Brian Sadler Archaeology 04 - The Bones in the Pit

by Bill Thompson

  Brian tried to sleep, tried to eat, tried to read, tried almost everything to take his mind off Nicole lying in a hospital bed on life support. “She’s a fighter,” he told himself as tears flowed. “If anybody can make it, she can.” But he really didn’t know. How bad was she? How many internal injuries? How many broken bones? Nobody had told him any of that.

  Brian went to the plane’s bedroom and lay down. He stared at the ceiling as the plane flew west through the night sky. Suddenly a strange chirping sound awoke Brian from the brief troubled sleep he had finally managed. A green light blinked on the phone console on the desk next to his bed. He answered.

  “Brian, this is Randall Carter again. I know you’re on your way – Cory Spencer told me you’d be in Dallas around eight our time. I’ll meet you at the airport – I told Cory to cancel the limo he’d arranged.”

  “Any news?” Brian held his breath. News probably wasn’t a good thing but he had to ask.

  “She’s stable. She can’t breathe on her own but she’s in no pain. She’s hasn’t been conscious since the accident, Brian. They don’t know at this point about brain damage but she has a broken arm and both legs and massive internal injuries. If she’s strong enough they may do surgery tonight to relieve pressure in her chest. They’re trying to keep her comfortable so she’s on a lot of morphine. It’s serious, Brian. No two ways about it. But she’s got courage, as we both well know.”

  Carter promised to keep him abreast of any changes in the situation. Brian prayed fervently for Nicole and in the middle of his prayer he fell asleep, exhausted but finally able to catch a couple of hours of slumber. When he awoke the skies outside were lighter. The jet was catching up to the setting sun as they headed west across America.

  One of the pilots knocked lightly on his door and Brian answered. “Can I fix you a cup of coffee, Mr. Sadler? We should be landing in Dallas in ninety minutes.”

  Brian gratefully accepted. He’d need the caffeine to keep his head clear. The jet was equipped with a full bathroom – Brian showered, shaved and donned the change of clothes Cory had packed. He felt better after another cup of coffee and a piece of fruit.

  He suddenly remembered the two calls from the Vatican. Brian left Cory Spencer a voicemail with the number, asking him to arrange getting the manuscript from the Cardinal.

  Before long the plane descended into the city Brian had lived in for years. He saw one familiar landmark after another as it dropped lower and lower, crossed Mockingbird Lane and touched down at Love Field. They taxied to a private air charter company’s terminal where Randall Carter waited.

  As Carter’s driver took them to Baylor Hospital her boss gave Brian an update. “The police say the brake lines on her car were sabotaged. Someone put a small hole in the front brake line – she had had brakes for a short time but then they failed. Also the emergency brake line was cut completely through, so she didn’t have a chance.”

  “Any idea how that happened? It couldn’t possibly be accidental, right?”

  “Apparently not. I’m no mechanic so I can’t answer that myself. The cops think it was deliberate. They’re calling this attempted murder.”

  “Attempted…” Brian repeated slowly. “Let’s hope it stays attempted.”

  “Your parents and hers are at the hospital, Brian. Just wanted to let you know. Her sister from Houston’s there too.”

  “Calling in all the family…” Brian murmured. Suddenly he lost it. He began to cry, shaking hard. “I’m sorry…I can’t help it.”

  Carter got him a box of Kleenex. “No apologies necessary, Brian. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. It’s gut-wrenching for all of us.”

  Brian joined a group of people in the ICU waiting room. It was usually a happy time when he saw family but tonight it was awful. Ryan Coleman, Nicole’s assistant, was there and so were a few other people from her office that Brian didn’t know.

  “Can I see her?”

  Brian’s mother explained the ICU rules. “As guarded as her condition is, only one person can go in every thirty minutes. You can only stay five minutes. We’ve all seen her so it’s your turn.”

  Seeing Nicole lying in the bed hooked up to a million tubes and monitors was the hardest thing Brian Sadler had ever done. A nurse stood quietly in the corner, ready to move quickly in case her condition worsened.

