The Swagger Sword

by David S. Brody

  Marcotte bowed his head as he accepted the key. “Thank you, Cameron. You are as generous as you are brave.”

  “Brave. Hah.” Brian sneered. “He’s still afraid his other choice is my apes start cutting off his fingers.”

  Monsignor Marcotte had sent out for sandwiches, Brian had given Cam back his phone, and the Grand Master had shown them all to small dormitory-type rooms on the ground floor which the members apparently slept in if they over-imbibed while at the Lodge.

  Cam stretched out on his cot and closed his eyes, trying to find a comfortable position for his neck. He would sort out the Marcotte lies and betrayals later; at least, it seemed, he had not been responsible for Ruthie’s death and the attacks on Cam. But for now they were still in danger. The involvement of Vatican extremists in all this clearly raised the stakes. There were Catholic citizens loyal to the Church, and presumably extreme factions of the Church, in almost every corner of America. One of the few places the Church did not wield influence was here, in a Masonic Lodge. The Vatican had long opposed Freemasonry, the official position being that one could not be a Catholic in good standing and also be a Freemason. Cam had heard rumors that the Masons, fearing the Church and other enemies, had built their older Lodges like this as virtually impenetrable fortresses, equipped to withstand an onslaught and also featuring escape tunnels leading to safe houses in the surrounding neighborhoods. Marcotte had chosen their safe haven wisely. Not that it really mattered: At some point they would need to leave the Lodge and go retrieve the scroll.

  The ten-minute catnap rejuvenated Cam. By the time they recongregated, this time around a massive conference room table in the Lodge library, it was nearing eight o’clock. Marcotte sat at the head of the table, with Grand Master Silva at the foot. Astarte had insisted on joining them; she sat between Cam and Amanda on one side of the table, opposite Emanuela who was flanked by Roberto and Brian.

  Cam began by thanking the Grand Master for the accommodations—the common men’s room was far preferential to the rancid bathroom in Brian’s motel room. But the thought of the priceless scroll sitting in the heating vent turned his stomach. What if the Vatican hardliners somehow beat them to it? Or what if a rodent dragged it away? They needed a plan, something to take his mind off of the what-ifs. He voiced his concerns, without revealing that the scroll had been moved. “By the time the weekend is over, the Vatican extremists will have figured out the scroll is in the bank vault. There’s no way we can just waltz in there and take it away.”

  “That’s why I’ve enlisted the assistance of the Grand Master,” Marcotte said. “I agree, agents of the Vatican hardliners likely will be at the bank, waiting for one of us to try to retrieve the scroll. We should assume our faces are known to them. As Cameron said, there is no way we can just waltz in.” He angled his chin toward the Grand Master. Cam noticed wrinkle lines on the monsignor’s face and circles under his eyes he had never seen before; though still composed and charismatic, Marcotte was no longer a young man. “Many of the Lodge brothers are members of various trades. Plumbers, electricians, carpenters, cleaners. Perhaps our host has some ideas as to how we might access that vault room.” He lifted his chin and looked to the opposite end of the table. “Ferdinand?”

  Grand Master Silva was a heavyset man in his forties. He removed his hat to reveal a shaved head, contrasting with his full, dark beard. “I’ve made some calls.” He spoke in a low voice, the way men did when they knew others would be listening attentively. “We have a brother who owns an extermination company. He has the contract for Citizens Bank. Perhaps one or two of you could go in as a member of the crew. But that building is not due for a treatment for another couple of weeks.”

  “So we need to create a situation,” Brian said.

  Cam thought quickly. “We had a mouse die in our heating vent once. It stunk. Absolutely unbearable. I would think a bank would consider something like that an emergency, maybe even a health hazard.” He played it out in his mind. “But even if we got in there, into the vault room, we need the bank clerk and her master key to get into our box.”

  Brian grinned. “I can pick it. You said these are old boxes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Those old locks are pretty basic. Banks are focused on keeping people out of the main vault, not the safe deposit boxes. Should only take me a minute or two.”

  Cam nodded. “The safe deposit boxes are in the basement. Exterminators would need to get down there to do their job.”

