God's Lions: The Secret Chapel

by John Lyman

  Lev pulled on a dark blue windbreaker with the yacht’s logo embroidered on the front. “I don’t like it either. At least we can fight humans with conventional weapons, but the fact that someone knows what we have and wants to possess it at any cost is another factor we have to consider. I’m beginning to wonder if Jeb Carlton’s jet was brought down by supernatural forces or if it was sabotaged by the same people who came after us tonight.”

  “I don’t think the plane was taken out by sabotage,” Leo said. “They would have risked losing the book in the crash. Why don’t we put Moshe to work on this and see what he can come up with? He has the kind of connections most security agencies can only dream about. If anyone can find out who the people chasing us are working for, he can.”

  “He’s already on it,” Lev said. “He just talked to the Israeli police who are on the scene back on the highway going through the wreckage of that SUV. They’re looking to see who it belonged to and trying to ID the bodies inside. He’s also made some calls to Rome. Some friends of ours are already starting to scout around. I’m sorry to say this, Father, but Moshe doesn’t much trust the Vatican, especially since we found those two Swiss Guards spying on the villa.”

  “I can’t blame him. I’m having some doubts myself.”

  Lev winced when he told Leo that one of his men distrusted the Vatican. He admired this priest and considered him a part of his family, but he had also seen the passage in the Bible code that spoke of dark forces within the Church working against them.

  The yacht’s captain was outside on the deck in front of the bridge, smoking and watching the activities of the crew on the deck below. His name was Alex Pappas, a Greek who carried himself with the pride of thousands of years of Greek sailors who had plied these waters before him. In his mid-thirties, he was considered young for a ship’s captain. His short black hair provided a stark contrast to his spotless white uniform, while his hazel eyes reflected the color of the sea he had lived on for almost his entire life. His father had been the captain of the yacht, Christina, the yacht that once belonged to Aristotle Onassis.

  He flicked the remainder of his lit cigarette overboard and gave the order to release the lines connecting the yacht to the dock. The crew began drawing in the thick nylon rope and coiled it on the deck as Camp ran back and forth, barking at the dockhands on the concrete wharf below.

  The captain entered the bridge and took his place at the controls. With the flick of a toggle switch on a hand controller, he increased the RPM of the engines and the bow and stern thrusters came to life, slowly pushing the large boat away from the dock. With the boat now moving toward the center of the harbor, the huge brass propellers under the stern began to spin, driving the massive blue and white yacht out of the marina.

  Moving past the breakwater protecting the harbor, the captain kept the boat centered in the channel until they passed the end of the jetty and entered the Mediterranean Sea, where he ordered the helmsman to increase the speed, pushing the bow higher as it slipped through the waves into deeper water.

  Only the lights from distant ships far out at sea punctuated the darkness before them as the boat headed west across the open ocean toward Europe and the Italian coast. No one onboard knew what awaited them in the current climate of world events, nor could they imagine what forces might already be at work to keep them from making their destination. Despite the fact that they were now moving away from land, everyone onboard remained on high alert for any hint of an attack against them or their boat.

  Wearing only a thin black polo shirt and white shorts, Leo shivered in the chill from the wind as he descended the stairs from the bridge. He was making good on his promise to take every precaution and walked the entire length of the boat, blessing the decks with holy water and praying for their safe passage across the sea. Although he was surrounded by the best Israeli-trained security men and women in the world, he recognized that the fate of those onboard this ship remained in God’s hands, for only He knew what truly lay ahead for them all.

  John and Ariella were standing side by side on the yacht’s rear deck, watching the lights from the shore recede. They marveled at the phosphorescent glow given off by the plankton stirred up in the ship’s wake. The moon was rising in the distance as the two lovers held each other tightly. They kissed unashamedly in full view of both Leo and Lev, who sat with Moshe at a table on the rear deck. John and Ariella felt they had nothing to hide now.

