The Lazarus Mysteries- Omnibus Collection

by Ken Fry

  CHAPTER 33

  It was bad news. Well, that depended on what side of the divide you were sitting in. Pastor Silas Shepard discovered that Cyprus had one of the lowest crime rates in Europe. Robberies and murders, of which there were very few, were chiefly the work of foreign nationals who had taken up residence on the island – often in the hope that they would not be found and extradited back to their country of origin.

  Discreet enquiries in bars and less affluent parts of the city hadn’t revealed much. He was looking for a couple of meatheads who didn’t mind a session or two of rough stuff and could use a weapon or more. He wasn’t sure when or how he would need them, but when Bower showed up, it would get nasty ... and Bower would want the painting. That was a certainty.

  He had studied the financial reports and it appeared that Cyprus was running out of cash. The financial ratings agency, Standard and Poor’s, had twice – in close succession – downgraded the credit rating of the country. Its coffers were running dry. With that in mind, he knew that with enough money on the table, he wouldn’t find it too difficult to locate the sort of guys he was searching for.

  A friendly bartender had told him that his best shot was the port of Paphos. Times had hit the place hard. Later, he checked it out. It was about 135 kilometres away, an hour and a half drive.

  He hired a car for the day and drove down there. It was an uncluttered route and easy to park. He headed for Bar Street, the recommended location.

  Jesus! What a tip! He counted at least nine smashed up, burnt out and closed bars. The place was littered with glass and stank. It was filthy. Surly youths and thugs loitered all over the place. He headed for Flairs, the cocktail bar which was supposed to be one of the few decent bars remaining open. It was, and there were many customers, which gave it a reassuring feel.

  The music was loud, but looking outside, he guessed it needed to be. He ordered a Bourbon Manhattan, sat on a bar stool, and began to take stock of the customers and ambience. Nobody fitted the bill – too many tourists. Man One and George, although they threatened and roughed up people, were always dressed in suits. They were clean and in excellent shape, hard and tough as an ATM cash machine. That was what he was looking for.

  One Manhattan later, he spotted them. Across the bar and in a secluded corner sat two men with half the island’s gold reserves hanging off their wrists, fingers and neck chains. They wore slick suits and open necked shirts, and both had shaved heads that resembled Arnold Schwarzenegger’s biceps.

  This was not a time to be shy. He sauntered over towards them. “Hi guys. What are you drinking?”

  “Who the fuck are you?” one of them asked.

  “Are you some sort of faggot?” the other snarled.

  This was music to Shepard’s ears and he just hoped he hadn’t made a mistake. They were perfect!

  “Not at all. Just the opposite. I’m a business man with an interesting proposition.” He leant forward. “Now, what’s it to be?” He indicated the drinks.

  He then called the waiter over and ordered another Manhattan and two vodka martinis.

  He introduced himself as Silas Shepard, omitting the holy handle. “And who might you be?”

  “We are from Latvia. My name is Bruno, and this is my friend Alexis.”

  They shook hands.

  “What is you proposition, Mr. Shepard?”

  “I need some persuasive help and I thought you two looked like the sort of people who could help me.” Shepard very slowly began to outline what he needed from them. He omitted details like miracles and the potential of vast amounts of money coming in.

  More joy. They had access to weapons. He needed one right away.

  The next two hours were spent in deep discussion. They agreed on the fees and how it was to be paid. They would meet again in two days’ time at his hotel where they would be booked for an unlimited stay. By then, Alphonse and Jeremiah would be on hand and commencing the publicity and organizational work. He needed access to the media.

  Shepard was in no rush and drove sedately back to Larnaca and outwards to the hotel. He surmised that it had been a good morning’s work. He had found two excellent heavies, former gun runners who wouldn’t have looked out of place in Bower’s heavy set up.

