“Remember, do not disappoint me. I have studied my predecessor’s methods and have found him overly lenient with those who failed him. I shall not make the same mistake,” concluded the Karik, his left arm beginning to shake slightly.
The servant crept toward the door, now sweating furiously again. As he exited he looked over his shoulder and heard the Karik say softly, “Do not fail me!”
CHAPTER 24
“Greek?” Cloe questioned. “Everything else has been written in Latin. Are you sure?”
“See for yourself, signorina,” said the monsignor a little stiffly.
Cloe stooped to read the inscription.
“Is it Irenaeus in Greek?” asked J.E.
Cloe knew Irenaeus, the second bishop of Lyon, had played a pivotal role in the Judas story found in Thib’s jar. It could be very important if he were here because it might show another link between Irenaeus and the Sicarii. But she and the monsignor had already carefully examined his supposed crypt upstairs in the church itself. It seemed completely authentic. So she knew Irenaeus was not likely to be here. Still, a number of these saints were also supposed to be buried elsewhere, some with their own churches dedicated to them.
Cloe studied the scratches on the end of the stone coffin. “Hmmm … it says ‘Speratus,’” she said.
“Speratus, Speratus … who the hell is Speratus?” asked J.E.
“I don’t know,” replied the monsignor.
“Nor I,” said Father Sergio.
“Well, it seems we have some research to do,” concluded Cloe.
“Is there anything else?” asked the monsignor. “This seems completely out of character with everything else we have seen here. The others are reasonably well-known martyrs from Lyon, and all of their inscriptions are in Latin.”
Cloe looked closer. Was that something else under the name? “Let me have some more light,” she asked. She ran her fingers over the now well-illuminated markings. She paused, turned, and looked at her friends.
“What is it?” asked J.E.
“There is something more. It’s a number … 2119.”
The monsignor turned to them and said, “Surely this is another clue left behind by whoever did all this, likely the Sicarii themselves.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “but what can it mean?”
“The book of Mark, eleventh chapter, line nine. I don’t know that one offhand. Father Sergio, can you help?”
“As a matter of fact, I can,” said the young cleric with a smile, drawing the small, well-thumbed Bible from his inside jacket pocket. “The context is Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday,” he said a moment later. “The sentence beginning in the ninth line says, ‘And those who went in front and those who followed were all shouting, Hosanna! Blessings on him who comes in the name of the Lord!’”
“How in the world can that be a clue?” asked J.E.
“I don’t know,” said Cloe, beginning to feel some fatigue. “Albert, any ideas?”
“Perhaps the words and letters form some sort of anagram or code with an embedded message in them,” suggested the cleric.
“That would not be in keeping with the clue to the key on the cross of St. Irenaeus. It was direct once we understood the reference. There’s something wrong here,” said Cloe, “but I don’t know what it is.”
“Maybe the thing for us to do is to wrap it up here and head back to the hotel where I can use my computer,” added J.E. “I’m betting there is some connection between Speratus and, maybe, Jerusalem or something else in the quote from St. Mark’s Gospel that will be our clue.”
“J.E., you’re right. We’ve been here all day, and I’m getting tired,” responded Cloe, stretching her back. “Albert, I think we should carefully photograph everything and exit the way we came in.”
“We’ll close the trap door and the outer door to the tunnel. We’ll lock both and take the key with us so that no one can follow this trail,” suggested J.E.
As the monsignor began to photograph everything and J.E. packed away his equipment, Cloe wondered whether they had hit a dead end. The clue was there, so it must lead somewhere, but where?
The monsignor looked at Cloe, and reading her dejection, he said with a smile, “The good Lord never gives us a challenge that he does not also give us the means to overcome. We will find the answer.”
Cloe smiled a bit, her spirits lifted a little, but she was not so sure. No, she was not sure at all.
CHAPTER 25
That evening, Cloe, the monsignor, J.E., and Father Sergio met in the dining room, now joined by Father Anton. It was small by hotel standards, perhaps a half-dozen tables. The menu was brief, but Cloe thought she had never had a better meal. The foie gras appetizer and endive salad were to die for. The grilled hen garnished with shallots, walnuts, and oyster dressing was perfect. All was complemented by wines from the area. The friends sat fulfilled while coffee and chocolate were served.
“We’ve had quite a day,” said Cloe. “We may not have gotten any further with our search for the jars, but the discoveries we have made will keep a gaggle of experts busy for a good while.”
“Quite right,” said the monsignor. “I have notified the Vatican through the pope’s personal secretary, and they are sending their best forensic team to carefully investigate the secret chamber. They will probably have to enter through the back wall since we have the key to the trap door, but they will have the equipment to do so.”
“Why not leave the key for them?” asked J.E.
“Because if we left it there, whoever is outside might use it to discover what we have learned,” replied the monsignor. “We have no time to wait for the Vatican team; we have to find the cave of jars before the Kolektor’s men do.”
“I’m sure that in a few weeks or months we will know a great deal about the chamber and its contents,” said Father Sergio. “Still, that leaves us here and now.”
