by J. F. Penn
The man on the phone would keep Naomi safe until the exchange in three days, which gave them time to figure out how to get her back and keep the relics.
His phone beeped.
A text from Naomi’s number. Pictures of a box of bone inlaid with tiny rubies, its surface patterned with a map outlined in blood. Jake enlarged it, squinting at the lines. The scale made it hard to see, but one precious stone did indeed sit over the islands of the Philippines in the Western Pacific.
Jake forwarded it to Martin to narrow down possible locations. He called Morgan back.
“Change of plan. Don't come to New Orleans. We need to get the other three relics in the next three days and exchange the whole lot of them for Naomi.”
“Tall order,” Morgan said. “I hope you know where they are.”
“One’s in the Philippines. Another in Peru. The final one is in San Francisco, where we do the exchange.”
The sound of footsteps as Morgan paced her room. “All places once ruled by the Spanish Empire. Makes sense but it’s a pretty big area to search.”
“Let's start with the Philippines – go the furthest distance first. By the time we both get there, Martin should have some leads.”
“I’ll see you in the Philippines then.”
Jake smiled as Morgan ended the call. A glimmer of hope flickered into life. This mission hadn’t turned out the way he’d expected, but he would soon have his partner back.
Charity Hospital, New Orleans, USA.
Naomi heard the rhythmic beep of monitors and smelled the heavy scent of lilies with an undertone of antiseptic as she swam into consciousness. Her eyelids were heavy but even with them closed, she sensed she was somewhere medical. She scanned her body for injuries, finding nothing but the sluggish aftermath of whatever she had been drugged with. Her mind flashed back to her last memory of the bayou.
Jake.
She opened her eyes and tried to sit up, held back by metal shackles around her wrists even as she took in her surroundings. A private medical suite with top-of-the-range equipment, white walls, a green curtain pulled around her.
The curtain swished as it was pulled back by an older man with the elegant features of a patrician Spaniard. He leaned on an ebony walking cane, his back twisted with some kind of congenital disease.
“Good. You’re awake.” The man’s smile was friendly, but his eyes were hooded, like a snake mesmerizing its prey.
“Where am I? Where’s Jake? How did I get here?”
The man held his hand up to stop her questions, his authority clear. Naomi fell silent, heart pounding as she realized she was a long way from any help.
“I’m Luis Rey, and this is my daughter, Elena.” He stepped sideways, pulling the curtain further open to reveal a young girl in another hospital bed close by, her face pale and sick. Her fragile body twisted under the sheets with what looked like an advanced stage of the same disease her father suffered. She moaned in her sleep, frowning in pain. Naomi’s heart beat faster, seeing in the little girl a shadow of her lost sister, Esther.
Luis stepped forward and took his daughter’s hand. “You’re here to save her life.”
Cebu City, Philippines.
Morgan walked out of the private airport terminal, looking around expectantly. Martin had managed to get her on a military transport from Spain, and she had spent the flight reading up on the spread of Catholicism under the Spanish Empire. She was desperate to discuss it all with Jake, but she couldn’t see him. Her heart sank a little. She hefted her bag over one shoulder and walked toward the taxi ranks. He was probably waiting outside.
A group of tourists moved on behind their guide, and suddenly, he was there.
Jake stood at a coffee bar, reading a local paper. He had more than a few days’ worth of dark stubble and his shirt was crumpled, but he held his athletic frame with readiness. Morgan knew how swiftly he could move if he needed to. Her heart beat a little faster, and she couldn’t stop the smile that dawned at seeing him again.
He looked up, and his amber eyes caught hers. He smiled back across the crowded terminal, and they both walked toward each other, dodging the tourists and business commuters.
As they reached each other, Jake pulled Morgan into his arms. She leaned into his embrace, feeling the strong muscles in his back under her hands. She closed her eyes and for a moment, let his heart beat against hers. They stood for a second longer than friends would.
Then they pulled apart.
“Have you heard from Naomi?”
Jake shook his head. “Just a picture sent by her kidnapper to show that she’s alive. Let’s keep her that way. We only have a few days to find the relics.”
Morgan grinned. “We’ve had worse odds.”
Jake laughed but then looked at her more closely. Morgan was aware of the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the taut muscles in her jaw that the painkillers didn’t quite relax.
“Are you OK to do this? It looks like you're limping. How are your burns?”
Morgan took a deep breath. “You remember how it felt after that ton of bones fell on you at the Sedlec ossuary?”
Jake shook his head. “I'll never forget it.”
“It's a bit like that. Only a flesh wound.” She grimaced a little. “Honestly, I want to be here, Jake. I want to be on this mission. Naomi might have been safe if I had come with you in the first place, so this is just as much my responsibility as it is yours.”
They walked back to the coffee table, and Jake opened up a text.