  Inwardly, he was imagining his church going worldwide. He would have a pilgrimage site where all members and postulants would be obliged, once in their lives, to visit and worship. Larnaca would be that place. It had everything going for it and it wouldn’t be too difficult to invent another holy or sacred place. He could even discover a relic or two in the future. The possibilities were rich with promise. What’s more, I don’t even have to live here. L R H had a ship and crew and sailed wherever he fancied. Sounds ideal!

  The journey complete, he found Alphonse and Jeremiah at his hotel waiting when he arrived, bristling with laptops and files. Both were tall men with pinched, pale, and pious expressions, with the stench of missionary zeal about them. Shepard knew they were devoted to him. What they had become was due to him and his preaching.

  That suited him fine.

  They sat outside on the expansive porch patio, complete with sunshades, a large table and chairs. He’d already outlined what he wanted from them.

  “What did you discover about the media here?

  Alphonse spoke first. “The media set up is pretty much the same as any other free county in the world. We have the proposals and materials ready.”

  “Radio here,” interrupted Jeremiah, “is listened to by ninety-three per cent of the population. That’s a good place to start. The Cypriot Broadcasting Corporation heads the list with several other private stations getting in on the act. We need to target news channels, talk shows, and weekly event presentations. That shouldn’t be difficult.”

  “Nice one, boys.” Shepard began to salivate. “Okay, how about TV?”

  “The mix follows the same lines, again a stew of state and private stations. They are news hungry here as not a lot happens locally. Again, with what we have on offer, they’re going to be fighting over us.”

  “And the newspapers?”

  Alphonse spoke. “The Cypriot Mail is the most and only widely read English language newspaper. The others, of which there are several, are in Greek. We’ll find an interpreter or translator to work with us.”

  “So, you have this all covered. Very good. Now, what I want you two to grasp is that, what we do here will be a virtual template for what we’re going to do on every other country and continent on this planet.”

  “God be praised.” Jeremiah looked skywards, and Alphonse bowed his head.

  My, haven’t I trained them well? It’s time to tell them.

  “Alright, my faithful and trusted acolytes, I know you have an inkling about what this is all about, but I’m going to tell you the whole story as much as I know. At the end of it, if you can’t get back to me with a suitable presentation that would drive people to our church, then you are not the men I thought you were, and my judgment can be considered suspect. Sit back and relax, this may take some time.”

  They removed their suit jackets, which they always wore. A zealous expression the Spanish Inquisition would have been proud of etched itself into both of their faces. Actions that would exalt the glory of God could only have His blessing.

  Shepard’s knowledge, whilst sketchy, began with the actual event and Annas Zevi’s depiction of it, and of how the painting disappeared and was discovered during the Crusades. It had amazing properties to heal the sick and dying. He covered what he knew and how the information they had given him had led him to the Condesa of Toledo. He found out that the painting disintegrated at certain times but would then resurrect itself when a new artist was found. It seemed that the latest artist was still alive, and it was his version that had cured the Condesa. He omitted the name Brodie Ladro from his story. They need not know everything. He also left out the shootings and murders. They already had details of how the church would operate and its proposed structure. Everyt
hing was based on the miraculous painting of Lazarus.

  They asked no questions and believed all that he told them.

  “I have that painting here today, and I’m certain you would like to see it.” It was like dangling a bone to a dog.

  They gasped. “You have it here?”

  “Yes. It’s not that large. Wait here.”

  He went into the other bedroom, satisfied they were well and truly hooked. With the tale of an actual miracle occurring around the painting, a miracle witnessed by many, who wouldn’t be? Everyone feared death. That’s the concept that would make him rich beyond his wildest dreams.

  Placing it before them, he peeled back the purple covering with care. “It will not look like what you might have imagined, I warn you.”

  He stood it before them and their reaction surprised him. They went down on one knee, lowered their heads and muttered prayers. They were in the presence of an item touched by Christ himself. A religious icon. All things blessed by God were no less than perfection.

  This is going better than I expected!

