Indisputable Proof

by Gary Williams

  He lay on the shelf, reaching halfway outside through the opening. Jade struggled to rouse herself from her own exhaustion and backed through the opening, squinting in the bright sunlight. She turned and helped drag Tolen outside. The two lay on one of the massive limestone blocks next to the opening. They were facing each other, and she opened her eyes to see him staring at her. She only had enough energy to offer a feeble smile as they both labored to catch their breath.

  In a silent few minutes, they pushed up, sitting with their legs hanging off the edge, their breathing finally returning to normal. As they did, a scraping noise drew their attention behind them. They turned to see the limestone block swing back into place as if it had never been opened.

  The pyramid was once again sealed.

  Tolen turned to Jade. “Thank you,” he said, still breathing heavily. His face was filthy and sweaty, his clothes tattered and grungy, his arms cut and bleeding in a dozen places.

  Jade looked out over the plateau. The desert reached into the distance. To the side, the two larger pyramids stood in defiance of time. Tiny figures—tourists—were milling about below. Oddly, no one seemed to notice the two people who had just exited from the top of the Pyramid of Menkaure. The sunlight was hot, uncomfortably hot, even at this early morning hour, yet she smiled wanly. “You can buy me dinner, sir…after you clean up…actually, after we’ve both cleaned up.” She paused. “By the way,” she said between deep breaths, “how did you know the floor was going to fall when Diaz opened the coffin?”

  “I didn’t exactly,” Tolen said, using his ragged shirt to wipe the perspiration from his face. “I knew something would happen. Remember the text, ‘Only the man who has patience, is meager, and holds faith will arrive safely?’ Well, we were down to ‘holds faith.’ I assumed it meant the coffin was not to be opened. Anyone who holds faith wouldn’t need to see if Jesus’ body was inside. They would know it was not.”

  “You goaded him into doing it. You made him think you wanted to open it, when you really wanted him to push the lid aside.”

  “Do you think He was in there?” Jade asked, laying a gentle hand on Tolen’s shoulder.

  There was a long silence. “I think we’ll never know. We’ll also never know what laboratory results Aaron Conin discovered after running tests on the thread samples from the Sudarium. Whatever it was, Diaz was convinced he had proof of life after death. It makes you wonder what could possibly have been so conclusive.”

  Minutes later, they made their way slowly down the towering pyramid, cautiously traversing the large limestone blocks. When they reached the bottom, they were met by Egyptian soldiers carrying automatic weapons.

  “Samuel Tolen?” a sergeant asked in English.

  Tolen nodded his weary head. He had no fight left in him.

  “We have orders to take you both into custody. Oh, and your president sent a message via our president. President Fane wanted you to know that ‘it was returned in time,’ whatever that means.”

  Tolen and Jade looked at each other and smiled. Then they were placed in handcuffs and led away.

  ****

  At the local police station, Tolen and Jade were forced to change into prison uniforms. Several hours later, Vakind, working through the State Department and the British Embassy, freed Samuel Tolen and Dr. Jade Mollur. They were given fresh clothes. By mid afternoon, the two were on a plane to Washington, DC.

  They both slept the entire way.

  CHAPTER 64

  September 18. Tuesday – 7:09 p.m. Washington, DC

  Tolen hung up the phone. “I apologize, but that was Vakind. The FBI field office in Los Angeles has arrested an Italian named Nico Esposito in Keene, California. He was heading up the planned Las Vegas attacks by the Flagellants. All of the explosives were recovered in an old church in the valley. It seems Mr. Esposito is already positioning his legal defense, claiming to be the second coming of Christ and promising vengeance and retribution.”

  “Another one?” Dr. Jade Mollur smiled at him. She was sitting across the table in an elegant blue dress. The restaurant was bustling with patrons, yet Tolen had arranged for a quiet, secluded corner table. Her smile faded somewhat. “Samuel, do you really think Kappel and Diaz found evidence of life after death?”