“Martin tracked the phone. The man who has Naomi is Luis Rey, a billionaire whose wealth stems from the Spanish Empire, and now runs a lab spearheading immortality research, backed by the military – unofficially, of course.” He gave a wry smile. “He also has a daughter who suffers from a congenital disease that Rey thinks the relic may cure. So, Marietti wants us to stay on mission. Given what’s at stake, he’s confident that Naomi will be safe until the exchange so we’ll see how far we can get before then.”
He pulled out a map of the Philippines. “Any thoughts on where to start looking?”
Morgan pointed at the Northern islands. “I’ve been reading Martin’s research on the flight. The explorer Magellan claimed the Philippines for the King of Spain in 1521, when the Spanish began converting the locals and trading in the area. They ruled the Philippines for 333 years, and it’s still predominantly Catholic. Many of the oldest churches are in Manila, but there are also Spanish settlements dotted around the islands in the central and south.”
“So where should we start? We don’t have much time, so we can’t go north and south – unless we split up.”
Jake looked at her, and she saw hesitation in his eyes. Now they were back together again, neither of them wanted to be apart so soon.
She shook her head. “That shouldn’t be necessary. We just need to make a choice. Based on the relics so far, it seems most likely that the finger bones were carried by missionary friars. There’s a place in Manila that fits the profile – Quiapo Church which holds the statue of the Black Nazarene.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “If that links Africa with Spain, then it fits with some of what I learned in the bayou.”
His expression was troubled. Morgan reached for his hand. “Are you going to tell me what happened there?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m not really sure myself, to be honest. I’ll save it for when we have time to reflect, but what about this Black Nazarene?”
Morgan brought out her smart phone and swiped to the pictures that Martin had provided. “It’s one of the most popular objects of devotion in the Philippines. Millions come to the annual Traslación, the Savior’s passage around the city.”
Jake leaned in to look at the picture. “Funky outfit.”
The kneeling Christ was clothed in a maroon velvet tunic embroidered in gold with lace around its neck and cuffs in the Spanish traditional style. A golden crown of thorns on his head supported three rays of light signifying his divinity. He k
nelt on a wooden platform, carrying his cross toward the crucifixion, eyes fixed on heaven above.
Morgan looked into the face of the Black Nazarene, puzzled anew by the Catholic obsession with physical representations of the divine. In the Jewish tradition of her father, God was unseeable, unknowable. Reducing him to this human condition weakened him. But perhaps that was what made the Savior more accessible to the downtrodden, to those who suffered every day in a country with some of the most densely populated cities on earth.
The statue’s skin was not really black, more a burnished mahogany, his features carved with the care and devotion of a true believer.
“He’s carved from mesquite wood and comes from Mexico or New Spain back in the days of Empire. The statue arrived in the Philippines in 1606 along with missionaries and traders.”
Jake frowned. “That’s too early, isn’t it?”
Morgan nodded, then zoomed in on the photo. “But look at this, his fingers are missing and there are lines in some local histories that refer to relics replacing them over time.”
Jake leaned back and took a sip of his coffee. “I don’t know. It feels different from the ones we’ve found so far. The Brotherhood haven’t flaunted any of the other relics. Quite the opposite, in fact. They’ve been hidden. But this Black Nazarene is so high profile. Any other options?”
Morgan bent to the map, tracing the thousands of islands that made up the Philippines as she examined the names. She stopped suddenly, her finger on a tiny land mass in the middle of the blue.
Jake smiled. “Now that looks more like it.”
Camiguin, Philippines.
The tiny plane swooped over turquoise white-capped waves as it came down to land on the volcanic island of Camiguin. Morgan looked out the window, her forehead pressed against the glass as she gazed down at the idyllic paradise ringed by white sand beaches and offshore reefs with a mountainous interior of lush green forest.
It didn't seem like the kind of place to come searching for the dead, but Spanish explorers had settled here in 1598, building a watchtower that looked over the sea to keep an eye out for pirates. The settlement had been home for Spanish and locals alike for two hundred years before it had been destroyed by the birth of Mount Vulcan in 1871. A fissure opened up near the village of Catarman, destroying the town, and now the ruins of the Spanish church, bell tower and cemetery lay peacefully beneath the blue Bohol Sea.
Morgan turned to Jake seated next to her. “It’s so beautiful. No wonder the Spanish settled here. Martin's research said that this is one of the oldest settlements and a Spanish Franciscan friar from the same college as Junípero Serra came to this island, a possible link to the Hand of Ezekiel.”
Jake leaned over to get a better look. “It makes more sense that the relic was kept here, away from highly populated areas. What better place than a remote island?”
After landing, they hefted their packs off the plane and walked down the steps. It was hot and humid, definitely tropical, and Morgan took a deep breath, enjoying the balmy air on her skin and the scent of flowers on the sea breeze.
A young Filipino man stood waiting at the edge of the tarmac. He waved as they walked toward his Jeep, the back section loaded up with dive gear and spare tanks ready for their excursion to the sunken city.
“Welcome to the island born of fire. I’m Amado.” His smile was wide with the good humor of the locals, famous for their welcome. “Get in, get in, we should dive before dusk falls.”