  Leo had come to know John as a fine man who had honestly looked at the priesthood for his life’s vocation, but it had become obvious that God had called on him to marry and start a family with Ariella instead. The priest drank his coffee in silence. He enjoyed seeing how happy these two were in each other’s presence. There was no need to ask if John would be withdrawing his application from Jesuit seminary, when and if they returned to America.

  The hiss of water passing along the hull provided a backdrop for what was so far turning out to be an uneventful cruise. Leo had volunteered to give John a break from watching over the backpack containing the book and kept it next to him on the teak wood deck below his chair. He eyed it with revulsion and wondered why the entities hadn’t shown themselves since they had left port. Leo felt a chill as he remembered the reddish smoke in the plane’s cabin just before the jet had crashed into the sea. Like any confrontation, the wait could sometimes be worse than the event itself.

  The priest leaned back in his chair and stared up into the star-filled sky. The quiet isolation of the sea, along with the rhythmic hum of the motors as the yacht pushed through the open water, began to lull him into a mood of complacent introspection.

  His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the voice of one of the ship’s crewmembers speaking to Lev.

  “Sir, we have a radio call for you from shore. Would you like to take it on the bridge or in the salon on the main deck?”

  Lev let his cigar smolder in the ashtray. “I’ll take it in the salon.”

  Casting a glance at Leo and Moshe, he leaned his body against the roll of the deck and followed the sailor through the glass doors into the plush aft salon. He crossed the blue marble floor, taking the receiver and remembering to push the green talk button on the ship to shore radiophone before he spoke.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Professor Wasserman?” It was David, the Israeli policeman. He had just come from the scene of the burned out hulk of the SUV. “We’ve discovered the identities of the men inside the vehicle that attacked you on the highway. They appear to be Swiss citizens.”

  “Vatican security men?”

  “At first, we thought so, but their Vatican security IDs were fakes. They’ve been living in Rome for the past two years, but we haven’t been able to learn who they really worked for.”

  “Thank you for keeping me informed, David. Is there anything else?”

  “No, except for the fact that we found a detailed blueprint of your yacht on the highway next to the wreckage. You might want to take some extra precautions and make a sweep of your boat for anything suspicious.”

  “Thanks, David. We’ll take it from here. Let me know if you learn anything else.”

  “You got it, Professor. Have a safe cruise.”

  Chapter 33

  The sunrise crept over the stern of the yacht as it made its way west across the Mediterranean. The wind was light, and the water was smooth, allowing the bow to cut through the sea with little effort. Gray dolphins played in its foamy white wake while taking turns lagging behind and turning sideways to gaze up at the crew through one eye peeking above the surface.

  Lev descended the stairs from the bridge and approached the lounging group warming themselves in the sun on the back deck. He was barefoot and wearing a blue-and-white-striped T-shirt with dark blue shorts. His tanned arms were covered in white hair that reflected the sun as he ran his hands back through the thick mop of gray hair hanging in his face.

  “Anyone care for a tour of my little boat?”

  “
I’d love to see the rest of it,” Leo said. They all stood and followed Lev up to the bridge.

  The yacht was a beauty. Built in Holland in 2002, the boat was immaculate. Two decks rose above the main deck, with the bridge on the uppermost deck almost forty feet above the waterline. The entire superstructure was brilliantly white, while the hull was painted a glossy dark blue trimmed with two gold stripes that ran the entire two-hundred-thirty-foot length just below the main deck.

  “What do you call her?” Leo asked.

  Lev’s face suddenly became somber.

  “Carmela. She was named after my dear wife.”

  “That’s a beautiful name, Lev,” Leo said, wondering why he had not taken the time to ask Lev more about his late wife. People at the villa talked in hushed tones when her name was mentioned.

  After a quick tour inside the bridge with all of its high tech equipment, Lev led the group outside to the top deck behind the bridge, where he showed them a small sunken pool next to an extensive outdoor bar, complete with widescreen TV and barbecue grill.

