Hewitt nodded and took a sip. “I’m sorry to bother you this evening. I know it’s been a difficult time for you, and it should be spent with your family.”
Susan glared. “Then why aren’t you spending it with yours?”
Hewitt put his cup down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I apologize. I feel I’m at the end of the investigation and I have nowhere else to turn.”
Susan leaned forward. “At the end? Are you giving up?”
“Should I?” he asked, picking up a cracker.
“How would I know? You’re the FBI guy.”
“Look, Susan. There’s a lot at stake here. Two lives could be in danger. I know you were close with Michael.”
Susan sipped her tea, staring at him.
“If Michael Stewart was going to confide in anyone, it would be you. I know about your relationship with him.”
Susan dropped her cup onto the table. Some of it spilled down the side and onto the floor. “Did you hack my emails? I’ll call a lawyer before you can step out of this house.”
Hewitt shook his head. “I spoke to your buddy.”
“My buddy?”
“Connie.”
“Oh, please. She may be his sister, but she has no idea what kind of a person Michael is.”
“And you do. It’s why I’m here now. Help me. Please.” He leaned forward. “Help me.”
Susan finished a chocolate bar in three bites. “I’ve seen some extraordinary things happen since I’ve been back,” she said. “What should make sense doesn’t. What shouldn’t make sense does. Does that make sense?”
Hewitt stood up and reached into his back pocket, pulling out the black book. He held it up as he sat back down. “Do you know about this?”
“I’ve read it.”
“You have?”
“Yes. So what?”
“Is this for real or are you like me, wondering how much whiskey the people drank before writing such stories? Are these the type of people that see Jesus in their toast or oatmeal in the morning?”
Susan began nibbling on another cookie. “I’ve read the book, yes. But I’ve never seen any of the events described in it. For all I know, Michael is in Aruba with his daughter.”
Hewitt placed the book beside the plate of cookies. “It’s either real or it’s not. Do you believe it’s possible? What did Michael say to you? Did the pastor speak to you about this book? I’ve had the handwriting analyzed for the last few pages, and it was written by Pastor Dennis.”
Susan put her half-eaten cookie down and wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“Tell me, what is going on in that church?”
She picked up her cup, walked into the kitchen, and poured herself another cup of tea.
“Would you like some more coffee?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
Susan returned and took a small sip. She flinched and put it down. “This is what I can tell you.”
“I’m listening,” Hewitt said.
Susan told him about the accident and Michael’s cloth.
“Where is the cloth?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I last saw Michael with it.”
“What kind of a cloth was it? What could it mean?”
“It looked like any cloth you would use to clean a car or dust a lamp,” Susan said. “I don’t know what it could mean. I’ve thought about it many times. I’ve tried to rationalize it in every way and I can’t. I can’t really tell you with an honest heart what it means. Was it a miracle? I don’t know. But have you ever thought about the miracles that happen around us every day?”
Hewitt leaned back against the hard wooden chair. It creaked so he reached down to hold the sides. “What miracles are you talking about?”
“They happen every minute, every day in this world. For instance, birth – a baby being born. Think about the enormity of it. Just because it happens every day doesn’t mean it isn’t a miracle.”
“I’m not following your train of thought,” Hewitt said.
She sighed. “There are many miracles mentioned in that book. Do we agree?”
He nodded.
“People finding their way to God or Jesus or whatever name you prefer. Maybe it’s an everyday miracle like birth. Maybe this happens but we just don’t see it.”
“Come on, you don’t believe that, do you?”
“To be honest, after experiencing the last few weeks here, I don’t know what to believe.” Susan got up. “Wait here. I want to show you something.”
She returned minutes later with a big, brown box. “I’m not the most spiritual woman in this world, so I’ve refrained from sharing this with most people.”
Susan moved the plate of cookies and her cup of tea. She opened the box and began dropping the contents on the table. Hewitt rummaged through them. “Look at the coins,” she said.
He picked one up. “So?”
“They’re from the First Century. Right?”
“Could be. There are many like this around, especially in Europe. Not a big deal.”
He continued to go through the articles. “What is this?” he asked. “Something to sew with?” Hewitt leaned to his side and looked at it under the lamp.
“Looks like a bent rod. Can’t use this for knitting,” Susan said.
Hewitt felt the object. “This isn’t your ordinary, everyday rod used for knitting.” He got up and looked around the living room. “Do you have a computer, a laptop?”
“Over there,” said Susan, pointing. “Why?”
“Show me.”
She led him into a small room. A big, wide plastic box filled the old wooden desk.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he said.
Susan shrugged. “My mom never upgraded.”
Hewitt sat down, and the chair wobbled. “Terrific.”
“It’s not meant to hold a heavy person.”
“Do you know how to use this?” he asked as he moved the mouse around.
