by K. T. Tomb
“That’s good.” He had a toothy smile.
“But, just in case, we’re going to use these.” A blonde woman, who, as Casey had described was just as buff as the man, moved into the room behind him and produced two pair of handcuffs and two hoods.
Phoe extended her hands in front of her.
“Behind you,” he chuckled. “It’s better for me.”
After he had cuffed them and placed the hoods over their heads, he took hold of Phoe’s elbow and started to lead her from the room. “This is better than the ether, no?”
“Hmmm,” she responded. Neither left a pleasant taste in her mouth.
Phoe and Casey were led through what she could only assume was a warehouse, given the sound of their feet echoing as they walked. She could hear the whirring sound of a helicopter’s engines being brought to life and the sound of the blades beginning to rotate before they exited the building and she felt the effects of the rotor-wash already beginning to produce high winds as the sound of the engine and spinning blades grew louder.
They were loaded into the helicopter along with their two escorts and she could feel the rocking motion of the craft lifting from the ground. Whoever it was that had kidnapped them had to have some money in order to have a helicopter as one of his assets.
“Why the need for the hoods?” Phoe called out over the sound of the engine.
“We were told to keep you in the dark until we had a chance to introduce you to our boss.”
The flight really didn’t take that long. She guessed it took less than thirty minutes, though estimating time, when you’ve got a hood over your head and are sitting uncomfortably with your hands cuffed behind your back, is somewhat less accurate than it might otherwise be. They descended, landed with something of a jolt and were then very quickly guided out of the helicopter and across a surface that felt a little bit strange under her feet. She wasn’t sure of what it was until sometime later as she and Casey were settled into yet another empty room with their hoods and cuffs removed. The slow, rhythmic rocking left no doubt in her mind that they had been taken to a cargo ship or some other large ocean-going vessel at sea. She had no sooner made that deduction than Casey spoke.
“Are we on a ship?”
“We are,” she replied. That, of course, deepened the mystery that she had in front of her to solve.
Chapter Four
London Times
AP Wire Turin, Italy
Antiquities Expert Declares the Shroud of Turin Is a Fake
In an extensive investigation and report released on early Tuesday by well-known antiquities expert Arthur Winston, it has been determined that what has been known as The Shroud of Turin is not the authentic shroud of the burial garments of Jesus Christ. A new method in radiocarbon testing has made it possible to make much more accurate measurements for the age of archeological items.
Said Winston, in his report, “The shroud dates back to between 1260 and 1357 when it was first put on display in France and it is quite impossible that it was the burial shroud of Jesus Christ, having only come into existence more than 1,200 years after his death.”
The shroud, famous for the image that was burned into the linen, was never formally endorsed or rejected by the Vatican, but its image was approved as the Holy Face of Jesus by Pope Pius XII in 1958. Since that time, it has been generally accepted by the Christian world that the shroud was the actual burial shroud of Christ and that the image cast upon it is that of Christ as well.
The report has shaken the entire Christian world, especially the Vatican, which insists that Arthur Winston’s only motivation is geared toward unraveling the trust of the faithful. (More on page 32.)
“You are unharmed, yes?” the man in front of her asked with a smile. He wasn’t unattractive; he dressed elegantly and had an aristocratic air about him. The office in front of what she could only assume was an immaculate stateroom was decorated with an aquatic theme that spoke of wealth. His accent, though not as thick as the others, also had a German flavor to it and her mind had already started to race as she tried to guess who he was.
“Other than the horrible taste in our mouths, yes,” Phoe replied.
“Well, we will move you each to a room where you will be more comfortable and we’ll get you something to eat and drink. Your companion is already being taken care of as we speak, in fact.”
“And you are?” There was no point in beating around the bush.
“I apologize. Of course, introductions are in order. I am Brendis Kraus, Miss Phoenix. Welcome to the Edelweiss. You’ve already met my associates, Engel, Heinrich, Brenda and Greta. May I ask the identity of your companion?”
“He is an archeological student who was accompanying me on a research project. His name is Casey and that will suffice for now.” There was no point in giving more information about Casey than necessary. Knowing that he was a relative might make them think about him differently.
“Ah, yes, your cousin Casey, who is attending the University of New Mexico and studying archeology. Very nice of you to bring him along.”
The shock that he already knew Casey’s identity registered on her face, though she thought that she had covered it up.
“I do my homework too, Miss Phoenix,” he chuckled.
“So, what do you want with me?” she asked.
“Straight down to business,” he laughed. “I like that. All of the formal stuff is just, how you say, dilly-dally? I prefer to get straight to it as well. So, let’s get straight to it. I have, though perhaps not according to conventional means, brought you here in order to contract your services to find a particular item. Granted, it would have been nicer to ask, but since I knew that you would not be likely to say yes, then I had to take other measures to help, shall we say, convince you that working for me is in the best interest of us both.”
“It has brought you all sorts of trouble with my boss,” Phoe responded in a threatening tone. “He’ll figure out who you are and where you are and your precious associates will be of little help when it comes to bailing your ass out of it all.”
