The Lazarus Mysteries- Omnibus Collection

by Ken Fry

  “Where the hell did that come from?”

  They all knew right then that Bower was about to embark on a long journey.

  CHAPTER 28

  It was a long drive – three hundred and ninety kilometres and over four hours at the wheel. He was glad to get away. Events had escalated way beyond what he had envisaged. His relationship with Bower was finished. Something had happened to the man, and he wasn’t behaving normally. Bower was now an unwanted usurper.

  Shepard felt he had been more than wise. He had noticed Bower wobbling in religious uncertainty, which he had been unable to pin down. Making money was of paramount importance and the Holy Church of Lazarus was the key. Uncertainty had no place in his schemes.

  He checked his mirrors constantly to make sure he was not being followed.

  Relax.

  He was pleased at the way he had thought the whole thing through. He was doing okay. He didn’t need Bower’s endorsement or money. The guy was an obstacle to what he wanted to achieve. If anything, it was the other way around. From his observations, Bower had totally underestimated what he, Shepard, was capable of. He had foreseen events and had made plans to deal with it. He had not been idle, but he encouraged that perception.

  His USSS training had been more than useful. He knew the value of being prepared for all outcomes. In his spare time, he had purchased a VIA-2 tag that would allow him to cross the A-2 carretera de cuoto (motorway) without having to stop at the toll gates. Speed was of the utmost importance. He had sped from Pamplona, bypassed nearby Zaragoza, and was now heading to Madrid to pick up the signs to the airport. The drive down the A-2 had been smooth and uneventful. He had escaped, and Bower and the others had no idea where he was heading.

  The flight from Madrid’s Barajas Airport to Jerusalem Airport was clear and open, free from any suspicious terrorist activities. Shepard was booked on it. From there, he had made plans to reach Bethany, fifteen stadia from the Holy City with a view of the Temple Mount. Close by, he planned to visit the reputed Tomb of Lazarus at al-Eizariya, traditionally identified as the Biblical village of Bethany situated in the West Bank. The painting he carried with him was to be instrumental in a major upsurge in his followers, to keep ‘the sea of love rolling in,’ as he referred to cash contributions. The major question on his mind was whether the painting would be miraculous or not. It seemed authentic, judging from the stories of those fools. But he needed a miracle that will be witnessed by a lot of people.

  An idea began formulating in his mind.

  §

  Bower sat alone and felt as empty as a church on a Monday morning. There were moments of clarity and moments of desolation. He could not forget that he had held them all at bay with his two men and their guns, and that the maid Luciana had been shot. Now, there wasn’t a mark on her. My God, what was I doing?

  Bower was unable to stop weeping. He experienced a wash of shame that was new to him. “Forgive me. Forgive me, please.” His fleshy face trembled.

  All present went quiet and still. Seeing a hard man in the throes of redemption was not a sight often seen.

  Martha approached him. “John D. Bower, I know you well, and I know you sense this. Don’t fight it. Surrender to whatever is happening to you. You are being summoned for a purpose greater than yourself.”

  Brodie was surprised at the maturity and confidence of his young daughter. Maria held him back as he half-rose from his seat. “No, Brodie. She’s moving beyond us. Let it be.”

  Bower quivered like an aspen tree in the wind. There were no tough guys around him, no CCTV screens, no money-rattling tills, no people he could punch at or roar at – he was alone and exposed. In a few illuminating minutes, he realised that he had lived a lie. His true self lay elsewhere … something he had always suspected.

  For minutes on end, nothing was said.

  “No, I don’t believe this. It’s a load of hogwash.” Bower resumed his tough expression.

  “Well … what’re you going to do? Stay here with us and help us trace what you originally came for – or run back to your money and the life you have up to now been most happy with?”

  “That phoney scumbag has double crossed me and when I find him, he’ll pray to his God he wished he hadn’t.”

  “So, by that … are you going to help us find him?”

  “He could be anywhere or hightailing it back to the States.”

  Garcia interrupted. “I don’t think he’ll do that. I’ve seen the likes of him over the years. My bet is he’s going to be lying low for a while and gathering his followers. He’s got the means to draw down as much cash as he needs, and my research showed that his Holy Church of Lazarus already has a considerable number of supporters.”

  “Leave me alone, you lot. I need to rest and think about what I’m going to do next. I need to paint something and it’s not going to be some stupid white horse either. My paints are in my car. I suggest you all choose a room and get some rest, too. Then we can decide what to do.” He walked away.

  “He’s right,” Maria added. “We all need a break to gather our thoughts. I’m going to rest up for a while.”

  “Great. That’ll give me time to update my report and speak to my editor.” Garcia left to get his laptop.

  “I’ll do some sketches, Dad. What about you? Maybe John has some extra materials we can use.”

  “Not a bad idea. It’s been a while since I picked up a pen or brush. Who knows? We might get some inspiration.”

  Martha followed Bower to his car. “John, do you have an extra easel or two or some sketch pads we can use? It’ll help pass the time.” She smiled at him.

