CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy

by Lynn Sholes

  "You okay?" John whispered.

  Before she could answer, she heard Sinclair's voice and turned back to the window.

  "I wish to take a moment to celebrate all of our hard work. We are on the crest of the wave that will surge over mankind. We will finally achieve the rewards that our bloodline deserves. Our plan has been effective and efficient down to the smallest detail. Even the good cardinal played his part and behaved as predicted. He has served his purpose and is now stricken from the flock."

  A low mumble circulated through the men on the screens.

  Sinclair said, "Only the purest of us gather tonight as we start the most important journey in history-the journey toward bringing about the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God. Just a few steps from this room the miracle is taking place right now."

  "Miracle?" Cotten whispered. "Do you think he's creating the clone here at Rosslyn Manor?"

  John turned the speaker volume knob down. "What would be more appropriate? It has to be;" John said. "He must have a lab somewhere in the house-that's why lanucci wanted us to come here-to stop the cloning, to destroy it."

  "But why would Sinclair have all these guests here, if that were the case?"

  "Maybe he's arrogant and doesn't think he can be stopped. And if you think about it, there was elaborate security before we could even get on the grounds. He could use the events of nine-eleven to justify it. Sinclair is probably a major player in this community, and if he has this party every year he wouldn't want to cancel and arouse any kind of curiosity as to why. Finding the lab might be easier than we thought. You know, sometimes the best place to hide something is to put it in plain sight."

  Cotten's mind raced, weaving everything together. "There's something wrong."

  "What do you mean?" John asked.

  "You said finding it will be easy. Getting in here was easy-too easy." She put her fingers to her temples. "We weren't so clever getting into Sinclair's party. We were lured here. We did exactly what they wanted. We're the moths, and this place is the flame."

  John's expression darkened.

  "Did you hear Sinclair?" Cotten said. "Ianucci served his purpose. It wasn't only to switch the real relic with a fake. They knew he would lead us to them. He was the bait. He gave us the invitation."

  John slipped his hand into his pocket and removed the box given to them by the cardinal. "Do you think they know about this."

  A soft click caused John to drop it back into his pocket. The door to the media room opened-a large man was silhouetted in the light from the hall.

  "Solpeth, Cotten."

  For an instant, just a flash that passed through her, she wanted to jump up and run to him, throw her arms around his neck, and give him a big hug. But then Cotten Stone's heart tumbled, and her mind made its best effort to comprehend. He had said hello ... like Motness, in Enochian. "Uncle Gus?"

  What was he doing here ... in a monk's robe with a gun pointed at her? Cotten shook her head in disbelief. She looked hard at him. "I thought you were-"

  "In intensive care from a terrible car accident? No, I'm fine. We had to tell you something to keep you frightened and on the runkeep you distracted until we could get things underway here."

  Cotten could see his familiar smile-his words sounded soft and gentle.

  "We tried to hold you in New York. That would have been simpler. But Father Tyler screwed that up, coming to your rescue." He looked at John. "You weren't in the original plan. So we had to slow you down a little, like we did Cotten. Cut off the money. But at the same time, keep you running. When one is desperate he lacks clarity."

  "Thornton ... Vanessa?" Cotten said, awash in betrayal.

  "Your boyfriend was a hell of a reporter. He got way too close. We were sure he had told you everything. But the fashion model ... that was unfortunate. Wingate panicked. He was way out of line. He could have injured you."

  Cotten swallowed-her throat was so dry it pained her. "And the cabin fire? You did that?"

  Gus said, "We kept our fingers crossed on that one. For a time there, we were afraid you wouldn't get out. I almost came and banged on the door to wake you."

  "Why? What's going on, Uncle Gus?" Her voice broke.

  "Sorry, sweetheart, but I need to make sure you and the priest go no further. It stops here."

  Cotten glared. "I trusted you. Always have, since I was a little girl." She paused before speaking again. "Did you kill the cardinal?"

  Gus sighed. "He served his purpose."

  "I can't believe Cardinal lanucci was willingly involved," John said. "He couldn't have known what was going on here-the cloning."

