Knight's Cross (The Shipwreck Adventures Book 3)

by Christine Kling

  Sister Ola was a good listener. When Cole finished the story about the donation of books to the Magistral Library, she turned to Riley. “So you visited the library at the palace this afternoon? And what did you find?”

  “Joseph Roux’s sea atlas wasn’t there.”

  “Oh no.”

  “It’s been sent out on interlibrary loan.”

  “Where?”

  “To the Vatican,” Cole and Riley said in unison.

  Riley turned to him. “How do you know?”

  “When you didn’t return from the library, I went to find out what happened to you.”

  “But someone might have recognized you.”

  “Riley, you were missing. I wasn’t just going to sit there and do nothing. I tried to talk to the concierge, but he said the library was closed. He was giving me the bum’s rush out of there when a woman came out. She wanted to give the concierge a bag you had left behind. I convinced them I was your partner, and they gave it to me.”

  “So you’ve got my phone?”

  He nodded. “In the backpack. So, what happened to you?”

  She told them an abbreviated version of the kidnapping, the car trunk, the catacombs, and the trip up to the villa in one of the Knights’ super-expensive automobiles. She withheld the story of Diggory Priest’s fate. She would tell Cole later. “Once I broke lose, I went into the church and hid. Six men came in. They called themselves Cavalieri of the Guardiani. What they were talking about is so insane, I hesitate to repeat it.”

  Sister Ola said, “The SMOM is a very conservative organization, but I’ve heard there is an even more extremist group within. That must be what this Guardiani group is.”

  “They talked about the shield, and how it might lead to something in their library. The guy who drove me to the villa was there. They called him Virgil Vandervoort. I think he was the only American.”

  “Did they say what it is they think the shield will lead to?” Cole asked.

  “Not exactly. They called it the Religion. He said that the Guardiani had been charged with keeping it safe from the infidels for a long time. That’s also what the legend claims. Anyway, somehow getting it back is supposed to help them in this modern version of the Crusades they’ve got going.”

  “What do you mean?” Sister Ola asked.

  Riley turned to Cole. “Do you remember what your father wrote in his journal, way back in the 1990s? He said there was this chivalrous order that wanted to eradicate all Muslims and take over the resource-rich lands where they live. I actually heard the men talk about doing just that.”

  Cole said, “That’s genocide. It’s insane.”

  Sister Ola took a drink from a glass of water, then she adjusted the white cloth around her face. “Sadly, history has shown us that human beings do not need to be insane to commit genocide. Have you seen the anti-Arab hatred being spewed on the Internet these days?”

  “I try not to read it,” Riley said, “but so often it’s there on Facebook or in the comment streams on news stories about Islamist terrorists. In North America, Britain, France, there is lots of hate building up.”

  “That is what groups like this Guardiani are counting on.”

  “Those people who claim we should, quote, ‘nuke all Muslims’ because of the actions of a few really are insane,” Riley said.

  “The extremists from both sides cannot open their minds to see how similar they are,” Sister Ola said.

  Cole shook his head. “On one side you have drone strikes on schools and weddings, on the other side beheadings and suicide bombers.”

  “Both are killing civilians, and that incites intense hatred,” the nun said.

  “Sister, do you have any idea what this manuscript might be?”

  She clasped her hands together on the table and sat forward in her chair. “I pray that I am wrong. If it is what I fear, I would love to study such a manuscript, but it could be very powerful in the wrong hands.”

  “What is it?”

  She looked directly into the eyes of Riley, then Cole. Then it appeared she had made a decision. She said, “Does either of you know much about the Bible’s New Testament?”

  Cole nodded, but Riley shook her head. “My French mother hated the Catholic Church, and my father was happy to indulge her parenting preferences. I’ll need a crash course.”

  Sister Ola smiled. “As quickly as possible, then. The texts that make up the New Testament have been the subject of much disagreement dating back to Christ’s time. There are few texts written in the original language spoken at the time of Christ—which was a form of Aramaic. All the texts have been translated again and again into Greek, Latin, English, and hand-copied over and over. They had to do this because the manuscripts decayed over the course of centuries. The materials they used didn’t last, and of course they didn’t have climate-controlled rooms to preserve them. No one can say how much these texts have changed in the copying and the translations. Then there is the question as to which texts should be included.”

  Riley said, “Seriously? Which texts?”

  “Remember, the Old Testament was the only Bible before Christ. Then, the early Christians decided to add new texts, but there were many sects of Christianity. They didn’t all agree. Even the famed Muratorian fragment, considered the oldest list of the books of the New Testament, is from a seventh-century Latin manuscript thought to be a copy of a text written around 170 AD. While the author accepts that there were four gospels, the names of the first two are missing—leaving only Luke and John.”

  “So who decided on what we have today?”

