by Lynn Sholes
“It wouldn’t have mattered to me, Mariah. You know—”
She cut him off. “You can never ask me to deny Eli anything.” Her voice was strong, to match her words. “I love him, but not in the same way as I love you, my husband. You serve him because that is your legacy, your bloodline. You have no choice in the matter. I made a very conscious choice to serve him. Never forget, Eli raised me from the dead.”
* * *
What the hell are their names? Cotten thought, trying to recall the American part of Edelman’s team. Edelman said he had called them on the satellite phone about the tablet. They would be able to vouch for the existence of the artifact, and it may be the answer to what had happened in Peru. Everyone who had seen it was dead. Just like the pilot on that Virgin Atlantic flight, they had gone crazy and killed themselves.
Maybe what’s-their-names could verify the tablet. And maybe Edelman even described the second part of the message well enough that they took notes or made sketches from his description.
What were their names? “M,” Cotten said aloud. The woman’s name started with an M. She ran through a string of names. “Mary, Maureen, Marilyn, Mindy, Margaret. M, M, M. Maria.” Suddenly, it came to her. “Mariah. Mariah and Richard Hapsburg. But she couldn’t recall if they were associated with Yale or Harvard. It was the same place the great explorer Hiram Bingham’s records were stored.
Cotten launched her Internet browser and Googled Hiram Bingham. It was in Bingham’s old files that Richard had come across the mention of the site and then gone on with Edelman to investigate.
“Bingo,” Cotten said, finding Bingham’s bio at the Yale website.
After combining the Internet searching and 411 information, she located Richard Hapsburg in Woodbridge, a suburb near New Haven.
Cotten bunched the throw pillow in her lap, sat the phone on it, and dialed the number.
The voice that answered surprised Cotten. It was sultry and young, not consistent with the down-in-the-dirt person she had imagined.
“Hello,” Cotten responded, “my name is Cotten Stone, and I am trying to locate Dr. Richard Hapsburg or Mariah Hapsburg.” She hesitated, hoping the woman on the other end would identify herself as Mariah Hapsburg. But the line was silent, so Cotten continued. “I was on a dig site in Peru with Dr. Carl Edelman. I was there to do a news story, but the Hapsburgs had already left and I didn’t get to meet them.” Cotten paused again.
Nothing.
“Can you help me? Do you know how I can get in touch with them?”
“I’m Mariah Hapsburg,” the woman said.
“Oh, thank heaven,” Cotten said. “I am so glad to be able to speak with you.”
Cotten explained how she felt the entire massacre-suicide might have been about an artifact Edelman had found—a crystal tablet. She wanted to know if Edelman had described it in detail to her or her husband. “Edelman deciphered a portion of the message on the tablet. But he thought the second part was a possible depiction of khipu. He wanted experts like yourselves to—”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the woman said before hanging up.
The Gardens
“Agent Wyatt?” asked the young seminarian wearing a black cassock.
“Yes,” Wyatt answered. He sat in a high-back upholstered chair in the waiting area on the fifth floor of the Vatican State Government Palace.
The seminarian handed him a red folder. “Please review this. Someone will be with you in a moment,” he said.
Wyatt glanced at the cover of the folder. In bold white lettering was the word MONDAY, followed by FOR THE EYES OF THOMAS WYATT. He realized how tired he was, having just flown all night from D.C. and only lightly dozing. Whatever the reason he’d been called to Rome, it had to be important.
As he waited, Wyatt unsnapped the three metal clamps on the red folder and opened it. Across the top of the first page was the logo and letterhead of the Central Intelligence Agency. The topic summaries followed:
Suicide bombings and attacks in Israel.
Car bomb explodes in Spain after ETA warning.
Taliban commander surrounded and killed.
Reputed abuse in Iraq prison by military.
U.S. nuclear envoy leaves North Korea in frustration.
Missile strike kills Hamas leader.
Somali al-Qaeda leader convicted.
Suicide rates on rise.
