The Cotten Stone Omnibus: It started with The Grail Conspiracy... (The Cotten Stone Mysteries)

by Lynn Sholes

  As the interpreter relayed Cotten’s words, the Korean leader became noticeably deflated. Slowly, he moved to the big chair he had so recently filled with pomp and bluster, and dropped into it with the weight of dejection and gloom.

  “Not taking news well,” Colonel Ivanov said. “Big shot becomes little prick.”

  “That about sums it up,” Cotten said as she turned and left the bridge of the Pitcairn for the last time.

  fallen

  As she drove from her hotel to the Georgetown University Medical Center, Cotten rehearsed what she would say to John. She knew she would have to tell him everything. But as much as she longed to see him, she dreaded revealing what she had done to save his life.

  Now she waited beside the nurse’s station for several minutes before having the courage to go down the hall and into John’s room. Finally, gripping a handful of red carnations, she went to his door. After acknowledging the young Venatori agent nearby, Cotten knocked.

  “Come in,” John said. He stood by a window dressed in his robe, pajamas, and slippers. As he turned around, a smile spread across his face when he saw her standing in the doorway.

  At first, she was shocked, fully expecting him to still be in bed hooked to tubes and monitoring devices. She finally smiled back, realizing that his rapid recovery was even more impressive than Ted had described.

  A curious look came over him when she didn’t move. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” She went to him, slipped her arms around his waist, and held him tightly.

  He hugged her back.

  “It’s truly a miracle seeing you like this. The last time I was here … well, you look so much better now.” She released him and placed the flowers on the narrow table stretching over his bed that still held the tray from breakfast.

  “They’re beautiful,” John said. “I’ll see if the nurse can find a vase.”

  “I thought red would be nice. Still too wintry for yellow. And red is appropriate for a cardinal, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Cotten glanced at a copy of the newspaper lying at the foot of his bed. The headlines read: North Korean leader agrees to peace terms, turns over Black Needles mastermind to International Criminal Court. A second story covered the death of the pope. “I’m sorry to hear about the pontiff.”

  “He’s finally at rest. He put up a long courageous fight, but the cancer finally won.”

  “I’m sure the Vatican is anxious to get you back.”

  “They’ve requested I return as soon as the doctors release me.”

  “Have you heard anything more about what will happen to Dr. Chung?”

  “Archbishop Montiagro was here earlier with the news about the Holy Father. He mentioned that Dr. Chung will be charged with crimes against humanity. No doubt she’ll spend the rest of her life in prison. Given her deteriorating health, that might not be too long.” John pointed to two chairs, and they both sat. “Okay, Cotten, what’s on your mind? I can tell you want to say something, but can’t quite get it out.”

  She scooted her chair close enough to reach out and take his hand in hers. “You know me so well.”

  “And you know that you can tell me anything.”

  She could tell him anything, but this was going to be the hardest of all. Every word she had rehearsed fled her mind. Leaning back in the chair, she took a deep breath. “The last time I was here, you weren’t conscious. The doctors believed you were dying, and I blamed myself for that.”

  “Cotten—”

  “No, it’s true. Just listen. This is hard enough. Let me get through it.”

  “Okay.”

  “I was angry—angry with myself, with the world, with God. Right outside this hospital I cursed Him and everything around me. I cried out for help. Moments later, my cries were answered, but not from God. I had a visit from someone you know well, the Son of the Dawn. He reminded me of my legacy and who I am.”

  John sighed and shook his head.

  “He told me that if I would give in to my heritage and embrace the person I really am, your life would be spared. John, that’s all I wanted—just to have you live. I had brought you so much trouble and suffering over the years. I realized that it was finally enough. He was right about who I really am. And because of that, I had the power to save your life. So, I agreed.”

  She searched John’s eyes for a reaction, for disgust or rejection. But she saw none of that, and her heart lifted.

  “It was arranged for me to go to North Korea—to protect me from the risk of being infected by the Black Needles attacks. He also wanted to exploit my reputation as a journalist. I was to conduct an interview with the Communist leader. The interview was designed to glorify the General Secretary and help set him up in a place of power once his enemies started falling from the plague.”

  Once Cotten started, the rest of the story flowed out until she finally finished with the miraculous escape of the Pitcairn and how President Brennan had taken John’s words to heart, admitted the possible threat, and called for a coalition of nations to form a naval blockade in preparation for a possible invasion. A multi-nation military exercise in the region helped get the warships into position within a few days of Cotten’s arrival in North Korea.

  “You’ve been—”

  Cotten held her hand up. “There’s more. Look at me. Look hard. You see before you a person who essentially sold her soul. And, John, here is the most frightening part of all. It was easy. So very easy. His argument made sense—all he asked was that I love myself. He told me that it isn’t wrong to be strong, and happy, and prosperous. He said God wants us to always turn the other cheek, give and not receive, to depend on him for even our tiniest seconds of happiness.”