  "Oh, on the contrary, Father Tyler. He knew. Though he was duped just a bit, thinking he was helping bring about the Second Coming. Ironically, he was half right. It really will be the Second Comingafter all, Christ is about to be born again ... with a twist."

  "But lanucci repented," John said. "He realized what he had done and asked God to forgive him."

  Gus rolled his eyes. "Perhaps. Who knows what's really in a man's heart. But the cardinal was predictable. We knew that from the start. That's why he was chosen. Sinclair let lanucci discover our true plan, then allowed him to escape and contact you-invite you to the ball. He was just a pawn."

  "Why didn't you kill me when you murdered him?" Cotten asked.

  "Much cleaner this way. We knew you would be coming hereyou and Tyler. A twofer, so to speak." Gus Ruby paused as if reluctant to go on. "Your priest friend has to be taken care of, but the fact of the matter is, I can't kill you."

  "Because you're my uncle?" She struggled to accept his explanation.

  "Well," Gus said, drawing out the word to an exaggerated length. "How should I explain? I'm your father's brother, just not quite in the same sense as you might normally think. But part of a family, just as well."

  Cotten's eyes blinked rapidly as she shook her head. "I don't understand."

  "Of course you don't. It's just like you didn't understand when Archer said you were the only one. Now, there's an understatement. I suppose this is as good a time as any;" Gus said.

  Cotten reached to clutch John's hand.

  Gus nodded to John. "Perhaps introductions are in order."

  "Father Tyler, do you realize whose company you keep? Meet Cotten Stone, daughter of Furmiel Stone. I'm sure you've heard of Fur- miel-the Angel of the eleventh hour? Furmiel ... one of what you call the Fallen, the Watchers, my brother."

  Cotten felt as if she were hallucinating. "Stop, stop," she whispered. "What are you talking about?"

  "Your father was with us from the beginning. He fought in the Great Battle. When we were defeated, we were cast out and have been condemned to wander this place forever. Eventually, your father weakened and begged God's forgiveness. He deserted our ranks ... a traitor. He groveled, shaming us. God took pity on him and granted him a life as a mortal man. He was permitted to marry and procreate. You and your twin sister are his offspring-half breeds, Nephilim. But your father had to pay for God's mercy. Selfishly, God took your sister and left you on earth to fight His battles. Of course, your father splintered under the pressure of mortality, and always feeling guilty at the burden placed on you. And for what? A life of misery. He chose to end his life, disappointing God once again. As I said, he was weak."

  Gus shifted his gaze to John. "And, priest, your God is not what you think. He is not the all-merciful, all-forgiving god you pray to. Not Furmiel, not any of us, can ever return to our home in Paradise.

  "Fortunately for you, Cotten, all of my brothers have sworn to never harm any of our own kind-your kind-as our number would dwindle and diminish our legion. To do our work, we have recruited mortals-egotistical, power-hungry men, the likes of Charles Sinclair and the Templars. But you, dear Cotten, are different-a one of a kind. For not only are you of this place, but part of you is of a higher order. You are one of us."

  His expression softened, and Cotten saw the same familiar smile she had loved for so long-now a r
epulsive mask of evil and betrayal. It sickened her.

  Lowering the pistol, Gus Ruby said, "I'm not here to kill you, Cotten. I'm here to bring you home."

  THE LAB

  As Gus RUBY LOWERED the gun, John sprang forward, slamming the big man full in the chest, knocking him backwards into the hall. Dropping his weight onto Gus, John gripped his wrist and wrenched the weapon away. Fighting for breath, Gus tried to rise up but stopped as John aimed the gun at his face.

  "Don't move," John said. "Not a sound."

  Wind knocked from him, Gus coughed and struggled to talk. "You haven't been listening, priest." His lips warped into an arrogant grin. "You're wasting your time. You can't kill me."

  Cotten stepped beside the two men. "You're right, Uncle Gus," she said. Geh el Grip. You are the only one. It was all becoming so clear to her.

  "He can't hurt you," Cotten said as she slowly reached to take the gun from John's hand. She pointed it at Gus. "But I can. Isn't that right? You said you can't kill me-that there is a pact not to harm another of your kind-our kind. That must mean we have the power to harm each other ... that I have that power."

