by Davis Bunn
Harry felt a bloom of heat rise from his core, so thick and powerful it totally erased his former aches. The moment, the chamber, held no space for anything except what stood straight ahead.
The cabinets formed a single long line down the center of the gallery. In between each case were drawings, models, photographs, historical overviews. The cases were plain in the extreme. The cubes of bulletproof glass were brilliantly illuminated.
The central case was forty-four feet long.
They had done a remarkable job straightening the vine. The places where it had been bent back upon itself were still visible, but only because Harry was looking. Harry was very glad they had decided to stretch it out again. The vine did not run straight and true. No vine would. Instead, it twisted upon itself, it curved and flowed, adorned along its entire length by grafted-on leaves of solid gold.
Sean walked the entire length of the room alongside Harry. Harry was as certain of that as he was that Storm had been right to share their quest with the world. These treasures belonged to humanity.
They stayed until the main doors opened and the hordes arrived in a hurried rush of footfalls and conversation.
Harry had no interest in sharing his moment with anyone but Emma and his departed friend. She must have understood, for she moved up close and said, “Take my arm.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
THE SAME PRIVATE JET FLEW them back to Palm Beach. As they left the terminal, Harry said, “The last time I came through here I was wearing a Bentley. Most of one, anyway.”
First stop was Storm’s apartment, where Storm greeted them both with a hug made clumsy by one arm still being in a sling. She then walked them around, showing off the progress she’d made in the cleaning and renovation. The kitchen cabinets Harry had shot up had been torn out and the stains had been worked from the hardwood floor. The movers had returned the furniture, and Storm talked about consignment items she had been offered, enough to reopen the shop. Harry spotted a few smudges of fingerprint powder in the bedroom as he showered and dressed in the suit Storm had laid out on the bed. Maybe one day he’d be able to enter here without seeing Leon’s manic gaze, glaring at him through the veil of Emma’s hair.
Emma drove them by the bank and accompanied Storm inside. Harry sat in the car, reveling in a day he could only describe as complete. Emma emerged with a bank carry bag, which she settled on the backseat beside Storm. Storm looked like she was sheathed in smoke, a dynamite frock of blue grey silk that somehow managed to look utterly severe and alluring at the same time.
They rode to the church in silence. Harry stared out the side window as the line of Imperial palms flashed by, recalling another trip down this very same avenue, one far more heavily laden. He sighed contentedly, ready to finally put that to rest. As much as was humanly possible.
The church’s parking lot was jammed, as were all the surrounding streets. Cars and limos and television vans lined the beachside highway for a mile or more in either direction. When the guard blocking the main drive tried to wave them away, Emma leaned forward and flashed her badge, saying, “The show can’t start without us.”
Douglas Kerr, the senior pastor, bounded out the rear doors before Emma cut the motor. He watched her pull the case from the rear seat and asked, “Is that it?”
“Yes.”
The pastor was decked out in his most formal set of robes. The overmantle’s gold embroidery glittered in the sunset. “We’ve still got a few minutes. We can wait in the chancellery.”
As they entered the church, the pastor said, “Your aunt sends her best. But she adamantly refuses to budge from the front pew.”
“She’s still pretty shook up,” Storm said.
When they were inside the offices behind the main hall, Harry declared, “I’m with Claudia. I’d feel a lot better sitting this one out.”
“Not a chance,” Storm said.
“Sean wouldn’t like the idea of me standing in front of his church.”
“Sean wouldn’t have it any other way,” Storm replied.
“I feel like an enlisted man sneaking into the officers’ mess wearing a stolen uniform.”
“You look great, and I know the suit’s not stolen because I’ve still got the receipt in my purse.”
Emma’s eyes glinted. “Don’t tell me you’re frightened by the thought of holding a little treasure.”
Harry sighed his defeat. “Whatever.”
Emma stepped forward. “Your tie’s crooked.” She fitted the knot in close to his collar. “There.” She smoothed the lapels to his jacket. “You look totally edible.”
There was a sharp rap on the door. An older man entered in a formal dark suit, a silk skullcap adorning his bald pate. “Ms. Syrrell?”
“That’s me.”
“Rubin Kleinman. Ambassador of Israel to the United States.”
“Thank you for coming.”
“On the contrary, Ms. Syrrell, it is I who am indebted for this invitation.” He embodied diplomatic elegance from head to toe. Every move seemed measured against a lifetime of wielding power.
“You already know Emma Webb.”
“Indeed so. An honor, Agent Webb.” He turned to Harry. “And you must be Mr. Bennett. So glad to see you up and around again, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador.”
The man’s polish was matched by an extremely intense gaze. “My government is interested to know if you might be willing to help us with another matter of missing artifacts, Mr. Bennett. We could possibly use the services of a resourceful man who also values discretion.”
Harry’s interest sparked. “It would sure make for a change, having a government play like I was on their side.”
Emma added, “That’s the first word that comes to mind when I think about Harry Bennett. Discreet.”
The ambassador handed Harry a card. “Perhaps you would be so good as to contact me when this is behind us.”
Storm stepped to the desk and slipped the chalice from the bank’s carry sack. “You might like to have a look at this.”
The ambassador’s polished manner simply melted away. “May I?” His hands trembled as he turned the chalice over. He inspected the name inscribed in the base, then slipped a photograph from his jacket and compared the two inscriptions. “It is just as you said.”
“I’m glad you agree.”
He handed back the chalice, then made a mess of refolding the photograph. “You have not mentioned a price.”
The pastor accepted the chalice from Storm and filled it with wafers. Storm knew he objected to their talking business in this setting. But Sean had never been one to isolate his work from his faith. Far from it.
When she was certain of her voice once more, she replied, “Sean trusted you.” So much so that he had starred the man’s name. There were only nine such entries in his notebook. “You may have the right of first refusal. The offer is to you personally. I will deal with no one else.”
Before the diplomat could recover, the pastor said, “Mr. Ambassador, if you would be so kind as to take your seat.”
Emma hugged Harry. “I’ll see you outside.”
Storm watched the two of them embrace and found herself filled with a sudden sense of completion. There was no logic to the moment. But the sensation of having arrived at Sean’s goal was so overwhelming, she was forced to look away, afraid if she didn’t she would lose control.
They entered the sanctuary to the sound of the choir singing a Brahms liturgy. The chamber was bathed in harsh white television lights and the frenetic flash of countless cameras.
The sanctuary was lofty and grand and packed. The central aisle was crammed with folding chairs to handle the overflow. The upper loft was a mass of cameras and journalists and lights.
The pastor set Sean’s battered Bible on the bronze stand. He directed Harry and Storm to stand at either side of him as he gave his opening benediction.
Sean would have hated the fuss. And loved it. Loved even more the fact that his p
assage had brought her here. To this place. With his final treasure taking center stage.
The pastor said, “We are gathered here to commemorate the loss of two dear friends, Reverend Richard Ellis and Sean Syrrell. Two friends unto death. United into eternity.”
He turned and took the chalice from Harry. Lifting it high over his head, illuminated by far more than all the camera lights, he said, “Behold the bread of life.”
