The Phoenix Apostles

by Lynn Sholes

  SENECA GRIPPED THE EDGE of the nightstand staring at the man in surgical scrubs. "Tell me your name."

  "William ... no, Billy Groves."

  The billionaire industrialist? That was hard to believe. He appeared drained of life-gaunt and pale, and he reminded her of a figure made of wax. And yet, since their discussion began, she noticed that his voice grew ever stronger, his posture seemed a little straighter, and his eyes took on a faint glow replacing the emptiness.

  "Mr. Groves, I want to believe you. And I think I did believe Scarrow, at least at the time, but you have to understand that what you're telling me is hard to get my head around. For me, at least, it's impossible to comprehend immortality. We're all faced with the inevitable fact that death will come someday. Thinking otherwise isn't rational."

  "You can believe what you want. Would you like to see the marks where an Apache arrow ran me through from front to back, and where a gunslinger's .44 hit me in the gut. The scars are still there from wounds that should have killed me."

  "I've always read that you were a recluse, that you avoid direct contact with others. So why are you here with me, a total stranger?"

  "In the beginning, it was all about hiding my identity. Later, after I had a few bouts with some serious illnesses, I started avoiding contact with others. Even though disease can't kill me, I don't want to spend the rest of my life sick from some shit I caught screwing some whore. Then Javier came along. Said he was going to make me a god. Turns out all he wanted was my money and my power. And I don't want to be his kind of god. He got his doctors to prescribe medicines they said protected me from infections. That was bullshit. He managed to systematically isolate me from the world whether I wanted it or not."

  Groves gestured to the room. "Like this prison. But I finally outsmarted him. I haven't taken those meds for a long time. That's why I can snoop around this place at night. He knows it-sees me on the surveillance

  "Then he knows you're here and what you're saying."

  "Nope. No audio, just video. He thinks I'm not in my right mind, so he doesn't care if I rattle around. I've gotten real good at acting crazy. Crazy like a fox. As far as being here with you, you're the only one who doesn't work for Javier. Everybody here is either one of his minions or the freaks he calls his apostles. Then he's got a bunch of followers he likes to call his disciples. You're the only one that I figured has no reason to betray me."

  "Mr. Groves-"

  "Billy." His lips showed a slight smile. "I'm starting to like you, Seneca Hunt."

  "Okay, Billy." Seneca tried to stand but changed her mind as her head swam. "What's really going on here? Why are they stealing the bones of those people? Those mass murderers?"

  "You think immortality is hard to grasp. What Javier is creating is diabolical, evil. He's Dr. Frankenstein."

  "I still don't understand. What did you mean by the freaks he calls his apostles?"

  "They're the ones he's brought to life from the stolen remains."

  "That's impossible."

  "I've seen them. Even met a few. Ever heard of Bloody Mary, the Queen of England? Ran into her the other night. Nice lady if you don't mind her penchant for burning folks at the stake. And somewhere around here is that Nazi bastard, Dr. Mengele, except he looks just like the president of Russia. It's a fucking three-ring circus.

  "The woman who brought me here. Ilse. Is she one of the apostles?"

  "Yep. Ilse Koch. She's a sicko."

  "Was there a black apostle?"

  "Scarrow hit the ceiling when he found out you killed Idi Amin. You caused him quite a setback. He thrives on perfection, and you upset his applecart. Then for some reason, he had a change of heart and decided it would be appropriate to make you his first sacrifice. Be afraid of him. He doesn't think like normal folks."

  Seneca's hands turned clammy.

  Groves moved a few steps closer. "He's got this grand plan to save the world and return it to the way it was five hundred years ago. He claims he can realign the cosmos to appease his ancient gods."

  "What he preaches doesn't sound so menacing."

  "Think again. To get what he wants, he's letting his apostles loose into the world to cut out the hearts of thousands of innocent victims-what does he call them-xochimiqui."

  It was the word Scarrow had said to her when they met. Sweet flower, xochimiqui. Without thinking, Seneca ran her fingertips down her chest between her breasts, becoming acutely aware of her heart beating just below the breastbone. She pushed herself up onto her feet, but her legs felt like paper, her head like a bobble.

  "He's decided to make you the first. He's going to slice out your heart and feed it to some stone-faced Aztec idol."

  "I've got to get away. Please, you're my only hope. Contact my father. He'll come for me."

  "Too late. He's taking you to Mexico at dawn. It's for his big

  "Where are his apostles?"

  "Already gone."

  "What's going to happen to you?"

  "Nothing. Along with immortality comes invincibility. Touching my face with that damn swatch of cloth condemned me to a life sentence-literally. It's a sacrilege against God. I would do anything to end it. I'm so weary."

  "Why would these apostles do whatever he wants?"

  "First he brought them back to life. If they carry out his plan, he'll reward them with the veil. They'll get a chance to live forever doing what they love to do-kill."

  "Did he use it on them already?"

