Zack saw the truck careen laterally toward him, clearly maneuvering to knock him off the highway into the deep, dry ditch at the side. At this speed, the Saab might roll or even tumble.
The distance between the two vehicles closed to within a few inches as Skylark sought to apply the coup-de-grace. Zack hit the brakes hard on the Saab, and the car immediately slowed, causing the truck to rush past. The truck’s momentum propelled it into the ditch on the right side of the road, but it did not roll or tumble: it sped along the bottom of the ditch. The driver tried to ascend the steep bank and get back onto the highway, but he overcorrected and shot up the embankment at a terrifying rate of speed.
The Saab coasted to a stop as the truck became airborne, flying across the highway and hitting a stand of pine trees about fifteen feet off the ground on the other side of the road. It burst into flames as the rear end fell crashing into the trunk of the lead tree. The front bumper was twisted around the tree trunk, and the truck hung there while it burned like a Roman candle.
Then it exploded.
CHAPTER
11
“Icar … yes, I do remember hearing or reading something about him,” said Cloe as they drove away from the posh restaurant. “But he’s not head of any state or recognized organization.”
“No, but he seems to have filled the void created by the US’s threat about withdrawing from the worldwide leadership role that it has played for decades,” said Father Anton. “Pax Americana may be ending. The world is on the verge of anarchy.”
“My God!” Cloe said, thinking about J.E. and his cohorts. “What will happen to our bases? Our embassies and our citizens abroad?”
“The Vatican Opts Center, which provides our intelligence, tells us that the US bases will be legally ceded to the host countries, but in reality, particularly in the third world, they will be overrun and looted. No US citizen will be safe.”
“Why?” she asked.
“The president says he needs the troops for martial law purposes at home.”
“I can’t understand this. How did we get here?”
“Cloe, life has changed very much, very rapidly, and the world stage has dramatically transformed,” replied Father Anton. “From an external perspective, experts disagree on whether it all started fifty years ago or five years ago. It certainly accelerated with the Arab Spring. This began the US international disengagement and its leading from behind. Government after government in the Middle East has fallen—in many cases replaced by street mobs.”
“I know about all that, but there are other countries … Germany, France, and others,” asserted Cloe.
“True, but there are also Iran, North Korea, Russia, and China to name but a few with, let us say, extreme self-interest,” responded the warrior-priest. “The US was the great counterweight to all that. Now, Libya, Tunisia, and other North African or Middle Eastern countries have become little more than fundamentalist theocracies. Assad is an Iranian puppet in Syria, and Iraq is now under the nuclear umbrella of Iran. Afghanistan is so lawless even the Russians don’t want it. Pakistan and India are again threatening each other with nuclear annihilation. Need I go on?”
“No, I get the picture,” Cloe responded wearily. “Things are as bad worldwide as they are in the United States.”
They sat silently absorbing the enormity of the world’s events as Cloe steered the car onto the highway toward the airport.
“Tell me about Albert. Have you seen him?”
“Yes, he’s as well as can be expected. He was on one of his missions from the pope investigating certain ancient artifacts on Malta when the unrest began and the government swung to the fundamentalist side. What had been a rational democracy became a despotic one-man show. The monsignor was arrested and imprisoned,” replied Father Anton. “I was able to see him a few days ago by special arrangements made by the pope.”
“How do we get him out? Are there diplomatic avenues?”
The cleric paused and stared at one of the above-ground cemeteries in New Orleans. Many of the monuments to the dead were astounding pieces of art. Cloe worried that he might not have heard her question.
“Relations with the new government are strained, so negotiations have been difficult,” replied the cleric. “Unfortunately, the government of Malta has, like many current governments, reverted to base concerns.”
“What do you mean? Base concerns? Can we get Albert out or not?”
“Yes, but the price may not be acceptable,” replied the priest.
“Unacceptable? No amount of money would be unacceptable to free Albert. The pope has the resources.”
“Yes,” said the cleric. “But …”
“No buts! Pay the money and get Albert back!” she exclaimed.
The priest paused for a moment.
“Cloe, it’s not money they want,” he finally said.
CHAPTER
12
“Shit!” said the thin, needle-nosed man to himself as he watched the giant approach him on the subway platform. It was like a hundred or maybe even a thousand other dirty subway stations in New York. It was just his damn bad luck that this one had a giant in it. Okay, he had lifted the lady’s purse and had stolen her cash—but why would the gargantuan stranger have cared about that?
The man was now within spitting distance.
“Hey, I’ll give it back!” shouted Louie. “What’s it to you anyway?”
The big man kept coming. He was dressed like some kind of hayseed freak in overalls and a long-sleeved flannel shirt—and he was just plain damned ugly.
Louie fancied himself a pickpocket, but in truth he had no such skills and was merely a petty thief. At least I’m not a drug dealer or user, he thought to himself—none of that bottom-of-the-barrel crap. There were others lots worse. Being not as bad as the worst was something to be said. He was not sure his mom would be proud.
