by K. T. Tomb
“I’m fine,” she replied. She reached up with a sleeve and dabbed her eyes.
Had she been crying? The earlier part of the story might have been sad, but the latter part wasn’t something that a person ought to be crying about. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “We better go in.”
That wasn’t exactly how he had hoped that their time alone would end, but it was how it turned out. Thalia did not speak to Heinrich or Greta when she came back through the living room and went straight into her room. The two of them had glanced up at her, watched her pass them by and then looked up at him.
Engel shrugged in response to their unspoken question.
Thalia didn’t leave her room for the rest of the night. She hadn’t drowned herself or jumped out of the window—Greta had checked on that. She had simply taken a shower, gotten into bed and gone to sleep. It was rather odd behavior after what had seemed like a very open and intimate moment between them. He was confused by it and wondered if he had said too much. That had to be it. He had bored her to tears; literally.
More baffling than her morose behavior the night before was the other extreme of cheerful that accompanied her when she awakened and was ready for breakfast the following morning.
“So, talk to me,” she said, addressing Greta and Heinrich. “Did you unravel any mysteries? Have you talked to Stefan to see if he did? I suppose you didn’t, since we’re at least five hours earlier here than he is there, right?”
“Six, actually,” Engel replied. He was thrilled to hear her back to her old self. He still had no clue as to why her moods had changed, but her current one was certainly rubbing off on him. He felt himself letting his guard down and being drawn in by her all the way up until his cell phone rang. He didn’t have to look to see who it was. “Excuse me,” he said, leaving the other where they sat around the kitchen table.
“Engel,” he answered.
“I don’t know what the fuck you did, but we have a problem,” Kraus growled.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The tone was one that he’d only heard whenever Kraus was furious.
“Who did she talk to? Where has she gone? Why did you let her out of your sight? I told you that she couldn’t be out of anyone’s sight for even a second. Somebody screwed up and I want to know who.”
“No one has screwed up, sir,” he replied. “Greta or I have been at her side every waking and or sleeping moment; even in the toilet.”
“Then why is her archeological team en route to Jerusalem and will be landing within the hour? Whose idea was it to buy more time for her to stay in Israel so that they could track her down? Was that yours or hers? Did she get to you, Engel? Did she get under your skin, work you, manipulate you into that?”
Suddenly, the events of the night before began to make sense, as was the cheerfulness of the morning. “We are on our way back to the research facility now,” he snapped. He was furious with himself for letting down his guard.
“Before you leave Israel, there is something that I want you to take care of.”
Chapter Sixteen
“We still only have it narrowed down to two possibilities,” Jonathan Kessler said. He had joined the team when Simon’s jet had stopped to refuel in Italy before continuing on to Israel. “My money is on Brendis Kraus. The guy is as arrogant as they come and pretty hardcore.”
“What I’m still wondering,” Peter began, “is if someone nabbed Phoe to go grab some artifact, what is it that they are after?”
“The Shroud of Turin,” Kadan jumped in.
“The Shroud of Turin is in Turin, Italy,” Jeremy responded. “That’s sort of why they call it ‘The Shroud of Turin.’” Jeremy made quote marks in the air and spoke in a mocking tone.
“Not that shroud, the real shroud,” Kadan replied.
“The Shroud of Turin isn’t really the Shroud of Turin?” Peter asked.
“Well, it is the Shroud of Turin, because it’s in Turin, Italy—thus its name—but it’s not the authentic shroud that covered the body of Jesus when he was buried. Listen.” Kadan began to read the news article from the London Times that was two weeks old.
“Okay, so the Shroud of Turin is a fake. What does that have to do with why Phoe was nabbed?” Jonathan asked.
“Look at the timing,” Kadan replied.
“When did that article come out?” Peter asked.
“Two weeks ago.”
“If the Shroud of Turin is not authentic, then what does that mean?” Charlotte asked, trying to catch up with the rest of the team.
“That means that somewhere out there is the authentic shroud and somebody stands to gain a healthy sum if they find it before anyone else does,” Jeremy answered.
“So, they kidnapped the very best,” Peter muttered. It was a rather appalling compliment to Phoe’s status in the archeological world. He was always amazed at the stuff that Kadan seemed to pull out of nowhere. It was like he just tapped keys and things, magically showed up. “Kadan, walk me through your reasoning process.”
“Well, she’s in Israel, right?” he began. “She was examining a first century Hebrew text from the dig site in the Judean Hills. So, it would be something related to the early apostles, early Christians or Christ Himself, right? Insert the timing of the announcement that the Shroud of Turin is a fake, assume that whoever can get their hands on it first will line their pockets with gold and whoever it is isn’t wasting any time. That spells Shroud of Tu… burial shroud of Christ, to me.”
“Jonathan?” Peter looked at him.
“It does to me too,” Jonathan said, taking out his cell phone. “Let me call my father.”
As Jonathan made the call to Simon, Peter moved to a seat closer to where Jeremy and Kadan were continuously hacking away at their computers. “So, what we’ve got to do is anticipate where she’ll be going next, right?”
“How do we do that?” Eric asked. “I mean, we know Phoe, but we don’t know what information she has to work with and what direction she’s taking. We’ll always be a few steps behind, won’t we?”