  "No. His sick science brought them back to life. They can dieyou already proved it. The most vicious mass murderers in his tory are heading back to their homelands to begin the slaughter. He told them to start with the homeless, the sick, the indigents. It doesn't matter to him-any human sacrifice counts. A heart is a heart to his gods."

  Seneca realized that Groves hadn't coughed in the last few moments. Maybe talking to her helped him feel better, more confident.

  "I'm so sorry, Billy. I wish I could do something to help you end your misery."

  "Don't be worried about me. You're the one who's only got a few hours to live. I'd be making my peace with my Maker if I were you." He glanced as his watch and pulled the mask up over his face. "Time to go. They'll be making their rounds. Scarrow's not going to like that I paid you a visit. But what can he do? Kill me?"

  "How did Scarrow get the veil in the first place?"

  "From me. It was in a small silver chest I found among a horde of gold and valuables the Indians stole from the Spanish. It wound up part of an Apache treasure trove in the northern Mexican

  "Why don't you get rid of the veil so he can't use it on the apostles?"

  Groves shook his head. "It's not here. He told me he moved it to someplace safe years ago."

  "You said it was in a small silver box and he hid it in a safe place?"

  "Yep." Groves turned to leave.

  Suddenly, a vision filled her head of a grainy image on a TV monitor. A small silver box sitting on a wooden table. Could it be that the veil was in Montezuma's tomb? That she had actually seen its container; what Daniel called a reliquary? He had said the Latin inscription meant sweat-cloth and face. And as the only living witness, that's why Scarrow tried so hard to silence her. No one must know of the veil's existence.

  But how could the relic have gotten there? The tomb was sealed, wasn't it? She remembered Montezuma saying the only reason the Spanish hadn't stolen his grave goods was because they thought the tomb was sealed. They didn't know about the hidden entrance. And that had to be how Montezuma escaped after he rose from the dead.

  "It's in his tomb." She blurted out the words. Her balance was shaky but she remained standing. "I've seen it. There has to be another entrance, one only he knows about."

  Groves looked at his watch again. "Maybe." He started walking toward the door.

  "All I ask is you contact my father. Tell him where Scarrow is taking me. He'll figure out a way to get the veil out of the tomb and destroy-"

  Seneca's eyes widened. "Oh
, my God!" She sat back onto the bed as the full realization became clear. According to Al's research, the angel had given Veronica a two-part command. The first was to wipe the face of Christ on the way to the crucifixion, and the second part was to destroy the veil by fire, but not before He ascended into heaven. Because, if Veronica had destroyed it

  "I know how to stop Scarrow and grant your wish."

  "What wish?" He turned to her.

  "To end the curse of the veil."

  ZIRAGAN BAR 2012, MEXICO CITY

  MATT STOOD IN THE lobby of the Torre Lindavista Hotel and stared at the cell phone in his hand. He had been on his way to his room when he received an anxious call from Al. Something about Seneca being flown to Mexico. Al was rushing to the airport and catching a late flight out of Miami to Mexico City. Matt surmised that the only thing it could mean was confirmation of the connection between Seneca, Scarrow, and the Phoenix Ministry event. Al wouldn't arrive for several hours.

  Matt approached the front desk.

  "Yes, may I help you?" The clerk spoke with only the slightest of accents.

  "How long does it take to get out to the place where the big television event is happening tonight? Out by the pyramids?"

  "Normally it would take about forty-five minutes to get there. But tonight, it's impossible."

  "Why?"

  "The government has closed the highways and cordoned off the area. There are huge traffic jams. It's been all over the news. No one else is allowed in. If you aren't there already, you can forget about it."

  Another roadblock, Matt thought. This time literally. If that was where Seneca was being taken, how could he and Al possibly get there? He took in a frustrated and angry breath.

  "You can watch it all on the television in the bar." The clerk motioned to the entrance to the hotel's Ziragan Bar.

  "Thanks." Matt nodded, then walked toward the source of music and voices drifting across the lobby. The inside of the Ziragan Bar was dark and crowded. It appeared to be mostly young adults, out for a Saturday evening. As he took an empty seat at the bar, he noticed a couple of TVs mounted around the room displaying news or sports shows.

  He ordered a draft. While sipping his cerveza, he glanced up at a TV over the bar. It had switched from a soccer match to the live coverage of a large outdoor event. Although all the graphics were in Spanish, Matt recognized the name and logo of the Phoenix Ministry. Like dominoes falling, the networks started switching their feeds to a location in what appeared to be the middle of an expanse of land far from the city. Matt had previously read up on the location of tonight's event. It was being held among the sprawling remains of the pre-Columbian city of Teotihuacan abandoned long before the Aztecs came upon it. Built over two thousand years ago, Teotihuacan consisted of temple structures along its central Avenue of the Dead, including the Pyramid of the Moon, the Temple of the Feathered Serpent, and the imposing bulk of the third largest pyramid in the world, the Pyramid of the Sun. Tonight they were all dramatically lit by untold numbers of floodlights.

