“J.E., we would need an enormous excavator to dig our friends out, and then, after all this time, we would only find their bodies,” said the monsignor, sensing the young man’s reluctance to give up. “They are gone.”
“What if they’re trapped in an air pocket or something like that?” queried J.E. “We may still save them.”
“They are gone,” agreed Miguel. “The cave-in was so massive that there are hundreds of tons of rock and sand on top of what was Thib’s chamber and throughout the rest of the cavern. If I believed there was any hope, I would never give up.”
“What do we do now?” asked Cloe.
The survivors had begun to salvage the gear they had been able to bring out of the cave. Cloe could see this mainly consisted of backpacks the men had been wearing at the time. Still, they had put together a little bivouac area and were building a small fire. A couple of the men had canteens, and in a little while Cloe could smell coffee.
J.E. stood up and looked about. “We lost one of the Swiss. Miguel, how many of your men?” Aside from Miguel and Tomás, the new arrivals’ group was down to four.
“There are three men lost including your Swiss soldier,” said Miguel sadly.
The monsignor stood, walked to the center of the survivors, and said, “I don’t know the religious beliefs of you and your men, but I invite you to join us in a prayer for them and their families.”
The monsignor knelt on the hard-packed sand and rock. As he crossed himself, all the others, to a man, knelt while the monsignor and Father Sergio led a prayer for the repose of the souls of their colleagues. Cloe noticed that Michael seemed a little uncomfortable with this at first, but then he joined in. After this, the two priests took small vestments from their interior pockets and administered the last rites to the fallen men.
Even after the impromptu service had concluded, the men and Cloe remained on their knees, each with their thoughts on their departed friends. Finally, Cloe stood, brushed herself off, and settled near the small fire.
“What the hell happened?” asked Cloe bitterly. “Where did the Karik come from? For that matter, Michael, how did you know we were here?”
“I have had men watching the Karik since he left Tunis a few days ago,” responded Michael. “He seems to have expected you to come here. It was plain that whatever plans he had made to find the cave failed somehow. He was waiting for you to lead him to Thib’s chamber.”
“Michael, you used us as bait to find the Karik,” reasserted Cloe, looking directly at him.
“No! My men only learned you were here when we heard a rumor in El Guettar, and then they spotted you up here. By that time, the Karik already knew you were here and was on his way,” explained Miguel.
Cloe examined his face closely to see if he was telling the truth, and it seemed to her he was. Still, she was not quite sure Michael’s story held together. Something about the timing didn’t quite fit.
“As far as I know, the Karik still does not know my men and I are here,” continued Miguel.
“He or his men must have seen you on the way here or in the tunnel when you entered the cavern,” sneered J.E.
“No, my men and I followed after him and his men, and we were careful to hide our presence,” replied Miguel. “When the Karik left you in the cave and exited, we hid in an offshoot tunnel and watched him and his men run by.”
“Why didn’t you take him out then? You had the weapons,” questioned J.E. “This would have been finished.”
“Our first priority was to make sure Cloe was—you all were—okay. We didn’t know if you had been hurt or booby-trapped or if the Karik had left explosives on timers,” said Miguel. “Perhaps that was an error, but there it is.”
Cloe saw Tomás look hard at his boss. Something passed between them, but she could not tell what. She needed to talk to J.E. and Albert privately about Michael.
“The key point right now is, what we do from here on? How do we find the jars?” queried the monsignor.
Just then, a black-clad figure stepped into the firelight. “The best thing for you to do is go home. We will deal with the Karik, as we did with the Kolektor.”
CHAPTER 64
Startled, Cloe dropped her coffee and snapped her eyes toward the figure. Several of the men began to rise. As she looked around, Cloe saw about a dozen similarly clad shapes materialize around them. All were garbed in black, and each wore a Bedouin-style head scarf that was wrapped to also cover her lower face. Cloe could see only their eyes.
Some of the men began to reach for weapons.
“Hold,” yelled the leader. “We mean you no harm.”
Cloe jumped up and said, “These are the Sicarii. They saved all of us from the Kolektor at Hakeldama.”
“Yes,” confirmed the monsignor, “without them we all would have been crucified. Let them speak.”
Michael and the others backed off.
“We would have words with your leader,” said the Sicarii who had first appeared.
All eyes turned toward Cloe. Although the monsignor might be their spiritual leader and J.E. was their undisputed military commander, no one doubted the Sicarii meant Cloe, who was the heart and soul of the group.
“What do you wish of me?” asked Cloe. “I owe you my life and the lives of my son, my uncle, and my friend. Whatever I can do to repay your courage and kindness will be done.”
“Our camp is not far from here,” replied the Sicarii leader. “We wish for you to attend us there.”
“No, Mom, absolutely not,” said J.E. as Cloe moved to go with the intruders. “It’s too dangerous. You don’t know what you are dealing with.”
“Signorina, I have to agree with J.E.,” said the monsignor. “We must stay together.”
“Cloe, I have no say here, but I agree with J.E. and the monsignor,” said Michael. “It’s out of the question.”