  When they had finished their prayers, they looked up, their expressions like heavenly twins with the light of ecstasy shining from their eyes, matching their sensible, shiny, black leather shoes.

  “God be praised. Christ be praised.” Shepard, for one brief moment, felt inadequate. That was all he could think of to say. No need for more.

  “Now that you have witnessed it first hand, you may photograph it and use it in our presentation material and PR shots. Spread the word. I’m going to leave you to get on with it. Your rooms are booked, and you can work there. Get back to me in twenty-four hours. Do you have any questions?”

  “Just one,” Jeremiah said. “Where did you find it?”

  His lies fell from his mouth as easily as a windfall apple. “I saw it in a vision. I was led to it. It had been hanging on a wall of a hostel on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela Cathedral. I knew what it was as soon as I saw it. Our Lord directed my feet and the owner parted with it for a small sum of money. The woman, the Condesa, confirmed it as the same one that cured her. But I knew it was the right one because Christ had told me. How it got there, nobody knew.”

  “Amazing. Amazing,” Jeremiah repeated.

  “His return is nigh, and we are prepared. Thanks to you, your Reverence.”

  That sounded marvelous to Silas’ ears. Will they hurry up and vanish already? I need a smoke and a stiff drink. It’s been a hard day.

  “Well, that’s it for today, boys. I’ll see you tomorrow. I shall be most interested to see what ideas you come up with. Before you go, take your photographs. I’m glad to see you have proper cameras, not mobile phones.”

  Five minutes and they were gone.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. He transferred to the sun lounger, lit up a Lucky Strike, and poured out a four-finger shot of Bourbon. That way, he wouldn’t have to pour again. It had been a good day.

  CHAPTER 34

  Bower sat alone, preferring not to mix with the others. All this was far too new for him. His other life called to him constantly. The visit to Cyprus would be crucial. He sensed that there, he would know which way his life was heading. To see his investment under construction would be a valuable insight as to how things were progressing. He wanted to gauge local reaction. He knew casinos attracted people from all directions and countries, especially if there was built-in accommodation and all the facilities one would expect from a five-star establishment. Whether this was what he wanted from life, he would have to find out.

  Like the others, he had no inkling of what they would find there, and indeed, why they were going at all. The common denominator was the similarity of their paintings and the Lazarus link with Larnaca. It was a shot in the dark, but that didn’t seem out of place with the whole scenario. They were in the clutches of an unseen power they would never comprehend. The recent events had shaken him, and his core beliefs in money and power had taken a severe hammering.

  With his last phone call, he had asked his management how George was getting on, but nobody had seen or heard from him. He hadn’t been in Vegas.

  I guess he’s quit. Who can blame him?

  He finally decided to join the others. He wasn’t keen on Brodie, and he guessed the feeling was mutual, but they were stuck with each other. Garcia was of no real consequence, but he didn’t doubt the man’s intelligence, especially as he now knew who he was.

  The Abbot guy, he’s nice enough but what the hell is he doing in this crazy set up? What’s he going to do when we get there? The Condesa, well ... I’m glad she’s not coming. She can be a pain in the ass. Besides, she’s too old anyway and it could get messy if Shepard turns up. But why would Shepard turn up? He’s got what he wants.

  That left Martha.

  What is it about her? How does she know what I think? I sense her presence in my mind all the time. Shit … are we on some sort of fool’s errand?

  He went into the room and poured himself a scotch. Garcia waved a bottle of Drambuie at him. “Try a Rusty Nail before Luciana brings in the meal.”

  “Thanks, I’ll check it out.” He clattered ice cubes in the glass and poured in a couple of generous glugs of the liqueur before passing the bottle back to Garcia.

  Looking around, he took stock of the others and himself, sensing his inappropriateness, like an alarm had gone off without being set to do so. There were so many unspoken words in the air – judgments tied together into a tight ball like the moment before a bridge collapses. Even Martha was closed to him. He guessed he’d been the topic of conversation.