Wyatt immediately went to the briefing on suicide rates.
The overall rate of suicide among youth has increased 248% in the last 12 months worldwide. Suicide is the second leading cause of death for all U.S. men, up from eighth just 12 months ago. In 2004, over 30,500 deaths were attributed to suicide. Worldwide rates are increasing rapidly. According to the latest official figures released by WHO and the individual national bureaus of statistics, the suicide rates among reporting countries are escalating at alarming rates. Since the beginning of the official registration, Hungary has been the country with the highest suicide rates in Europe (if not in the world). However, Hungary is now surpassed by some of the Russian and Baltic states. The highest male rates are found for Lithuania, the Russian Federation, Latvia, Estonia, Belarus, and Hungary, all showing an increase of over 500% in just 12 months.
Wyatt looked up as the sound of footsteps approached across the marble floor.
Archbishop John Tyler, the prelate of the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archeology, introduced himself and apologized for being late. “I hope you’ve had a chance to look at the documents, Thomas,” he said, nodding at the folder in Wyatt’s hands.
“Briefly.”
“There’s an urgent matter needing your attention.”
Wyatt said, “How can I be of assistance?”
“Let’s take a walk,” Tyler said, motioning to the doorway.
The two men left and headed for the elevator near the middle of the building. On the ground floor, Tyler led the way through the back entrance and into the ancient Vatican Gardens.
“In medieval times, the gardens were vineyards and orchards that extended to the north of the Apostolic Palace,” John said. “In 1279, Pope Nicholas II enclosed the area with high stone walls.”
“Beautiful,” Wyatt said.
Soon the two men approached the replica of the grotto of Lourdes. Along the way, they passed dozens of men in black suits moving among the hedges and fountains. Wyatt assumed they were security—but for who?
A hundred yards farther along the path, Wyatt saw a man sitting alone on a bench, a thick red folder in his lap. He seemed to be reading intently as they approached, as if he were a corporate CEO taking a break from a business conference. His hair was white, like the Polo pullover that he wore tucked into dark trousers. As Tyler and Wyatt approached, the man glanced up.
“John, good morning. Are we not blessed by such a glorious day?”
“Your Holiness,” John Tyler said, dropping to one knee and bringing the outstretched hand of the pope and the papal ring to his lips. Tyler then rose and stepped aside.
“I’d like you to meet Thomas Wyatt, a senior intelligence analyst and newest member of the Venatori.”
Thomas Wyatt tried to disguise his surprise and awe. He was totally unprepared for this. The last thing he’d expected was meeting the spiritual leader of one billion Roman Catholics and the political head of state of Vatican City—especially so casually dressed.
“Thomas, thank you for coming,” the pope said, closing the folder. Like the one Wyatt had received earlier, it too was labeled MONDAY, but this one read FOR THE EYES OF THE PONTIFF.
“Your Holiness,” Thomas Wyatt said.
The pope stood and, with the folder under his arm, led the two men along the path past the largest of the ninety fountains found throughout the Vatican Gardens, finally stopping in the shade of a large palm. There, he turned to them.
&nb
sp; “Thomas, we have a problem.”
Shadows Of Ghosts
The pope motioned toward two stone benches in the shade, a few paces off the garden path. Once the three men were seated, he said, “Thomas, I know you have already seen a copy of this.” He held up the red folder. He placed the briefing folder on the bench. “As you know, we have been dealing with a rapid rise in suicides throughout the world for some time. But this spike in the numbers is unprecedented.” He glanced at Archbishop Tyler. “We believe it is tied into something John is working on—something a bit out of the ordinary.” Looking at Wyatt, the pontiff said, “First, tell me the status of Eli Luddington and his associates, Richard and Mariah Hapsburg.”