  Bower looked up from his trunk, surprised. “Why yes, I do. I always keep my painting stuff here, so I can work wherever I want to. Help yourself.” He gestured towards the trunk, returning her smile. He could refuse her nothing.

  Martha peered into the trunk and was filled with joy. It was an artist’s dream. There were painting and sketching supplies, even watercolours. Clearly, this man loved to do this.

  A couple of minutes later, they walked into the house carrying easels, pads, brushes and paints.

  §

  Jerusalem

  That the painting had worked before, Shepard had no doubt. The same was true in Lourdes. Ever since pilgrims and the sick – by the millions – had visited the grotto, there had been sixty-nine healings officially declared as genuine, lasting miracles. The cures by the paintings of Lazarus – since the year he had been raised from the dead – had never been counted. Who knows how many have occurred since then? From this painting alone, he could testify to two miracles … the cranky Condesa and her maid, Luciana. A good percentage that sure as hell put Lourdes to shame.

  If it didn’t work, he reckoned he’d have little difficulty in finding people who would be more than willing to attest to its authenticity. With some gentle lubrication, of course. But, if people could witness an actual miracle … Shepard sighed at the thought. He could almost see the number of people clamoring to join his church.

  First, he had to absorb the atmosphere of Bethany and the Tomb of Lazarus. It wasn’t going to be easy, but there had to be a way. This pilgrimage site could exceed Lourdes if played with care and detail. Of that, he had no doubt.

  Bower was now history. Shepard could succeed on his own, as he had for most of his life.

  It was blisteringly hot and the heat oppressive. Shepard checked in at the American Colony Hotel. After a much-needed rest, he began plotting out his agenda for the coming days. The first item he attended to was to transfer funds from the church account to his personal account.

  He ordered some food from room service and as he waited, he scoured the fat information pack in his room. He soon found what he was looking for … details of how to get to the Tomb of Lazarus. What disturbed him was that he hadn’t considered the on-going conflict between Israel and Palestine. A very high security wall had been built to separate the two. The area surrounding the tomb was now under the jurisdictio
n of the Palestinian authorities, and a Palestinian taxi driver would be needed to visit the site or the use of public transport.

  That put a damper on his plans.

  CHAPTER 29

  Maria slept on in one of the guest bedrooms, her advancing years succumbing to the assaults of time and longevity. A hush had descended on the property as if awaiting a sign or signal.

  Martha was aware of its presence. As she began her sketch, she knew that this was not normal. She looked to Brodie. His face was contorted in concentration – of things discovered yet unknown. His arms were moving swiftly across his paper.

  Outside, the wind intensified.

  She closed her eyes and was assailed by visions at once.

  Crucem Sanctam Subiit.

  He carries the Holy Cross.

  Deus Vult!

  Omnes habitatores Lazarum.

  Lazarus lives in all men.

  Using charcoal, pencil, pen and ink, she drew exactly what came into her mind.

  Brodie seemed to follow and had lapsed into a flurry of sweeping strokes and marks, as if possessed by an outside force.

  The spell broke.

  They moved around to look at what the other had produced.

  “My God!” Brodie clasped at his daughter.

  She responded and held him tight.

  They were identical.

  §

  The easel seemed unwilling as he erected its structure. Once in place, he sat down with a heavy sigh. He felt as if he was being absorbed, taken over in some way. His casinos had no connection with him or his current predicament. It felt a million miles away.

  The killing of Man One had quietly shocked him. So much so that he offered up a prayer even in his disbelief. He used Voltaire, changing the wording very slightly…

  “Oh my God, if there is a God, save his soul, if he has a soul.”

  It pacified him that he was able to offer a prayer for his dead comrade.

  Staring at the blank canvas, he felt the full extent of his corrupt life parade through his senses and the neurons of his memory. He reached for his brushes and filled his palette with different colours. Please, no more white horses.

  He dipped a brush into the colour nearest to him.

  Black.

  Specks of light and of red.

  A dark and ancient structure began to form, and he had no idea what he was creating.

  Working at speed, another hour passed by before he had rendered what was in his mind. He stepped away from what he had painted, not certain if he had been responsible for it. At first, he could not identify what he was looking at, but it became apparent as his body and mind returned to normal.

  I have to show this to Martha!

  He didn’t know why he had to show her ... but she was part of it.

  §

  Shepard regarded al-Eizariya with dismay. It looked as if God had abandoned it. Everything was small and hovel-like, not a place where something grand and wonderful could happen. Tourists sat everywhere, and it was not looking good.

  He found it uninspiring.

  The presence of a thirty-foot high wall behind the tomb – separating the Israelis and the Palestinians – increased his gloom. This was beginning to look less and less appropriate as a place to present his miracle to the adoring masses. It would probably not be allowed, nor was the location suitable at all.

  He decided to check out the tomb to see if it had a redeeming value.

  The entrance to the tomb was down via a flight of uneven rock-cut steps from the street. As it was described in 1896, there were twenty-four steps from the then-modern street level, leading to a square chamber serving as a place of prayer, from which more steps led to a lower chamber believed to have been the tomb of Lazarus.

  Shepard could barely move, and the miniature space made it necessary for him to crawl.