  “Have you decided when we’re leaving, Brodie?” he asked, to break the stalemate.

  “We reckon the day after tomorrow, we’ll catch the midday flight to Larnaca. It’ll be too much for us to drive back to Madrid tomorrow morning. Then, in between now and then, we have to sort out where we’ll all be staying. With the state of our finances, it can’t be anywhere fancy, and we can’t stay too long. Some of us might need to share a room.” He gave a sheepish grin. “What we’ll do when we arrive is not yet certain. But knowing this group, we will be guided when we get there. I’d put money on it.”

  Bower, before speaking, took an ample mouthful of the Rusty Nail. “Hold it right there. Leave the booking arrangements to me. None of you interrupt me, please.” He held up a hand as Brodie started to protest. “I insist on it and also the flight. I’m on a Magical Mystery Tour here, which I never asked to be part of, and in some way, I need to feel part of this. You see me as an outsider ... don’t deny it. And I guess that’s true to an extent. I’ve never been part of your world until now, so please, let me do my bit. There’s no other way for me. Besides, that may be one of the reasons why I’m here. As you know, I’m loaded.” He scanned the group, unknowingly waiting for their approval ... not only of his plans, but ... of him.

  Nobody spoke as they looked at each other.

  “That’s settled then.” Bower stood and raised his glass. He could no longer wait to be rejected. “To the animal that carried us here, The White Horse of Uffington. Deus Vult!

  For a moment, there was an appreciative gasp. Then they all stood and repeated the toast.

  Brodie said, “In some ways, you shame us, but all of us here want you with us ... don’t ask why. We don’t know. Your offer is most welcome and gladly accepted.”

  As if on cue, Luciana appeared with spicy dishes of Patatas Bravus and a massive bowl of traditional Paella.

  §

  Larnaca, Cyprus

  Two days later...

  They had given Maria and Luciana an emotional farewell and promised to keep in touch. Hopefully, they’ll be back soon. From there, the journey and the flight had gone without a hitch. Bower had booked them all into the Achilleos City Hotel, close to the city centre and a stone throw away from the Church of Saint Lazarus. From their balconies, they could see the port not far off and the tower of the church. It was as Bower had painted it back in Spain.

>   They had decided to meet in the bar area an hour later to discuss their next course of action.

  Bower, in the meantime, had located the construction site. He had made several calls to inform the site foreman that he was in town and would be there to see their progress.

  Brodie was outside his room, about to knock on the slightly open door, when he overheard Bower speaking to someone. It was only then that he realised what a dominant force Bower is – regardless of his current experiences.

  “I don’t want to hear no chicken shit excuses. If I do, asses are gonna be kicked and you will be looking for a new job. Do you hear me? Am I making myself clear? Κατανοητήbe?” There was a pause. “Good. You understood that well enough.” He ended the call.

  He saw Brodie nearby and guessed he must have overheard the conversation. He grinned. “No harm in keeping them on their toes. That’s the only way I’ve ever known.”

  Brodie didn’t know what to make of it and chose to ignore the remark. “Let’s get to our meeting and discuss plans.”

  It was unanimously agreed they would all visit the church first and take it from there. They might see something or be shown something that would tell them why they were led to it.

  The church was situated in its own square in the town centre. They stopped and gazed at it. Inwardly, each of them was on high alert, their senses attuned to every sight and sound, waiting for a sign. Abbot Louis was moved. Its Byzantine architecture was truly extraordinary. The baroque woodcarving and the old, covered iconostasis were without equal.

  Martha said nothing, nor felt anything. She was preoccupied by a recurring thought of being astride The White Horse and riding over the church. A vision ... small maybe, but one she knew Bower was also experiencing. She turned to him and he had a faraway look in his eyes. There was nothing she could say or do but wait and see. She felt the wind blowing in her hair ... although there was none.