  He touched her arm lightly. It was discolored and in a cast. They hadn’t done surgery yet, he learned later, but they had casted it and her legs to keep them straight until they could.

  Nicole looked so frail. “I love you, baby,” he murmured, squeezing one finger of her hand. He thought he might have felt a tiny squeeze back but wasn’t sure. Given how she looked he figured that was wishful thinking.

  He stood next to her and gingerly held her hand until the nurse quietly said that his time was up. He bent down and kissed Nicole’s bruised forehead. “Come back to me, sweetie. If you will I promise I’ll never let you go away again.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Cory Spencer had two voicemails from Brian when he arrived at work the next morning. The first asked him to return Cardinal Conti’s call and handle whatever the man needed. The second was an update on Nicole’s condition and the news that the car crash was deliberately caused. Brian expressed his appreciation to Cory for taking charge and getting him to Dallas quickly. No one knew how much time Nicole had left and Brian was grateful to be with her.

  After the usual morning routine to open Bijan Rarities, Cory called the number at the Vatican. Conti’s secretary answered and Cory explained what had happened yesterday. “Mr. Sadler received news of a family emergency while he was waiting for the Cardinal to come on the line. He had to terminate the call and he flew to the States late yesterday. Please apologize to Cardinal Conti for his inability to speak with him at this time and tell his Eminence I am happy to assist if I can.”

  The assistant promised to relay the message and call Cory back. That afternoon the men spoke. The Cardinal told Cory that a man named Giovanni Moretti had given the missing manuscript from the Fifth Avenue bombing to the Church. The way Conti told it, it sounded like a donation – Conti omitted any reference to his having hired Moretti to get the book. He knew this whole story would have to be refined by the time he talked to Brian Sadler but for now it would do. He didn’t tell the assistant that Moretti was Spedino or that he’d paid for the stolen manuscript.

  Cory promised to speak with his boss about arranging a meeting in Rome to get the manuscript. After the call he emailed Brian with an update.

  -----

  Outside the Baylor Hospital ICU waiting room Brian placed a call to the FBI in New York. He told Agent Underwood the cause behind Nicole’s near-fatal crash this morning. They agreed the possible involvement of John Spedino should be investigated. Underwood promised to get on it immediately.

  Brian scanned his emails and saw one from Cory that said, “Cardinal Conti is president of the Vatican Bank. He has the stolen manuscript and wants to know when you can come to Rome to get it back.”

  Brian responded quickly, “Tell him I’ll do it absolutely as quickly as I can. I won’t know for a while when I’ll be back there. I’ll advise when I know more. Relay that to the Cardinal please.” Cory Spencer did so.

  Brian spent most of the next three days at the hospital, using his iPad as his primary means of work and recreation. He alternated nights with Nicole’s mother and father – one of them stayed each night in the hospital’s on-site hotel just in case anything changed suddenly. Both he and Nicole’s parents had a key to her condo and they all used it as their base when not at the hospital. His parents had gone home, promising to come back in a flash if they were needed. Her sister stayed on but today she went home. She would come back on the weekend if everything stayed the same as now.

  The surgeons repaired Nicole’s broken arm and legs once they determined she was strong enough to survive the surgery. A doctor also did non-invasive examinations of her chest and ab
domen. There appeared to be less internal damage than earlier thought; the internist would investigate further once she was more stable. Nicole’s brain scan was clear but a neurologist warned the trauma could have caused damage that wasn’t immediately apparent. They would monitor her brain activity closely.

  Her primary physician reported that Nicole’s condition remained critical and cautioned everyone that she was very seriously injured. Nicole lay in a coma and he wouldn’t speculate on her chances for recovery until she was awake. The good news, the doctor said, was that she was young, strong and in good health.

