by Tom Haase
Chapter Thirty-Five
Present Year
San Matias District –
Granada, Spain – 2:35 p.m.
Bridget squirmed in the chair, fighting against the bindings, which cut deep into her wrist, but couldn’t get free. Her tongue felt painfully dry and no matter how she tried, no moisture would come from her throat to relieve her desperate thirst when she tried to swallow. The room felt hotter than the inside of a steam bath in the middle of summer, and smelled worse than a sewer. Her olfactory system had revolted at first but now it adjusted. She suspected they had her in a basement or an old workroom.
The door burst open and the light flicked on. The brightness hurt her eyes and she clenched them shut. When she allowed herself to squint, the figure of Hashim appeared. He came over to her and jerked the tape off her mouth.
“Damn that hurt, you moron,” she yelled.
“Here is some water for you. Open your mouth and I will pour it.” He held up an open plastic bottle.
She did as he ordered and the cool liquid slid over her parched tongue and smoothed her dehydrated throat. She gulped another swallow and almost coughed it up but continued forcing herself to drink. After six gulps of the water, the bottle was empty.
Bridget closed her mouth and glared at the man. “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”
“I don’t have to, but I will. We’ve followed your brother and another man all day. They’re now at the hotel after spending time in a cathedral. My friend is keeping watch on them. I came to see if you are okay.”
“Hell no, I’m not okay. I’m still your prisoner.” She paused. “What other man?”
“I don’t know but he seems to be assisting your brother in getting the manuscript of the Holy Koran.”
“That’s strange. We don’t know anyone here. Why— are you trying to kill us?”
“Maybe someday, but right now I can tell you that two men came from Iran to get the manuscript. Their orders come from the highest authority in that country. They are Shi’ia and they want the sacred text before the Sunni can get their hands on it. They need to take it back to Iran. That’s all I know. Now I hope you will be more helpful.”
“You’re kidding. That kind of shit doesn’t just happen. And, by the way, where did you learn to speak American English?”
“When we get the document, I promise I’ll try to get you out of here.”
“Why are you even thinking of helping me? You’re a terrorist.”
“Jibril knows you killed his partner in Warsaw. He’ll try to extract revenge for that. You’d better believe that.”
“Oh shit. Ahh…you’ve got to get me out of here.” She twisted her head to face him, “Come on get me out of here.”
“Just relax and we’ll see. I can’t do anything now.”
“Bullshit, you’re just a terrorist monkey. Cut me free before that asshole slits my throat.”
Hashim picked up the duct tape and using both hands firmly placed it over Bridget’s mouth.
“Maybe you can stand the sound of silence as much as you enjoy the sound of your voice.”
He turned, flipped off the light, and slammed the door behind him.
As he ascended the steps, he asked himself, “How in the hell am I going to get her out of here?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
In the Cathedral
Granada, Spain - 8:10 p.m.
Scott, with Stephen at his side, entered the cathedral a few minutes after eight through the side door. The priest had kept his word and the door was unlocked. The sun still illuminated the inside through the magnificent stained glass windows dominating the area over the choir loft.
“Did they follow us?” Scott asked.
“I noticed our friends took up positions in front of the café,” Stephen answered. “Since we snuck out the back and I don’t believe they know we’re here. I didn’t see them when we entered.”
Stephen glanced around. “Where to now?”
“There has to be a large chamber to hold all the items reported on the list. I believe they would have kept the treasure together for control and security. I can’t find a place above ground in the church,” Scott said. He placed his backpack at the base of the main altar.
“Maybe underground,” Stephen said. “But how do we get there?”
“The text provides the clue. The altar is either the entrance to the underground area or it’s the mechanism to get to a chamber,” Scott answered. He took out a small halogen flashlight from his backpack and put it into his pocket for easy access when the sunlight failed. The evening light coming in through the stained glass windows did not provide enough rays to make out details behind the high altar. In a few minutes it would be dark.
Scott scanned the area. All the doors were closed and the church secured except for the side entrance door they used. The temperature rose rapidly. No air was circulating. The sweltering heat of the August day lingered inside the church.
A rustling sound came from near the main entrance. They both swiveled toward it.
“What was that?” Scott shouted.
A bird passed over and winged toward the rear of the church. The flapping of the wings resounded in the choir area high up in the choir loft. Even at night there was a very slight glow from the city lights sneaked in through the stain glass windows. It reminded Scott of his home where the lights would be off at night but the dim glow from the street light made it possible to walk around with no lights without hitting furniture but impossible to see small items in the darkness.
“A pigeon,” Stephen whispered.
“Stephen, you seem to be very comfortable in here. Why?”
“I enjoy visiting holy places, especially old ones like this with a long and rich history. They usually contain secrets if one is willing to take the time to investigate.”
“We need to do just that. Any ideas?” Scott asked.
“I think we start here.” Stephen walked to the rear of the altar. “The priest told us the high altar was here in the time of the Moorish occupation. The Moors might have used it to hide the treasure in this Christian church, because they probably assumed their mosques would be destroyed after the surrender. If the Moors buried it in this building, they would assume they could recover the goods with the planned retaking of the country.”