“Over the last few days,” Wyatt said, “there’s been a flurry of activity. My contacts at the FBI reported that right after the news of the quake in New Mexico, Luddington was scrambling to arrange for the Hapsburgs to go there and start excavating. He has a great deal of influence and somehow managed to shut out all the universities and state archaeological organizations. The Hapsburgs and their team are en route to the site as we speak. I doubt they barely took time to pack, they left so fast.” He glanced at Tyler. “What’s so important about this new site?”
“Do you remember the network reporter Cotten Stone?” Tyler said to Wyatt.
“Of course, Your Excellency. She, along with you, delivered the Holy Grail to the Vatican about three years ago. She has gone on to maintain a rather high profile in sensational, religious-based news. I was particularly impressed with her discovery in the Holy Land of the thirty pieces of silver Judas received for betraying Christ. However, she’s had a streak of bad luck that has taken its toll. I understand it was the so-called creation fossil that finally did her in.”
“That was a setup,” Tyler said, “meant to destroy her credibility.”
“Set up by whom?” Wyatt asked.
“The same organization that attempted the cloning of Christ using His DNA preserved in the Cup of Christ,” the pope said.
“So what does this have to do with the spike in suicide rates?” Wyatt asked.
“We’re getting there, Thomas,” the pontiff said. “Have you followed the recent incident involving Ms. Stone in Peru?”
“Yes,” Wyatt said. “It dealt with a number of people believed to have committed mass—” He glanced up at the medieval St. John’s Tower in the distance as his thoughts came together. “This is all connected, isn’t it?”
The pope nodded.
“Cotten Stone is the only survivor of the incident,” Tyler said. “Everyone was killed by their own hands.”
“Strange that only she survived,” Wyatt said.
“You will understand momentarily,” the pontiff said. “What I’m about to tell you is not based in science or fact but in myth and faith. At this point at least, you are going to have to trust me. Can you do that?” He gave Thomas Wyatt a look of apprehension.
“Of course, Your Holiness.” Wyatt felt a tinge of uncertainty in his gut. Ever since he took the job at the Venatori, he had a feeling this day would come—a day when his duties would take him to a place he had never gone before, into a world that few knew or had the courage to know. He was about to cross the threshold.
“Cotten Stone is not like the rest of us,” Tyler said. “She is . . .”
“She is the offspring of an angel,” the pontiff said.
“Excuse me?” Wyatt said, exhaling.
The pope held up his hand. “Patience, Thomas.”
Tyler explained. “Cotten Stone’s father was Furmiel, the Angel of the Eleventh Hour. Furmiel decided to go along with the rebellious angels led by Lucifer in the great Battle of Heaven. In the end, they were defeated and cast out. In the Bible, they are called the Fallen Ones—the Nephilim. Over the ages, Furmiel repented and asked God’s forgiveness. The Almighty accepted his repentance but would not take Furmiel back to Paradise. Instead, he made Furmiel mortal and gave him twin daughters—one to return at birth to take her father’s place in Heaven, and the other to remain on Earth and do the will of God. Furmiel’s daughter is Cotten Stone.”
Wyatt stared at Archbishop Tyler before shifting his gaze to the pope. “I suppose it wouldn’t do me any good to assume this was some sort of a joke or test?”
When neither man responded, Wyatt said, “Okay. Let’s say I go along with what you’re telling me. Where is all this headed?”
The pope responded, “I told you that it had something to do with what John is working on. It involves an artifact we believe can be found in the newly uncovered site in New Mexico. This artifact will reveal a secret that will give us all hope in winning this war.”
“Artifact?” Wyatt asked.
“A crystal tablet,” Tyler said. “Inscribed on it is a message written by the hand of God. If we find the artifact first, we can use the words of God to stop Armageddon.”
“First?” Wyatt said, shaking his head in confusion.
“The outcome of the war, Thomas,” the pontiff said, “could be determined by who possesses the tablet. If our enemies get it first, they will destroy it, thereby forever keeping the secret from us all.”
“So there is only this single tablet that we have to find?” Wyatt asked John.