  It was convenient that Brian kept clothes at Nicole’s place for his visits to Dallas. Thanks to that and a rental car, he had everything he needed to stay for a period of time. There had been one mistake he had made, he reflected, when Randall Carter asked him if he wanted to see Nicole’s car – it had been towed to a Mercedes dealership on Lemmon Avenue. Far out in a back lot sat the crushed machine, barely recognizable as the sleek convertible it had once been. He didn’t know how she’d survived. He just hoped she’d make it now.

  On the third morning Brian made a decision to work on something that had been in both their minds for a long time. Without mentioning anything to Nicole’s parents he met an old friend for lunch. Eddie Simmons was a commercial real estate agent who leased upscale retail space. It was Brian’s first step in considering opening a gallery in Dallas. Close to his roots. More importantly, close to Nicole.

  At three pm Nicole’s parents, her sister and Brian were back in the ICU waiting room, struggling to pass the time as people do in these situations. It was a boring, sterile place to be at best and the sounds and smells of the hospital were constant reminders that the person Brian loved was fifty feet away fighting for her life. Brian checked mail while her father catnapped. Her sister and mom read books.

  Suddenly a nurse opened the door and said, “Come in, all of you. She’s awake!”

  The nurse warned that she was under a lot of medication and wouldn’t likely know them. She also said they could stay only a couple of minutes. “Don’t do anything sudden,” the nurse cautioned. “Make every move slow and easy. She’s been through a terrible ordeal and it’s not over by a long shot.”

  Her eyelids fluttered as Nicole’s mother ushered Brian up front to her side. Her family stood on the other. She looked at Brian and the glimmer of a smile appeared. It was faint – just a little turn of her lips, actually – but Brian knew it was there.

  “Hey, baby. How are you feeling?”

  Her lips opened slightly but no sounds came out. She looked at him quizzically, not understand what was happening. She tried again with the same result. Then she gave up and very slowly turned her eyes toward her parents. Her mother squeezed her hand a little but got nothing back. “We love you, Nicole,” she said as they all cried.

  Her eyes squinted as she struggled to talk. “Wh…where…” she whispered.

  “You’re in the hospital, Nicole. You had an accident in your car. You were pretty banged up and now you’re recovering. You’ve been here three days so far.”

  Her eyes opened wide in surprise. Although she couldn’t communicate they knew she didn’t realize she’d been here that long. Her ability to comprehend that statement is a positive thing right now, Brian thought.

  As they left she gave Brian a very light tap on the hand and opened her lips again. But nothing came out. A tear rolled down her cheek and she mouthed the word “love.”

  There wasn’t a dry eye in the ICU waiting room after that visit.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Vatican City/Beaulieu-sur-Mer, France

  The pressure of work at the Vatican allowed the Cardinal no time for decrypting the document. As days passed he spent an hour here, an hour there, making excruciatingly slow progress. Finally he had enough. The information in the ancient book could be phenomenal. What secrets did the Templars protect? He was certain he would find out if he had the time to decode it.

  He received and destroyed the copy of the manuscript that had been in the Monument Club’s library in London. That tied up one loose end; he doubted any other copies existed. And not a word had been heard from Officer Messina since he had so rudely parked himself outside Conti’s office. Perhaps the man had learned just how influential the cleric was and decided he was heading down the wrong path. Perhaps he had wisely made the choice not to cross such a powerful man as I, Conti thought smugly.

  Oddly, Brian Sadler hadn’t called back to arrange to get the original manuscript. Conti thought the man would have been right on this project. Perhaps the family emergency that his assistant mentioned in the call last week was ongoing. No matter. Conti had the coded pages he’d removed – the manuscript was just a diary without them. Interesting but of no real value.

  It was time to finish the decryption. Dominic requested a couple of weeks off, called an old friend who was one of Italy’s wealthiest shipping magnates and arranged to use his house in quaint Beaulieu-sur-Mer on the French Riviera not far from Nice. No one would be there but him and a staff of five so it was guaranteed to be quiet enough to finish his work.

