“Correct. Eleven days ago, on August 30th, someone broke into the Cámara Santa. They breached the inner sanctum, picked the locked gate, and stole the Sudarium from inside a medieval reliquary chest, known as the Arca Santa.”
“What’s a Sudarium?” Bar asked with a perplexed look.
Tolen explained. “The Sudarium is a shroud. It’s the cloth that was purportedly wrapped around the head of Jesus Christ immediately following the crucifixion while he was still on the cross.”
“I thought it was called the Shroud of Turin?” Bar remarked, still confused.
“They’re two different relics,” Dr. Shaw added. “The lesser known Sudarium suffers from little-brother syndrome to the more famous Shroud of Turin, which was said to be wrapped around Christ’s entire body after he was removed from the cross.” She smiled patiently as she tented her fingers on the table and leaned in slightly. “Whereas the Turin cloth is large and finely made and has an imprint of a man, the Oviedo material is much smaller and rougher, and has no discernable image. Instead, there are blotches of what is thought to be human blood and lymph on the Sudarium.”
“Not thought to be, is,” Diaz cut in sternly. His English was crisp, with a moderate Spanish accent. “Analysis has confirmed it is human blood, type AB positive. The same type found on the Shroud of Turin. The Sudarium is also mentioned in the Bible. It is truly a magnificent object.”
Tolen noticed that the CIA director averted his eyes away from Diaz as he continued. “During the theft, a security guard was killed. He was stabbed with a knife, then struck with a first-century Roman halberd—an axe blade topped with a spike mounted on a long shaft. The halberd had been on display in a diorama in one of the nearby cloisters.” He exhaled with a remorseful expression as he pulled a photograph from the folder and held it up for the others to see. “The axe was buried in the man’s chest with a single blow.”
Tolen studied the image for a few seconds. He had seen the results of brutal deaths before, but never using a halberd. The gash to the man’s chest was enormous and bloody. He noticed that Diaz glimpsed at the picture and quickly looked away.
Bar’s expression belied her relative inexperience with gruesome cases. At times like these, with her bobbed blonde hair and long bangs, she looked as young as she was. Sheila Shaw also blanched slightly and shifted in her seat. The 61-year-old director of the Smithsonian Institution—with her proper demeanor and sensible blouse, skirt, and shoes—had just passed beyond her comfort zone.
“There were no witnesses,” Vakind said, returning the photograph to the folder and running a thumb over his firm chin. “Authorities did find a partial fingerprint at the scene, but it matched over 11,000 people in the Interpol database. Out of that number, only four people are currently in Spain. Two are dead, one is in prison, and one was at the other end of the country with a solid alibi. There are no other leads.”
“Does the Cathedral have a security system? Cameras?” Tolen asked.
“Yes,” Diaz responded, “a security system, but no video cameras. The Cámara Santa was broken into in 1977, and an alarm system was installed at that time. Unfortunately, it has not been upgraded since, and as you can imagine, has become antiquated. That is why a night guard is on site. The system was easily disarmed by the intruder or intruders before entering the Cathedral and Cámara Santa.”
Vakind added, “Three days later, on September 2nd, an American archaeologist, Phillip Cherrigan, was found dead in his motel room in Palmar Sur, Costa Rica. He had been decapitated with what appeared to be a sword, although the murder weapon was not found.” Vakind eyed the folder as if he were about to show them the image of the headless man, then must have decided against it.
The color had still not fully returned to Dr. Shaw’s face as she spoke. “Are we to assume the two crimes—the murder and theft of the Sudarium in Spain and the murder in Costa Rica—are related?”
“They are related,” Vakind replied.
Diaz chimed in. “In both cases, the manner of death mirrored the martyrdom of one of Jesus’ Apostles.” He paused, and Tolen sensed a pained hesitance. Diaz visibly swallowed and continued. “The security guard was killed with a halberd in the manner of the Apostle Matthew; your American archaeologist was beheaded with a sword like the Apostle James.”
“That’s your connection?” Bar blurted out incredulously.