  “I don’t know,” Tolen shook his head. “Diaz believed he had proof in the white blood cells taken from the Sudarium. We may never know how or if Conin actually accomplished the feat of reconstituting the blood. When Diaz’s apartment was searched, nothing of Boyd Ramsey’s was found: no PC, no notes. If Conin solved the process using Ramsey’s procedural directions, which still seems impossible, it may be years before someone is able to replicate it.”

  “You took a hell of a risk sending Tiffany Bar to Oviedo like that. You must have been certain she’d find the Sudarium.”

  “Bar came through. She had the advantage of her proficiency with the language which allowed her to blend in seamlessly. She was really the only logical choice; just as I was the only logical choice to come after you.”

  “Logic,” Jade smiled. “A big part of your life hinges on logic, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he smiled, taking a sip of his merlot. “I can be impetuous at times.”

  “I may make you prove it later,” she gave him a beguiling smile.

  Samuel Tolen thought he could get used to the look.

  “Those three places we discovered, it’s still mindboggling,” Jade said, changing the subject. “As soon as I can, I’m going to go after funding to return to all three locations.”

  “Each will be wrought with physical challenges and politics. Costa Rica, Greece, and Egypt will be wary of allowing a foreigner complete access to these sites again, and considering most of the Costa Rican and Greek sites are now under water, I hope you scuba dive. Egypt will be far easier. You just have to dig through the miles of sand which caved into the main tunnel or find the one limestone block which swung out and make it happen again.”

  She sighed. “Okay, Mr. Tolen, I get your point. Nevertheless, I’m going to try. Want to join me?”

  “Of course,” he said, “but for now, you’ll have to excuse me while I use the restroom.” He stood, walked past a cluster of tables filled with patrons, and pushed through the restroom door.

  He felt a jolt of pain to his head, and everything went black.

  ****

  Samuel Tolen awoke in the back of a chauffeur-driven limousine. It took a moment for his head to clear. The last thing he remembered, he had gone to the restroom at the restaurant where he and Jade were having dinner in Washington, DC. Now, he was wearing a heavy winter coat.

  He sat up as the driver, separated from him by a thick wall of Plexiglas, dutifully turned into a long drive and approached a small guardhouse. Tolen was startled when he realized where he was: at the gated entry of Simon Anat’s estate.

  He had no idea how he had gotten to Switzerland. Concerned, he felt for his gun and found an empty holster.

  What the hell is going on?

  At the guardhouse, the security guard with the crooked nose never said a word as he waved the long vehicle through. Through thick-tinted windows, he could see the guard scowling as the vehicle slowly rolled past.

  At the top of the winding driveway, the limousine came to a halt. Tolen exited the vehicle and strolled toward the doorway of the mansion. It was a cold morning, and the sun had barely risen over the horizon. A swirling wind whipped across the grounds and penetrated the sheltered portico. Tolen drew his coat around him. As he reached the tiled entryway, he detected a faint smell of wood burning, probably from a fireplace somewhere deep inside the massive dwelling.

  It was obvious that Simon Anat was anxious to speak with him in private, and he saw no reason to deny the man. His curiosity had gotten the better of him. Tolen knew he
owed the man nothing. In fact, he felt utter contempt for what Anat had done. Many people had died as a direct result of the man’s irresponsible actions. It had been his motivation of wealth which had fueled the murderous activities of others, and yet Anat had remained unscathed, easily washing his hands of any wrongdoing. Nothing legally could be tied to him, even though he was as guilty as if he had personally committed the atrocious acts of violence. The thought of Reba Zee’s death angered Tolen as much as it had the day he discovered her body aboard the plane on the Isle of Patmos. This was probably the reason why Anat chose to disarm him, fearful he might try and exact some revenge.