  John rolled off of Gus and stood.

  Cotten motioned with the gun. "Get up, Uncle Gus."

  With great effort, Gus Ruby managed to pull himself to stand. He looked at Cotten, his chest straining the buttons on his shirt as he breathed. "You're not going to shoot me."

  His confidence seemed to ebb.

  "But you don't know that for sure, do you?" she said. "You don't know which part of me controls the pressure on the trigger."

  "Cotten, you've done enough to pay your father's dues," Gus said. "It's time you were set free. We want to bring you into the fold."

  "Don't listen to him;" John said.

  Gus laughed. "You're out of your league, priest. You have no say in this matter."

  Gus glared at Cotten. "How has your life been so far, sweetheart? Has God shone his glorious grace on you? Hmm?"

  "Leave her alone;" John said.

  "Unlike your god, Father Tyler, the Son of the Dawn is forgiving. Cotten, your father was never allowed to return to Paradise, no matter what he did, no matter how he begged. And his punishment never ended, did it? His day-to-day battle to survive, to provide for his family, to live as a man, crushed him. God never let up on him. Remember the drought? All the hardship? Poor Furmiel finally broke. Why would anyone choose to honor that kind of a god? But we are opening our arms to embrace you. You will be given anything you wantwealth, fame, contentment-there is no limit."

  His voice turned soft, tender, the old Uncle Gus that she had loved all her life.

  "Come home, Cotten."

  Tears streaked Cotten's cheeks and her arm trembled as she raised the gun. "I am home ... and I'm the one who has to end this." She pointed the gun at Gus's head.

  "Don't make the biggest mistake of your life, sweetheart."

  Cotten shook her head. "Where's the lab?"

  "That's your problem," Gus said.

  "Turn around;" she said. When his back was to her, Cotten nosed the gun into Gus's shoulder and said, "Down the hall."

  They guided the big man to a guest bedroom they had entered earlier. Cotten nudged Gus inside the closet.

  John stripped the king-size sheet off the bed, wound Gus inside the top sheet, and then tied the contoured sheet around him.

  As he did, Gus said, "How many times do I have to tell you that you're wasting your time?"

  "We've got to keep him quiet," Cotten said. She took off her pinafore and ripped a broad swatch from the cheap material. "Here, jam this in his mouth and tie it with the rest."

  When John was done, Cotten stared at Gus for a moment, wondering if all their effort would be in vain. "Think that will hold him?" she asked. "Or does he have some kind of special-"

  "It will hold the flesh. That's all I can guess," John said.

  "All right, let's do it," Cotten said.

  They descended the staircase, veered opposite the study and entered a room as elaborate as the lobby of a Park Avenue hotel. It opened to the dinner hall. They froze at the sight of servants scurrying about, adding last minute touches to banquet tables.

  Cotten suddenly stopped short, hearing the clatter of pots, the tinkle of crystal, the voice of what was probably the head waiter ordering about the servants. "Not that way," she said. "That must be the kitchen. She broke down a passageway to a closed door at the end. Cotten turned the knob and pushed the door open.

  This part of the house looked barren and sterile. She peered up into the eye of a security camera.

  "Go, go," John said, almost pushing her down the empty corridor. The lighting here didn't come from Strauss or Waterford chandeliers, but from recessed fluorescents. The walls were stark and the doors stainless steel.

  "See what's in there," Cotten said, pointing to the first door.

  John opened it. "Looks like laboratory supplies," he said.

  "Then we must be close. This wing has got to be Sinclair's private lab suite."

  The remaining doors they passed stood open, revealing what appeared to be rooms for surgical procedures, pharmaceuticals, general laboratory operations, more storage, and even a collection of medical and science reference materials. The hall made a turn to the right, ending with an imposing steel door.

  They stood before it.

  "Looks like a bank vault," Cotten said. "This must be it."

  John pointed to the combination keypad and a device shaped like the bowl of a spoon.

  "Oh, shit," Cotten mumbled, realizing what it was for.

  John reached into his pocket.

