The Seventh Stone

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The Seventh Stone Page 29

by Pamela Hegarty


  “We fear the attack on his life was perpetrated to steal these divine objects,” said O’Malley. “That Sadler risked his life to protect them.”

  Zeke waved his hand as if shooing away a pesky fly. “I tell you, Thomas. That is impossible. Only those in the circle know of their true value. His attack today must be just a coincidence and, as the radio said, committed to send a message to the G-20.”

  O’Malley glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “You know as well as I do that the attacker was after the diamond and sapphire.”

  Zeke’s cheeks flushed in anger. “The circle has kept the secret for centuries. The danger that could be unleashed.”

  “Is already here,” Braydon said, before O’Malley could jump in. “We have no time for secrets. The water supply in New York and the Princeton suburbs has been poisoned.” He filled them in on Baltasar Contreras, his plan to acquire the seven stones and restore the Breastplate of Aaron, that only the restored Breastplate could reveal the way to the hidden canyon and the plant that was the only source of the poison’s antidote. It sounded crazy, even to him, but as he reviewed the events of the last two days, it all began to fit together. He held back the contents of Salvatierra’s letter. He needed answers, not questions. “The Circle of Seven, it exists, and you two are part of it.”

  For a moment, both priest and rabbi seemed stunned into silence. Braydon had never before seen O’Malley at a loss for words. His friend finally sucked in a breath. “The Circle of Seven evolved such that one member was only linked to one other member. If one was compromised, then not all would be lost.”

  Braydon replayed some of those late night discussions in his dorm room with Tommy. He shook his head. “How long, Tommy? How long have you been a member of this secret circle?”

  “Long enough to pick my friends carefully,” he said, with the old twinkle in his eye. “I am Zeke’s second. My second, as you deduced, is Jared Sadler.”

  “You’re telling me that Jared is one of the Circle, along with his wife? I can’t imagine entrusting Zoe Jared with a dime store ring.”

  Zeke pointed an accusatory finger at O’Malley. “I told you years ago that you should never have allowed Jared to stay with Alba. He was your second. It was your responsibility.”

  “Alba?” Braydon asked. “Jared’s late wife?” That made more sense. The jeweler had mentioned her longingly several times, despite his obvious attraction to sexy Zoe.

  “Jared is the guardian of Kohinoor Diamond,” said O’Malley. “He revealed to me that his second was Alba, the guardian of Edward’s Sapphire. The man fell in love with her, deeply, completely in love, and married her. She didn’t know that Jared was in the Circle of Seven when they wed. She, of course, only knew the name of her second. But she was a smart woman. It didn’t take long for her to figure it out.”

  “Dangerous,” Zeke said. “And we did nothing to stop it.”

  “As a priest, as a man, I could not divide a bond that was sworn before God. I could not demand that they divorce.”

  “Alba is dead,” said Braydon. “Certainly Zoe didn’t take her place in the Circle.”

  Zeke began sputtering. “Even we are not that.”

  “Desperate,” finished O’Malley. “Jared Sadler became the guardian of both the Diamond and the Sapphire.”

  “Dangerous,” Zeke repeated. “To have one guardian of two of the seven stones. And now, he, too, may be dead.”

  “I assure you that the Kohinoor Diamond and Edward’s Sapphire are safe,” Braydon said, “but your Circle of Seven is compromised. This isn’t the first time a guardian has died. Who takes his place?”

  “They were to have children,” said O’Malley. “One questions God’s divine plan at times like these.”

  “I’d rather question who Alba’s second in the Circle of Seven was,” said Braydon, “but I think I know the answer.”

  “The guardian of the Emerald,” O’Malley said. Braydon remembered why he always lost in chess with this guy. He could see in minutes the strategies that had taken Braydon days to plan. “But we do not know who that is.”

  “It hardly seemed important,” Zeke said. “The Emerald is where no man can attain it.”

  Right now that Emerald hung between Christa’s breasts. “Leave that one to me,” he said. “The only name missing is the guardian of the Abraxas.” The Abraxas stone that Contreras tried to steal in San Francisco had to be one of the seven. “Since I figure you two guard the Urim and Thummim.”