  “But—”

  “I know, I know. You’ve told me before. He is a liar. I know that now. But I want you to understand why it could be so easy to give in. He said to me that his way doesn’t mean I have to become a bad person. Simply love myself and enjoy the pleasures of the world. Such things are not here so that I can deny myself. Do you see how that could make someone feel?” She didn’t expect John to answer. “It made me think about a lot of things I hadn’t before. Like there is no hierarchy to the Ten Commandments. God doesn’t separate Thou shalt not bear false witness from Thou shalt not kill. One is no more acceptable than the other. So how many times a day do we all slip over that line, say a tiny lie, covet something, or simply put ourselves first? In those moments, within some of those minute-by-minute decisions we make every day, are we surrendering to the Darkness like I did? Do we so easily slip in and out without thinking about it? And when we do cross that invisible line, do we become like him?”

  “Fallen?”

  another time, another place

  “None of us are without sin.” John paused while a nurse came in to take his vitals. Once she had left, he continued, “We are imperfect beings, Cotten. God doesn’t expect us to be perfect.”

  She closed her eyes. “Sins of the father …” she whispered, then looked up. “What about me? I made a bargain knowing full well what it meant. It wasn’t just telling a little white lie or stealing an apple from the fruit stand.”

  John shook his head. “Like you said, there is no hierarchy. And did you really go through with it? No, you fought it, drove the Darkness back. You couldn’t do it.”

  “But I would have if I had to. I was willing to do anything to save your life. Anything.”

  “And for that and everything else you’ve done for me, I can never repay you.” This time, it was John who reached to take her hand. “What you’ve just gone through is all behind you now. It’s over. There’s no need for us to talk about it ever again.” He rubbed the top of her hand with his thumb. “It’s part of the past. Okay?”

  Cotten sandwiched his hand between hers. “Okay.”

  “So tell me more
about how you got our old KGB buddies involved?”

  “I didn’t really know what it would be like or what would happen to me once I …”

  “Once you made the deal and agreed to his terms?”

  “Right. So I realized I had to make all the arrangements I could before I left for North Korea. I discussed many ideas with Ted, none of which we could predict would be possible once I was there. I knew that if there was a chance of success, and you were safe, I would try to plan some way to turn the tables. But to do it, I would need a way to escape. I also knew I had to have help, and once inside that country, chances would be slim of getting any. The Fallen’s first mistake was to tell me before leaving that I would be interviewing the Communist leader, and that it would take place aboard the Pitcairn. And the only reason anybody knew that was because the General Secretary was making such a big deal about the one-year anniversary of the Pitcairn’s capture, and he wanted to flaunt it. He’s the one who insisted the interview take place on the ship. But who was going to help me? Certainly not anyone from the United States. We already knew that, for whatever reason, the President had downplayed the whole thing—something I still don’t understand. Then it occurred to me that people from other countries, especially non-Western countries and those who still have ties with North Korea, are allowed to visit there as tourists. I told Ted to get in touch with the colonel to try to work out the details of a plan. After all, they had offered to help me anytime I needed. I knew that once I was over there, I’d be shut off from the rest of the world. As it turned out, Colonel Ivanov and his buddies easily entered the country as tourists. But until the moment the colonel walked onboard the ship with Dr. Chung, I was never 100 percent sure they could pull it off.”

  “You’re amazing,” John said.

  Cotten smiled. “Thanks.” She looked toward the window, deep in thought. The hard part was about to come, and she needed all the courage she could marshal.

  Finally, she said, “I’ve made some decisions since getting back. This whole experience has had a profound impact on me. I have so many questions and very few answers. John, I need time to rethink my life.” She breathed out a big sigh. “It’s no secret how I feel about you. I tried to ignore the reality of what our relationship was, is, and could be. But I’ve come to terms with the fact that we can never be more than dear friends.”

  Cotten felt John’s hand slip from between hers. At first she thought he was offended in some way, but then she felt his hand close around hers.

  “There are many things,” John said, “that would be worse than being dear friends. And you know how I feel. Everything you’re saying is completely understandable, including the wanting to get away and rethink your future. We’ve been through a lot together. Despite our own personal feelings, we have chosen paths in life that are not destined to come together.”

  Reality settled into her heart and she felt profoundly sad. “How many times have we said that maybe in another time, another place, things might have been different? But not in this lifetime. There’s nothing I can do to change that, nor can you. You are destined for great things, John. And what lies ahead for me is as much a mystery as ever. Even though I’ve been the cause of so much trouble for you, I haven’t been able to let you go. That’s not fair to you.” Her face scrunched as she blinked back tears. “Talk about crossing that line on a daily basis and putting yourself first. I’m the poster child.”

  She choked up and had to wait a moment before she could get her voice back. “I have to stop. Enough is enough. And the only way I can get my head together is to take a break—a long break. I don’t mean just from you, I mean from my job, my life, the rest of the world.”

  “If that’s what you think it will take, Cotten,” John said. “You’ve been through more than anyone I’ve ever known. Perhaps it will give you a chance to find yourself, but more importantly, find your relationship with God. Remember, he’s always there waiting for you.”