Amado drove them along the main road around the island, past turnoffs for waterfalls and protected hiking areas. “There are many things to do here,” he explained with enthusiasm. “I can show you once you've finished your dive. You can swim at our famous cascades with orchids and ferns, or perhaps you might like to see the famous Camiguin Hanging Parrot or the hawk owl. We get many birdwatchers here. Or the hot springs. You can relax there with a glass of wine and look out over the ocean.”
Jake groaned. “That sounds exactly what I want to do. If only we had the time.”
Morgan looked over at him and wondered if she and Jake would ever get to spend time relaxing and drinking wine in a hot pool together.
Somehow she doubted it.
There was always another mission, another moment where evil could break through the thin membrane between this world and beyond. But the thought of sipping a crisp sauvignon blanc looking out to the blue horizon while the apocalypse went on without them was definitely tempting right now.
They turned off-road onto a track toward the beach, the Jeep jolting over rocks, bouncing up and down on the stones. Morgan winced as every bump scraped her shorts over the burns on her legs. She turned her face away to look out the window, hiding her expression as pain lanced through her.
Jake didn't know the extent of her injuries, and she had tried to keep it that way, but the salt water would be excruciating on her burns. She couldn't go down there, she couldn’t dive. She couldn’t be the partner he needed, but she didn't know how to tell him.
18
Amado parked the Jeep a few meters from the waves lapping the shore and jumped out, gathering the gear together in the back.
Morgan and Jake got out and went around to help him.
“This will be a great dive,” Amado said with his trademark enthusiasm. “I can guide you to the best places. Whatever you want to see.”
Jake looked over at Morgan, and she caught his eye. It was forbidden to go inside the sunken church, but that’s where they needed to look.
“I don't think you need to come down with me, Amado,” Jake said. “Morgan and I will be fine on our own. We’re experienced divers.”
Morgan thought back to their dive in the Dead Sea in Israel as she looked out at the horizon of the turquoise sea. It seemed so long ago now, and she ached to get into the blue water.
“You gearing up?” Jake called over.
Morgan had to tell him, but she hated to put into words the weakness that held her back. Jake wanted her by his side because she was his partner, his equal as an ARKANE agent, and now she was going to let him go down alone on a dangerous dive on the edge of a volcanic island.
Jake walked toward her, his face quizzical, the corkscrew scar at his temple tightening as he looked at her with a question in his eyes. “What is it?”
Morgan took a deep breath. “My burns. You don't know how bad they are. I can't go in … the dressings …”
“The pain.” Jake took her hand, his amber eyes filled with understanding. “The salt-water would be excruciating. I’m happy to go down alone, it's no problem. Or Amado can come with me.” He paused. “You should have told me before.”
Morgan sighed. “I hate to let you down.”
“Remember when I lay in hospital, and you went off to Egypt without me on the quest for the Ark of the Covenant?”
Morgan nodded.
“Did you think any worse of me for not going with you?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. You were injured. But this isn’t the same –”
“It is the same.” Jake leaned closer to her. “If you came down with me, you could get us both into trouble. The stronger move is to stay up here and keep watch.”
“Then I’ll gladly take the stronger move.”
But Morgan’s heart sank as she watched Jake gear up, wishing that she was going down there too. Every breath he took underwater without her was time that she should be next to him.
Plus, she really fancied some tropical diving in the cool blue sea.
Jake walked over to Amado and pulled an envelope filled with US dollars from his pack. “I need you to come down as my buddy and take me to the church. But we need to be clear.” He handed the envelope over. “I’m looking for something, and if I find it, you don't know about it. You never saw it.”
Amado opened the envelope, his eyes widening at the cash inside. He nodded. “Of course, I'll take you wherever you want to go.”
Morgan felt a twinge of guilt at the bribery, but they h
ad no time to get the proper permits. Martin could sort out details with the Filipino government later if they found what they were looking for. Director Marietti had useful contacts at all levels of the Catholic Church. When ARKANE was on a mission, approval for tomb-raiding was not usually an issue. The problem was finding the right tomb.
While Jake and Amado readied the gear, Morgan stood at the water’s edge, shoes off, sinking her toes into the sand as she relished the soft touch of the ocean. A huge cross marked the site of the sunken village offshore with a viewing platform around its edge for tourists to look down at the shallower ruins. The cross stood high out of the water pointing toward the heavens, resting on the remains of the city that lay beneath the waves. A memorial to the dead that drew people to the site even though it was inevitable that the volcano would erupt again one day. An island born of fire would never escape its fate to die in the same way.
No one knew when, but it would happen.
It put life in perspective, and Morgan considered how crazy it was that Naomi’s life hung in the balance because of a set of tiny finger bones. The relics needed to be retrieved, but Naomi was just as precious to the ARKANE team as Martin or Jake was. So, they would find the relics and deliver them to the man who held her hostage. Dead bone was surely not worth a life.
Morgan turned back to help Amado and Jake load up an outrigger kayak with the dive gear. Amado threw in a spearfishing gun at the last moment.