“Right you are, Serge,” replied J.E. “I’ve been able to do some research on our mystery martyr, Speratus. He was not one of the Lyon martyrs at all. Most of the Lyon martyrs were from Gaul or from areas to the east, such as Armenia.”
“And Speratus?” asked Father Sergio.
“That’s the weird thing. He was the principal martyr of the Scillium martyrs in the second century. This was another persecution, but in North Africa.”
“My goodness, what are the remains of a North African martyr doing in a hidden chamber in the Church of St. John in Lyon, France?” asked Father Sergio, bewildered.
“Good question,” commented Cloe. “Did you learn anything more specific about where the Scillium martyrs were killed or where they lived?”
“Yes,” replied J.E. “Scillium was a small town or province that existed two millennia ago. There are variations on the name, such as Scili, but I don’t think that’s important right now.”
Cloe sensed something was coming. J.E. had found something. “Where would Scillium or Scili be located now, if it still existed?” she asked softly.
“The authorities are not completely sure,” J.E. responded. “It was such an ancient place and small and rural …”
“Where, J.E.?”
There was a moment of silence before J.E. answered. “Tunisia,” he said.
***
The monsignor had been oddly quiet during the conversation. The group turned toward him now, sensing that he was pondering something that he would explain to them in due course. He paused and looked around at them, as he had done so many times before. Finally, he said, “The circle is closing. Our God does work in strange and miraculous ways.” And then he became quiet once again.
The friends drank their coffee, stared at their napkins, and considered.
Finally, Cloe said, “It’s the jar, isn’t it? It’s about my father’s jar.”
“Yes,” said the monsignor as if from a distance. “Your father fell into a cave in the Atlas Mountains in Tunisia just before the Battle of El Guettar during World War II. There, he found
the jar containing the Judas Gospel. That’s Thib’s cave. There were scores of jars in that cave. Can any of you today tell me that you do not believe that Thib’s cave contains the library of St. John from Lyon and perhaps much more?”
“How can we be sure?” queried J.E.
“You are correct,” responded the monsignor. “This is all speculation. But I think our working theory of what happened must be that the Sicarii were involved in the removal of the library contents and probably took them to the cave. The cave, the jars, the Sicarii, Speratus, and somehow, the Church of St. John are all bound together. Although this is something of an intuitive jump, I think we are on our way to Tunisia. And we must get there and find the cave before the Kolektor’s men find it. If we are wrong … so be it. My faith tells me this is the right direction.”
“Monsignor, I have been thinking about the number inscribed on the Speratus coffin, the one that may correspond to Mark 11:9,” said the young camerlengo.
“Yes?” responded the monsignor.
“Well, the only thing I can say is that the second and third books of the New Testament were written about the same time,” said Father Sergio.
“Yes, yes!” replied the monsignor. “That might be it.”
“What?” pressed J.E.
“J.E., there is confusion and debate in some quarters as to whether the Gospel of Mark or the Gospel of Luke was actually the second book written,” said the monsignor. “In ancient times it was probably even more confusing which one was the second book.”
“You mean someone could have left a clue referring to the second book when he really meant the third book, the Gospel of Luke?” queried Cloe. “Is that possible?”
“Very possible,” said the monsignor. “Scholars are aware of this confusion and make allowances for it.”
“If the book of Luke is the actual reference, what does the clue mean?” asked J.E.
There was silence, and a smile came over Father Sergio’s face. But it was more than a smile. It was the look of a person who had just glimpsed the face of God.
“What does it say?” asked Cloe, softly.
“This is so amazing,” he replied. “I know we are on the right path.”
“Just tell us,” blurted out J.E.
Sergio looked at all of them in turn and said, “Search, and you will find.”
PART II
THE CAVE OF JARS
“Shadow,” said he,
“Where can it be—
This land of Eldorado?”
“Over the Mountains of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,”
The Shade replied—
“If you seek for Eldorado!”
—Edgar Allan Poe, “Eldorado” (1849)
CHAPTER 26
At thirty-seven thousand feet over the Mediterranean, the world looked beautiful and tranquil. The clouds were fleecy, and all seemed to be in harmony. Cloe imagined that there were no conflicts and no mysteries to be solved as she gazed out the window on the flight to Tunis. Cloe wished this moment of peace would last. She thought about her father, Thib. She remembered the terrible fight they’d had on the night she ran away so many years ago, a pregnant teenager. They had not spoken in the twenty-five years in which she had lived in Seattle. Still, she had missed him and now was sometimes consumed with regret over her stubbornness and pride. In some small way, she thought she was making amends through her efforts to locate the cave where Thib had found the jars. Cloe thought he would be pleased.
Once they understood the clue, Cloe and the monsignor had realized that they needed to do more research into Speratus and his origins. J.E. had researched Speratus and the martyrs of Scillium both online and through the Vatican ops center, but there was not much there. What he found was that in about AD 180 the Romans beheaded six martyrs in Scillium because of their faith. Oddly, beheading, as a form of execution, was thought to be humane and was reserved for Roman citizens. The leader of the group was Speratus, and he alone spoke in defense of the martyrs. He may have been a teacher. The one thing J.E. learned that could help was that Speratus was from a small village in the Atlas Mountains.