  “Good. Keep going, I like it,” Marcotte said. “How do we get a dead mouse, or mice, or rats into the building’s heating system?”

  “It’s not hard,” Brian said. “You just pop open the cover of a return vent, drop some bait in, stick a few rats in, and then close the cover. The rats will eat the poison and die someplace in the ductwork. I knew a guy who did it once to torment his ex-girlfriend.”

  Cam shook his head. It was just the type of thing Brian would know how to do. “And where do you get the rats to begin with?”

  “Shit, you’ve gotten soft, Cam. Go find a dumpster in an alley. You can’t not find a rat.”

  Amanda was pleased to have some alone time while the Grand Master gave Astarte and Cam a tour of the Lodge. She had been dying to translate the ketubah. Which was a great sign, she realized. It had been months since she felt, well, passionate about something. Her malaise was, it seemed, finally behind her. She would need to tell Cam. She smiled to herself. And to thank him in, well, a passionate way.

  After bolting the door of her dormitory room, she sat at a small desk and used a laptop the Grand Master lent her to download a picture of the scroll she had saved on the cloud. She studied the text, trying to find a similar script online, but without luck. “I’m going at this assbackwards,” she declared. “We’re pretty sure it’s a bloody ketubah.” She quickly learned that Jewish marriage contracts during the time of Christ were written in Aramaic, the common language of the time, so that the parties to the contract could read and understand it. She found an example of ancient Aramaic. Bingo. The scroll text matched.

  Next, she found a translation of an ancient ketubah and wrote it out. She compared the ancient ketubah script to the scroll they had found. With a few exceptions, the text matched—she guessed the exceptions were things like names and dates and locations. Using an Aramaic translator she found online, she translated the twenty or so words that did not correspond. It required a bit of guesswork—the Aramaic word for spouse was also the word for cloud—but after an hour-and-a-half of work, she was able to scribble a rough translation of the ketubah onto a sheet of yellow legal paper, leaving out some of the more mundane economic details:

  “On Yom Revi’i, the twelfth day of Adar in the year 3786 since the creation of the world, here in the city of Cana, Jeshua, son of Joseph and of Mary, said to this virgin, the Hasmonian princess Mary of Migdal, daughter of Syrus and of Eucharia: ‘Be thou my friend and wife in covenant according to the law of Moses and Israel, and I will work for thee, honor, support, and maintain thee in accordance with the custom of Jewish husbands. And I will set aside for thee 400 silver coins, in lieu of thy virginity, which belongs to thee according to the law of Moses, and live with thee in conjugal relations according to universal custom.’ And this virgin consented and became his wife. The dowry that she brought from her father’s house amounts to 200 silver coins. And thus said the bridegroom, ‘All my property, even the mantle on my shoulders, shall be mortgaged for the security of this contract and of the dowry.’ The bridegroom has taken upon himself the responsibility for all the obligations of this ketubah, as is customary with other ketubahs made for the daughters of Israel in accordance with the institution of our sages—may their memory be for a blessing! It is not to be regarded as an illusory obligation or as a mere form of document, and everything is valid and established.”

  Beneath this paragraph, two witnesses, their names written out in Hebrew, had signed.

  Amanda sat back. Her head spun. Was she
really looking at the marriage contract between Jesus and Mary Magdalene? Much of the language was rote, but there were a few details that caught her eye. The first was the obvious reference to Cana, the wedding referenced in the New Testament at which Jesus miraculously caused wine to appear. No wonder the Virgin Mary had been so distressed at the thought of running out of wine—she had, apparently, been cohosting the event. Next, the language of the original ketubah (and other ketubahs Amanda found) referred to the bride simply as ‘my wife.’ In this ketubah, Jesus referred to Mary Magdalene more elaborately as ‘my friend and my wife in covenant,’ which connoted a much more co-equal relationship. Monsignor Marcotte would surely appreciate that, as did Amanda. Third, the bride price of 400 silver coins was double that recited in the sample ketubah. With a quick internet search, Amanda learned that a “premium” price of 400 silver coins was customarily paid for brides with royal blood. Finally, the ketubah specifically and repeatedly referred to Mary Magdalene as a virgin, contrary to longstanding Catholic tradition identifying her as La Pinta, the prostitute.