“It is good that you have such confidence in Simon Kessler,” he chuckled. “However, I don’t think Simon will track me down until it is much too late to do anything about it. By that time, if everything goes the way that I have planned, I’ll have what I want and you and your cousin will be returned to Mr. Kessler unharmed. I’m just sort of borrowing you, as it were.”
“Good luck with that,” she sneered. She could tell by his reaction that Kraus was not used to being stood up to.
“Let me spell it out clearly for you,” he said, dropping the fake smile, leaning forward and staring straight at her with his penetrating clear eyes. “You will do what I ask you to do without any trouble. I will even compensate you for your time and you will do what I ask because if you don’t, I will carve up your cousin and use the pieces to feed the sharks. Are we clear?”
Phoe didn’t respond for several seconds. It wasn’t that she was considering whether or not Casey’s life was worth keeping or not, but because she didn’t particularly care to be spoken to in the way that he was speaking to her. She leveled a threat of her own. “You do realize that even after you return Casey and me to Simon, that he will have you hunted down and terminated, right?”
“I’m willing to take that chance.” His eyes flashed a devilish twinkle and he let a smile creep onto his face. “Are we agreed, then?”
“I would advise you to return Casey and me to our suite in New York and forget this whole venture, but if you insist, what do you want?”
“The Shroud of Turin,” he responded, sitting back in his chair and making a tent with his fingers.
“That’s easy,” she replied. “It’s in Turin, Italy. That’s why they call it the Shroud of Turin. Maybe if you ask nicely, they’ll just let you have it.”
“You’re wittier than I was expecting you to be,” he laughed. “It just adds to your charm.”
“Glad I can be such great ente
rtainment for you.”
“You see, the Shroud of Turin, as they call it, is not the actual shroud of Christ. It never was.” He pushed a London Times newspaper across the desk toward her. “I want you to find the real shroud for me.”
Phoe read the article that had been pushed in front of her. It was actually a week old, but since she’d been in Taos, she had missed seeing it. It didn’t surprise her that the Shroud of Turin was a fake. Most of the so-called relics of the church were. She had been called upon on a number of occasions to locate and secure the authentic relics for the Vatican, which was who Simon Kessler worked for. However, the first thought that went through her mind when she finished reading was where to even start looking for the authentic shroud.
There was an instant shock of reality when she realized that her mind was quickly being drawn into the mystery of the shroud instead of focusing on the fact that she and Casey were being held captive on a vessel at sea. Maybe my mother’s right. Maybe I need to settle down and stop running around the world looking for treasure.
“The real shroud may not even exist,” she responded. “It was linen and they had no means of keeping and storing such an item away from the extremes of temperature, moths, rot, you name it.”
“Nevertheless,” he grinned. The look was something like that of a jack-o’-lantern. “Your cousin, Casey, will not see the light of day again until you have exhausted all resources in an attempt to recover it.”
“I will need my team,” she responded, hoping that he would make the concession.
“Engel.” He nodded toward the large, blonde man who was standing beside the door. The man quickly opened the door, spoke a few words and then ushered in three others. “Meet your team. Well, all except Brenda, who will be staying with Casey and taking good care of him.”
“I can’t work with these people,” Phoe objected.
“Don’t say that so loud, you might hurt their feelings,” he laughed.
Chapter Five
“You needn’t worry about Casey, Miss Phoenix. He will be very well taken care of.” The way that Brenda said it made Phoe wonder if Casey was truly safe with her or might have better chances with sharks in open water. “He is very handsome. I’m sure we will get along just fine.”
The fear in Casey’s eyes doubled when his caretaker stepped to his side and ran her fingers through his hair as she smiled at Phoe.
“I’ll be back for you. I promise.” There wasn’t much else that she could say or do at that point. His survival depended upon either of two things: Phoe finding the shroud and Kraus keeping his promise to cut them loose, or Simon figuring it all out and making a rescue. In either case, they needed time. Besides, unless Phoe missed her guess, Brenda was going to do more than just make certain that he was given food and water. It might be more like a nineteen-year-old fantasy than a time of captivity.
Casey only nodded his head and swallowed the lump in his throat.
With that, she left Casey to his fate with Brenda and headed with her escort topside and to a waiting helicopter that would take her to the facility that Kraus had set up for her to begin her search. She had no idea whether the three accompanying her were mere goons or if they would actually be of some assistance; especially since she had absolutely no clue where to even begin her search.
She had been given some freedom due to the fact that Casey was being kept as insurance; however, once they had crossed the open sea and were coming toward land, a hood was placed over her head once more.
“We don’t need you to be giving away secrets,” Engel announced as he covered her.
“It won’t make any difference once Simon starts to figure things out,” Phoe growled.
“Let’s hope for the boy’s sake that Simon stays out of things, shall we?”
She didn’t respond. What was the point? The threat hadn’t had any effect on Kraus and was less likely to bother his three idiots, who, no doubt, were little more than muscle-bound automatons; even Greta.