  She watched him open the cardinal's box. Inside rested a human index finger severed at the second knuckle.

  John turned and glanced around the corner, down the hall. "I think I heard something. They're bound to be coming any second."

  Cotten motioned to the box. "Do it."

  John took the finger from the box.

  She fought back a gag as she saw the trail of dangling tissue and ooze from the severed end.

  He positioned the pad of the finger in the spoon. The device hummed faintly, bringing the keyboard to life, each key backlit in soft blue. The readout scrolled the message: Cardinal Antonio Ianucci. Identity confirmed. The screen darkened and then displayed a new message. Enter code.

  Cotten looked at John. "What code?"

  "I have no idea," he said.

  "We're dead."

  Just south of Scotland's capital city of Edinburgh is the village of Roslin, the home of Rosslyn Chapel and Rosslyn Castle, the home of the St. Clairs (Sinclairs). In that small village is a state-of-the-art research center, Roslin Institute. It is here that Dolly the sheep was cloned.

  The God of peace will crush Satan under your feet. (Romans 16:20)

  THE CLONE

  "A CODE, A CODE," Cotten whispered. "Why would the cardinal get us this far and not tell us the code? If he knew about the security, he must have known we needed a code."

  Suddenly, in her mind Cotten heard Archer's mumblings. A rush of heat swept through her. As if inspired, she said, "Oh, my God! John, I think I know what it is! I've known it all along-Archer told me." She reached to the keypad. "Please let this be it. Please." She looked at John. "Matthew," she whispered, then pressed 2-6-2-7-2-8.

  The keypad turned from blue to green, and the display read: Code accepted. Entry authorized. There was a heavy metallic thump as the magnetic locks released, and the motor-driven door slowly opened.

  On the inside wall was a red rectangular button the size of a pack of cigarettes labeled open/close. John slammed it with his palm, and the mechanism reversed. With a heavy thud, the door closed and locked.

  Cotten whirled around, catching a panoramic view of the laboratory. "Where is it?"

  Her eyes fell on a silver travel case, and then next to that, a transparent container. The Cup. She approached the acrylic container in awe of the beauty and simplicity of the remarkable relic inside. Two thousan
d years ago, Jesus Christ drank from it and the next day it caught His blood as He died on the Cross. Carefully, she removed the Cup. Her finger traced the rim, then made a long stroke down the outside of the bowl and the stem to the base. It was completely encased in some sort of thin, clear coating, but even with the protective veneer, touching it gave her chills. Cotten placed it in the silver travel case, closed the lid, and hugged it to her chest.

  The Cup of Christ had come back to her.

  She turned to watch John as he walked to a stainless steel cart near a far corner. He stared at an incubator with a microscope attached. Digital displays flashed above it showing temperature, levels of oxygen saturation, CO2 concentration, humidity, and other vital indicators. Inside was what appeared to be an ordinary petri dish. He peered through the lens of the microscope and became still as if spellbound.

  "John?" she whispered.

  Slowly lifting his head, he made the sign of the cross.

  "Is that it?" she asked, standing beside him.

  He faced her, his eyes hazed, a thunderstruck expression.

  "Hurry before someone comes. Destroy it," she said.

  John didn't move.

  Cotten placed the silver case on the counter and put her eye to the microscope. There in the dish she saw four cells like tiny bubbles clumped together.

  "Blastocyst," she whispered. It looked exactly like every picture she'd ever seen of a fertilized egg growing and dividing-the beginning of a human life.

  "What if it's really ..." John faltered. His words sounded painful. "We could be murdering the Son of God."

  Cotten's lips parted to speak-Geh el crip resonated in her head.

  "But what if we're wrong?" He stared at her, but his eyes were filled with doubt. His voice cracked. "How could I ever live with myself knowing I was no different than those who drove the nails into his hands?"

  She reached to touch his face. Here in the final moment, John wasn't going to be able to destroy the clone. He was on fire inside, she realized. His entire being burned with dread. All the doubts and concerns he had expressed must be ripping him apart. Was this thing the Antichrist? Or was John about to stop the Second Coming? Would destroying the clone be the equivalent of committing abortion? Murder?