From behind, the Karik pushed into the death chamber. He looked around but said nothing.
Cloe let out a long breath, not realizing she had been holding it. She had the unabated feeling of being in an incredibly special place. As she studied the walls, she could just make out two faint but ornate crosses and sacred monograms carved or perhaps frescoed among the cross pieces. Cloe thought randomly of a tic-tac-toe game except with a cross with an upper bar and a center crosspiece interspersed with characters. She studied these very closely. One, the older one, she thought, had notations on it that she did not recognize at all. If there was something there, she could not understand it.
“What have you found?” pressed the Karik.
“Nothing,” responded Cloe. “I thought this cross might be a clue, but if it is, I can’t read it.”
“Is there anything else?” queried the Karik, plainly disappointed and beginning to get angry.
“I see nothing but the crosses,” she replied.
“Noosh, come photograph the two chambers,” ordered the Karik. “Make sure you get good photos of the crosses.”
Cloe saw that Noosh had come prepared with a small digital camera, and he proceeded to capture the rough-hewn chambers in detail, including the crosses.
As they were leaving the tomb, the Karik turned to her and, barely able to control himself, spewed, “You have failed me.”
“I have done my best,” said Cloe.
“Small words from a dead person,” said the Karik.
CHAPTER 86
Cloe was thrown roughly into the van in the parking lot behind the bus terminal. The Karik, bitterly disappointed, had told Noosh to get them all back to the airport and to prepare for departure. She sat on the backseat thinking about the Karik and what might happen to her and to Michael. She was desperate to find some answer that could help her save Michael. She had been told she would know when she saw. She had seen, but she had not understood. Her thoughts turned to the crosses in the tomb. The first one was of no use to her; it was just “all Greek” to her, she mused.
“Greek!” she exclaimed. “It is Greek.”
The Karik turned around in the front seat and stared coldly at her. “You have something?”
“Let me see the camera,” she demanded.
Noosh looked at the Karik, who nodded slightly. “If this is another of your tricks …” threatened the Karik.
Noosh gave her the camera, and Cloe powered it up. She hit the memory function and studied the pictures of the crosses that Noosh had taken.
“It is Greek, or rather, a mix of Greek and ancient Phoenician,” she said after a bit. “This cross is different from the other, older one. I have no clue what the notations on that cross might mean. This one, I may be able to decipher.”
“What does it say?” pressed the Karik. “Tell me.”
“The first thing I can see is that the cross is highly stylized and has two laterals on it,” said Cloe, closely studying the picture. “Above the upper cross-piece are the Phoenician letters yuhd and shin. I have seen those before, first on my father’s jar and then at the Church of St. Irenaeus at Lyon, France. They are roughly equivalent to the English letters I and S.”
“But what does that mean?” asked the Karik, clearly becoming more frustrated.
“It’s not ‘IS’ but rather ‘SI,’” she stated. “It’s the signature of the Sicarii.”
The Karik smirked. “So this is a message or a clue from your sisters.”
“So it seems,” responded Cloe, studying the rest of the message. It was written above the transept that lay across the midpoint of the cross. “This part is in Greek, and because of the way it is laid out, it tells me it is of more modern origin than the writing on the other cross.”
The Karik’s burning eyes stared at her silently.
Cloe continued. “The rest of the message consists of a single letter and four numbers. In English, the best equivalents would be the letter S and the numbers 1, 2, 5, and another 2.”
“What in the world could that mean?” ruminated the Karik, half to himself.
Cloe hated to give him the information, but she had little choice. Unless J.E. had found and freed Michael, he was still the Karik’s captive and under his control. She could not take the chance. She had to play for time and hope somehow J.E. could find her or she could escape.
“Karik, I think sequenced properly, the message reads ‘1S522,’” said Cloe. “But it could be ‘1S252’ or some other permutation of the last three numbers. Does that mean anything to you?”
“I have no idea,” said the Karik defensively. “You are the expert. You tell me what it means.”
“What we need is a computer to run all the possible variations and to make some sense of it,” said Cloe, “a supercomputer.”
***
By the time they reached the airport hangar, Cloe had convinced the Karik that she had to have access to a major research computer to figure out the mystery in any reasonable period of time.
“Karik, I need to contact my colleagues at the university in Louisiana in the United States,” said Cloe, knowing the capabilities of “Mike,” the supercomputer at LSU. “If their supercomputer cannot solve this puzzle, no one can.”
Fifteen minutes later, from the guest phone at the general aviation hangar, she was on the line with Dr. Harrell, the dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at LSU. The Karik was listening to every word, with his gun pointed at Cloe’s temple.
“Dr. Harrell, I’m working on something and have gotten stumped,” said Cloe, hating that she had to lie to her colleague. “It’s part of my work on the translation.”
“Sure, Dr. Lejeune. How can we help?” asked the scientist.
“I need to use Mike for help on a very obscure reference,” said Cloe.
Five minutes later, the call was transferred to the lab, and a technician had the supercomputer on line and ready to go.