  Tolen’s thoughts filled with the recent events. Dr. Jade Mollur had decided to remain in DC to assist with the lengthy report detailing their activities. With her help, they were able to tie up international protocols and put the paperwork to bed. Then the president had honored Tolen with dinner at the White House, which included a multitude of praise and thanks. This time, Tiffany Bar had accompanied him. President Fane was well aware of Bar’s role in securing the safe return of the Sudarium. Then, just last night, or whenever it was he had been abducted, he and Jade had gone out for a romantic dinner. It was their first date. He had picked her up at her hotel room, and they had embraced in a passionate kiss even before leaving. Tolen could still see her standing there, her slender figure accentuated by her short blue dress, flashing her dazzling hazel eyes as she brushed her dark bangs aside with a warm smile. Her skin had been soft, her embrace exciting. She wore the same perfume, giving off the same alluring aroma, as the first time he met her at the jail in Morristown, New Jersey. He could no longer deny he felt something for her that he had not felt with a woman in a long time. He only hoped she had been left out of whatever game Anat was up to now.

  The front door of the estate swung wide, and a rotund bald man in a light-colored suit waved Tolen inside. Instead of leading him down the long hallway and into the wine cellar as Kappel had done before, this time Tolen followed his portly escort up a spiral marble staircase with a polished mahogany banister. The clicking of their shoes echoed in the vaulted area. The smell of roasted fowl rose up through the mansion.

  The steps emptied into a lengthy, carpeted hallway. The well-tailored escort, who had neither introduced himself nor said the first word, turned smartly on his heels and returned quickly down the staircase, leaving Tolen standing before a steel door. A security camera at the ceiling aimed down, panning slowly from side to side. Tolen heard an electronic hum and a buzz, then a sharp click. The steel door opened inward.

  Tolen stepped inside. The visage took him by complete surprise. He was at one end of an excessively long, wide white corridor with a high, barrel-vaulted ceiling. Occasionally, columns rose up on either wall and arched against the ceiling forming a series of fused sections. The entire area was exceedingly well lit, and the temperature was several degrees cooler than the hallway. Paintings hung in rows on both sides, spanning into the distance. An instant familiarity registered, but it took Tolen a moment to recognize the place.

  He was standing in the Grand Gallery in the Louvre, or rather it was an exquisite facsimile of the original, masterfully crafted in every detail. It fact, it was such a perfect replica, if Tolen had not known he was inside Simon Anat’s estate in Switzerland, he would have thought he was standing inside the great structure in Paris.

  Despite all its glitz and elegance, there was one noticeable difference from the original museum: the artwork. Where the Louvre contained such treasured artworks as Alexandros of Antioch’s sculpture, Venus de Milo, and Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, Anat’s gallery contained different, but equally magnificent, artwork. Tolen approached the first painting on the left wall. The colorful scene depicted two children playing in the middle of a sun-drenched wheat field. He was amazed, although not completely surprised, to recognize the signature of Giotto de Bondone, the famous Italian Renaissance painter. He had no doubt the painting was an original.

  He looked further down the gallery and saw statues in the center of the corridor by such masters as Raphael and Donatello. Again, he was certain they were originals. He walked a dozen feet across the inlaid wooden floor to the other wall where a second painting took his breath away. He immediately recognized the picture: Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Man.

  Like the rest of the world, he had only seen pictures and reproductions of the original. The last time the masterpiece had been seen was in 1945. It seemed the rumors were true of Anat’s acquisition of the stolen artwork by the Third Reich in the 1940s. Tolen stared in awe. It was hard to fathom he was looking at a piece of lost history valued at over $100 million.

  His attention was pulled from the painting by the clattering of shoes across the wooden floor. He looked down the gallery to see Simon Anat, dressed meticulously in a Kiton suit, approaching. At his side was a second man with crew-cut gray hair, also wearing an expensive suit. Surprisingly, Tolen recognized the man as 74-year-old Walter Ganhaden. Ganhaden’s net worth of $52 billion nearly doubled Anat’s, landing the British real estate investor as the second richest man in the world. To Anat’s other side was a well-proportioned woman in her late sixties, who moved gracefully. She sported short gray hair, a dark complexion, and green eyes set within a face which had obviously seen a few surgical tucks. She was none other than Shauna Veers, cosmetics billionaire from Brazil. He could not recall her standing among the wealthiest people, but he was certain she also ranked in the top ten.