“Guys, we’re going to have to think like Phoe,” Peter announced. “What do we know about the authentic shroud?”
“It doesn’t exist,” Kadan replied.
“Explain.”
“A Jewish burial of that time would have used strips of linen dipped in a mixture of oil and spices, similar to mummification by the Egyptians, but since they were in a hurry, they didn’t carry out the entire process. According to the scripture references in the Gospel of John, chapters 19 and 20, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus were the ones who took him to the tomb and prepared him for burial. They placed what amounted to a linen napkin over his face,” Kadan began.
“A napkin that was found neatly folded away from the pile of linen when Mary Magdalene, Peter and John entered the tomb and found that Jesus’ body was no longer there,” Jeremy cut in.
“So there was no shroud laid over his body like the Shroud of Turin?” Eric asked.
“Doubtful,” Kadan replied.
“Okay, so any of five people might have picked up the napkin and stored it for safekeeping?”
“It’s a piece of linen that would now be 2,000 years old,” Eric said. “No way that thing survived.”
“There must be some proof somewhere or whoever it is who nabbed Phoe wouldn’t be looking for it, right?” Peter asked.
“Right,” Jonathan had returned to the group in time to answer the question.
“My money is on either Nicodemus or Joseph of Arimathea,” Jeremy commented.
“Mine is on Nicodemus,” Kadan announced.
“Why Nicodemus?” Peter asked.
“Because Nicodemus was the one who brought the spices, so he must have been the one who had the skills to do the burial preparation. Those mixtures have been known to preserve not just the body, but also the linen wrappings. He could have used a similar mixture and/or process to preserve the cloth.”
/> “What do we know about Nicodemus?”
“We’re working on it,” Kadan replied.
“How is this going to help us find Phoe?” Charlotte asked.
“If we can figure out where she’s going and anticipate it, we can be in the position to rescue her from whoever kidnapped her and Casey.”
“Casey wouldn’t be with her,” Jonathan put in.
The thought had not entered anyone’s mind up to that point. They had all assumed that the two of them were being held together.
“You’re right,” Peter responded. “The only way they would be able to get Phoe to do anything for them would be to keep Casey separate from her and threaten to kill him if she didn’t do as they asked.”
“So, where is Casey?” Charlotte asked.
“He could be anywhere,” Eric replied.
“And that means that we can’t just go charging in to rescue Phoe without putting Casey’s life in jeopardy.” Things had just gotten more complicated.
Each of the team members withdrew into doing their own thing as the flight to Jerusalem stretched on. Jonathan, Jeremy and Kadan were eagerly engaged in the task of learning everything they could about Nicodemus, Charlotte and Eric talked quietly together, and Peter sat with his eyes closed and tried to think the way Phoe would think. Channeling Thalia Phoenix wasn’t going to be an easy task, but lives depended on it and it was his responsibility to make sure that he directed everyone down the right path.
With the jet on the ground in Jerusalem, Peter’s nerves increased their intensity threefold. He hadn’t slept well since Phoe went missing, to begin with, but as they drew nearer to executing her rescue, he couldn’t help but think of all of the things that could go wrong. With Casey to think of as well as Phoe, the variables involved in pulling off what they hoped to pull off increased dramatically.
The team exited the jet and made their way toward the car that was waiting for them. No one spoke as they approached and Peter was completely focused on his own thoughts when he heard a voice speak his name.
“Peter Kellerman?”
“Yes?” He turned toward a large, muscular man with blonde hair and then looked down at the pistol pointed at his midsection.
“If you value the life of Thalia Phoenix, you and your team will come with me.”
At the same moment that the man was speaking to Peter, another emerged from the car and leveled an automatic rifle at the group.
The first gunman motioned him toward the car with a wave of the pistol. “Quietly, please.”
Chapter Seventeen
When Phoe heard Engel’s story while they were out on the balcony of their hotel suite, she began to feel horrible about manipulating him. At first, she felt that because Engel was involved with Kraus, he deserved being used to help her achieve the advantage that she needed. But when he told her about losing his parents and a floodgate seemed to open up, her heart began to break. By the time Engel finished speaking, she was on the verge of apologizing for leading him on.
The guy, like so many people, knew nothing besides the world that he lived in. He was doing what Kraus asked him to do. He was being loyal to his employer and the man who had taken him in when he’d lost his parents. Yes, he had kidnapped her and would, no doubt, do anything in his power to keep her from escaping, but when it came right down to it, she couldn’t play on his emotions the way that she had started to do.
Drying her tears and unsure of what to do, she had gone back into her bedroom, taken a shower and crawled into bed. She had remained strong during the entire ordeal, hoping that she might be able to work her way out of the situation that she was in and rescue Casey at the same time. But as she realized that the deck was stacked against her and that she simply couldn’t use Engel, she became overwhelmed and her tears began to flow. Crying wasn’t something that she ever did, not on the scale that hit her that night; however, once it had gotten started, there was no holding it back.