Cloe looked at Michael hard at first and then softened. He doesn’t know the Lejeune women, she reminded herself. “Michael, nothing is out of the question to protect what we seek from the likes of the Karik,” said Cloe kindly, smiling. “We’re all soldiers to protect the jars. This is not possible without some risk.”
“But …” started J.E.
“No buts,” responded Cloe. “These women are my friends. I’ll be fine.”
CHAPTER 65
“Sir, the entire complex of underground caves and caverns has been completely destroyed by our explosives,” said the servant. “Doubtless, everyone who was in the cavern when it blew up has perished.”
“Very good, Noosh,” replied the Karik. “But I am concerned that we were unable to find the two sentries we left to guard our rear. What do you think happened to them?”
“Sir, it is possible the wretched dogs heard the explosions, felt the ground shake, and ran off in fear,” said Noosh. “They are now afraid to return.”
“Possibly,” mused the Karik. “You don’t suppose there is another group that we have yet to see?”
“As you say, we have had no sign of anyone else,” replied the servant. “In spite of our watchfulness, there has been only the Lejeune group, and they are now all dead.”
“Quite right!” said the Karik, smacking his left hand with his right fist. “The Kolektor has been avenged. His shameful death has been visited in spades upon those responsible. As I believe the Americans would say, I have done my duty.”
“Yes, sir. No one could say otherwise,” replied the servant.
The Karik slowly turned to him and asked, “Why would anyone say otherwise?”
The servant realized he had misspoken. “Sir, I only meant that you have gone beyond what loyalty and honor would demand of any man. You have gone the extra mile to avenge your predecessor,” replied the servant, beginning to shake.
The Karik stared at the servant for a long moment and wondered, not for the first time, whether Noosh’s tongue might not get his head chopped off at some point. Certainly, the Kolektor would not have put up with him all this time. S
till, life was good. Noosh was growing into his role. The Karik felt that he too was beginning to understand what was necessary to master the Kolektor’s enterprises. He had wondered originally whether it was in his nature to be able to do some of the harsh things that the Kolektor had required. It had been one thing to carry out such orders and another to originate them. Things were changing. He was changing. Perhaps he was even going to enjoy some of this now that the Lejeune woman was dead. Yes, he was beginning to see that what he had done was good.
***
As he relaxed on the roof of the home in which he was staying in El Guettar, all his enemies lay dead with tons of sand and stone in their faces. The next day they would start back toward Tunis. There, he and his men would resume the search for the jars. Eventually, they would find the right Sicarius, and she would tell them what he wanted to know. He would have what had been denied his master, the Kolektor. It was only a matter of time. He would have all the jars and the knowledge and riches they represented. Religions might rise or fall on his whim. Even the Kolektor had never possessed such things and such power.
He leaned back in his chair and surveyed his surroundings. Although it was very late, the view of the mountains in the moonlight was magnificent.
“Sir, we have some especially fine lamb and a wine I think you will appreciate,” said the servant. “The lamb is seasoned with garlic and bitters and has been nicely roasted.”
The Karik allowed himself to be served.
CHAPTER 66
The sun was rising over the edge of the mountain range. The red-orange early morning light reflected various colors on the rocks, from bright gold to deep purple. It had been hours since Cloe had gone into the night with the Sicarii.
Now, as she approached the camp in the distance, Cloe saw J.E. stand up and survey the horizon. As soon as he saw her, he began to run toward her. Progress was difficult because of the loose stone swag surface. Soon, though, he was there, sweeping her into his arms.
“Mom, I …” he started, but one look at Cloe silenced him.
Cloe smiled tiredly at J.E., and together they began to walk back to the camp.
“What happened?” he managed.
“When we get back,” she said.
By the time they reached the camp, the light was strong, and they needed to shield their eyes.
Cloe entered the bivouac area with J.E.’s help and sat down hard next to the campfire. She knew she must look a fright. Anyway, that’s how she felt. The Swiss offered her coffee, which she gratefully sipped.
As she tried to collect herself, she thought back to the scene after she had arrived in the Sicarii camp.
“Dr. Lejeune, we are all that is left of the Sicarii,” said the leader.
Cloe looked around and saw maybe fifteen to twenty souls. “But there must have been many more of you when your mission of encouraging and protecting Christian writings began,” she replied.
“Yes, but over the years people have changed, and our commitment and discipline are difficult for modern women,” said the leader. “This is all that is left. We are now mainly caretakers of the jars and their contents.”
“Why are you revealing yourself to me in this manner?” asked Cloe.
“Our prior experience with you at Hakeldama and since has impressed us greatly. We have followed your actions with respect to the second jar and now on this quest to protect the jars and the cave,” said the leader. “You have plainly been with us in spirit, and now we would have you as our sister.”
Cloe was shocked. A two-thousand-year-old order of women dedicated to protecting Christian relics thought her worthy of joining their number. Cloe said the first thought that came to mind. “I have no daughter and probably will not have one. I would be a dead end for you.”
The leader said, “We know this, but you have a fine son and may have grandchildren. You may not be the end; you may be the future.”
