by C. M. Palov
“‘It” presumably being the third copper plate.’ Angling his hips, Caedmon leisurely crossed his legs. He then folded his arms over his chest and said, ‘Before I divulge its whereabouts, we need to discuss the terms of the exchange.’
The cardinal graced him with a saccharine smile. ‘What would you like?’
‘I have but one demand: safe passage for the three of us.’
‘Granted,’ the cardinal readily agreed with an airy wave of his right hand, the overhead light catching on his ostentatious ring.
‘Very well,’ Caedmon said after a moment’s consideration. ‘You will find the copper plate cached inside the stone chapel. There’s a concealed hole in the flooring under the pews. Second or third row,’ he added with a befuddled shake of the head. ‘I can’t recall precisely. I was in a bit of a hurry.’
Edie kept her features carefully schooled, well aware that the third plate wasn’t in the chapel. He’s stalling for time. Which meant that Caedmon had a plan. At least, she hoped that’s what it meant.
The cardinal turned to Calzada. ‘Go find it. But before you leave –’ Holding out his right hand, Franco Fiorio wiggled his pudgy fingers, silently asking for a semi-automatic firearm. Calzada obligingly yanked a chrome-plated gun from his waistband and passed it to the cardinal.
‘Don’t think because I wear a cassock that I won’t pull the trigger to defend the Faith,’ Cardinal Fiorio informed them as he expertly pulled back the slide on the semi-automatic, chambering a bullet.
Ignoring the gun pointed at his chest, Caedmon jutted his chin at the iPad computer on the edge of the teacher’s desk. ‘I take it that you’ve read the translation of the third plate that’s saved on the computer tablet.’
‘I did.’ Cardinal Fiorio glanced at the iPad, his lips dismissively turned down at the corners. ‘Tripe. From beginning to end. The Evangelium Gaspar should have been destroyed centuries ago. To suggest that our blessed Savior is not the divine Son of God amounts to –’
‘Spare me the moral outrage,’ Caedmon said, speaking over the cardinal. ‘We both know how Jesus’ “divinity” came about. In the year 325 during the Council of Nicaea, the Roman Emperor Constantine gave the Christian bishops a mandate, ordering them to concoct a god to rival the solar deity Sol Invictus.’
Although Cardinal Fiorio remained silent, Edie could see that he’d turned a fiery shade of red. Visible proof of his molten rage.
‘I’m guessing that Constantine wasn’t interested in a religion that focused on a mortal man who preached a message of peace, love and tolerance,’ she remarked.
‘Not interested in the least,’ Caedmon concurred in a mocking tone of voice. ‘But to give the bishops their due, they did an admirable job in decimating the historical Jesus. First rate, in fact. One would never guess that he’d ever been a mortal man. And to ensure that nobody questioned Jesus’ newfound divinity, the Church Fathers methodically destroyed all evidence to the contrary.’
‘Anyone who asserts that Jesus is anything less than the Son of God is a heretic,’ the cardinal spat out, his self-control beginning to crack.
Caedmon smiled humorlessly. ‘As I recall, it was that notorious sexual reprobate Pope Leo the Tenth who revealed the Church’s grand stratagem when he boasted that “It has served us well, this myth of Christ.”’
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‘Indeed, one has only to read the canonical gospels to know that Jesus repeatedly referred to himself as “the Son of Man”,’ Caedmon continued. ‘A pesky detail that the bishops at Nicaea purposefully overlooked.’
‘Like the despicable Catholic liberals, you’re determined to remove all of the ancient mysterion from the Church.’ Despite the fact that a muscle visibly twitched in Cardinal Fiorio’s jaw, the man clearly enraged, the cleric still held the Beretta with a sure-gripped confidence.
Caedmon intended to rattle that confidence, in the hopes that the gun might shake loose.
And I need to swash the buckle before Hector Calzada returns from his fruitless scour inside the chapel.
‘Furthermore, you wrongly believe that Gaspar’s heretical gospel is a true and accurate account because it depicts a human Jesus who has no relationship to the Sacred Mysteries,’ the cardinal hissed.