  He sat on the patio of the palatial residence, the azure blue of the Mediterranean Sea stretching in front of him as far as the eye could see. A massive infinity pool lay to his left; it appeared to drop directly off the end of the patio into thin air. He had spent the morning out here, decoding.

  Today we find ourselves challenged. As stewards of the secrets we, the sixteen leaders of our Order, no longer can guarantee the safety of the Most Holy Relics. Since we were entrusted with their care in the year of our Lord 1129 it has been our privilege and duty to protect the location and integrity of these sacred items. And we have done so without fail. Today unrest in the land where they lie creates fear and mistrust in the hearts of the people. They now see us as their enemies and loathe us, the very ones they should trust the most.

  The future of our mission is at risk. The relics themselves are at risk.

  We the sixteen have voted to solicit the help of our Venetian friend the Voyager. Although not a member of our Order, he has been of assistance before. More importantly, he now has the blessing of England’s monarch. We must engage him quickly. We must move the relics. Time is short and the Voyager is our only answer. An envoy is being dispatched to Bristol tomorrow to seek his help.

  Let us pray for success.

  According to the diary entries preceding this encoded page, the year was 1496. Dominic Conti read the paragraphs twice, then again. On a notepad he wrote bullet points listing what he now knew.

  The year is 1496.

  The Templars protect something they call the Most Holy Relics.

  They have been doing this since 1129.

  There is unrest in the land where the relics are hidden and those people no longer trust the Templars.

  The men believe their mission is in danger and want to move the relics.

  They are going to enlist the help of a man from Venice they call the Voyager.

  He is in Bristol.

  He is a friend but not a Templar himself.

  He has the blessing of England’s monarch.

  He set the manuscript aside. The bullet points would require research. One was easy to deal with – Conti picked up his phone and quickly found out that Henry VII was King of England in 1496. The Venetian Voyager had Henry’s blessing – presumably for a journey.

  Lunchtime was approaching. Soon someone would come around with wine. The staff maintained the house impeccably but they were like ghosts – around exactly when you needed something but invisible otherwise. He had no idea where they stayed on the property; all he knew was that he had full run of an eighteen-room mansion hanging on a cliff overlooking the sea. To some it would have been lonely – a place more for sharing with a loved one – but Conti was a priest, after all. He was accustomed to being alone and he loved the solitude.

  This trip was especially nice – he’d been here four days and the decryption pro
ject was moving ahead well. Barring interruption he would finish all thirteen coded pages before he returned to Rome next week. And what things he was seeing as the code was translated! Like a best-selling novel, this was a real page-turner. He just wished he could work faster. It was a laborious, meticulous project and one had to be careful in order to get everything right the first time. He’d incorrectly translated a few symbols earlier and it cost him a lot of time. He couldn’t afford more mistakes. He had to concentrate on every symbol.

  Conti glanced at his watch; it was almost 11:30 am and he knew soon one of the staff would appear with a cold glass of that wonderful French white he’d enjoyed last night at the casino in Monte Carlo. Dominic wore street clothes this entire trip to remain anonymous. He wasn’t identifiable as a pillar of the Roman Catholic Church any longer. Last night he had been just another Italian tourist in slacks and a sport coat having a nice meal and a brief run at the craps table in the casino before his driver returned him to the villa.

  He had mentioned to the butler this morning at breakfast how much he enjoyed the wine at the casino. The man asked what particular one it was. Dominic told him and the butler said, “We will serve it today before lunch.”

  Four days ago Conti would have doubted the man’s ability to make good on that promise but now he knew it would happen. Not maybe. Absolutely. Somehow these people could do about anything. If you wanted a piece of sea bass grilled exactly as in that particular five-star restaurant in Paris, they made it happen. He knew the wealthy had ways of pulling strings. Obviously they taught their staff the magic as well.

  The way of life of the very rich is a good one. For me, a poor man of the cloth, I am just humbled and honored to be here.

  He laughed out loud at his thought. Truth be told, he believed just the opposite. I deserve this kind of life. I could get used to this. With the help of some four hundred-year-old knights it might just happen.