“The myths and legends, even one of the scrolls found in the Dead Sea, say there were twelve. One was given to Noah. The rest were delivered to the spiritual leaders of different civilizations around the world before the Great Flood. The most recently discovered tablet was found in Peru.”
“The site where Cotten Stone was?” Wyatt asked.
“Precisely,” the pope answered.
Tyler continued. “Each tablet has two parts. The first tells how to prepare for the Flood, and the second holds the secret of winning the last battle. We don’t know exactly what the second part of the message is, but we must assume that it tells us how to stop the End of Days.”
“But if Stone was at the site, then she must have seen the tablet,” Wyatt said.
John Tyler nodded. “Yes, but she isn’t able to describe it accurately enough. The best she could do was say it looked like khipu—a drawing of knots on a rope.”
“But there wasn’t any khipu in Noah’s time,” Wyatt said.
The pope smiled. “No, there was not. And that implies that God did not mean for Noah’s generation to be able to decipher the second part of the message. He wrote it for a future generation.”
“We believe there are only two tablets left,” John continued. “One we think is in the ancient ruins exposed by the earthquake. Your account of the recent activity of Eli Luddington confirms our conjecture. The other tablets have been methodically found and destroyed by our eternal enemies.”
“But you said there are two?”
“Yes,” John said, looking at the pope, then at Wyatt. He paused before going on. “There is another.”
“Where?” Wyatt asked.
“We don’t know,” the pontiff said.
Again, Wyatt shook his head.
“Let me give you a bit of history,” said John. “Just after Titus took the city of Jerusalem in AD 70, a group of righteous men formed an organization. Their task was to recover and protect the religious documents, relics, treasures, and secrets that had been plundered from the great city. Not until just prior to the first Crusade do we find record of the organization’s name. So deeply underground was the group, they referred to themselves only as the Ombres des Fantômes—‘Shadows of Ghosts.’ ”
“Ombres des Fantômes?” Wyatt said. “Isn’t the seal of the Venatori inscribed with the same statement, only in Latin—Umbrae Manium?”
“Correct,” the pope said. “You are a member of an organization that has its basis, however distant, in the Shadows. There is little documentation on them, and what does exist was locked in the archives here in the Vatican.
“We know
that one of the crystal tablets was in the possession of the Shadows during the first Crusade, around the year 1095. For generations, the organization continued its task of protecting the treasure and the tablet. By the fourteenth century, when Philip the Fair of France came into power, the ferocity of the Crusades was at its peak, and the Shadows realized the objects they guarded with their lives were in danger. Not only was there the army of the Fallen—the Nephilim trying to get their hands on the tablet—but now there was also Philip the Fair’s army of men. Recognizing the gravity of the threat at their door, the Shadows devised a plan. Their leader was to take their treasure trove and hide it. Only he would know where. In this way, none of the members could be tortured into telling the location. The leader took an oath that he would never divulge where the treasures were hidden. As he lay on his deathbed in Languedoc, France, many years later, he grew anxious that all would be forever lost at his passing. So he revealed the location of the treasure to his trusted successor, who proceeded to take the same oath of secrecy. Each successive leader of the Shadows bore the burden of the treasure’s location and the oath. This went on until 1398, when a Shadow leader by the name of Sir James Gunn retrieved the treasure and took it on a voyage to Nova Scotia, accompanied by the famous Scottish aristocrat Henry Sinclair.”
“Weren’t the Sinclairs connected to the Knights Templar?” Wyatt asked.
“Very much so,” John said.
The pope said, “This was kept secret until a bundle of three documents was found buried beneath a small church in Orkney, Scotland, in 1722. Two of the documents were written in a cipher, and Pope Innocent brought in experts to decode them. One told the location of the treasure, and the other document gave explicit directions how to recover it. The third document was a map made by the famous cartographer and fellow Templar Nicolos Zeno, another companion who sailed with Sinclair and Gunn. Pope Innocent immediately launched vessels to a place called Oak Island, Nova Scotia.”