‘On the contrary. There is a great and glorious mystery embedded within the third plate of the Evangelium Gaspar; one that is corroborated in the Gospel of John,’ Caedmon informed the cardinal, unbowed. ‘Since you’ve read the translation, you know that Gaspar is very clear: when Jesus was baptized by his cousin John at the River Jordan, the Logos entered into him.’
‘Excuse me for not being up to biblical speed, but who or what is the Logos?’ Anala inquired, wide-eyed.
‘Ah! An excellent question and one that has divided theologians for centuries,’ Caedmon replied. ‘According to the eminent philosopher Philo of Alexandria, the Logos, also referred to in the Bible as ‘the Word’, are divine beings who act as intermediaries.’
‘By intermediary, you mean a heavenly go-between, right?’ This from Edie.
Caedmon nodded. ‘Interestingly enough, in ancient times, the Logos were considered God’s first-born children.’
‘The Logos is the Creator Spiritus, and as such is One with God the Father,’ the cardinal heatedly asserted. ‘“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.”’
Although Caedmon considered Franco Fiorio a throwback to a very dark age, the cleric had just given him the opening that he’d been waiting for.
‘Thank you, Your Eminence, for introducing the Evangelist John’s famous first verse. May I have permission to approach the chalkboard?’ The request was made in an innocuously polite tone of voice.
The cardinal hesitated a moment before nodding his consent; although he made a conspicuous to-do of training the Beretta on Caedmon as he approached the chalkboard at the front of the classroom.
Picking up a piece of chalk, Caedmon wondered how to best exploit their physical proximity – the cardinal now within pouncing distance – as he carefully wrote out a long line of Greek script.
Finished, he set the chalk down on the rimmed edge of the chalkboard. Unless the cardinal put the Beretta to his head, he had no intention of retaking his seat.
Assuming a professorial air, Caedmon pointed to the Greek inscription and said, ‘This is a striking example of the very sort of “creative editing” that the early Church Fathers engaged in.’
Cardinal Fiorio cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowed. ‘Writing the first verse from John’s gospel in the original Greek doesn’t change a thing.’
‘Therein you are wrong, Your Eminence. For, in fact, it changes the whole of the Christian religion. As you just noted, I have written John 1:1 in the original Greek. However, the correct translation is “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was a god.”’ The only benefit of physical pain was that it oftentimes had a bracing effect on a man’s mental faculties. Thoughts so crystal clear, they verged on shattering. This was one of those thoughts.
‘That’s what I call a not-so-subtle difference that puts a completely different spin on things,’ Edie said astutely.
‘Indeed. The cardinal’s inaccurate translation equates the Word, or the Logos, with God, the two being one and the same. However, the correct translation makes it clear that the Logos is a separate entity from God.’ Caedmon paused a moment, hit with a sudden urge to make a grab for the Beretta while the bastard was stewing in his theological juices.
Mind made up, he inclined his torso towards the cardinal.
Only to reconsider a split second later. The risk was too great; the odds needed to improve before he attempted any derring-do.
Forced to bide his time, Caedmon continued with the Bible lesson. ‘A few verses later, the Evangelist John makes the famous assertion that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” Which is exactly what transpired at the River Jordan when Jesus was baptized by his cousin John. For it was ther
e in front of a host of witnesses that the Logos entered into Jesus. In that instant, Jesus became the Christ. That is your sacred mystery!’ he exclaimed, forcefully underlining the Greek inscription before turning to face his inquisitor. ‘And, by God, what a bloody mystery it is! Absolutely astounding that a mortal man could conjoin with the divine Logos.’
As he spoke, Caedmon heard the roar of thunder in the near distance. So forceful, the chalkboard rattled in the aftermath.
As though God himself was participating in the debate.
‘That is pure fiction! Heresy of the worst sort!’ the cardinal snarled contemptuously.
‘Or it is the truth of the matter. Because of the immaculate planning involved in Jesus’ conception and the eighteen years of intense purification of his mind, body and spirit, the Logos was able to enter into him. When that happened, Jesus became the bridge between mankind and the Almighty. An intermediary. So while he was not born divine, his ministry was divinely inspired.’ An incredible notion that had not previously occurred to Caedmon.
Edie, clearly awestruck, said, ‘That’s because Jesus was conjoined or enfleshed with the Logos during the whole of his ministry.’