  Tolen felt an unsettling bewilderment as the threesome approached.

  “So glad you could make it,” Anat said with a smile. Oddly, he seemed surprisingly healthy.

  “Anat, you didn’t give me a choice,” Tolen acknowledged somewhat begrudgingly. “What happened to Jade Mollur?”

  “What happened?” Anat seemed surprised. “I’m not a barbarian, Mr. Tolen. We never touched Dr. Mollur, although she may be annoyed with the way you abandoned her in the restaurant.” A fleeting grin passed over the man’s face.

  Tolen turned to Ms. Veers and took her proffered hand. “Ms. Veers, my name is Samuel Tolen.”

  Veers seemed to regard Tolen with a small amount of fascination. He sensed she was fixated on his blue eyes. “I see you know who I am. The pleasure is mine,” the woman responded.

  “Mr. Ganhaden,” he continued, turning toward the other man.

  Ganhaden stuck a lively hand in Tolen’s and shook it vigorously. “Mr. Tolen. We’ve been anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

  “Anxiously?” Tolen nodded with a quizzical look, still a bit off balance with the situation. He felt like a pauper in a room of the rich and famous.

  “What do you think?” Anat said, spreading his hands as if displaying the entire long room in one sweeping motion. “I have to admit, you’re one of very few people we’ve ever permitted in this room.”

  “We?” Tolen remarked.

  “This gallery holds our mutual collections,” Ganhaden said. The man spoke with a crisp British accent, similar to Jade’s yet different, with a strained proper intonation hinting at his elevated status.

  “I expected to find you in the wine cellar,” Tolen remarked turning back to Anat, “in environmental conditions which would benefit your health.”

  Anat laughed heartily. “Yes, I must apologize for all that showmanship. We were in the heart of the drama, and I couldn’t resist playing the part for you.”

  “He’s quite the actor,” Veers added. Her Portuguese accent had been all but shed in the years residing in New York City.

  A moment of confusion passed through Tolen before he finally grasped Anat’s meaning. “You’re not dying.”

  “Well, certainly some day,” Anat mused.

  Ganhaden’s face broke into a smile. “Our fate is inevitable, Mr. Tolen. It’s the one thing money can’t change.”

  “But no,” Anat continued, “I�
��m as healthy as any man you know.”

  “Then why? Why make the offer?” Tolen asked, his mind suddenly spinning with questions.

  “Let’s take a walk, Mr. Tolen, shall we?” Anat said, turning. Ganhaden and Veers did likewise, and Tolen strolled slowly beside the group as they proceeded up the gallery.

  After a few seconds of silence, Anat began, “I’ve know Mr. Ganhaden and Ms. Veers for some time, and when we merged our private art collections here at the estate several years ago, we realized we had similar tastes for life’s experiences.”

  “You didn’t bring me here to show off your wares,” Tolen said, feeling a renewed sense of contempt for the man.

  “Quite,” Anat responded, appraising Tolen as they moved. There was another moment of silence. “You won’t appreciate this, Mr. Tolen, but simply put, we struggle to find new ways to...enjoy life. Call it eccentricity or whatever you like, but as some of the world’s wealthiest people, we are constantly looking for new stimulations in which to indulge ourselves. Last year, the three of us sat down over dinner and discussed this very topic. We jokingly considered ideas to appease our carnal urges for excitement.” Anat paused briefly as if distracted. Then he pointed to the right wall at a painting of a woman’s face. “That’s a Monet. See the swirling brush marks? It’s one of my favorites.”