Cloe gave the search parameters to the tech. She included the background that she knew for context. She asked that Dr. Harrell have the results e-mailed to her phone, which the Karik had taken from her hotel room. After a bit of catching up, Cloe rang off and awaited the information. The Karik paced up and down in the lounge, holding Cloe’s phone in his hand.
Three minutes later, Cloe’s phone beeped, and the screen lit up. The Karik opened the message, filled with numerous entries from the computer, peered at it briefly, and then handed it to Cloe.
After a bit, she looked up and said, “The supercomputer thinks the reference is 1S225, and it most likely refers to a section of the Old Testament of the Bible. Mike thinks it means something in the fifth line of the twenty-second chapter of the first book of Samuel.”
“First book of Samuel?” the Karik said, almost laughing. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Perhaps it’s just the way the Sicarii have of communicating their secrets,” suggested Cloe, even though she knew the clue was outside the New Testament pattern the Sicarii always used. “Here’s the quotation from the Bible that Mike has sent along for us.”
Cloe studied the small screen and read aloud: “But the prophet Gad said to David, ‘Do not stay in the stronghold; go and make your way into the land of Judah.’ So David went away and came to the forest of Hereth.”
CHAPTER 87
The monsignor’s satellite phone rang as they were nearing their destination of Gordon’s Calvary. As they entered the parking lot behind the bus station, he lifted the receiver and listened.
“Hello, Albert,” said Father Emilio over the long distance.
“Yes, Father Emilio,” said the monsignor. “I cannot speak now. We have arrived at the tomb.”
“Albert, I have an urgent call from the United States from someone named Dr. Ransome Harrell at a university in Louisiana,” said the old monk. “What shall I do?”
“I know this man. He helped us open the original jar that Thib brought back from Tunisia,” responded the monsignor. “How did he get
to you?”
“He called whatever number you gave him, apparently very insistent on talking to you, and eventually, he was routed to me,” said Father Emilio.
“Oh yes, I gave him my private number,” said the monsignor.
“What is it?” asked J.E. as he watched the men begin to deploy to set up the observation post. “Father Anton and his men have landed and are on the way. We have to move.”
“Hold … J.E., this might be important,” said the monsignor. “I can’t think why Dr. Harrell would be urgently calling unless it has something to do with your mother, but how could that be?” Turning back to the satellite phone and hitting the speaker button, the monsignor said, “Father, please put the doctor through.”
A snap of static later, a voice said, “Hello … hello?”
“Dr. Harrell, this is Monsignor Roques,” said the priest.
“Hello, Monsignor,” said the faraway voice. “Albert, I just had the strangest contact. Is Dr. Lejeune … Cloe … with you?”
The monsignor wondered how much he should tell the doctor. They had all been through a lot with the Kolektor, but was there any possibility he could not be trusted?
Deciding quickly, the monsignor said, “Doctor, we are on a mission from the highest possible authority on this earth and in the course of too many things to tell you much now, but Cloe has been taken by the Kolektor’s organization, headed now by a man called the Karik. If you have anything that could possibly help us, this would be a good time to pass it on.”
The line was silent for a time, and then the voice of Dr. Harrell came through, hesitantly at first and then with strength. “Albert, Cloe just called me saying she needed access to Mike the supercomputer for some work she is doing on the translation. We transferred the call to the lab, and she gave the tech the search parameters.”
“I see,” whispered the monsignor, not actually seeing at all.
“Well, I do not want to overstep my bounds, but Mike automatically locates the source of such remote inquiries,” said the doctor. “And there is no doubt Cloe that Cloe was not in Madisonville working on the translation when she called, as she implied.”
“Hello, Dr. Harrell, this is J.E.,” said the young soldier. “Where is she?”
“She is in Jerusalem,” responded the scientist. “I can e-mail you the latitude and longitude coordinates, if you wish.”
“Yes, by all means,” responded the cleric. “But what made you call me, Doctor?”
“That’s the thing, Albert—not only is she half a world away from where she’s supposed to be, but her inquiry makes it plain she is not working on the translation,” responded Dr. Harrell. “Her translation work has everything to do with the New Testament and nothing at all to do with the first book of Samuel from the Old Testament, which is what her inquiry led to.”
The monsignor and J.E. looked at each other, but neither had any answer. Why would Cloe have to consult a computer on a question answered by something in the first book of Samuel? That was ancient, back in the historical books of the Bible.
“All the clues the Sicarii have left have been from the New Testament,” said Father Sergio. “I don’t see what Cloe could be doing.”
“True enough,” said J.E. “But Mom knows Dr. Harrell very well, and I think she would have expected him to contact us under these odd circumstances.”
“Yes, yes!” exclaimed the monsignor. “She would certainly expect Dr. Harrell to do just what he has done. She knew he would pass on the information to us.”
“Dr. Harrell, what does Mike say the likely result of the search means?” asked J.E.
“There is no result on that, just the verse that Mike believes the letter and numbers refer to,” answered the academician. “I have sent it to your cell phones.”
There was silence in the van while all searched their cell phones and then studied the verse from 1 Samuel 22:5.