  Positioned between the two ancient pyramids was a sparkling modern building, also in the shape of a step pyramid, but only a fraction of the size of the colossal Sun and Moon structures. Its polished chrome and glass sides gleamed in the lights like a jewel in the Mexican desert.

  Matt turned to a woman sitting beside him. "Do you speak English?"

  She nodded.

  "Can you tell me what they're saying?" He pointed to one of the TVs.

  She listened intently, then translated. "This is some big religious event." Pausing for a moment as she watched, she said, "First, that Phoenix Ministry man is going to make a speech."

  Matt watched the TV screen as Javier Scarrow spoke. He was dressed in a plain white robe and stood at the base of what was called the Phoenix Ministry Temple of the Universe. Before him, an enormous crowd gathered. It reminded Matt of a U2 concert he once attended, only bigger.

  The woman took a sip of her beer as she listened. "He says he is going to take part in some sort of sacrifice."

  "Sacrifice?"

  "Yes."

  "What exactly is he going to sacrifice?"

  She shrugged. "He said he's going to have himself put to death-sacrificed to save the world."

  Matt's skin turned cold as he watched the television. The woman either misunderstood or this guy was about to pull off some sort of elaborate scam. It was amazing what people could be led to believe.

  "Are you sure?"

  "I know it sounds crazy. But that's what he's claiming."

  Does he intend to sacrifice Seneca, too?

  "What's he saying now?"

  She cocked her head. "Something about the alignment of the universe. That what he is about to do will prevent a major catastrophe."

  Matt focused on the TV. Scarrow stood on a platform at the base of a double set of built-in stairs leading up the front of the temple. A group of men dressed in black robes appeared and surrounded Scarrow. Then, ever so slowly, a portion of the platform floor began to rise. A large circular object lifted out of the floor, its surface carved with what looked like ancient markings and symbols. Matt estimated that it measured about twenty feet in diameter.

  "The announcer says it's a wood replica of the Aztec Calendar Stone," the woman said. "Some call it the Mexica Sun Stone, or more properly the Cuauhxicalli Eagle Bowl."

  Matt leaned in close so he could hear her translations over the sound of the bar crowd. They were starting to pay attention to what was happening on the TV screens. Their voices rose as they reacted to the images broadcast live from Teotihuacan.

  "What do the markings mean?"

  "They tell of the ancient Aztec beliefs of when the world began and when it will end. It's very complicated."

  "And when will it end?"

  She pointed to Scarrow's image. "According to him, he says there are many ancient calendars that all point to December 21."

  Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. "The old doomsday predictions about 2012. This guy has everybody in a frenzy over that impending date?"

  "He says he's going to prove he is right. There will be no doubt after tonight. Even the most skeptical will follow him when the sun comes up in the morning."

  Matt uttered something between a laugh and a sigh. "Not if he's dead."

  The level of background noise in the bar grew even more intense. Apparently, everyone was reacting to what Scarrow had just said. Turning back to the broadcast, he saw why. The large circular object had risen and tilted back at about a 20-degree angle. Matt saw that near its lower half were what appeared to be two small shelves jutting out from the surface at a slight downward angle. With the help of the black-robed men, Scarrow stepped up onto the shelves, leaned against the wood, and faced the masses and cameras.

  Then an amazing thing happened.

  Scarrow outstretched his arms. Two men, now on ladders, climbed up to where his palms were exposed. They carried long, spikes and large hammers.

  In an instant, the noise of the bar dropped to silence as the men positioned the wedged-shaped points of the spikes inside Scarrow's wrists and drew back the hammers.

  "Are you shittin' me?" Matt said.

  The hammers fell in perfect synchronization, and the bar patrons erupted in screams and gasps.

  Two strikes of the hammers sunk each of the spikes into Scarrow's wrists up to the L-shaped heads. His wail of pain cut through the bar like a bullet.

  With precision, both of the executioners dismounted the ladders. They moved to Scarrow's feet resting on the sloping shelves. Each took a spike in hand and placed the points against his skin and, with brutal force, drove the nails into the flesh, pinning both feet to the wood.

  Another hush fell over the bar. With the black-robed men standing aside, the large circular Aztec calendar rose slowly until it was upright. Blood from Scarrow's wounds flowed over the ancient symbols, staining the wood red. His face, now filling the television screens, grimaced in pain as his eyes looked to the heavens.r />
  Around the bar, Matt heard weeping and expressions of terror and disgust. Although he couldn't understand the language, it was obvious that the sight of a man actually being crucified had affected everyone in the room. He turned to find that the woman had left. He spotted her standing in a far corner, her hands covering her face as she cried.

  "This is insane." Matt looked at his watch. It was a few minutes after midnight, and he sat helpless in the middle of a bar crowded with people reeling in shock. Was it already too late for Seneca?

  ANONYMOUS CALLER 2012, MEXICO CITY

  MATT STEERED THE RENTAL away from Benito Juarez International Airport and headed west toward the center of the city. Orange pools of light from the street lamps floated in the darkness along the avenue. He glanced over at Al in the passenger seat.