“What must I do?” asked Cloe, knowing whatever it was, she would do it.
“We must teach you the fullness of our history. You must swear to keep our secrets, and you must dedicate yourself to the protection of the information in the jars.”
As Cloe sipped her coffee, she reflected on the many things she had learned, astounding things. In the end, she had become Sicarius.
“Mom, what happened? Your hair?” pressed J.E., jolting Cloe from her reverie.
“What I can say is that I have spent the night with the Sicarii listening to their history and what they say has happened,” responded Cloe wearily.
“But your hair has changed,” said J.E. “There’s more gray in it—much more.”
“J.E., I’m sure it’s just fatigue and the stress of the whole thing,” said Cloe.
“What can you tell us?” asked the monsignor.
“I think much of it you know,” replied Cloe. “You know the origins of the Sicarii, of their defeat by the Romans and their fostering of Christianity. You know of their link to Judas. We have learned that Irenaeus was persuaded by something he read to sponsor the Lejeune Manuscript, which represents the original Judas Gospel. They provided me with a lot more detail, but you have the gist.”
“Yes, but what of the jars that were in Thib’s cave? What do they know of them?” queried the monsignor.
“They have them,” Cloe said simply.
Silence fell upon the group. The only sound was the crackling of the small fire in the center of the campsite.
The monsignor stood, turned toward the rising sun, and seemed to consider the situation. “Well, at least we know the jars are safe and have not fallen into the hands of the Karik,” he said after a bit, with his typical understatement.
Cloe could not say why this struck her as funny after all they had been through searching for the jars, but she stifled a chuckle. Father Sergio laughed out loud. Soon they all were rolling with laughter at the monsignor’s innocent remark. Talk about the glass being half full, thought Cloe.
The monsignor looked about as his colleagues belly-laughed at his apparent expense. He smiled and began to chuckle.
“Albert, please don’t take offense. We needed a release,” cried Cloe. “It’s just one of those things that would never be funny under any other circumstance, but here and now what you said was beyond hilarious.”
“Thank you,” said Father Sergio, tears running from his eyes.
After a while, the laughter had run its course, during which the monsignor had certainly been a good sport. Quiet once again overtook the group.
“Now what?” asked J.E. “Where do we go from here?”
“Well, the Sicarii have the jars and have secreted them someplace they believe to be safe,” said Cloe. “Should we just go back to Louisiana and continue the translation of the Lejeune Manuscript and the journal?”
“But the Karik is still out there, and the one thing he does know is that the Sicarii are the key to the location of the jars,” observed J.E. “I think he will hunt them down until he finds one who will tell him what he wants to know.”
“It’s only a matter of time for someone as ruthless as the Karik seems to be,” said Miguel, nodding in agreement. “The body count won’t matter at all to him.”
“I made all the same arguments to the Sicarii last night,” responded Cloe. “Their point of view is that they have survived for nearly two thousand years, and they will survive the Karik. Indeed, they insist they will deal with him as they did the Kolektor. They don’t want help from us and have urged us to go home. The jars are safe in a sacred place, according to them.”
The monsignor seized on the words. “A sacred place?” he repeated.
“Cloe, did they actually say that, or did you simply surmise that?” questioned the camerlengo, picking up the thread. “This is very important.”
Cloe thought about the night, and as tired as she was, she could not remember precisely. “I’m not sure,” she said after a bit. “Why does this matter? The jars are somewhere safe.”
“Perhaps it cou
ld be a clue to where the jars are located,” observed Father Sergio.
Cloe thought about this, but she was exhausted. The hidden room at the Church of St. John would have been a safe and a sacred place, but it was no longer so. She was sure Vatican historians and other experts had, by now, been all over that chamber. Was anywhere really safe from the Karik?
“Michael, what will you do now?” asked Cloe.
Miguel seemed to ponder the question and then turned and faced her directly. As he spoke, his gaze quickly moved from neutral to fierce. “Cloe, I will pursue the Karik to the ends of the earth. He will pay for the evil he has wrought,” he said. “My wife and sons were innocents. He had no regard for them. He and his organization must be exterminated.”
“Miguel, revenge is not the way,” said the monsignor. “You have had a terrible loss, but revenge is like a boomerang. It only comes back on its host.”
“Father, I thought long and hard about that while I lay in the hospital convalescing from my injuries from the bombing,” whispered Miguel. “I concluded that you are correct and revenge is not the path. It is self-destructive. However, can one stand by and witness evil without taking action?”
Cloe knew that the monsignor saw the paradox, and he visibly struggled with an answer. If an evil person wrongs you personally, is it revenge to seek to snuff out that evil? “We must all stand against evil wherever we find it,” he said finally. “God gives us the strength to overcome it.”
“I do not judge the Karik’s heart, for that is God’s job,” replied Miguel. “But I judge his actions, and they are evil. He is beyond justice, as was his predecessor. We must find him and put an end to his ways. The lives of many people, including the Sicarii, depend on it.”
The Last Sicarius Page 19