“J.E., can you pin down any more information on the location of Speratus’s hometown?” asked Cloe.
“No, I can’t find anything more,” said J.E. “Eighteen hundred years is a long time.”
“Yes, can you imagine how many small villages may have come and gone in that time?” added the monsignor, twisting in his seat to face J.E. “This may be an impossible task.”
“Still, it’s our only lead,” said Father Sergio. “We are guided by God’s hand. You said so yourself in Lyon.”
Chastened, the monsignor said, “Sergio, you are correct. We must have faith.”
***
Leaning close to his mother, J.E. whispered in her ear, “Do you think the priests are right that we are somehow guided by God’s hand?”
Cloe heard the sliver of wonder in his voice and thought about their prior brushes with death and the amazing progress they had made to get to this point. “Someone is watching over us, and in my book that someone is God. Too many things have happened for all this to be merely random. I thought I had somehow lost my faith, but when we went back to Madisonville to bury Thib, I found it was not lost but only misplaced,” said Cloe. “It came rushing to me like an old friend.”
“I’ve seen things on the battlefield in Iraq that no one can explain,” responded J.E. “Some of what we have seen with the jars is like that. I can’t say for sure we’re going to find the cave, but I’ve got a pretty good feeling about it.”
“We have some damned determined foes who will do anything to find the jars and to keep them away from us,” said Cloe. “I think they tried to kill me and, maybe, the monsignor in New Orleans. I don’t think they are finished.”
“No. I think we have to expect that the closer we get, the more desperate and violent things will get,” observed J.E. “They’ll hit us again.”
As Cloe listened to her son’s frank appraisal, doubt whispered in her ear, and she feared for J.E. She could not lose him. Yet she knew they were all in harm’s way.
Gathering herself, she said, perhaps more to herself than to her son, “J.E. … you are right. We will find the cave.”
CHAPTER 27
“Karik, we have the location of the cave,” said the servant into the phone.
“Are you sure?” asked the Karik.
“We used the information from the sanatorium and tracked down the woman who paid for the medical care of the Lejeune woman.”
“Yes?”
“She knew nothing about the cave, and she died poorly,” said the servant. “But before she did, she revealed the name of her contact. We then located the contact, and our people employed the usual methods to question her. The contact has been persuaded to give us the information we seek.”
“How can we be sure you have the correct location?” asked the Karik, knowing the techniques that would have been used on both women. He recognized that under such pressure, people would sometimes say anything. He had witnessed that many times with the Kolektor. He knew he had to put the torture out of his mind, or his shakes might begin again. He had to stay focused.
“The woman has drawn a map to the cave. She did so with the last strength she had before she died. Only then did she do so because we told her we knew her family, and they would pay for her lies. This is why I believe her map to be true.”
“Well done, my loyal servant,” said the Karik, pausing and wondering what the Kolektor would do now if he were here. In the brief hiatus, he felt the servant studying his words carefully. Deciding on his course of action, he said, “Now that I know the location of the cave, it seems I have no further need for the Lejeune woman and her friends. I owe them a debt that I’m very happy to repay.”
“Karik, we have implemented the plans you required. All is ready for you. Here is the code, which can be activated from any cell p
hone,” responded the servant before reciting the numbers.
The Karik smiled, took down the code, and said, “I will be in Tunis shortly, and we will claim the contents of the cave. And then there will be no limit to my power.”
CHAPTER 28
Cloe had dozed a bit on the flight but now was fully awake, looking at her watch. She realized they were about an hour and an half out of Tunis. She didn’t know exactly how they would find Thib’s cave, but she believed if they could find the true burial site of Speratus, this would at least lead them to the current site of the library of St. John and, perhaps, to the cave of jars. She wondered, once again, were they the same?
She looked around at her fellow travelers. Some of the Swiss were sound asleep, and others were engaged in card games or letter writing. J.E. and the monsignor were collaborating on goodness only knew what strategies. Father Sergio was asleep. All was quiet.
Suddenly, the plane bucked slightly and then started to wander side to side. Almost immediately, the cockpit was filled with shrill alarms. Cloe could hear the crew yelling and could sense their ordered panic.
The pilot came on the intercom and said, “Everybody buckle up. We are experiencing some difficulty with the controls.”
Cloe glanced out the window. The weather was perfect. Not a cloud in the sky. Whatever was happening was internal to the aircraft.
J.E. and the monsignor were now quiet, focused on the pilot’s comments. Father Sergio had awoken. Tension worked its way through all the inhabitants of the plane like a highly contagious virus. Cloe saw shoulders tense, heard muted, anxious voices, and smelled the beginnings of fear. Cloe’s concern spiraled up, and she worried for herself and for J.E.
The plane strayed back and forth and then began to lose altitude rapidly. To Cloe it felt like the jet was in a dive, headed toward the water far below. The dizzying motion began to sicken her stomach. She thought she might throw up.
The Last Sicarius Page 9