  Amanda deleted the search memory and turned off the laptop. Folding the sheet of legal paper into a small yellow rectangle, she slipped it into her bra and rushed from the room.

  She needed to find Cam. And he needed to find that ketubah.

  Later that night, approaching midnight, Brian and Roberto drove back into Providence to place the rats and poison in the bank’s ductwork. They had enhanced the plan and intended to put a few dead rats into the vents along with live ones, just in case the live ones didn’t take the bait. The inclusion of the already-dead rats would also accelerate the spread of the stench. Cam was happy not to be included. He, like most people, was repulsed by rats. And it gave him a chance to pull Monsignor Marcotte aside for a private conversation in a small office near the entrance to the main Lodge room.

  Energized by Amanda’s translation of the ketubah, but equally fearful of its ramifications, Cam grabbed a wooden box off a shelf as he entered. “You know what this is?”

  Marcotte offered a tired smile. “It looks like the case I used to keep my baseball cards in when I was a kid.”

  “It’s a voting box. Every Freemason is given two marbles, one white and one black. When a new member is being voted on, they line up and secretly drop one of their marbles into this box. At the end, when they open the lid on the box, if there is even a single black marble, the candidate is rejected.”

  Marcotte nodded. “Blackballed.” He rubbed his eyes. “It’s getting late, Cameron. We should get some sleep. What’s your point?”

  “Brian Heenan is my point. There’s a reason the Freemasons don’t want reprobates in their organization. It’s the same reason people like you and I shouldn’t associate with the Brian Heenans of the world.”

  “And that reason is?”

  Cam was surprised Marcotte was being so obtuse. He had always, at least until today, thought his friend had a strong moral compass. “Morality. Ethics. Scruples. Decency. Call it what you want.” Not to mention safety. People like Brian had a habit of leaving their coconspirators dead in a ditch.

  Marcotte linked his fingers and held them under his chin as if in prayer. “I don’t disagree with you. But there’s an expression I’ve come to appreciate in the winter of my life. I believe it is from Bulgaria. It goes like this: In times of great danger, you are permitted to walk with the devil across the bridge.” He smiled. “This is one of those times. We—and by that I mean society—are in great danger. Brian is the devil who can help us across the bridge.”

  “How so?”

  “I needed the sword to find the ketubah, and Brian had it. The clues engraved on the back side were, I believed, a crucial piece to this puzzle.” He looked to Cam for confirmation.

  “Yes. We would not have known where to dig in Cumberland without it.”

  “So, as I said, I needed Brian’s sword. And he wants to profit from our find. So I made a deal.” He leaned forward. “A necessary deal.” He lowered his eyes. “And, yes, I lied to you as part of it. I needed you. And you would never have agreed to spend time with him if you hadn’t thought he was dying, right?”

  Cam shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. But you could have asked.”

  Marcotte shook his head. “No. The stakes are too high. I could leave nothing to chance.” He reached out and covered Cam’s hand with his own. “Even if it meant jeopardizing our friendship.”

  Cam remained silent, still not ready to forgive the priest. And still not totally trusting him. If the stakes were truly that high, what was preventing him from lying again?

  The monsignor continued. “We needed your cooperation, your help. We weren’t even certain you would commit to chasing the treasure; we had Emmy tell Astarte about Brian visiting the farm with his sword to intrigue you, to keep you focused on the quest.” He leaned forward. “But I didn’t lie to you when I said I think Brian Heenan is a reformed man. At his core, I sense goodness.”

  Cam rolled his eyes. “Goodness? That’s what you call it? I call it greed.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Look, I get that you sometimes need to make a deal with the devil. But don’t delude yourself into thinking you’re dealing with someone good.”

  Marcotte turned his hands up to the ceiling. “Perhaps. But I maintain that your old friend may, in the end, surprise you.” He smiled. “And now he’s putting dead rats in the bank’s heating ducts—a perfect job for our new friend, the devil, don’t you think?”