  Three steps connected the antechamber with the inner burial chamber (which measured a little more than two square metres in size). It contained three funerary niches (arcosolia), now mostly hidden by the Crusader masonry. According to tradition, Jesus was standing in this antechamber when he called Lazarus from the grave.

  Shepard found himself disbelieving that a man could be buried in such a tiny space. How on earth was he able to stand and walk out?

  Once out of the tomb and standing in bright sunlight, Shepard knew for certain that this was not the place to present his painting to the world.

  He could hear a guide describing the raising of Lazarus as the last miracle before the crucifixion.

  “Lazarus, as a friend of Jesus, was also under threat and was forced to flee from the authorities and certain death because his story was spreading throughout the region ... and as a friend of Jesus, many Jews were rallying around him.”

  What the guide said next got Shepard excited.

  “According to ancient Cypriot tradition, Lazarus went to Kition, Larnaca, Cyprus, where later, he was met by the Apostles Paul and Barnabas on their missionary journey through Cyprus and was ordained by them as the first Bishop of Kition.

  Cypriot tradition was not the only source of information about Lazarus. The discovery of his already ancient sarcophagus was made in 890 AD.

  Lazarus had a unique claim to fame. He was buried twice. Here at Bethany and a second time beneath a tiny church on the site of the present Ayios Lazaros church in Larnaca. His sarcophagus is inscribed with these words:

  “Lazarus, four days dead and friend of Christ.”

  Twenty-four hours later, Shepard sat aboard a Cyprus Airways flight to Larnaca.

  CHAPTER 30

  Larnaca, Cyprus

  Grecian Park Hotel

  25 Miles from City Centre

  Something about the warm sun and lying on the sunbed of his porch overlooking the pool of the Grecian Park Hotel took his mind away from the true reason he was there. The girls looked fit too. He could have booked a hotel close to the Church of Saint Lazarus near the city centre, but there was far too much noise and bustle for him to concentrate on what he had in mind.

  The city was perfect and expansive. It had all the attractions and diversions anyone could wish for. A second Lourdes or Turin was more than possible. There didn’t appear to be any casinos to have fun in nearby, but that could be a blessing in one way or another. The casinos were situated in the Turkish northern part of the island, such as the Grand Pasha, and The Golden Tulip in Nicosia. Since the recent financial crisis, gamblers were taking their money and using it in the north, much to the Greek Cypriot’s chagrin. Plans were under way to construct the first legitimate casino in the city or close by, to rectify that situation.

  Nobody knew where Shepard was, so he could take as long as he wished. Tomorrow, I’ll check out the Church of Saint Lazarus and see how it can accommodate what I’ve got in mind. The guy has been buried twice and with his bones here, it sounds like the perfect place to get a miracle or two on the go.

  He had a bottle of Bourbon in an ice bucket nearby, and he reached for it to pour himself another three-finger shot. A satisfying glow of relaxation passed through his mind and body. Life could be sweet.

  The following morning, he checked out the painting as he made a point of doing. It looked no different from the previous day, so he wrapped it and placed it back in the cupboard. Before setting out, he ensured he looked the part as a man of God and was dressed in black with his clerical collar on full display. That could open doors where others may not be permitted.

  The Church of Saint Lazarus was impressive with its bricks worn by the kiss of time. It was first built in the tenth century. Every inch and building block of the place was soaked in antiquity and reverence. Shepard took his time and absorbed the atmosphere and location, all of which looked ideal. There was plenty of space and what he could see would only enhance the provenance of the painting. Lazarus was immortalised. Of that there was no doubt, for in this building, constructed after his bones were removed to Constantinople, hung an untold mystery.

  That wasn’t
the end of the story.

  He is said to have lived for thirty more years and on his death, was buried here for the second and last time. This church, also called The Church of Ayios Lazaros, was built over his reputed (second) tomb.

  In subsequent renovations of the church, on November 2, 1972, human remains were discovered in a marble sarcophagus under the altar. They were identified as part of the saint's relics – not all were removed to Constantinople, apparently.

  So, he was still here in spirit and bone! Shepard’s excitement grew. It was enough for him.

  Also, there was a very impressive Byzantine museum located nearby, containing sacred and impressive relics. All these he saw as positive signs for a prosperous future.

  Lazarus, in his time span, was said to have been appointed as the first Bishop of Kition, now Larnaca. It was magnificent, glorious, and fitted every aspect of what he had envisaged.

  There were dates he could hang his miracles upon. On Lazarus Saturday, eight days before Easter, the icon of Saint Lazarus is paraded in a procession through the streets of Larnaca. Then, every seventeenth of December, the Catholic Feast of Saint Lazarus is celebrated. Perfect!

  A few miracle cures and Lazarus would once more be raised from the dead!

  Shepard decided he needed a place to rent or buy to use as his headquarters. A lengthy phone call back to Santa Fe and he reached Alphonse and Jeremiah, his acolytes who first told him of the Lazarus riddle.

  He spoke to Alphonse. “I want you and Jeremiah out here to help me start moving forward with my plans. When can you get here?”

  “Give us four or five days, Pastor.”