“Makes sense. Good planning on their part, assuming they would get back here,” Scott said. He took out the flashlight and started to examine each detail in the area around the rear of the altar. He extended his sweep outward in small circles. In a few minutes he stopped. “Why do you suppose two rusty iron D-rings are in the floor?”
“Haven’t the foggiest.” Stephen came over to examine them. After looking at them, he said, “My guess is they appear built into the stone somewhat recessed so as not to cause a problem to churchgoers or clergy when walking over them. Let’s try to move them.”
Scott reached down for one of the rings and Stephen grabbed the other. They pulled. Nothing happened. They tried again with the same results.
“This stone must weigh a ton,” Scott exclaimed.
“It’s been here for centuries and probably in the same condition the Moors left it,” Stephen said.
“My sister works on excavations in Africa. I visited her once on a dig when I was in college. They had to move a ten-ton stone to get at a grave. They used a pulley contraption much like the pulleys on a sailing vessel. It only took one man to exert enough force to raise the rock. Perhaps the Moors had a similar gadget here. But where?”
“No I don’t see anything they could have used that might still be here.”
“Wait a minute. Remember the notation. The altar moves the stone.” Scott put the flashlight on the back of the marble structure and examined it in detail.
Stephen joined him. He ran his finger over the seams. “Here. I feel a recess on the stone under the overhang of the altar’s main table. It seems to be made for a man’s hand.”
Scott listened to him stra
in to pull on the stone. Stephen stopped and repositioned himself and tried again.
A creaking echoed against the wall.
“It’s moving,” Stephen said.
Scott helped and they pushed and grunted until the stone moved away from the back of the altar. Scott squatted and shoved the stone to the side, making the opening wider.
Scott dropped on his knees, crawled in the opening, and shined the flashlight around inside the space under the high altar. There were ropes and a large pulley with a U-joint secured into the bottom of the main altar table. The tons of weight holding the table in place would provide an adequate hold for the block and tackle.
“I think I know what the note means now.” Scott wiped sweat from his forehead. “The altar is the base to use the block and tackle to move the stone. We need to connect the rope to the D-rings in that stone over there and the force exerted here will raise that stone up.”
“Brilliant. Let’s do it”
Scott heard the excitement in the man’s voice. “These ropes are hundreds of years old. I think they expected to be back in less time than that to claim their treasure. What the heck, if they don’t we’ll get new nylon ropes. I agree, let’s try.”
They worked for over a half hour to rig the mechanism, securing one end to the main altar and the other to the D-rings in the floor. Scott observed both their shirts completely soaked with perspiration. He reached into his backpack and took out a bottle of water. After taking a large gulp, he passed it to Stephen.
“Let’s sit for a minute,” Stephen said. “We can take all night if we need to.”
“I would prefer to keep going. My sister’s life is at stake.”
“Just a short break. A lot more remains to do. So tell me the real story of why you’re here in five minutes. I’m willing to help you but I’d like to know where you’re coming from. The reason you’re here might be important in saving your sister. I don’t know how for sure.”
“Right now?” Scott glanced at him in disbelief. “You’re helping me and I appreciate it very much, so I’ll tell you the history.” Scott told him how he had discovered the purported writings of St. Peter and everything up to receiving the note of his sister’s kidnapping. Scott began to relax a little as he realized that he needed this break too. Relief washed over him. And, at the same time, a hope Bridget would be rescued enveloped him. He had to trust somebody, and so far Stephen had been true to his word. His only purpose in relying on this man was to save his sister. If that is what he had to do, so be it.
“See that took only five minutes and now I’m rested and ready to start.”
“I told you my story, but you haven’t answered my question. As we are on a break, I want to hear more about you and what’s in it for you,” Scott said.
“At the next break. Remember, we have to hurry to save your sister.” Stephen rose to his feet and headed toward the altar.
They both took hold of the tail of the rope attached to the block and tackle inside the altar and started to pull. As it started to turn, the tackle block screeched. The slack in the rope slowly disappeared.
“I hope this old thing will hold up and not unravel or break on us after five hundred years,” Scott said.
They continued to pull and the rope became taught. It didn’t break. Now they put more force into their effort to make the rope pull on the D-rings embedded in the stone on the floor.
Scott glanced over to the two D-rings and watched them lift and almost imperceptibly the square rock rose from the floor. The ancient ropes made a straining sound as they fed inch by inch through the block. Scott monitored the rope for any unexpected sigh of unraveling due to age. The rope still held strong. The rectangular shape stone slab in the floor rose an inch, then another. When it was a foot out of position, they stopped pulling.
“Scott, go over and use the light and tell me if it is clearing. I can hold it,” Stephen said.
Scott slid over and examined it. The builders had made an angled face on one side of the stone to allow it to rise out of the floor. The slope allowed it to ride up missing the adjacent brick. Neat, thought Scott, but the stone was not high enough for him to use the flashlight to see underneath.
“I believe it’ll go up with no resistance from anything here.”