  Cam ignored the question. “And how do the wise Bulgarians suggest you get rid of the devil once you’ve let him into your life?”

  “Money. That’s what Brian says he wants. If it comes to that, I have plenty to give. But perhaps a payoff won’t be necessary.”

  Cam shook his head. No. The priest was being blind. Cam knew Brian. Getting rid of him would not be easy, payoff or not.

  As was her custom, Gabriella Difonzo arrived at the bank fifteen minutes early for her appointment, this one with a locksmith. She stood by the rear door as a light snow fell, taking shelter from a cold wind in the stairwell. Out of the corner of her eye a passing car headlight reflected off something shiny. A phone, tucked into a crevice in the concrete. She pocketed it just as Mr. Knotts ambled across the parking lot toward her.

  Ten minutes later, the locksmith pulled up in a beige pickup truck. She strode out to meet him. It was the Saturday morning of a holiday weekend, but contracts like these, where the bank would pass the cost of the locksmith on to the box holder, were like a license to print money. No doubt the locksmith would charge triple his normal fee. Even so, it had been impossible to get someone to come out the night before, despite Gabriella’s best efforts. She had barely slept, wondering what historical relic could possibly have been secreted in the safe deposit box. From the looks of things, Mr. Knotts had not slept either. But his concern centered on what might have been removed from the box, whereas Gabriella was focused on what had been left behind.

  She led the locksmith, a heavy-set man with pants too long and a droopy walrus-like mustache, through the back door, down the hall, and into the vault room. Mr. Knotts sat at the center table reading the business section of the newspaper. Gabriella pointed. “Number 2173.”

  The locksmith peered at the lock and grunted. Turning, he waddled out of the room, presumably to retrieve the necessary tools. Mr. Knotts lowered his newspaper and sniffed. “What is that horrid smell?” he asked.

  Gabriella had a bit of a cold, but she noticed it also. “It’s worse in here than in the hallway.”

  “It smells like a dead animal.”

  “I didn’t notice it yesterday.”

  Mr. Knotts stood. “I’m going upstairs to check the rest of the bank.”

  He returned five minutes later, just as the locksmith did. The locksmith strung an extension cord to the wall and put on a pair of dirty goggles in preparation for drilling the box. Mr. Knotts barely paid attention. “The smell has permeated the entire bank.” His round face gliste
ned with sweat. “I am going to call an exterminator. If we wait until Tuesday, it could be unbearable.”

  Gabriella ignored him. She stood behind the reticent locksmith, watching the metal drill bore slowly penetrating the outer case of the box. “Careful,” she yelled over the sound of the drill. “Don’t damage what might be inside.”

  He grunted in acknowledgment, metal shards flying from the box and settling on his beard. With a final screech, the bit burst through. He withdrew the drill and removed his goggles. Instead of opening the box, he removed the extension cord and began to coil it. “That can wait,” Gabriella snapped. “Please remove the box and place it on the table.”

  He grunted again, complying with her request. As he hoisted it out, he shook it. “Feels empty.”

  Now he finally talks? Gabriella wished she could box his ears like the nuns used to do to recalcitrant students. “Gently, or you’ll be paying for any damage,” she hissed. “Set it down and leave the room.”

  As the door to the vault clicked close, she lifted the lid of the box with a shaking hand. Mr. Knotts leaned in, the coffee on his breath unpleasant even over the pungency of the dead rodents. But neither stench was as offensive as the light reflecting off the inside of an empty safe deposit box.

  Monsignor Marcotte walked into the basement kitchen of the Grand Lodge as Cam, Amanda and Astarte picked at a late breakfast. Cam peeled a banana. He needed to stay sharp. This whole game was a tightrope walk, with irrational personalities like Brian and Emanuela and even the monsignor playing the parts of wind gusts. And it wasn’t just himself, but also Amanda and Astarte, at risk.

  The priest smiled. “We got lucky. The call just came in from the bank. They need an exterminator ASAP.”

  “Looks like you finally chose Brian for a job he’s well-suited for,” Amanda remarked.