Tolen gave her a furtive look. One thing he had stressed to her before was that when Director Vakind conducted a briefing, all bases had been covered beforehand. There was obviously something more to connect the two crimes. Bar shrank as she received Tolen’s nonverbal message.
Vakind eyed Bar and continued with a modicum of sarcasm. “In fact, there is more, Analyst Bar. After the second murder, the Spanish press received a communiqué from a group that called themselves the ‘True Sons of Light.’ The group claimed responsibility for both murders and the theft of the Sudarium. The press had a field day with it, printing the letter in every major newspaper in the country. The ‘True Sons of Light” claimed as their charter to . . .” he picked up a piece of paper from the folder and read from it, “ ‘Dispel the fraud upon humanity that Jesus ever existed as an historical figure.’ They vowed to continue to acquire these ‘hoax’ relics mankind has collected, such as the Sudarium. Thus,” his eyes turned back to the paper, “ ‘humanity will be rid of this deception.’ They also vowed to ‘stop those who propagate the lie with false evidence,’ ” he looked up, then back down at the paper, “threatening to do so by ‘executing them in the same manner in which the Apostles were silenced.’ ”
He looked up gravely at those assembled before continuing. “An added dilemma was that Spanish authorities had chosen to suppress the news of the initial theft and murder, hoping to solve the case quickly and return the Sudarium to the Cámara Santa before anyone knew it was missing. Only the police and the church canons knew the truth. As you heard Inspector Diaz say, the Sudarium is a treasured Spanish relic. News of its disappearance would be taken very hard by the Spanish people and Christians everywhere.”
“Its significance to our country cannot be overstated,” Diaz cut in; his eyes fiery and his words filled with resounding passion. He paused, glancing up toward the ceiling and then back to the people seated around the table. His next words softened in reverence. “It is a treasure that the people of Spain hold dear—an earthly connection to our holy savior, Jesus Christ.”
“By the time the ‘True Sons of Light’ released the communiqué to the press, the United States was involved,” Vakind continued. “We urged the Spanish government to rebuke the claim of the Sudarium’s theft. Since the Sudarium is only removed and displayed to the public three times a year, we felt there was time to locate the culprits, whoever the ‘True Sons of Light’ are, and return the Sudarium before the next showing. The Spanish agreed, and have publicly denounced the claim in the communiqué, insisting that the Sudarium is safe in storage within the Cámara Santa.” Vakind paused. “We’ve also warned several governments, including Italy, where the Shroud of Turin is maintained, that the CIA has received information about the possibility of thefts of artifacts related to Jesus Christ.”
Diaz looked down. “The problem is the guard’s . . . Javier’s . . . death.” When he looked back up, his eyes had turned glossy.
Tolen understood in an instant: Javier was someone close to Diaz. Bar and Dr. Shaw must have realized this as well. For a few seconds, the room remained quiet as they all waited for Diaz to continue.
“The guard who was murdered—he was my brother, Javier Diaz. Certain members of the Spanish press have learned Javier worked in security at the Cathedral of San Salvador and that he is no longer employed there. Despite the government’s denial that a theft of the Sudarium ever occurred, some have become suspicious because of Javier’s . . . um . . . disappearance. Some are even claiming he was involved, which they say explains why no one can fin
d him now.” The muscles in the Spaniard’s neck went taut. His teeth clenched as his voice escalated, and he practically spat the next words. “Some say Javier is a member of this ‘True Sons of Light.’ So until the press knows the truth, my brother cannot receive a proper Christian burial in the family mausoleum!” Slamming a fist on the table, he closed his eyes and exhaled in an attempt to calm himself.
No one spoke.
Dr. Shaw looked to Director Vakind, finally breaking the silence. “No disrespect to Inspector Diaz or the Spanish government, but why did the U.S. become involved? Why did we advise them to deny the claim by the ‘True Sons of Light’ that the Sudarium had been stolen?”
“Because,” Tolen began, having read the hidden message in Vakind’s words, “there is U.S. involvement in the crime.”
“Correct,” Vakind confirmed. “Another partial fingerprint found at the Costa Rica murder site had too few pattern points to make more than a generalized identification, but when Spanish authorities analyzed the hard copy of the communiqué, they were able to lift a single, clear print. It was unmistakable. The match also tied the partial prints from both crime scenes: the Cámara Santa in Oviedo, Spain and Palmar Sur in Costa Rica.”