  “We don’t really know. Surely it wasn’t just one individual. In 325, the Roman Emperor Constantine convened the Council of Nicaea to attempt to standardize Christianity, but there is no evidence they dealt with the question of which gospels would be included in the New Testament. They had other issues, like whether Christ was a man or God. Since the Romans had been pagan sun worshippers, many theologians believe that some of the results of Nicaea came from Constantine trying to appease his people. For example, although the word ‘Sunday’ does not appear in the Bible, the Christian Sabbath became Sunday instead of Saturday, which was the Jews’ seventh day of the week. Coincidentally, Sunday was the day of rest in honor of the Roman sun god. Also, it does not say anywhere in the Bible what the date of Christ’s birth was. However, the birth of the sun god was celebrated on December 25, and many Christian historians believe that was what led to the choice for Christ’s birth.”

  Riley said, “I find myself surprised to hear this coming from a nun. I thought devout Christians believed every word of the Bible is the word of God.”

  “Many modern theologians see, as I do, that the New Testament is a collection of texts written by man, but inspired by God. They are testimonies written by Christ’s apostles and stories about the lives of the early Christians. They are historical texts inspired by God. I happen to believe that Jesus and God are the same, but I recognize that my belief was not universal Christian belief until after Nicaea.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “At Nicaea they were attempting to reach agreement about the question of Christ’s divinity. The Roman Church maintained that Jesus was both man and God, but other sects, like the Gnostics, claimed Jesus was a man who was the son of God. Constantine voted for Jesus as God, and the Nicene Creed was composed to proclaim that as the official Christian stance. Then, in 381 AD, another meeting was held in Constantinople, and the Nicene Creed was revised to state that Jesus was the father, son, and the Holy Ghost. Again, this concept appeared nowhere in the original Greek texts of the Gospels.”

  “You mean they just made this stuff up?” Riley asked.

  “That depends on your interpretation and faith. As I said, the gospels were copied and translated and recopied, always by hand. The possibilities for human error were great. The chance for intentional rewriting to fit the beliefs of the translator or scribe is also very humanly possible. The oldest existing fragment
of the New Testament is a piece of the Gospel of John dated to the first half of the second century. There are many who believe in a conspiracy theory—not only about which gospels were included in the New Testament, but how much the included gospels may have been changed to reflect some preferred version of the events of Christ’s life.”

  “Now you’re talking Cole’s language. There’s nothing he likes more than a conspiracy theory,” Riley said. “So there’s proof that there are other gospels?”

  “Yes, there were many. The Nag Hammadi gospels were actually mentioned by Irenaeus in the late second century, but little else was known about them until they were dug up in Egypt in 1945. That raises the question of what else might have been suppressed.”

  “And you think that this manuscript the Knights are seeking is one of those?”

  “Yes, there is one which has been very controversial. It is the Gospel of Barnabas.”

  Riley sat up straight and said, “You’re kidding. In the church tonight, when I overheard the head Guardiani guy talking? He mentioned ‘Operation Barnabas.’”

  Sister Ola took hold of the cross hanging around her neck and shook her head.

  “What is so controversial about it?”

  “The Church has always claimed that the two copies that have surfaced are forgeries. Neither of them was dated earlier than the sixteenth century. Recently, the Turks claimed to have found a copy that is between fifteen hundred and two thousand years old, but they have not allowed outside authorities to examine it or date it, so it is also being called a forgery. However, there have been whispers for centuries that there is a copy of the Gospel of Barnabas that predates any of the existing copies we have of the canonical gospels. If a complete copy were found that could be precisely dated to the first or second century, it certainly would cause outrage among Christian extremists.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Barnabas was one of the apostles, so his would be a firsthand account. In the manuscripts that have been renounced as forgeries, the Gospel of Barnabas claims that Jesus was not divine, he was not crucified, and there was no resurrection. This gospel states that Jesus himself claimed he was a prophet, but not God. So, as you can see, if a copy of Barnabas were to be verified to be older than any copies of the canonical gospels, it could cast doubt in some quarters. And many Muslims would hail it as the true gospel.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because, according to the Gospel of Barnabas, Jesus himself preached that there was a greater prophet yet to come, and his name was Muhammed.”

  The Magistral Library

  Via Condotti, Rome

  April 26, 2014

  Virgil pulled in through the gates to the Palazzo, ignoring the officious concierge. He hadn’t slept well after the events of the night before. He was not accustomed to failure, and he was determined to turn things around. He’d heard Signor Oscura’s words over and over in his head all night long. He’d said, “The others warned me not to hire you. They said you were too old for this sort of job.”

  He awoke this morning resolute: he would find Thatcher and prove to Oscura that he merited his place among the Guardiani.

  Entering the opulent palace no longer gave him the pleasure it had just the day before. Only yesterday he had felt a part of this. Today, he had yet to earn it. He walked down the hall to the library, but he found the room empty. He felt the anger simmering in his belly. If he had to earn his place here, then she should, too. Where was she?

  At 9:05 the librarian came through the door at the end of the hall wearing a loose-fitting brown dress and sneakers with ankle socks. She was a tiny woman—no more than five feet tall—and she carried multiple bags on both arms. She got the strap of one bag entangled with the door handle.

  He followed her into the reading room. She was pulling the bags off one of her shoulders when he leaned on the reference desk and spoke.