  “This looks like a mini version of the pool area back at the villa,” Leo observed.

  “I copied it as near as I could with the limited space available on a boat. An outdoor entertainment area needs to have a pool, a bar, and a grill, in that order.”

  Ariella giggled at her father as he pointed above to an assortment of antennas and two radars that spun constantly, scanning the horizon. Lev loved his electronic gadgets, and this was a source of much amusement to Ariella, as it had been to her mother.

  While Lev explained the navigation capability of the boat, Leo and John’s attention was drawn to the helipad located behind them with a small dark-blue helicopter secured to the deck.

  “Oh, I see you like my little bird.” Lev smiled. “We use it quite a bit actually. That’s why Nava came on board. It’s used mostly for going back and forth to places on shore and spotting schools of tuna for our supper.” Written in gold script on the fuselage of the helicopter was the name, Little Carmela.

  The group left the sun-drenched top deck and crowded through a tight interior stairway that descended below to the lavishly furnished mid-deck salon. The front section of the salon was furnished with two cozy booth-like tables that faced a rich cherry-wood bar topped with black granite. Two flat screen TVs above the bar were usually reserved for watching sports, but unfortunately today, the thrill of soccer, basketball, and football were replaced with images from the aftermath of the attack on Houston.

  Several crewmembers were standing in front of the TVs watching the news of the attack, their youthful exuberance flattened by the overwhelming evil displayed across the screens before them. They were all dressed in the yacht’s standard uniform of dark blue shorts and blue and white horizontally striped polo shirts with the name of the yacht, Carmela, embroidered in gold on the upper left chest.

  The aft portion of the salon held a spacious seating area surrounded by large horizontal windows that ran the entire length of the space, giving it a bright and airy feel. Oversized glass doors opened outside onto a covered deck furnished with several tables and built-in bench seats that followed the curve of the outside railing.

  Descending some exterior stairs to the main deck, they entered the grand salon. Inside, the group beheld a more formal area that resembled a five-star hotel lobby and included a grand piano and expensive artwork from around the world. This area of the yacht contained a large dining room and a fully equipped gourmet kitchen large enough for a team of chefs to prepare a dinner party for at least fifty guests. Blue marble flooring ran the entire length of the salon, where several multicolored fabric couches faced the heavy glass doors that led out onto the main deck.

  Beyond the doors lay the main deck, the focal area for most of the entertainment that occurred on the boat. The first half of the deck closest to the salon included a seating area and bar that was covered by a blue-and-white-striped fabric awning, while the last twenty feet of the stern section was left open to the sky, so that guests could sit under the sun or the stars and watch the yacht’s wake recede into the distance.

  The group paused to watch a pod of dolphins play nearby before descending down another narrow stairway to an area below the main deck. They trailed along behind Lev as he passed through a dark, wood-paneled hallway lined with brass side railings. Antique brass lamps gave off a soft yellow glow and provided a fitting ambiance for Lev’s collection of classic oil paintings of sailing ships at sea. This region of the yacht was reserved for guests and contained twelve staterooms, all beautifully decorated, with their own private baths.

  To the rear of the guest’s quarters, a large, garage-like space held some of Lev’s favorite toys. Next to a room full of scuba diving equipment, two speedboats and several jet skis crowded the area in front of a large hydraulic door that could be lowered at the stern, providing direct access to the water.

  Below this deck lay the engine room. It gleamed from top to bottom and was the pride of the yacht’s engineer. Anyone who spilled oil on the immaculate floor did so at their peril. Twin turbine engines propelled the craft through the water at a speed greater than most small speedboats, and oversized fuel tanks carried a sufficient amount of diesel for a voyage across any ocean in the world.

  Lev looked at Leo and John, beaming like a proud father. “Well, what do you think of her? Isn’t she magnificent?”

  “Magnificent would be a good word,” Leo said. “Palatial would be another that comes to mind.”

