by Tom Haase
“Thank you,” Pope Linus answered. The frail, aging, almost bald leader of the world’s Roman Catholic Church returned to his seat and prayed for a few minutes. He alone, the second Pope to use the name Linus, took from the first successor of St. Peter.
He called to his office in Rome and asked for the captain of the Swiss Guards. In quick order, Captain Grossman came on the line.
“You told me the last time we spoke that you believed a certain man planned some evil designs toward me.”
“Holiness, that matter is no longer a concern and the man no longer has those designs and rest assured you will be protected at all cost.”
“Thank you, captain.” He ended the call and reclined his seat.
He then placed a phone call to Washington, D.C. The private number of the Apostolic Nuncio to the United States rang once before a voice answered. After identification, the pontiff gave direct orders to the highest-ranking Vatican cleric in America to leave at once to get to Jacksonville by the quickest means possible.
The pope requested a helicopter await him on arrival at the Jacksonville airport.
An extreme measure, but diversion to the United States might be critical in recovering the true Crown of Thorns and the staff of Peter.
As he dozed off to sleep, a fleeting thought came and went concerning Cardinal Puglisi.
How could the man attempt use a secret society to undermine the papacy? He must assume I have no brains and no loyal people in the Vatican. But mercy is for the meek. I must be merciful and pray Our Lord will administer everlasting justice.
A while later, the pilot called into the cabin and woke the pope.
“We are about an hour out. Would you like to see how we arrive or perhaps you need your rest?”
Pope Linus stretched and rotated his head to get the muscles loose and maneuvered out of his seat. He followed the captain to the flight deck.
“I asked the first officer to go back so you could occupy his seat for the approach. You can sit there to get the best view.”
“Thank you. I’ve never been in the front of a plane when it lands. I’m looking forward to it. Will you be kind enough to tell me what is going on?”
“Of course, but there will be times when I get busy and I may give you short answers and skip formalities, if that is acceptable.”
“Yes. What are you doing now?”
“Please put on the headset and you can hear the instructions and pretty much figure out what I’m doing.”
The pope put the light headset on and heard the voice of the controller.
“Papal One descend and maintain flight level two-five-zero.” That was new. The Papal One call sign indicated the head of state at the Vatican rode on the plane.
The pilot answered and started the descent. He pointed to the instruments, and said, “That is the altitude and over here this gives you our airspeed.”
The Pope watched with interest as the airspeed increased a little as they descended. His earpiece crackled, “Papal One turn left to three five zero and descend to flight level one-eight-zero.”
The pilot repeated the instructions and started to turn and descend. “You can see the coastline in the distance, Holiness.”
Pope Linus looked to the horizon and viewed the amber glow of the city lights. The panoramic outlook from the cockpit pleased him and he enjoyed this new experience. “Would you check that a helicopter has been scheduled to meet us?”
“I’ll call ahead. How long will you need the chopper so I can plan our departure?”
“Just a few hours. We should be able to depart Jacksonville within two hours of landing. I want no press and we’ll be away before anyone knows we’re here. I believe there are no diplomatic formalities for a refueling stop.”
The captain called to a fixed base operator in Jacksonville and in less than five minutes he confirmed the helicopter arrangements.
“Papal One descend to ten thousand and proceed direct to Craig.” The pilot acknowledged and turned to the pope. “We are going down and heading to a VOR called Craig on the ground. It’s a beacon we use for navigation guidance. Once we are there they will direct us to a runway. I have to get the airport information now.”
He turned a dial on the radio and the synthetic voice reported the weather conditions at Jacksonville and the runway in use as well as a barometric reading at the airfield.
“Papal One descend to three thousand, turn right to zero nine zero, intercept the localizer, cleared for the approach, when established contact the tower on one nine point two.”
“That’s all we need,” said the captain. “Now we can get on the path to land and the tower will give us final clearance. I’m going to slow us down now and get out some flaps to help in the descent.”
“Everything goes fast once you get close to the ground,” Pope Linus said.
The pilot turned the aircraft and put down his flaps. “We’re at the outer marker and on our final approach. I’m putting down the gear and doing my final checks before landing.” He lowered a lever and Linus could feel the gear going down.
“Jacksonville Tower, Papal One.”
“Papal One cleared to land on nine, wind calm.”
The runway lights came up at an alarming rate from the pope’s point of view.
“Relax Holiness, we are only going 140 knots and we’ll land slower. But up here it comes at you faster than sitting in the back.”
Pope Linus waited as the runway lights disappeared under the plane’s nose and felt the thud of the wheels striking the concrete. He experienced the nose going over in slow motion and gently touching the ground. The pilot grabbed the throttles and pulled them backwards. As the engine’s reverse thrusters deployed the sound filled the cockpit. The aircraft slowed and rolled off from the runway onto a taxiway.
“Nothing to it,” the captain said.
“Thank you for the experience.” Linus unclenched his hands from the armrest, released his seat belt unaware he had done so.
