walked into the packed cathedral now carrying a suspicious looking object wrapped within her shawl, the terrorists would surely know something was going on and trigger the attacks in Las Vegas.
She had come so close; to within 70 feet of returning the Sudarium, but she might as well have been a continent away.
****
“Don’t you want to know, Diaz?” Tolen spoke in a tranquil voice. His demeanor had softened.
“Know what? Enough of your talking. Find me a way out of here, or I’m going to put a bullet in her pretty little skull,” Diaz’s teeth were clenched as he spoke.
Jade cowered, looking to Tolen with a helpless, pleading gaze.
“You know, maybe these aren’t the clothes of Jesus,” Tolen continued as if Diaz had not spoken. “Maybe this isn’t the cross He was said to have died upon. Then again, maybe it is.” He turned slightly, pointing to the elevated coffin. “The answer is right here, Diaz. The Son of God, or a mere mortal? No man in 2,000 years has known the answer with conclusive, indisputable proof. Given your recent wrongdoings, you should hope He is lying inside this coffin, that His remains are no different from any other human’s, that His words about heaven and hell are just the rants of ancient fictional writers. It would surely serve you better to know your vile earthly actions are not going to be judged by a higher power when you die.”
There was a searching look in Pascal Diaz’s eyes. “Find me a way out of here!” his voice boomed. “I swear to God, I’ll kill her!”
“Can you imagine?” Tolen’s blue eyes were alive. “One push of this stone lid, and we’ll be the only people on earth to know the truth. Was He or wasn’t He? Really, it’s the only way to know if the sample of blood you have is authentic.”
There was an indecisiveness which permeated Diaz’s body language.
“I want to know,” Tolen said. His voice turned supplicative. “If you’re going to kill us anyway, allow me this one last request. I want to see if there’s a body inside. Then, I swear, I’ll find you a way out of here. Jose
ph of Arimathea was not trying to kill us when he built this place, so it’s a certainty there’s a way to escape. Allow me to open the lid and take one look inside, then I’ll find you an exit.”
There was a moment of silence. Diaz nodded his affirmation.
****
Leon Smith sat in his covered Ford pickup parked a half block away from the massive dark structure which looked more like one of the Seven Wonders of the World than an American hotel. A white light shot straight into the nighttime sky from the tip of the pyramid like a laser beam ascending into heaven, yet he knew that heaven had nothing to offer the people inside. Of that, Smith was sure. The Sphinx out front left no doubt in his mind that the entire complex was a damned tribute to the Middle East and their anti-Christian ways.
That just burned him up.
He had been taken aback by the gaudy opulence everywhere he looked. This was a town full of massive carnival-like buildings rising up around him and droves of people in the street, herding about like cattle as far as the eye could see. He could only imagine the sin and debauchery going on inside these buildings—the charlatans, the gamblers, the alcoholics, the harlots. How could parents even think about bringing their children to this city of ill repute?
Now, parked and waiting, Smith watched diligently as the hordes of people, the misguided flock of hardcore sinners, floated in and out of the colossal pyramid-shaped structure. Men, women, and children constantly flooded the sidewalk, passing the Sphinx and making their way along the palm-tree-flanked sidewalk. If he had had any reservations about his task tonight, they were now gone. Carnal sin had wrapped this town in its heathen grasp. Enough was enough.
With over 4,000 rooms, Smith had gladly assumed responsibility for taking down the third-largest hotel in town. He could almost visualize how the edifice would collapse inward when he rammed his truck through the front entrance and detonated his payload. He found solace in knowing he would receive God’s heavenly welcome with the demise of this manmade indulgence.
Indisputable Proof Page 36