She had awakened strangely enough in a good mood. There was no more of an explanation for it than there was for the tears the night before. She just felt like everything was going to work out, that she was going to find the shroud and it was all going to be over with. Even Engel seemed to be in lighter spirits when breakfast was brought to the suite. And then he got the phone call.
The instant that Engel returned to the room, his face was a mask of fury and he began to snap out orders. Greta was ordered to pack and get Phoe out of the suite and on her way back to the research facility. Though she had been allowed a great deal of freedom until they were outside and into the car, she was quickly cuffed and a hood was placed over her head.
“What the hell is going on?” she asked several times throughout the ordeal, but never received an answer regardless of how many times she asked or how forcefully she did so. Before she knew it, she was pushed unceremoniously into a plane for a flight to somewhere. She was unloaded from the jet with as much gentility as she’d been loaded into it. Next, she was loaded like a piece of luggage onto a helicopter for the final leg of a very long journey. The hood and cuffs weren’t removed until she was pushed into her room at the research facility.
Bewildered by such a sudden turn of events, especially the sound of a deadbolt being slid into the frame of the door to her room, she simply sat down on the sofa and stared straight ahead for a very long time. In fact, she had no idea how much time had passed until the bolt on the door was slid back and Engel pushed it open.
“Come with me,” he growled. There was no twinkle in his eye, no friendliness and certainly no vulnerability. He had become as hard as stone and his movements were just as stiff.
“What is going on?” she asked. Surely Engel would tell her something, but she was wrong.
She was led to the elevator. They went up to the 9th floor, which was the last on the bank of numbers and exited the car. She was led to a door where a man she hadn’t seen before was standing guard with an automatic weapon. The door was opened for them and they entered a very spacious office with a view of the ocean on three sides, a large, elegant desk with Kraus sitting behind it, looking furious and, to her surprise, Peter and Jonathan sitting in two chairs in front of the desk.
“Peter?” she asked. “How did—”
“Sit down and be quiet,” Kraus interrupted, cutting off her question. “You have very nearly gotten your cousin killed and I am very seriously considering the same for the other four.”
“The other four?” She looked toward Peter and Jonathan, who, being covered by the automatic rifle of Heinrich, were sitting quietly.
“I believe that their names are Kadan and Jeremy—your computer geeks, I assume—and the other two are much more familiar to you: Eric and Charlotte.”
“No, Kraus, you can’t. I have carried out your orders exactly as you have asked. I have done nothing. They have done nothing. We have a deal,” she pleaded.
“We had a deal, but I am rethinking it entirely at this point. In fact, I’m considering making an example out of at least one of them. Do you have any preferences?” The evil grin that came to his face was that of a man who seemed to be on the verge of going over the edge of sanity.
“I can’t make a decision like that,” she replied. “You can’t do this. No one was harmed.”
“That is yet to be seen,” he growled. He turned toward Peter. “How did you find Miss Phoenix?”
Peter began to fill Kraus in on the entire process that the team had gone through in locating her. Even Phoe was impressed with what they had done and how that smallest of breaks that had been caught when Elias’ assistant recognized her had led them very close. They were certainly on the right trail, but from what Peter told Kraus, they might not have ever found her if he hadn’t jumped the gun and brought them in.
“Simon Kessler knows about all of this, I assume, since Jonathan Kessler is sitting right in front of me,” Kraus stated abruptly.
“To my knowledge, he only knows that we landed in Jerusalem. There is no way of telling
what he has deduced since we did not check in with him again over the last 8 to 10 hours,” Jonathan replied.
“You see,” Kraus started, looking as if he felt a sudden pain shoot through him, “that is exactly why this whole situation calls for me to take some drastic action.”
Phoe’s mind had rushed forward while Peter was telling his story. She had to figure out a way to get everybody out of the situation safely. It had been bad enough when it was just her and Casey, but now, her entire team, along with Eric and Charlotte, was in danger.
“We can call Simon,” Phoe pleaded. “We can tell him that you and I had an arrangement, and that when I noted that the team arrived in Jerusalem, I brought them in on what I was doing because I needed their help.”
“Simon Kessler would never buy that line of crap!” Kraus slammed his fist down on his desk, putting a very definitive punctuation on the statement. He leaned back in his chair and remained silent for several seconds and then leaned forward again, staring directly at Jonathan. “You are going to make a call to Simon and you are going to very clearly lay out a list of demands that I am going to dictate to you. Get the others out of here.”
“Kraus, we have a deal,” she repeated as she was abruptly removed from the chair. “I find the shroud and we all go free. You can keep what you were going to pay me. Think of it as a ransom for my team and my family.”
“Oh, Miss Phoenix,” he grinned, “you are still going to recover the shroud for me, but I’m afraid that our terms have changed drastically.”
Chapter Eighteen
Engel had stood at rigid attention the entire time that Brendis Kraus had screamed at him. It had been such a thorough berating that Engel was certain that his boss and mother’s cousin would pull a pistol out of his desk drawer at any second and make a very permanent termination of his position.
He had taken plenty of such abuse from Kraus over the years, and even looked on as Kraus had terminated a couple of employees with the bullet from a pistol. Then, he’d hauled out their lifeless bodies. He had borne it all, bottled it up inside and determined that he would only become stronger and do his job better.