  The rabbi staggered, as if about to faint. “Who else knows of the world’s most deadly secret? Truly, all is lost.”

  “Not lost,” Braydon said, “but found.” He pulled the crucifix from his pocket and dangled it before them. Even in the dull light from the stained glass window, the crucifix seemed to emit a light of its own.

  O’Malley made a quick sign of the cross. The rabbi merely gasped.

  “Lux et Veritas,” said Braydon. “It translates from the Hebrew, Urim and Thummim, two of the sacred stones on the Breastplate.”

  O’Malley loosened his priest’s collar. He pulled an object from beneath his black shirt, a crucifix dangling from a gold chain. It was just how Braydon had remembered it. It matched perfectly the crucifix in his hand.

  “This crucifix has been passed down through generations of my family,” O’Malley said. “It originally belonged to Pedro Alonso de Salvatierra, a priest at the Vatican in the mid-sixteenth century. He was the twin brother of Juan Jaramillo de Salvatierra, the priest who travelled to the new world jungles to retrieve the Breastplate of Aaron and arrest Alvaro Contreras. Both men owned identical crucifixes. Juan’s, the family history contends, was lost with him at sea.”

  “Juan Salvatierra was the founder of the Circle of Seven,” Braydon said. “And you are his descendent. This is putting a serious dent in my ironclad skepticism.”

  “I shouldn’t have questioned God’s divine plan,” said O’Malley. “Apparently, Our Lord has planned for this endgame for many centuries, before the pieces were even placed on the board.”

  “It all comes back to Urim and Thummim,” said Braydon. “Light and Truth. Guarded by Thomas O’Malley and Ezekial Feinstein. Seems to me you two are breaking your Circle’s rules by being in such close contact.”

  “Urim and Thummim are the most sacred stones of Judaism,” O’Malley said.

  “Used by Aaron, himself, and the ancient high priest, to speak with God directly,” said Zeke. “Truth and Light can never be separated by man.”

  “The Circle of Seven decided that at its inception,” said O’Malley. “The guardians of the Urim and Thummim would work as one force.”

  “You’re making the decisions for the Circle now,” said Braydon. “I need those stones, the Urim and Thummim. Contreras must be stopped or millions will die. We have to restore the Breastplate before he can find it. We have to locate the plant for the antidote.”

  “Never,” Zeke shouted. “I made a vow to God to keep the Urim hidden.”

  “Zeke,” said O’Malley, his voice soft but firm. “Our vow is to protect the people from the power of the stones, not to protect the stones from the people. You told me of the violent behavior you witnessed on your short walk over here. It is caused by this poison. The seven stones, replaced in the Breastplate, will lead to the antidote. We must make sure that they do not fall into the hands of the man whose plan may lead to the death of millions. We must put our trust in God, that he has brought the three of us together here and now for a reason.”

  A bang rumbled down the nave of the cathedral.

  “Thunder?” asked Zeke.

  Another bang, closer.

  “The north entrance doors,” said Braydon.

  “FBI! Open up!” a deep voice yelled. Another bang, muted by distance, reverberated from the Fifth Avenue doors.

  “Rambitskov,” Braydon muttered. “Homeland Insecurity. He thinks he’s the second coming of Himmler. He shouldn’t be here, not yet.” Even if he used the GPS t
racker to find his parked Impala.

  “They wouldn’t dare break into a house of the Lord,” said O’Malley.

  “Homeland Security is not the SS,” said Zeke. “They are here to help.”

  “Rambitskov is here to take the Emerald,” said Braydon. “My friend has it hanging round her neck.”

  “The seventh stone?” said Zeke. “Impossible. The oral history has been passed down for centuries. Everyone in the Circle of Seven knows that the Tear of the Moon is at the bottom of the Atlantic.”

  “A treasure hunter ship recovered it from the wreck of the San Salvador two days ago,” said Braydon. “God’s divine plan and all that.”

  Braydon didn’t have to signal Christa and Dubler. They were already rushing down the chapel’s center aisle towards him. Daniel was out of breath, more from fear than exertion. “Fox, only a fool would call in Homeland Security,” Daniel said.