He did not descend the stairway and kiss the earth as one of his predecessors used to do, but stared in wonder at the large Sikorsky S-92 helicopter sitting a hundred feet from where they parked.
He walked down the steps to feel the warm Florida air.
71
Castillo de San Marcos, St. Augustine
Startled, Scott and Bridget both whirled simultaneously to face the direction of the new, high-pitched voice with a heavy Italian accent. Scott reached for his weapon in the waistband of his pants but froze as he saw a gun pointed at him.
A man moved out of the shadows as he stepped toward them, and ordered, “Please remove the weapon and put it on the ground.”
“Who are you?” Bridget blurted out. The old man sported a priest’s collar and would have been ignored as non-threatening except for the determination in his expression and the Glock in his hand.
“Give me the cross.” He waved the gun at them to get the desired result.
Scott hesitated, but the gun targeted Bridget and the arm outstretched to fire. “Okay, here it is. What do you want?”
“I want the writings of St. Peter, the Crown of Thorns, the staff, and the manuscripts. Where are they?”
Scott looked at Bridget and winked. The man didn’t know where they were and neither did they. He had moved in on them too early. Perhaps soon they might acquire the items but not right now. They had to use their non-possession to advantage.
“You are the Donavans and I had you trailed since Warsaw. Now, I believe you know the location of the treasure. I need that and I will take whatever action I deem necessary to get it. Do you understand?”
“I want you to understand something, go to hell,” shouted Bridget.
He fired a round at the ground between her legs. The bullet ricocheted off a stone and just missed her. “Mind your manners young lady. I will not hesitate to kill you.”
Bridget searched the man’s face to determine if he believed the threat or not, but the flashlight that dropped to the ground
didn’t provide enough light to illuminate the face. “You need to know mister that we don’t possess it and we wouldn’t tell you where it is.”
“You’re lying.”
“Sorry, but it’s the truth,” Bridget said. “We came here tonight, hoping to find it and when we dug the hole. The two attackers tried to kill us before we could even find anything. Are you with them?”
“No, I’m not. Since you don’t know where it’s located then you are of no use to me. They will find your bodies with those of the Iranians. It will be easy for them to assume you had a gun battle and all were killed.”
“You don’t possess the knowledge to go after the items you mentioned. You’ll need us,” Scott offered trying to bid for time.
“No, I’m the head of the Agnus Dei society and from the cross I’ll be able to find out all I need to know from our records. Then I’ll find where he took it. So you see, your assistance is no longer needed.” He moved closer.
“I can’t afford to leave you alive and you tell the world about the things I’ll find. I’ll be able to say how and where I found the relics. I’m indeed sorry, but no other choice is left for me. May God have mercy on your souls.”
The weapon came up into a firing position, point-blank range into Bridget’s face.
72
St. Augustine, Florida
Fortress Castillo de San Marcos
Jonathan slammed the pistol down on the Puglisi’s head. His arm vibrated when the gun’s butt contacted the man’s skull and he waited as he crumpled to the ground. Both of the Donavans’ faces showed surprise. They were both wide-eyed. Then Scott picked up the light and Scott’s showed recognition.
“Stephen, what are you doing here?” Scott exclaimed. “Did you get shot?” he asked, seeing the blood on Stephen’s face
“Father McGregor,” blurted from Bridget, who took a second longer to recognize him.
“You are both right and I’ll explain everything in a few minutes. I want to thank Bridget for wounding me when I shot the Iranian attempting to kill you. Bridget’s shot caused me to black out from the bullet’s crease when it skimmed my head. When I came to, I found the cardinal holding you at gunpoint and heard his demand for the cross.”
“Cardinal, what cardinal?” Bridget asked. She noticed the blood in Jonathan’s hair from the gunshot wound.
“The one on the ground in front of you, my dear.”
“You have got to be —”
“What’s this father thing?” Scott took a step toward him.
“Please wait and I’ll explain later.” Jonathan bent down and retrieved the weapon beside the cardinal. He put the gun in his belt. While bent over he said, “Scott, I’m sorry I deceived you.”
“Bridget, this is the man who helped save you in Granada.” Scott eyes swung back and forth between Bridget and Stephen. “How did you get here?”
“He’s the priest and former Army officer I told you I met on the airplane coming to Warsaw.”
“Scott, I’m Father Jonathan McGregor, personal secretary to His Holiness the Pope. I met your sister many years ago in the Iraqi desert.”
“So what are you doing here? I don’t understand why there is a cardinal and a papal secretary in St. Augustine —in the middle of the night —in a gunfight, and now threatening our lives with a gun in his hand.”
“I’m not threatening you. I received orders to make sure you remained safe. I almost didn’t make it due to the wild shooting of Bridget here, but I am on a mission similar to yours.”
“What kind of mission are you on?” Bridget rubbed her head and scrunched her eyes to release the tension. “You helped me in Granada and now you saved us from certain death in Florida. What gives?”
“I was sent by this cardinal,” he pointed at the supine figure, “to bring back the items you are trying to find and to eliminate any trace of anyone knowing about them.”