She was in for several surprises when she was escorted out of the helicopter, across what felt like a stone-paved courtyard and into a building where the hood was lifted from her head. A major, state of the art, digital operations center was in full functioning mode. It reminded her of a smaller version of the Houston Operations Center in the movie Apollo 13. On the large overhead display when she entered was the image of the Shroud of Turin. A nerd with half-inch thick, horn-rimmed glasses from the 60s stopped tapping at his keyboard and looked up at her. Greta and Heinrich moved to take a seat in front of other monitors and went through what appeared to be a login routine, which was, of course, not something she had expected to see either.
“The facility is most impressive, no?” Engel smiled. “This is the most advanced equipment in the world. Probably beyond anything you’ve ever made use of before.”
“I think that it isn’t the equipment so much as it is the people operating it,” she responded. She was thinking of her own team and her own nerd. Though technology helped, it was still up to the human brain and its ability to think outside the box that made the biggest difference.
“We have three of the very best at your service in that respect as well,” Engel answered. “Heinrich and Greta are a great deal more than they appear to be and Stefan has an IQ that defies measurement. With them, I think we will find the shroud, yes?”
“If it exists,” she grumbled.
“It exists, Miss Phoenix.” Stefan broke in at that moment. “In fact, if you will look up at the monitor, you’ll see what is known as the Shroud of Turin with the image that the world has come to associate with the face of Christ. In actuality, that alone ought to have made it clear centuries ago that the shroud in Italy was not authentic.” He paused and looked at her.
“I’m listening,” she said. Though she was a captive, she couldn’t help her curious nature, which was why she had become an archeologist in the first place.
“Evidently, the Holy Fathers don’t read the book when they make decisions about the authenticity of relics, because the scriptures and historical burial customs of the Jews actually show that there was not one burial cloth but two. Look at this.”
On the large overhead screen, the text of John 20:7 appeared.
And the napkin, that was about his head, not lying with the linen clothes, but wrapped together in a place by itself. (John 20:7.)
“Miss Phoenix, we have to conclude, if the scriptures are accurate, that the concept of a single burial cloth, like the Shroud of Turin purports, is simply not how someone living within the Jewish customs of the day would have been buried. They would have been wrapped in one linen cloth covering their lower extremities, but with another cloth, much like a dinner napkin, over their face.
“Now, depending on what you believe, some have even read significance into the reason that Jesus folded the napkin and placed it to one side. Though it is hard to confirm, many say that according to Jewish custom, a person who had not yet finished their dinner and was called away from the table for a few moments, would fold their napkin and set it beside their plate as a sign that they were going to return. That, of course, is just a rabbit trail, I believe you Americans call it.”
He made an attempt at a laugh that was more of a high-pitched snorting sound that, in all honesty, was not only annoying but frightening as well. When he realized that Phoe didn’t share in his mirth, however, he returned to his lecture.
“Now, I am of the opinion that unless there was someone with a great deal of knowledge about how to preserve linens from that time and keep them from the air, rot, extreme temperatures, extremes of humidity, insects, and the like, it is highly unlikely that the shroud would have been preserved.”
“We are in agreement on that,” Phoe responded. “I told Kraus as much.”
“Believe it or not, that was the first question that I answered for him before he even decided to pursue this further. I guess you might say that it is my fault that you were called in.” He paused and smiled at her
uncomfortably.
Phoe wrinkled her brow and stared at him. She understood in part, but was still waiting for an explanation.
“I found some evidence that the actual shroud might have been well kept and even preserved in a way that would render it, somewhat fragile, but very much in existence.”
Phoe had initially hoped that the authentic shroud was no longer in existence. She didn’t want Kraus to have anything of value in his possession after having taken her and Casey captive. It was unlikely that he was going to get away with what he had done. Simon would see to that, but on the off chance that he was able to, she certainly didn’t want him to profit from her efforts. If the shroud was actually preserved, then that ruined that particular wish of bad will upon Kraus. The bigger problem, however, was that she couldn’t turn off her natural inclination toward solving an archeological mystery and Stefan was rapidly drawing her in.
“So, how do you know that the shroud has had any chance of survival?” Phoe asked.
“For that,” Stefan responded, “I had to go to another gospel; one that is known as the Gospel of Nicodemus.”
Chapter Six
Peter fumbled for the ringing cell phone on the nightstand as its obnoxious ringtone brought him, rather abruptly, out of a deep sleep and back into reality. He didn’t bother to look at the caller ID, assuming that it was Phoe calling from the East Coast, some three hours ahead in time than it was in New Mexico.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” he grumbled into the phone.
“Well, let’s see. Here, in Italy, it is about thirty minutes before midday,” the voice responded.
Peter became instantly alert at the sound of Simon Kessler’s voice.
“I’m sorry,” Peter scrambled. Simon wasn’t someone that you spoke to in the tone that he had used. He didn’t typically receive phone calls from Simon. Simon typically communicated with Phoe, but he knew the man and recognized his voice instantly.