  “I’m glad you approve of her, Leo, because I hope you’ll be spending a lot of time at the villa and on this boat in the future, my friend.”

  Leo had never traveled in such wealthy social circles in his simple life as a priest, and a man like Lev was an enigma to him. Rich and smart, he also possessed a heart filled with love. He was generous to a fault and protected those in his care like a lion.

  With the tour finished, Lev excused himself from the others and made his way forward to his cabin. The stress of the past few days was showing on his face when he slid beneath the covers of his bed for a much-needed nap. He had just fallen asleep when a knock on the door awakened him. “What is it? Is the boat sinking?”

  A nervous-sounding voice echoed from the other side of the door. “No, sir. I’m sorry to disturb you. Father Leo wants to talk to you, sir. He says it’s very important.”

  Chapter 34

  Leo was pacing the bridge when Lev found him. Obviously worried, his green eyes looked out over the rolling sea in the direction of the Italian coast. Over the course of the past few days, the priest had barely slept, and his scarred left eyelid drooped more than usual. His hand trembled as he took a sip of yet another cup of coffee.

  “Why don’t you go below and try to get some sleep, Father?”

  “How far are we from Italy?”

  “At this speed, we’re already two-thirds of the way across the Med. Alex told me we should be approaching the southern Italian coast sometime later this evening.”

  “Have you given any thought as to where we will dock?”

  “We usually go into Fiumicino when we bring the yacht to Rome. It’s a large harbor close to the city and a good place to buy provisions, but ...”

  “We’ll stand out like a sore thumb there,” Leo said.

  “You read my mind, Father. Moshe and I have been looking for somewhere less conspicuous and farther down the coast. A place where we can sneak into a small harbor in the middle of the night, somewhere they won’t be expecting us.”

  “What about docking at a harbor on the opposite coast?” Leo asked. “Maybe somewhere along the Adriatic Sea.”

  “Let’s take a look.” Lev called Alex over as he opened a polished wooden cabinet and pulled out several sea charts of the Italian coast. Even though he enjoyed his electronic gadgets and could have easily looked the same information up on the navigational computer, he was still a traditionalist at heart and loved his large paper charts.

  Alex spread one o
f the charts out flat with his hands while Lev drew a mental line from the east coast of Italy to Rome. “I think any of these ports on the east coast are too close to the city. If anyone is watching the harbors there, we would be spotted in an instant. How about farther south ... on the western coast?”

  “Mmm.” Leo rubbed his chin and ran his finger over the map. “Have you thought about a port on one of these islands here?” The port he had pointed to was located on Lipari, one of the Sicilian islands close to the west coast of Italy. It was small and populated with a scattering of bars, restaurants, and hotels.

  Alex studied it for a moment and nodded his head. “I’ve docked there before. It’s out of the way, and no one on the mainland would know we were in the area. I personally wouldn’t want to take the Carmela into that port.”

  Lev continued to stare at the chart. “Why not?”

  “If the volcano on that island is active, it makes the whole place smell like sulfur. The smell gets into everything and the whole boat stinks for days.”

  Leo and Lev exchanged glances simultaneously.

  “Let’s cross that one off our list,” Leo said with a straight face. “We probably need to be somewhere along the coast on the mainland.”

  “How about this harbor?” Lev said. He was pointing to the port of Maratea along the southwestern coast about 180 miles south of Rome.

  The captain’s face immediately lit up. “No problem. I’ve been in that harbor dozens of times. Small, discrete, and it can accommodate a yacht of this size. It’s perfect.”

  “Good,” Lev said. “That actually works out better for us from a logistics standpoint.”

  Leo placed a ruler over the map and measured the distance to Rome. “I think it might be a good idea to have a place near Rome to go to if we need to escape the city in a hurry. We could use Father Morelli’s country house. It’s about forty-five miles south of Rome ... near the village of Sermoneta. He left everything to me, so technically, I own it now. I’ll call the caretakers and let them know some special guests of mine might be stopping by.”