Louie considered running. He was very good at that. But the giant rube had him bottled up in a corner of the platform. If he ran in any direction, he would still be within reach of the man’s long arms. Any way he looked at it, he was shit outta luck.
Louie took out the cash he had stolen from the old woman and pushed it in the man’s general direction. With his other hand, he fingered the switchblade he had in his pants pocket. Louie favored guns, but the freakin’ cops in New York were on a tear about guns. He had a gun, a sweet nine mil automatic. It was stashed at his place. With his sheet, if he were caught with it, he would be doing federal hard time. No excuses, no mea culpas.
Louie wasn’t afraid, figuring it would be one thing or the other. But he wasn’t gonna let anybody, giant or not, beat the crap out of him over some old bitch’s stupid purse. If this dung heap farmer wanted a piece of him, he would get it—pointy end first.
The giant eyed the cash, and Louie could have sworn the man was going to break his arm off at the elbow. Instead, he reached into his denim overalls and searched for something. Who the hell wears overalls in New York? His meaty hand, the size of a catcher’s mitt, produced a card.
The man studied the card for a moment as if to make sure he had the correct addressee and then reached out, dropping the card on top of the bills in Louie’s outstretched palm. Louie withdrew his hand quickly, seizing the contents.
The giant did a one-eighty and headed back up the platform at a brisk pace. Louie stood stunned, watching him go. As the eight o’clock roared into the station, he glanced down at the card.
All it said was “3.”
CHAPTER
13
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” cried Doris, as she watched the truck and the entire pine stand burn, lighting up the night sky.
Zack nudged the Saab to the point of the road nearest the conflagration. Smoke drifted toward them, and he could feel the heat from the fire. He could see no movement in the engulfed cab of the truck.
&nbs
p; “What do we do?” shrieked Mel. “He’s dead! No one could have survived that.”
“We do precisely nothing,” Zack replied. “He’s dead. Nothing can be done for him. No one but us knows about this.”
“But we have to go to the cops and report this,” said Mel. “It’s our duty.”
“What cops? There’s only the military and martial law,” said Zack.
The military were big-picture people. If there were battles to be fought, they were the ones to call. Crime, even serious crimes like murder, by their standards, was small ball. Soldiers were not designed or trained to be cops. Nobody would care about Skylark.
“What do we do now?” asked Mel.
“We’re going to New Orleans,” said Zack, putting the Saab in gear. “Do you still feel pulled in that direction?”
“Yes, I still feel it strongly,” she said.
“Pull? What are you talking about?” asked Doris.
“Doris, you may not be part of all this,” said Mel. “Have you recently been approached by a giant stranger who gave you an odd business card?”
In spite of the gruesome situation, Doris laughed as they resumed their trek to the interstate.
“Giant stranger? What?” she sputtered, giggling. “I saw a big clown in a polka-dot suit at the fair but no giants. What in the world are y’all talking about?”
Zack looked at Mel. What they had to say would sound crazy. Still, there was nothing to do but to fill her in on what had happened. Afterward, Doris sat back and stared at them.
“It’s hard to say,” she said after a while. “Nobody gave me a card, but I still feel a pull from New Orleans.”
“That’s new and interesting,” said Zack.
“Doris, tell us something about yourself. Where are you from?” asked Mel.
“New Orleans, born and raised. Everyone I know lives there,” she responded, smiling.
CHAPTER
14
“Tony, if it’s not money they want to release Albert from prison, what do they want?” Cloe asked, flabbergasted at the direction the conversation had taken. Surely something could be done to get the monsignor back.
“It’s something belonging to the Church, to the pope,” said Father Anton. “It’s symbolic and precious. It’s an unforgivable demand.”
“But what is it?” Cloe was losing patience as they drove onward. Because she had come prepared, they were able to head directly from the restaurant to the airport.
“I will tell you, but first, while you were getting the car, I relayed your message to the pope, and he has asked me to bring you immediately to Rome for a personal meeting so you can brief him on your findings.”
“Well, that’s progress,” said Cloe.
“Yes, the pope trusts you and knows you would not have called without good reason,” replied the cleric.
“I’m sure the pope will want to hear what I have,” said Cloe. “But it’s just me this time. J.E. isn’t here. He’s in the Middle East somewhere on a mission.”
“Cloe,” Father Anton paused, concern showing on his face, “J.E. isn’t in the Middle East. As we speak, he has been attached to the pope’s personal intelligence division by special request through the State Department. He’s in Rome, at the Vatican.”
“My God! J.E.’s in the middle of all that’s happening,” said Cloe, absorbing the priest’s revelation.
“Yes, he is. Cloe, the pope believes he needs you in this fight, and your call has caused him to think he needs to hear from you now.”
“Yes,” she said, realizing that once again she and J.E. would be in harm’s way. “Yes, I need to see the pope.”
“Cloe, you are a trained ancient languages expert, fluent in ancient Greek, Phoenician, and Aramaic. You have firsthand knowledge of the contents of at least some of the ancient jars recovered from Tunisia. The pope believes some of what you have learned may be relevant in this new fight.”