  “I agree,” he said, looking pointedly at Daniel. “You make any phone calls back there?” The lure of the world’s most important artifact could make a man do all sorts of foolish things. Dubler had made it clear that he felt Contreras had the best chance at retrieving all seven stones and restoring the Breastplate. Braydon had to dump this guy, without losing Christa’s trust.

  “He checked his email,” said Christa. “He was scheduled to tutor a student for finals tonight, had to cancel. I checked my email, too. Helen said Liam is worse. I called Percival. He’s mounting a rescue operation to save Lucia.”

  “He is doing what he thinks is right,” said Braydon. “Just as we have to do. Father Thomas O’Malley, Rabbi Ezekial Feinstein, this is Christa Devlin,” he said, “and Daniel Dubler.” Time to form a tactical strategy, except he had no point of egress on this side of the cathedral. The nearest exits were at the two transepts, one facing Fiftieth Street, the other Fifty-first. Both would be covered. Rambitskov would enter by the main entrance. His team would fan out down the aisles of the nave, trapping them in the box canyon of The Lady chapel.

  “It is true,” Zeke said to Christa. “You have the Tear of the Moon Emerald. I can feel its energy.”

  O’Malley ducked behind the altar, the statue of Mary above him looking over them all with an expression of serenity that only comes in stone or with unfettered faith. Braydon moved to the back of the altar. O’Malley was leaning bodily across the altar, reaching around Mary’s feet to the ornate, gilt tabernacle. The tabernacle enclosed the Blessed Sacrament, the host that was the body of Christ, the most holy object in any church. And he was fiddling with pieces of its decoration.

  “Braydon, this isn’t sacrilege,” O’Malley said, as usual cued in to his thoughts. “It is a sign of my conviction to keep the power of the stones from those who would use them to do evil.” He loosed a hidden latch and pried opened the back of the tabernacle.

  “It’s never really a game with you,” Braydon said. “Is it?” The panel opened to reveal a biometric scanner.

  O’Malley smiled. “Model PX-2000, state of the art, just as you recommended.”

  Christa stepped in for a closer look. “I never would have pegged the Catholic church as early adapters.”

  “Couple years ago O’Malley asked my advice on a unique security system for a proprietary relic,” Braydon said. “As usual, he escalated the whole thing into a game, designing a safe room out of an underground storage area beneath the cathedral.” At the time, he pegged it as O’Malley’s brand of grief counseling, intriguing him with something beyond loss.

  “Braydon always had a little Indiana Jones in him,” O’Malley said. “Got to play to people’s strengths.”

  O’Malley placed his palm on the scanner. One red light turned green. Zeke hesitated, then the shorter man nearly hoisted himself bodily onto the altar to reach forward and press his palm on the scanner. The second red light turned green. A latch unlocked with a click. A panel, disguised as solid marble covering half of the back of the altar, slid open. Dubler sucked in a breath. The dim light beyond revealed that the opening led to a steep, narrow stairway.

  “I will stop the intruders,” Zeke said. He skirted around the altar. He rushed down the center aisle of The Lady Chapel.

  Braydon peered into the darkness. O’Malley’s wiry, strong fingers gripped his shoulder. “Hurry, Braydon. It’s up to you now. You must protect the Urim and Thummim.” He removed the crucifix from around his neck and pressed it into Braydon’s hand alongside its original. “This is the key.”

  “The crucifix is the key?” he said. “You know I was kidding about that.” He had placed it in his “imaginary” safe room design as a playful jab at his old friend.

  “It was one of your better ideas,” said O’Malley. “To me, the crucifix is always the key.”

  A thud reverberated down the nave, followed by a sudden draft of cold air and the shout, “Homeland Security.” It came from the Fifth Avenue entrance. Braydon couldn’t see them. The main, raised altar, surrounded by its choir screen, blocked the view. That worked both ways. The assault team couldn’t see them. The stairs beneath the main altar descended one floor into the crypt. The narrower stairs at his feet descended even further down, to some sort of sub-basement. “Lead the way,” he said, gesturing to Tommy. Christa and Dubler crouched behind Mary’s altar.