“You mean you’re going to kill us?” Bridget asked.
“If that were the case, I would have allowed the cardinal to finish the job he almost did.”
“So why didn’t you?” Scott asked.
“Because I took a private oath to the pontiff to serve him and only him after he released me from my vow to the society. So I kept him informed by a special phone. He directed that I make sure you are safe from the Agnus Dei society and its grip and to recover the treasure you seek. I think I can assist you at this point in your search. I have kept the pope informed over the last weeks and called His Holiness a few hours ago. He is aware of this situation and everything you have been doing.”
“How can you? How do you know so much?” Bridget asked.
“You might conclude I have been following you since Warsaw. The existence of the writing of St. Peter and the Holy Koran were relayed to Rome on the night I met you, Bridget. Scott hadn’t seen me before, so I helped him in Granada but needed to leave when we discovered you at the Imam’s house.”
“You’ve been a guardian angel for our whole adventure?” Bridget said.
“Sort of. I didn’t need Bridget to learn about me in Spain. You don’t know, but I shot out the tires on the vehicle that tried to run you off the road. The two Iranians over there are the ones who were in the car.”
“My mission is to help you find the crown, the staff, and the manuscripts. I think I can do that even now.”
“How?” Scott asked him.
“I will call the cardinal’s office. He left instructions there to assist me in anything I needed. We have records of all members of the society and those initials on the cross will give us a clue. I can find out about him as a member of the Agnus Dei society. The cardinal’s private computer contains the name of the past members and since we know the approximate dates it will be easier to narrow the search. I’ll call them as soon as we get out of here.”
“What do we do with him?” Scott pointed at the cardinal’s prone body.
“We leave now. Get your things and let’s go.” Jonathan took a piece of the rope the Donavans brought with them and tied up the cardinal. He slapped him to consciousness and got him to his feet.
“You will regret this,” Cardinal Puglisi said, staring with intense eyes at Jonathan. Jonathan just pushed him forward and led them out of the fort.
“Right now I believe you have a mission to complete,” Jonathan said over his shoulder. “I suggest we use your Honda to get away from here.”
He forced the cardinal into the backseat and shut the door. He waited for the Donavans to put the shovels and rope and backpacks in the rear compartment.
“We have nowhere to go. No leads to the relics or the manuscripts. What do you think you can do now?” Bridget asked.
“May I examine the cross?” Jonathan asked.
Bridget handed it to him.
“Now I will call the cardinal’s office.”
Bridget passed out three bottles of water. Jonathan drank the entire bottle before setting it down. They drove to the parking lot of the hotel. Then Jonathan dialed his cell and walked away, out of earshot of the Donavans.
It took longer than he expected and he made a second phone call to complete the job. He returned to the car after twenty minutes. He felt their apprehension. “I suggest we leave this area and go to the Catholic cathedral where we can discuss what I learned.”
“Good, I want to get away from here. We’ve failed in our search,” Scott said. “It’s no use continuing. Back to the universities for us. Sooner or later things will get out of hand when the bodies are discovered. We need to go home Bridget and forget all this.”
Scott started the engine and Jonathan sat beside the cardinal in the rear seat. He pointed a gun at the cardinal’s head, and said, “Don’t say a word. I have my orders from the Holy Father.”
When Scott stopped the Honda in front of the old church on Cathedral Street, Jonathan said, “Let’s stay here a few minutes. It has cooled down quite a bit. I want to assure you that you haven’t failed. I’m going to tell you the most interesting
story you may ever hear. I’ve had a hard time believing it myself but it will explain the empty hole where you dug and the cross you found.”
73
St. Augustine, Florida
Catholic Cathedral Church
The noise of rotor blades coming from a nearby helicopter told Jonathan what he needed to know as the sound meant the team sent by the Pope had arrived. He waited in the car until the noise died down as the helicopter’s engine shut down in a parking lot in back of the church. The cardinal glared at him with what he took as pure hatred, not saying a word.
The Donavans sat in the car and waited observing the front of the church. They waited for Jonathan to explain all.
“It’s an interesting story and that’s why I took so long.” His Scottish accent became thicker with fatigue and they paid close attention to his every word.
“In the year 1521, Ponce de Leon lay dying in Hispaniola. The Indian arrow poisoned his system. He became too sick to even write. He had one person he could trust and that person was his confessor. The great man asked the priest to write a letter to his cousin in Granada. In it he sent the locations Scott and I found in the letter at the monastery in Spain. That is the source of the information directing your quest. I have to make a few assumptions in this tale but I think you will agree they are entirely logical.”
He shifted in his seat to get more comfortable before he continued. “The priest didn’t reveal anything to anyone even though it not a matter of confession. He, however, did know the location of the relics and the manuscripts because Ponce de Leon must have confided in him the meaning of the notations he placed in the final letter. You’ll see why in a minute. The name of the priest was Father Manuel Diego Gonzolas, your MDG, the initials you found on his cross. He filed a report on his adventures in the new world before his death in 1553 and as a member of the Agnus Dei society his file is in the records of the order.”