She leaned over his shoulder and grabbed it, clicking away. The buzzing sound of a dial-up modem erupted.
“Wow. I thought this way of connecting went out the same time as the dinosaurs.”
“It works for her,” she said, letting go of the mouse.
They waited for several moments for a connection. Hewitt typed in a URL and pleaded. “Come on, this is torture.”
“You would know,” Susan said.
Hewitt glared at her as she shrugged her shoulders. “Did I say something wrong? Here it comes,” Susan said as she leaned over him again.
“Come on, work with me,” Hewitt said.
A picture of a metal rod began to emerge on the screen. Only the top portion was visible. “I need to see more. Give me more,” he said. The picture continued to download slowly. “More, more, come on.” As he removed the cell phone from his front shirt pocket, the last part of the picture downloaded.
“Wow,” said Susan.
“Just what I thought,” Hewitt said, holding up the rod to the screen. He turned around and grasped her hand. “Can I keep this?”
Chapter 50
First-century Jerusalem
Workers were packing carts and loading materials while Roman soldiers were putting on their armor. Michael spent some time near the shore, looking for Dennis. He gazed into the distance wondering if his best friend would return. He did say he would be there if he was needed. I know he said this. This means he will come back. But when? Where are you, Dennis? Where did you go? I do need your help. I need you now. Can you hear me?
He juggled the remaining silver Dennis gave him and returned to the camp. He dried himself off and bought two more tablets from Julius. He spent the final moments on Malta watching, listening and transcribing the experiences Paul was living.
He only rested when his hand would tire, taking periodic breaks to drink water and eat bread. Elizabeth joined them later in the day and helped write some thoughts of his time on
the island.
“You are like the brave women that follow us,” Paul said to her. “Smart,” he said, pointing to his head. “Loving,” he continued, touching his heart. “Loyal.”
Elizabeth smiled and kept writing. When she tired, Michael would resume.
“There will be men who will try to destroy the work,” Paul said as Michael wrote on the last empty space. “There will be men who will try to poison these words. You must be careful of whom you give this to.”
“We shall.”
Paul gave him a big piece of cloth. “Place the works inside this. Carry it with you until you are approached.”
“Until I see Luke?”
“Yes. Only him.”
“What does he look like?”
“Much like me. More hair.” Paul pointed to the top of his head.
Michael nodded and wrapped the cloth around the tablets.
“You would be wise to eat before we take our next journey,” Paul said.
“Elizabeth, go get something. I’m fine.”
She left and Michael sat back down across from Paul. “I have so many questions for you.”
“It is I who have questions for you,” Paul said.
“Really?”
He nodded.
“I guess you want to know about our progress, the technology that has made our world so wonderful.”
“Is it? Are there no more wars? No more hate?”
Michael hesitated and shook his head.
Paul looked down for a brief moment and rubbed his forehead. “This is confusing. During our last talk, you told me so much about your world, where you come from. All this progress man has made. I want to know how such progress can still lead to hate. If man communicates better in your time, why is there still anger? Still wars?”
Michael sat back. “I never thought of it that way.”
“I sense men from your time look at us as old relics and believe they are more wise than we are. More aware. Yet the men of your time still kill, still destroy, still do not respect life.”
Paul shook his head. “We live in an unforgiving time where new ideas become reasons to silence the faithful. I do not see much difference between our time and the time you have told me about.”
“I think we are a more tolerant society.”
“Are you?” Paul leaned forward, his eyes as wide as Michael had seen them. “Your time is only possible because of what my rabbi has done and taught. Perhaps someday the men of your time will be grateful and shun the tables of silver your men place before you.”
“There are many good men and women who give from their hearts,” Michael said.
“There are. Seek them out. They will not be present in tall buildings or tables that are full of glitter.” He raised his hand high. “They will not ask you for your silver in my rabbi’s name. The people you need to seek will live in poverty, limp with ills, and love more with little.”
“Paul, we are almost prepared to travel,” said Julius, peeking his head into the small tent. “Are you ready to leave?”
He nodded and looked at Michael. “Are you prepared to travel?”
“I am,” he said.
Paul left while Michael noticed several men with buckets dousing the remaining flames of the campfires. A long line of workers stretched from the tents to the shoreline as they hauled boxes of supplies. “How long is the trip to Rome?” Michael asked Augustus.
“How the wind blows is my best guess.”
“Is it wise to leave now while there is no light?”
“There is danger behind us. Another ship. Warring soldiers we are told.”
“Who said this?” Michael asked.
“A soldier from the other ship that has just arrived. He said there is a soldier named Titus seeking some vengeance. I gain more silver when I bring my prisoners in alive than dead. I have lived enough to know that I should stay out of such a man’s way.”
“We must leave now,” Michael said, with urgency.
“Remain calm. We are almost ready.”