  “I know that as soon as possible you’ll be leaving for Rome. I wish we had a few days just to talk, to spend time together that was without a crisis and conflict. No battles to fight.” Cotten rolled her tearing eyes. “There, you see, I’m doing it again. I know how important it is you get back to Rome quickly, and I’m wishing in my heart that you could stay.”

  “I would stay a little longer if it weren’t for the funeral of the Holy Father. Will you be going to Rome to cover the story?”

  “I can’t imagine Ted assigning it to anyone else. But it would have to be my last assignment. I really do mean to get away for a while and get my life in order.”

  There was a moment of nervous silence, then Cotten cleared her throat to prevent whatever she said next from sounding strangled in tears. Cotten stood. “John, before I go, I have something for you.” She reached for her purse. Removing a small, white box, she emptied the contents into her hand. Then she took his hand, turned it palm up, and dropped his gold cross and chain into it. She folded his fingers around it.

  John rose from the chair and pulled her into his arms. “I so wish that it could be different for us. I want more than anything for you to find happiness, Cotten.”

  They held each other for a long time before letting go. She took a step back and looked into his eyes. A faint smile emerged on her lips. “Maybe in another time, another place.”

  white smoke

  Cotten sat in the network anchor booth inside St. Peter’s Square and went over her notes from a Vatican expert in canon law and consultant to SNN. Early that morning the College of Cardinals had convened to elect the new pope. In tradition, after each round of voting, their ballots were counted and then burned in a small stove. Its famous chimney was clearly visible from St. Peter’s Square. Custom held that if there was a failed ballot, wet straw was added to the ballots to make the smoke black. Upon a successful ballot, white smoke swirls into the sky.

  Two hours ago a dramatic and unusual event took place. As millions watched on television, listened to the radio, or stood in St. Peter’s Square, white smoke had curled into the sky after the first ballot. Now those same millions waited patiently to learn the identity of their new pontiff.

  SNN was running regular programming, but stood ready to cut in with any breaking news from Rome.

  “I’m taking a breather,” Cotten said, removing her earpiece and unhooking the lapel mic.

  A few moments later, she strolled through the cordoned-off press area, turning from time to time to gaze at St. Peter’s Basilica and the rooftop of the Sistine Chapel just to its right. John was in there somewhere, surrounded by his fellow cardinals, probably congratulating the newly elected pope. She could imagine him assuring the new pontiff of his loyalty and devotion. As director of the Venatori, he might even be giving the pope a summary of the latest global situations he would face in the first few days of the new papacy.

  How wonderful for him, she thought. He was immersed in his element, all that he loved and cherished. But as the thought came to her, she felt a door seem to close in her heart. A deep sadness rolled gently over her. John knew she was there covering the election, and he would probably try to get in touch with her before she left. But she thought it better not to see him. It would be too hard to say goodbye again.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a firm tap on her shoulder. “Cotten, get back to the booth.” It was one of the production assistants. “They’re about to make the announcement,” he said.

  The two hustled back to the SNN booth and Cotten took her seat next to the monsignor consultant. She gave a quick sound level and confirmed she could hear the director instructing her through the earpiece. They were about to go live.

  A huge roar rose up from the throngs of people at the appearance of the Cardinal Deacon. He emerged on the balcony outside the central window of St. Peter’s Basilica. Since the seventeenth century, this was the window from which the newly elected pope would appear and give his first
papal blessing. The Cardinal Deacon’s voice rang out through the Basilica’s public address system. He spread his arms wide and said in Latin, “Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum.”

  The crowd erupted in an even louder cheer.

  “This is it,” the monsignor said to Cotten. “We are about to receive the formal announcement.”

  “It’s certainly an electrifying moment, Father.” She watched her monitor as the camera zoomed in on the balcony.

  From the speakers came the words, “Habemus Papam!”

  “We have a pope,” the monsignor said, translating the Latin.

  Next came, “Eminentissimum ac reverendissimum dominum. Dominum John.”

  Cotten turned to the monsignor, a sense of trepidation trickling through her. She’d clearly heard the Deacon say John.

  “The winning candidate’s first name is John,” said the monsignor. “Next will be the surname.”

  Cotten’s eyes raced down the list of cardinal’s names on her desk. Three were named John. There was John Tyler, of course … As she stared at his name, the loud speakers came alive with the Deacon’s next words.

  heaven on earth

  Ted Casselman propped his glass of Stoli and cranberry juice on his thigh and leaned back in his living room recliner. The image of an unfurled ancient scroll rotated on his flat screen plasma while music that reminded him of “Chariots of Fire” pounded through his Bose surround-sound speakers. With a solid black backdrop and spotlights focused on the scroll, the inscribed gazelle skin appeared incredibly intact, considering it was at least 5,000 years old. The title of the Relic’s segment appeared: Heaven on Earth.

  Ted took another sip.

  The camera panned across rugged, mountainous terrain, until a figure could be seen in the distance. Zooming in, the image revealed Cotten as she stood beside the entrance to a cave opening at the base of a cliff. She looked better than Ted had seen her in a long time, a glowing happiness that, even on the screen, appeared to permeate her every cell.