“Si . . . yes,” Diaz said with a thinly veiled smirk. “We know exactly who did it.”
Vakind nodded reluctantly. He looked Tolen squarely in the eyes. “The man we’re looking for is Boyd Ramsey.”
A hush fell over the room. Bar’s expression was nothing short of utter surprise. While Tolen remained stoic, he understood her astonishment.
Vakind turned, looking to Dr. Shaw as he explained for her benefit, “Boyd Ramsey was a CIA analyst. The man is in his sixties and retired last year. Last I heard, he was living in the Smoky Mountains just outside Gatlinburg, Tennessee, but no one in the States has seen him in months. We were able to track him to Spain earlier in the summer, but he disappeared there.
“Somehow, information has leaked in Spain about Ramsey and his CIA background. Rumors are now swirling that the ‘True Sons of Light’ is a cover group for a U.S.–backed plan to steal the Sudarium, and some are claiming the theft has already occurred. This information has recently flooded the Internet in Spain, spawning wild conspiracy theories. A groundswell of backlash is growing. If, by the next display date, the Sudarium is confirmed to be missing, it will fuel tremendous outrage toward the U.S. Several European radical religious sects have already promised severe retaliation against U.S. citizens at home and abroad. As you can see, the situation has escalated into an international issue which could turn extremely deadly.”
“To complicate matters,” Diaz interjected, “the Sudarium is to be displayed on September 14th for the start of the Feast of the Cross. That is the day the canons of San Salvador are to remove the Sudarium and use it to bless thousands of people in an elaborate and hallowed ceremony. That gives us less than four days.”
“I assume all efforts to find Ramsey thus far have been ineffective?” Tolen remarked.
“Ineffective? That’s an understatement,” chided Diaz with a harrumph.
“When we started, we had two weeks. The CIA committed a full complement of agents to the search for Ramsey, but we’ve reached a dead end, and time is running out,” Vakind said.
“Apart from Boyd Ramsey, have we found out anything about this group, the ‘True Sons of Light’?” Bar asked.
“Oddly, no; only that they may have derived their name from a Jewish sect which existed in Israel around the time of Christ called the ‘Sons of Light.’ ” Vakind looked back to Tolen. “You’ve been called in because of your skills and your working relationship with Boyd Ramsey. Given that there are less than four days until the start of the Feast of the Cross, I’m dedicating Analyst Bar to be your eyes and ears here on the ground in DC. She will have access to every database and resource necessary to assist you. Also, the Spanish government has been gracious enough to loan us the services of Inspector Diaz. Tolen, I need you to team with Diaz and find Boyd and the Sudarium before this turns into a bloody international incident.”
Diaz spoke slowly, looking in turn at everyone in the room. His anger from earlier had subsided, but his struggle to remain calm was apparent. “Your government has assured Spain the Sudarium will be returned in time. Upon your advice, we perpetuated the lie that it is safe, discrediting the communiqué received by the press. If the Sudarium is not returned, the U.S. will feel the wrath of terrorism from religious radicals, and the Spanish government will experience the outcry of its own people. I cannot emphasize how critical it is that the killers are brought to justice and the Sudarium returned before Friday morning at 9 a.m. when the Cathedral of San Salvador opens its doors to the thousands of worshippers who will be in attendance.”
Diaz’s words hung in the still room.
“What was archaeologist Phillip Cherrigan working on in Costa Rica when he was killed? Surely not searching for a relic tied to Jesus Christ in Central America?” Tolen asked.
Vakind responded. “Cherrigan was a biblical archaeologist, and he had teamed with a British archaeologist, Dr. Jade Mollur. They were doing some sort of work on the Dead Sea Scrolls, I believe. I don’t have the details. At the time Cherrigan was killed, Mollur was in the United States. Subsequently, after attending Cherrigan’s funeral in New Jersey several days ago, an attempt was made on Mollur’s life when she was driven off the road. She only suffered minor abrasions.”