The monsignor looked up and yelled, “J.E., let’s get our people loaded immediately. Contact Father Anton and get everyone back to the airport as soon as possible. There’s no time to lose.”
CHAPTER 88
Noosh hurriedly entered the small common area in the general aviation terminal, and Cloe saw him whisper something in the Karik’s ear. In response, the Karik quietly issued orders to him, and Noosh quickly exited the terminal. Something was plainly up, she realized.
The Karik turned to her and said, “We must depart immediately.”
“Why? What’s going on?” Cloe asked. “We don’t even know where we are going.”
The Karik grabbed her by the arm and began to walk her out of the terminal. She thought about struggling, but she knew that if she did, the other people in the terminal might be in danger. The Karik did not seem to care about collateral damage. There was nothing to do but go along and play out the hand.
Outside on the tarmac, the planes were preparing for departure. She entered the first jet and walked to her usual seat. Glancing toward the rear of the plane, she saw a body behind the last seat. The clothes were familiar. Rushing to him, she looked down on a man who was bound hand and foot.
“Michael, Michael,” she cried.
Slowly his beautiful eyes opened. “Cloe, they came into the hangar where one of the Swiss and I were hiding. The soldier fought bravely, but the Karik’s thugs beat him senseless and tied me up.”
“But how did you get here?” Cloe asked.
“Your son and his friends rescued me from the Karik’s chalet,” replied Michael. “They followed you and brought me here.”
“Are you hurt?” she asked, lifting his head, anger beginning to well up in her.
“No, only bruised and in some pain still from the burning. I will be fine,” he said.
One of the Karik’s men roughly grabbed her and began to wrestle her back to her seat. She was thrown into the seat and buckled into it. She was furious but helpless.
The Karik smiled that irritating smile of his, like the cat that caught the canary. “Well, it seems I once again have my full complement of guests,” he said.
***
The Karik’s men had loaded the jets, and both were now in the air, climbing out of Jerusalem’s airspace. The pilot had asked for a destination so that he could program the jet’s computers, but there was none as of yet.
“Dr. Lejeune, what is the answer to the riddle?” asked the Karik acidly.
Cloe had been studying the verse from 1 Samuel, but although she had an idea where the clue might take them, she was certainly not sure. “I will have nothing to offer you as long as Michael is tied up in the back of this plane,” responded Cloe, regretting the words as soon as they came out of her mouth.
“Noosh, I think it is a very good idea to bring Dr. Lejeune’s friend up here. Untie his feet but leave his hands shackled,” commanded the Karik. “We will see what he has to say.”
Once Michael had been untied and seated on the sofa seat across the aisle from Cloe and the Karik, Cloe looked at him and smiled slightly. Michael had been through a great deal, she thought.
“Now your friend is here,” said the Karik. “Where are my jars?”
“Tell him nothing, Cloe,” stated Michael bravely. “He’s going to kill us as soon as he has what he wants. Don’t help him.”
Cloe was sorely torn. She knew Michael was right about the Karik’s intentions, but she felt J.E. and the others were probably after them. She didn’t know if they were a day behind them or an hour or a minute. In dealing with these thugs, it was like with the Kolektor; she had to draw things out and look for her chance. With Michael here, she felt stronger, better equipped to do just that.
“Why do you force me to my darker side, Dr. Lejeune?” asked the Karik. He nodded to Noosh, who walked to Michael’s couch and drew a handgun with a silencer on it. He aimed it at Michael’s left knee and awaited orders.
“Cloe, it’s a bluff—they would never fire a weapon on a pressurized airplane such as this,” said Michael. “The bullet might pierce the skin of
the plane, causing it to lose pressure and crash.”
The Karik laughed. “This is a special pistol. It is a .22-caliber with a singular, light load … very unlikely to harm the aircraft but quite painful at close range. It will also not cause death unless fired directly into your eye or ear.”
Cloe cringed. She knew this ruthless bastard would shoot Michael until she told him what she thought. There was nothing she could do. So Cloe told the Karik all she knew about the verse from 1 Samuel. As he listened to her speak, he carefully studied a map of the area. The jet was now over the Mediterranean.
Finally, the Karik signaled Noosh, who holstered the pistol and approached. “Noosh, turn the plane around and tell the pilot to make for Bar Yehuda Airfield as fast as possible.”
PART IV
THE STRONGHOLD
Charge once more, then, be dumb!
Let the victors, when they come,
When the forts of folly fall,
Find thy body by the wall.
—Matthew Arnold, “The Last Word”
CHAPTER 89
As the vans sped through the streets of Jerusalem headed back to the airport, J.E. asked the monsignor, “Albert, what is it? What do you know?” J.E. had learned to trust the judgment of this strange cleric, but there were tactical issues and plans to be laid for whatever was ahead.
“The irony of it is spectacular,” said the monsignor. “I just don’t see how they could have done it.”
“Do what?” pressed J.E.
“J.E., do you remember the verse from 1 Samuel?” asked the monsignor.
“Certainly, I have it right here on my phone,” responded the young soldier.
The Last Sicarius Page 25