‘Precisely. And, as Gaspar makes clear, at some point during the crucifixion, the Logos left Jesus. One can only presume that the horror of his tortures somehow corrupted what had been, up to that point, a pure vessel for the Logos to reside within. When the Logos fled, I imagine that it amounted to a death of sorts,’ Caedmon added, beginning to see the events of that tragic day in a whole new light.
‘Lies! All lies!’ Spittle misted the air, the Cardinal having turned rabid with rage. ‘Jesus Christ is the Son of God. His divinity is, was, and has always been pre-existent to his birth. This is the foundational truth of the Roman Catholic Church. The Evangelium Gaspar seeks to discredit that truth by putting forth the Great Heresy!’
Caedmon stared at his inquisitor. Torn between derision and morbid curiosity, he pondered which of the twin peaks to scale first.
‘Jesus made it very clear in Gaspar’s gospel that he did not want a religion established in his name.’ Relishing the opportunity to shove the cardinal’s face in his so-called mysterion, Caedmon then said, ‘Yet that is exactly what you and your power-hungry cohorts insist that he did want; presumably to include all of the rituals and Latin mumbo-jumbo.’
The cardinal’s chest heaved, the tightly clutched gun toggling from side-to-side. ‘You are very clever at distorting the truth.’
‘So you say, but one doesn’t have to be a biblical scholar to know that the contents of the Evangelium Gaspar may prove the most staggering find in the history of Christianity.’
‘The Holy See has survived for two thousand years. There is nothing in our house that we can’t fix,’ the cardinal shot back.
‘Your Eminence, might I point out the bloody obvious: that no one can renovate when the house is on fire.’
Suddenly catching a flash of movement in his peripheral vision, Caedmon turned his head.
Good God!
As if on cue, Father Gracián Santos stood in the doorway grasping a red fire extinguisher in his bloodied hands. Resurrected from the dead.
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Caedmon wasn’t the only person in the room stunned by the priest’s unexpected appearance; Cardinal Fiorio appeared downright apoplectic.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded to know, aiming the Beretta at Father Santos. ‘I thought you were dead.’
Barely able to stand upright, the priest weaved unsteadily, his black shirt and trousers soaked through with blood. Gasping raggedly, as though each inhalation was a painful ordeal, Father Santos glared at the cardinal.
‘You . . . are . . . an . . . evil man!’ Accusation hurled, the priest then raised the nozzle on the fire extinguisher and, taking aim, blasted a wide spray of white foam in Cardinal Fiorio’s direction.
Completely covering the cleric in a thick layer of fire retardant.
Blinded, Cardinal Fiorio writhed violently, arms, legs and torso all jerking spasmodically. Whether by accident or design, he fired the Beretta, a chunk of plaster plummeting from the ceiling.
Caedmon immediately charged forward and manacled a hand around the cardinal’s right wrist. Shoving his shoulder into the other man’s chest, he slammed the cleric’s hand against the chalkboard, attempting to jar the gun loose.
Instead, the impact caused another bullet to discharge; this one ricocheting off a light fixture.
Like a feral animal, the cardinal instinctively tried to pull his right hand free of Caedmon’s grasp, foamy spit spewing from his mouth.
Seeking to end the bout posthaste, Caedmon pummeled a fist into Cardinal Fiorio’s face, the man howling in pain, his nose broken on contact. Caedmon grunted as the cartilage-shattering blow sent an agonized burst from his balled fist to his battered jaw. The Beretta clattered to the floor, the tenacious little bastard finally letting go of it.
Having disarmed the cardinal, he stepped back, the man in too much pain to launch a counter- attack.
Odious little prick.
‘Don’t think for one instant that I’m not tempted to kick him in the crystal balls,’ Edie said in a nakedly vicious tone of voice. ‘I don’t care if he is a cardinal.’
‘I’m a Prince of the Church!’ Fiorio wailed loudly, bracing either side of his nose with his middle fingers. ‘How dare you treat me as –’
‘Spare us the dirge,’ Caedmon interjected, cutting the cleric off in mid-lament. ‘It sickens me to hear you drone on as though you were the victim.’