“Do you think it’s related?” Sheila Shaw asked. “I didn’t realize vehicular homicide was an Apostle’s death.”
“At the CIA’s request, and for her own protection, she’s been detained by local police in Morristown, New Jersey. Tolen, you and Diaz are to pick her up, question her, and return with her to Costa Rica this evening to examine the crime scene. It’s the best we have to go on right now. Oh, and one more thing to consider: as I mentioned, the ‘True Sons of Light’ may have gotten their name from the ancient Jewish sect ‘Sons of Light.’ The ‘Sons of Light’ are also known as the Essenes, a monastic community which included scribes—”
Tolen finished the thought, “—who lived on the shores of the Dead Sea. The Essenes are credited by most scholars as having written the Dead Sea Scrolls, and if Phillip Cherrigan and Jade Mollur were conducting research on those scrolls, Dr. Mollur is the obvious starting point.”
CHAPTER 4
September 10. Monday – 4:01 p.m. Washington, DC
Samuel Tolen and Inspector Pascal Diaz rode in a chauffeur-driven car which Vakind had arranged to drive them to Ronald Reagan National Airport. They were booked on the next flight to Newark, New Jersey.
After the debriefing, Tolen had learned in a sidebar conversation with Vakind that former Director of Operations, Carlton Tannacay, had been relieved of duty. His insistence that the Spanish keep the theft of the Sudarium quiet, which implied CIA guilt, had proven to be career suicide.
Tolen also found out from Vakind that Diaz had requested to act alone in the U.S. but had been denied, so his pairing with Tolen was not to his liking. At the same time, Tolen found it odd that Vakind had consented at all to allow Diaz to participate in the investigation given his personal relationship to one of the victims. No doubt the CIA had been coerced by the Spanish government, or more likely succumbed to internal bureaucratic pressure, to include Diaz. Either way, it was Tolen’s problem now, and it was not productive to dwell on decisions he could not influence. Tolen wanted to ensure Ramsey got a fair trial. He feared Diaz might be too trigger-happy given the opportunity for revenge. He would rein Diaz in if the need arose. It would not be the first time he had worked with a challenging partner.
Tolen considered Diaz’s situation. He felt for the Spaniard, losing his brother so suddenly and tragically. Family members can never be replaced. Tolen knew this all too well. The scars of his own mother’s sudden passing when he was young remained even to this day.
Riding in t
he car, there had been few words between Tolen and Diaz. Diaz was brooding, his discord visible in his perpetual scowl. Halfway to the airport, and shielded from the driver by a Plexiglas curtain, the inspector broke the silence. “So this Tiffany Bar is your resource? She seems young and inexperienced. I am not sure your government understands the magnitude of the situation. Frankly, Tiffany Bar sounds like the stage name of a stripper.”
“Analyst Bar has done many things, but that’s one job which doesn’t appear on her resume,” Tolen responded nonchalantly. He was not about to be played.
“So you have worked with her in the past? Before she graduated from grammar school?”
Tolen responded sedately. “To set your mind at ease, Inspector, Tiffany Bar graduated summa cum laude with a dual bachelor’s and master’s degree at 17. She earned a doctorate from Princeton in forensic research and analysis before her 20th birthday. She and I have worked together on several assignments in the past, and I assure you that whatever maturity she might lack is more than offset by her ability to research and analyze data.”
“She looks like a lost child.”
“Only two people have achieved perfect scores on the CIA Analyst entrance exam, a test where a 100% was once thought to be impossible to obtain. One is the man we’re after, Boyd Ramsey, considered the premier CIA analyst. The other was Tiffany Bar.”
Diaz looked unimpressed. “That’s comforting. She has the same qualifications as the man heading a terrorist organization.”
“We are fortunate to have her assistance in our endeavor.”
Diaz’s entire demeanor changed, and he looked incensed. “Endeavor? My brother was murdered by a ruthless killer: your Boyd Ramsey. The sacred cloth bearing Jesus’ blood was stolen by atheist radicals. We are on a holy mission to return the Sudarium to its place among the people of Spain and bring the culprits to justice, and you refer to it as an endeavor?”
Before the Proof Page 6