“A new fight? Is it new, or is it just the continuing battle?” Cloe was becoming agitated. She was only a few years away from nearly losing her life in battles with the Kolektor and then with his successor, the Karik. “It seems evil does not rest.”
“You and the pope can discuss this. He is fully aware of world events. He believes there is more to all this than mere coincidence,” Father Anton assured her.
“More than mere coincidence?” she queried. “Do you mean the pope already suspects there’s some link between my research of the journal, the contents of the other jars, and current events?”
“This I cannot say, Cloe. What I do know is the pope is extremely interested in your journal research and, particularly, what the monsignor has reported as to the possible Jesus conversation with St. John that appears to be in the journal.”
“Yes,” she said. “I am more certain than ever of the connection.”
“Do you realize that this dialogue is reported nowhere else in any literature?” asked the priest. “In all of time, no document, no oral tradition has contained this conversation. It is unique.”
“Yes,” repeated Cloe.
“Do you have any idea what this means?” asked Father Anton.
“Yes, I do,” said Cloe. “It means I’m going to Rome.”
CHAPTER
15
“Mom!” cried Robby as he crashed through the screen door of his Harrison Street home and ran toward the kitchen in the back of the house.
“Whoa! Slow down,” his mother said as he entered the kitchen. “What’s all this?” She smiled down at the gangly, curly-headed seven-year-old, now going on eight as he always reminded her.
“Mom, I was over in the park, and this big guy came over to me,” said Robby.
Immediately, his mother’s ears zeroed in. She really didn’t like him wandering around City Park, but it was only a few blocks from the little elementary school where he attended second grade, and lots of children went there after school. She had constantly warned Robby about strangers.
“Did he approach you? What happened?” she asked, kneeling and wrapping his small hands in hers.
“Yes,” said the boy. “He was huge. He must have been ten feet tall.”
“Ten feet?” asked his mother, recognizing Robby’s penchant to exaggerate.
“Yeah, at least ten feet,” he confirmed. “Maybe more. He was dressed in overalls and looked like a farmer. He had big black boots on. His hair was as white as Santa’s. Mom!” he exclaimed in sudden realization. “Could he have been Santa?”
“It seems a little early for Santa, don’cha think?” she responded, amused and concerned at once.
“Yeah,” said Robby, clearly disappointed. “Still, it might have been an elf, ’cause he did bring me something. But he would’ve been a really big elf, like the guy in the movie.”
Robby’s mother laughed.
“Robby, you’re something else,” she said. “Well, what did Santa or his really large elf bring you?”
“Well, he brought me a dog,” said Robby cautiously. “Mom, can I keep him?”
“A dog? Oh my God! What in the world?”
“I want a pet. Please, Mom,” pleaded Robby.
“Right, and you will have one,” said Robby’s mother. “But you aren’t quite old enough to take care of a pet.”
“What am I going to do then?” asked Robby. “I don’t know how to find the man and give it back.”
“Give it back?” asked his mom, walking toward the door. “Show me, young man.”
Robby knew he was in trouble when his mother used that kind of language. He hung his head and shuffled toward the front door after her.
“Come on, Mom. Bully’s outside tied to my bike in the driveway,” said Robby reluctantly.
“Bully?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Robby. “That’s his name.”
When he and his
mother walked down the front steps, Robby’s bike wasn’t in the driveway, and there was no dog.
“Where’s your bike?” his mother asked.
“I left it right here in the driveway,” he responded, looking left and right.
They turned and followed the driveway up to the carport, and there was the bike, at the end of a strong leather tether tied to a very large English bulldog. The dog, which looked to weigh upwards of ninety to one hundred pounds, was patiently sitting in the shade, having dragged the bike behind him onto the cool concrete.
“Oh my God!” his mother cried. “I’ve never seen one this big. Where did you get this dog?”
“I told you! From the giant,” Robby said, kneeling and scratching the dog’s chin. “He really likes it when I do this.”
“But … but,” said his mother. “Robby, this dog is huge. He weighs more than you do. And it looks like he’s a purebred. He must have cost someone a pretty penny.”
“He’s smart too,” said Robby. “He knows stuff. Can I keep him?”
“No, Robby. The dog is valuable, and you are too young to manage him. We have to go and find the man who gave you the dog. It must be some mistake,” said his mother.
Robby got down and scratched the dog’s neck and massive shoulders, and the dog grunted in satisfaction, an angelic look of love passing over his otherwise pugnacious expression. Slowly, the massive body rolled over, and the dog lay flat on the hard carport surface. A long, canine fang protruded from each end of a line of short teeth. Just then, the dog yawned, and the mouth widened into a huge chasm that looked like it could gobble a basketball.
“Robby, what else did the man do? Did he say anything? We need to track him down so we can give him back his dog.”
Robby looked stricken, but he stood and began to search his pockets. He eventually held out a small fist with something balled up inside it.
His mother accepted the sweaty, wadded-up piece of cardboard and smoothed it out. It appeared to be some sort of business card.
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