“Do you know where my daughter is?”
“She is in your shed.”
Michael rushed back and found her talking to Paul. “We need to be ready to leave as soon as possible.”
“You look pale as a ghost. What’s wrong?” asked Elizabeth.
“Your father understands this journey now,” Paul said. “Rome is not the only city where your journey should go.” He walked past them and out of the shed. Three Roman soldiers followed, their spears drawn around him.
Elizabeth joined Michael outside. “He is coming. Am I right?”
He nodded and gripped the cloth with the tablets, tucking them under his right arm. “Whatever happens on the ship, protect this. Do not worry what happens to me. If need be, it will be you who carries it to Rome.”
“You aren’t going to stay behind, are you?” she asked.
“It’s not my intention to do so. But if need be, I will.”
“No. We have taken the journey this far together. We either leave together or we stay together.”
He held the tablets with both hands. “This is why we were asked to take the journey.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I know now. I know why you’re here. I just don’t know why I am.”
The last boxes were removed from the sheds and taken to the shoreline. The captain thanked the natives and left behind some supplies and food for the community. Michael and Elizabeth followed Julius along the narrow dirt road to the beach. A bigger boat awaited them. The last bit of light on the horizon faded as they found a corner below deck to rest. Paul was huddled in the far corner across from them, his eyes open. The soldiers sat on wooden boxes facing him, their helmets off and spears on the floor. A lone light shone between the four on a cart.
“There’s something wrong,” Michael said.
“What? I do not see anything different. He is not being threatened.”
“No, he’s not but look at his eyes. I do not know him well, but I have looked into his eyes many times. Before I saw hope. Now I see sadness.”
Elizabeth pushed herself forward with her hands. She leaned back. “Maybe he’s worried about the ship.”
“No. He knows something. I am going to have to see what is wrong when the soldiers fall asleep.”
“What if they don’t?”
Michael moved a few yards behind her on his knees. He opened a cart and removed a tall jug. He stuck his nose inside the container and held it up. “My weapon.”
“What is it?”
“Wine. The heavy stuff.”
“Heavy stuff?”
“Yes. No water added.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “Oh, God. Not again.” She put her head between her knees.
“Are you getting seasick?” he asked as the ship bounced a little.
She shook her head.
“What’s wrong?” Michael said, touching her shoulder.
“I’m seeing people again.”
“What?”
Michael tried to lift Elizabeth’s head. She pushed him away.
“What is the problem?” shouted a Roman soldier standing near Paul.
“Nothing. My daughter is feeling a little sick.”
“Keep her silent,” the Roman said.
Elizabeth rocked back and forth, moaning.
“You have to keep quiet,” Michael said, rubbing her back. “I know about sea sickness. You may just need to go to the deck and get it out of your system.”
Elizabeth turned and glared. “I’m not seasick.” She started to cry.
“I’m sorry, honey. I don’t mean to upset you. You’ve been through a lot. Rest.”
“We can’t rest. We’re in danger.”
“I know that.”
Elizabeth shuddered and leaned into Michael’
s shoulder. “No. We’re in danger now.”
Chapter 51
Modern-Day Long Island
Connie strolled along the pier alone. There was a period of peace as she had the dock to herself. She thought about Elizabeth and Michael, wondering if they were somewhere safe so they could celebrate Christmas. She also questioned if Hewitt was right – that her brother had skipped town and was in another country with her niece.
As she neared the end of the pier, his voice startled her. “Hewitt, what are you doing out here? I thought you were going back home.”
“I did,” he said.
“Why are you back here?”
“I got more bad news,” he said, facing her.
Connie’s heart sunk into her stomach. “My God, you found them?”
Hewitt pulled away from her. “No. I haven’t.”
“Well, what’s the news? Oh dear Lord, please tell me they’re alive.”
Hewitt took a few steps to the edge of the pier.
“What are you doing?”
“I have nothing left in my life. My boss just took me off a case for the first time in my career. I live alone at home. I stare at the walls after I finish my job. Now, I may not even have a job.”
Hewitt sat down on a bench as the wind pushed the docked boats around Northport Bay. Connie sat next to him. “Divorce happens, and we all fail at our jobs every so often.”
“I can’t afford to fail at my job. When I fail, it means little boys and girls are coming home in body bags. Can’t you understand that?” He stood and went to the edge again.
“Why don’t you come back here and sit and talk?” Connie asked, patting the old wooden bench.
“I’ve done enough sitting and talking.” He took off his coat and dropped it to the ground.
“Whoa,” Connie said, standing. “Come back here.”
“For what? To tell you how I can’t figure out where your brother and niece have gone? To give you advice on how to handle a divorce? To tell you how I screwed up the only worthwhile aspect of my life? To cry about how I couldn’t protect my daughter despite having all the money in the world?”
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