‘More like a devil in a cassock,’ Anala remarked. To Caedmon’s surprise, she capably held the Beretta pistol, having retrieved it from the floor.
Stepping over to where Father Santos had collapsed in the doorway, Caedmon went down on bent knee and put a finger to the priest’s neck. Just as he feared, there was no pulse.
‘I don’t know if Gracián Santos was an evil man or one who was terribly misguided,’ he said quietly as he stood up. ‘Regardless, I’m indebted to him.’
‘Hey, look what I found in teacher’s desk.’ Holding up a thick roll of strapping tape, Edie ripped a long length and handed it to him.
‘Excellent.’ Caedmon slapped the piece of tape over the cardinal’s mouth and wrapped the ends completely around his head. Mummifying the bastard.
With Edie’s help, he then secured the Cardinal’s wrists and ankles, wrapping his limbs in enough tape to have shipped him on air freight.
‘That should keep him until the authorities arrive. Speaking of which, you’ll need to find a landline telephone,’ Caedmon said to Edie, their mobiles having been confiscated. ‘Tell the police that they’re urgently needed at Sanguis Christi.’
Hearing that, the cardinal’s face betrayed an animal fear. No doubt he’d just realized that not only was the contest lost, but he would have to make restitution for his crimes.
‘“In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven,”’ Caedmon quoted from Milton, unable to summon an ounce of sympathy for a man who had the ambition and guile of a bloodthirsty Borgia.
Anala glanced at the hobbled cardinal. ‘I was going to say, “Britain, of course, always wins one battle – the last.”’
‘Not quite. Unfortunately, Cardinal Fiorio was merely the dragon master. I now have to slay the beast.’ Or, at the very least, capture him.
A fearful look instantly crept on to Edie’s face. ‘You mean Hector Calzada?’
Caedmon nodded wordlessly.
‘Do you have to?’
‘He’s a nasty piece of work. Far too dangerous to be released into the wild,’ Caedmon said, taking custody of the Beretta. Popping the magazine, he checked the ammo, counting three bullets. He jammed the magazine back into place. ‘I want both of you to stay inside Mercy Hall until the police arrive.’
A reckoning in order, he rushed out of the classroom.
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As Caedmon dashed through the stormy torrent, a silver-glazed bolt sudd
enly broke free from the sky, pulverizing a towering maple and snapping the heavy-limbed sentry in half. The stentorian boom that accompanied the horrific act sent a pulsing shock wave across the school grounds, as though a cannon had just gone off on yonder field.
Momentarily stunned, he stared, wide-eyed, at the smoking flames that burst up from the severed bole.
Hoping it wasn’t a dark omen, he continued running towards the stone chapel.
A few moments later, he arrived, out of breath and soaking wet. The door to the chapel was open. Inside, he could hear a steady thumping.
What the bloody hell was Calzada doing?
Caedmon removed the Beretta from his waistband and stepped through the open doorway into the chapel. Standing near a stone font filled with holy water, he scanned the dimly lit environs. Wooden pews. Marble altar. Black and white checkerboard flooring. Stained-glass windows. Typical church fare.
Circumspect, he crept forward a few feet, his footfall muffled by the resounding thuds. Catching sight of Calzada near the front pew, he paused, taken aback to see that the man was in the process of breaking the marble floor tiles with a sledgehammer. Searching for the hidden cache that didn’t exist.
Unwilling to move closer, afraid that Calzada would catch sight of him and open fire with the Uzi, Caedmon ducked behind a marble pillar. He considered his options, wanting to take down the beast without any bloodshed. He’d spilled enough already.
I need a decoy. Something to momentarily distract the Bête Noire.
Caedmon scoured the near vicinity, his gaze landing on a small framed oil painting of the martyred St Sebastian, his body pierced with arrows. Removing the painting from the paneled wall, he chose a spot on the other side of the chapel and – waiting for Calzada’s next swing – hurled the framed work of art through the air.
Just as he’d hoped, Calzada dropped the hammer and lunged for his Uzi. Having already moved into a shooter’s stance, Caedmon quickly fired a round. His aim true, he managed to blow the Uzi out of the Bête Noire’s hand, the sub-machine gun skittering across the marble floor.