  “I need to ask you about a patron you helped yesterday.”

  She started like a baby awakening to a loud noise. “Oh, hello. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Her English was heavily accented, but he could understand her. The accent was not Italian. Maybe German.

  Virgil continued. “As I said, this woman came in yesterday. She’s about yea tall.” He held out a hand about six inches higher than the woman’s head. “In her midthirties, medium-brown hair cut shoulder length.”

  “No, we had no woman like that.”

  “Any women at all who came in requesting materials yesterday.”

  The librarian shook her head.

  He leaned across the desk, pressing himself into her space. “You’re certain?”

  She took a step back. “Yes.”

  Virgil stood up straight, taking his arms off the counter, and simply stared down at her.

  The woman’s hand flew to her throat. He’d seen that same look on his wife’s face when they’d argued. His ex-wife.

  “There was a girl,” she said.

  “Describe her.”

  “She had black hair.”

  Virgil remembered how surprised he had been when he spotted her in the catacombs. Overalls and boots. Perhaps there had been a wig, too. She didn’t look like the young woman on the boat.

  “What was she wearing?”

  “I don’t know the word in English.” She pantomimed straps over her shoulders. “Like a farmer wears.”

  “What did she ask for?”

  “She was interested in sea charts from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.”

  “Any particular ones?”

  “Not at first. I gave her what we had, but that didn’t seem to be exactly what she was looking for.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Just before she left, she asked if we had anything else. I told her there was only one other volume. It is called the Carte de la mer Méditerranée en douze feuilles, by Joseph Roux.”

  “Translate?”

  “It’s a collection of twelve maps of the Mediterranean.”

  “Was that what she was looking for?”

  “I think so.”

  “And you gave it to her?”

  The little woman shook her head. “I had to tell her we didn’t have it on the premises.”

  “Checked out?”

  “No. Well, in a sense. Another library had requested it, and we’ve sent it off on interlibrary loan.”

  “Where?”

  “This is the third time in two days someone has asked.”

  “Where is it?”

  “At the Vatican Library,” she said.

  Virgil was leaning against his car, rolling himself a quick cigarette, when the concierge called to him across the courtyard parking lot. “Signor Oscura wants to see you.” He nodded toward the upstairs windows.

  Virgil paused outside the executive director’s door. He hated being summoned like this, but he couldn’t let it show. He smoothed his black polo shirt and made certain it was neatly tucked into his cargo pants. Then he rapped once on the door.

  “Entra.”

  Signor Oscura sat behind the enormous desk, a tiny white cup of coffee and a glass of water the only things on its surface.

  “Sit down, Virgil,” he said.

  “I prefer to stand, sir.” He assumed an at-ease stance.

  Neither man spoke for more than a minute.

  Signor Oscura was the first to speak up. “You took an oath.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You understand the impact here. We have our people inside the Pentagon, Whitehall, NATO. They are set to go. But we need more than a few beheadings to get the massive public backing we seek. We need people in the streets, crying, ‘Death to Islam.’ To get that kind of outrage, we need to see those Islamists claiming they have indisputable historical proof that Jesus was not the son of God. Virgil, we need the power that can only come from the Religion.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So what do you plan to do now?”

  “I’ll find Thatcher.”


  Signor Oscura did not say anything. He just sat there staring up at Virgil, his fingers tented under his chin. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. “I got a phone call this morning from the Questura Centrale. A Commissario Pansa wanted information about an explosion in a catacomb out off the Via Tiburtina. He said they located one of our cars out there, parked on the street.”

  Virgil kept his face blank but inside he was admonishing himself for forgetting to take care of the car Dig drove out there. “I don’t know what happened, sir, but I can tell you the man who checked out that car yesterday afternoon called in sick last night. I haven’t heard anything from him since.”

  “I’m not happy about any of this. I expected more from you.”

  Virgil started to speak when the door swung inward, and the grand master entered.

  “Good morning,” he said in his cheery British English.

  Virgil nodded and returned the greeting. Signor Oscura caught Virgil’s eye. He shook his head in two small jerks from one side to the other.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” the grand master said, “but we need to talk about the seating for the canonization ceremony. I just got a phone call from Juan Carlos of Spain, and he has decided to come after all.”

  Signor Oscura offered a tight smile. “Not a problem, sir. We had just finished our business, hadn’t we, Virgil?”

  “Yes, sir. Good day, gentlemen.”

  Virgil closed the door behind him. Thank God. He’d already wasted precious time. It would be chaos at the Vatican. Of course, Thatcher and the girl marine would not have the access he had. She was good, but not that good. He should be able to get inside the Vatican Library and get his hands on the volume they sought before they even discovered the library was closed for the canonizations.

  Vatican City Gates

  Rome, Italy

  April 26, 2014

  “During my years in graduate school, I was fortunate to get a research grant to study in Rome,” Sister Ola said as she downshifted the Fiat to accelerate around a taxi. “I spent six months here, but never did drive. I know the city’s public transport quite well, but this time the convent offered me a rental car. They thought I would be safer. I didn’t disagree because I do love to drive.”