  “Gentlemen!” Zeke shouted at the strike force. “You must not desecrate a house of God!”

  O’Malley stepped back. “I must help Ezekial,” he said. “I’ll stall them as long as I can. You’ll recognize what lies below from your design. But realize, my friend, protecting the Urim and Thummim is not a game. The danger is real.”

  Before Braydon could object, O’Malley hurried down the central aisle of the chapel, swerving left towards the Pieta and the Rabbi, his black cassock flowing behind him. Braydon repressed the urge to follow. Rambitskov wouldn’t dare hurt a priest and a rabbi, not in front of the assault team. Tommy and Feinstein were buying him precious time. He couldn’t waste it.

  He ducked into the opening, his feet quick on the narrow stairs. He leapt off the last riser into a dark narrow hallway. Dubler scrambled down, peeked up Christa’s skirt as she followed. Bastard. The panel slid closed behind her, slicing off the shouts of the agents and any fragment of light from above, pitching them into utter darkness. Christa’s body pressed against his in the narrow space, her breaths short, a curl of hair soft on his cheek. A current tingled through him, a vibration, like a short circuited wire. Scariest part was, it wasn’t coming from the sacred gemstones.

  CHAPTER 46

  It kicked in with a vengeance. Christa had fought it off in the tunnels beneath the cliff dwelling, too distracted by the more immediate and terrifying threat of the beasts that wanted to tear off her limbs. Now the total darkness intensified her claustrophobia, born when she got trapped in a cave-in at Dad’s dig in the Ural Mountains.

  Her heart beat so hard that Braydon and Daniel, pressing against her, had to feel it, maybe heard it. “I’ve got to get out of here, now,” she said. She shoved Daniel aside, grabbed for the stairway railing. Nothing but black, a heavy, suffocating black. Sweat pricked at her forehead.

  A hand grasped her upper arm. The grip was strong, confident, a little rough. It had to be Braydon. “Not that way,” he said. His whisper sounded like a shout in the confined silence. Footsteps thumped the floor above. Determined men, no doubt bristling with weapons and fierce in their black ops uniforms, stomped around the white purity of the Mary statue.

  Her heart fluttered. She couldn’t catch her breath. A burning sensation seared through her cheeks. “I can’t stay here,” she stammered out, not about to confess her irrational fear. She couldn’t even talk. This was ridiculous. It was dark; they were underground. That’s all. They were safe, as long as she didn’t give in to panic.

  “No, we can’t,” Braydon said. He grasped her hand and coaxed her away from the ladder. He had to be just inches from her. His breaths came short and quick. “We’ve got to find the Urim and Thummim.”

&n
bsp; Only one place was more terrifying than the darkness ahead, the threshold she teetered on, the precipice between reality and belief. “But the Urim and Thummim are the two most sacred, powerful and legendary stones in history. The original Lux et Veritas, the fundamental light and truth.”

  “I might not bet my life on my faith in divine power,” said Braydon, “not yet, anyway. But I would bet it on my faith in Tommy O’Malley. He and the rabbi are Urim and Thummim’s guardians in the Circle of Seven, passed down to them for generations.”

  She’d seen the priest’s crucifix. It matched Salvatierra’s exactly. “So the Circle of Seven does still exist.” She let him lead her a few feet deeper into the darkness.

  “And your mother,” he said, “was the guardian of that Emerald hanging around your neck. Which means you’re next.”

  She yanked her hand from his. “I’m a history professor, not some mystical guardian. I don’t have Mom’s courage, her resolve, her integrity.”

  “We’ll soon find out.” An overhead light tripped on. She shut her eyes and blinked until they adjusted. “Motion sensors, just like in my design,” Braydon said. They were in a hall so narrow it couldn’t fit two of them side by side. So much for relieving her claustrophobia. The light intensified it. Cinderblock walls, painted white, pressed in on them and led only into the darkness ahead. No ornamentation, just a low ceiling and two dim fluorescent bulbs behind textured plastic panels. They hurried on. At the outer reaches of the light, a second overhead light flicked on; the first one turned off, leaving the staircase up to the chapel in utter darkness, snuffing out any thoughts of retreat.

 

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