“Come on, let’s keep pulling,” Stephen said.
After sliding back into a position beside Stephen, they both heaved with all their strength on the rope. It moved upward and in ten minutes the opening appeared wide enough.
“Now we can tie this off on the U-joint and take a peek,” Scott said.
They crawled out from under the altar and quickly stretched. They hurried over to the cavity. Scott shone his flashlight into the crevice made by the raised lip of the huge stone.
They gazed into the cavity.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Outside the Cathedral in Granada, Spain - 10:15 p.m.
“I bet those two think they gave us the slip,” Jibril said.
“They probably think we are still at the café,” Hashim said.
Hashim enjoyed the evening’s fresh air as he and Jibril waited to see what happened after the two men entered the cathedral. He checked his watch, checked again an hour later. The temperature had dropped and the breeze now cooled the sweat on his neck and face.
Jibril paced back and forth. “We have to go in there. I have to recover the Holy Koran and carry it back to Tehran. We have delayed enough.”
Hashim placed his hand on the man’s arm. “Come on, a few more minutes. It’ll be much easier to grab it from them after they find it. If we move now and they don’t have it, we’ll be wasting our time. Then we’ll have nothing. Not a good idea.”
“I can make them talk.”
“If you discharge a firearm inside the church it’ll act as a loud speaker system. What if they are armed? You already had a bad experience in Warsaw.” Hashim quickly realized he shouldn’t have uttered that statement. It could trigger a reprimand from Jibril.
“We go now.” Jibril turned on him and with clenched teeth. “We’ll kill the murderers of my fellow guardsman. Now move. You’re here because the Polish Imam sent you to support me. Do as ordered.”
Jibril grabbed Hashim by the arm and shoved him ahead. They crossed to the church. They quickly reached the steps to the cathedral’s side entry. Hashim stopped at the door and slowly pulled it, hoping his deliberate moves would ensure the door made no noise. After he successfully and silently opened it, he held the door for Jibril to enter. He followed, and then inserted a doorstop at an angle preclude the door’s complete closure.
Hashim heard some noises from behind the main altar of the church and spotted a flashlight’s beam moving in the darkness. He felt Jibril’s hand on his back, pressing him forward. He took small steps and tried to walk on his tiptoes so his shoes didn’t squeak as he walked on the stone floor. In the dim light, Hashim saw the gun in Jibril’s hand. Damn, the idiot is planning to use it in the church. Not good.
Ahead, a grinding noise broke the silence. Then it stopped. Voices mumbled in the space behind the main altar and the flashlight beam moved again.
With all the stealth he could muster, Hashim dropped to the floor and deliberately moved by inches on his hands and knees. He reached the front of the altar. A life size angel statue on an extending marble arm guarded the side of the sacrificial table. Both men moved up to the altar’s marble tabletop and with great care stood without making a sound. He knew their targets were on the back side of the altar but for a few seconds no noise had been heard from them.
Hashim carefully peered around the feet of the angel. A sweat bead trickled down his face. He rubbed his eye with his hand to clear the moisture that dripped from his forehead. He could now barely make out two men moving toward a stone sticking out of the floor.
The stone appeared raised and held up by a rope attached to the backside of the altar. Hashim watched as one of the men shined a flashlight down into the space vacated by the stone. Th
e raised stone blocked most of his view.
He turned to enquire see what Jibril was doing but his forehead hit the gun in Jibril’s hand. The gun flew from the other man’s grip before landing on the marble of the altar. The resulting clang shattered the stillness of the empty church.
* * * *
Scott pointed the flashlight so he and Stephen could both gaze into the cavity vacated by the uplifted stone. He ran the light around in the large hole and, with wide eyes looked at Stephen. His heart pounded and he opened his mouth to form an expletive —a noise stopped him. The sound of a loud clang pierced the silence of the sanctuary.
“What was that?”
“A pigeon?” Stephen suggested.
“That’s no pigeon,” Scott shouted.
* * * *
Jibril’s strong hands forced him forward. When Hashim turned back toward the two men, they were gone, the flashlight was extinguished.
The loud report of the pistol shot from over his right ear deafened Hashim.
The crazy Jibril had fired.
The men must have heard them. A second later another firearm discharged and the bullet hit the altar an inch from Hashim’s head. He ducked, falling backward, trying to reach safety behind the altar. Jibril fired again.
What was he firing at?
Hashim tried to adjust his eyes but couldn’t pick out anything moving in the darkness.
Another bullet ricocheted off the stone nearby and followed immediately by another one causing a yelp from Jibril.
Jibril must be hit.
Before Hashim could do anything the strong hand of Jibril grabbed him by the shirt collar. “This way.” Jabril pushed him in the direction of the door. Even in the darkness, the faint outline of the door—slightly ajar— was visible.
Hashim ran the last few feet to the exit and shouldered it open. The night air enveloped him and provided freedom from the gunfire inside the church. His ears rang incessantly from the loud discharge of the weapons. He ran across the street, where he stopped. He paused, waiting for Jibril. He scanned the area.