by Brandt Legg
“Don’t worry,” Lambert said. “There’ll be a lawyer waiting for us when we reach the federal building.” As he raised his hands in surrender, he heard an awful wrenching sound of twisting metal. The expression of terror on the face of the closest FBI agent was the last thing he saw. The entire two-hundred-foot platform collapsed.
The report devastated Barbeau when he received word twenty minutes later that Larsen, his accomplice, five federal agents, and four SWAT officers had plummeted to their deaths. Nine law enforcement dead. The media would be in a frenzy, and another key lead was gone.
After ten minutes of reading, Gale didn’t want to stop, not even to watch the Eysen. She felt as if the Clastier Papers had been written just for her. Rip took Topper outside and set the Eysen on the patio table.
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” Topper said, after they got to the part of the spinning Earth. “How could this be that old?”
“It’s impossible,” Rip said.
Topper slowly took his eyes off the Eysen and looked deeply into Rip’s eyes. “Impossible . . . like it says in the Divinations? I never thought I’d see it.”
Topper and Rip knew Clastier’s writings well. Rip recalled the lines from one Divination that had been burned into Rip’s mind since he had first read the pages as a teen. “There will be a time at the beginning of the twenty-first century whence the earth shall reveal an impossible object. Within the stone is a light which will cause the holy city to collapse, for it shall erase the past, demonstrate all knowledge to be false, and the scriptures to be a hoax.”
Most of Clastier’s predictions had already come to pass, or Rip may not have been so consumed by that one. Clastier had accurately foretold the rise of the United States, Hitler’s atrocities during World War II, the development and dropping of the atomic bomb, the moon landing, and many other events. There were only five remaining Divinations left after the impossible object, and each carried its own view of an extraordinary future.
But now one of Clastier’s forecasts – the Eysen – had come to life in front of his eyes. “It’s true.”
“And this means the five final Divinations are assured,” Topper said with reverence.
The Eysen, without being touched, cycled through its sequence and went beyond any point Rip had previously witnessed. Then suddenly an image appeared that made Rip gasp.
Chapter 30
The human image looking at them from within the Eysen appeared so lifelike that, for a moment, Rip thought the person might speak to them. Instead, the man stared stoically while tears streamed down his face. Topper turned to Rip with a questioning look. But Rip couldn’t take his eyes off the man. Finally, Rip whispered to Topper, “Get Gale.” The man in the Eysen appeared to nod ever so slightly.
“Can he see us?” Topper asked barely audible.
“Get Gale,” Rip repeated.
Gale heard an abrasive sound as if being awakened from a dream, and almost resented the intrusion. Deep into The Attestations, and yet to discover The Divinations, Gale reluctantly answered Topper.
“Miss, come quickly. Ripley wants you to see something in the Eysen!”
Gale complied, rushing outside with Topper.
The Crying Man was more than a fair trade for interrupting Gale’s first reading of the Clastier Papers, still clutched in her hands. None of them could have explained it to anyone who wasn’t there; who hadn’t felt it. The Crying Man somehow communicated with each of them separately and profoundly. He stared into their eyes; his ancient tears carried wisdom and messages seemingly meant just for them.
“It’s like something psychic,” Gale said, reaching to touch the glass, wanting to be sure it was really there, separating her from this sacred man. “He can see us!” Her tone was hushed and urgent.
“Can you?” Rip asked, not believing his own question.
The man’s gaze expressed emotions impossible to conjure in so short a time. They wouldn’t know until later, but Gale, Rip, and Topper had each seen different things, understood different truths, and each would have sworn the apparition inside the Eysen had spoken individually in an unknown yet universal language.
The screen suddenly went blank. Topper nodded and turned away, then quietly, sadly, walked away.
Gale and Rip didn’t move, hardly breathed, as they tried to memorize everything the Crying Man had conveyed. Although they would never forget the Crying Man, those first moments after he vanished were what it must have felt like to be suspended in time, immersed in complete understanding. They struggled to assimilate it with the mundane lives they had had up until that point. Clinging to what they saw, like a fading dream, they were both forever changed.
“We’ve lived before,” Gale said.
“And we’ve lost far greater societies than exist now, than we ever knew existed,” Rip said.
“How much power does the human mind possess? If it can survive millions of years, and communicate so much . . . Do you realize what we’re capable of?”
“Everything.”
Knowing whether the Crying Man had actually communicated individually with them, was something they were unable to agree on, because later when they discussed it, their collective knowledge of the viewing merged, and there was no way to know who had experienced what.
Gale and Rip turned in early so they could resume studying the Eysen at sunrise. The Eysen had not come back on since the Crying Man, but they knew it would, and they’d see him again. Gale drifted off while reading the Clastier Papers, but Rip could not find sleep. He suddenly remembered the awards banquet he should have been attending that night in Miami. It was the first time since the discovery of the Eysen that he had thought about the Archaeologist of the Year Award and its $50,000 grant money. And he considered how, just a week earlier, he’d reached the pinnacle of his career. Now he was a fugitive, wanted by the FBI, and targeted by the Vatican.
Chapter 31
Nanski spotted the Bureau car forty feet from Gale’s front door. Parking was at a premium in this part of D.C. “The feds probably towed some poor guy’s car just so they could scope out her house,” Nanski told Leary.
“Yeah, and it’s a waste of time. She’s not going to come near this place.” Nanski grumbled at the sight of another agent watching the building’s rear entrance. “I guess they’re going to make us do this the hard way.” They parked at the end of the block in a barely legal space and quickly crossed to the fire escape of the end unit. They were on the backside of the row houses, invisible to the feds who could see only the alley entrances. Leary climbed up, and then pulled Nanski onto the roof. The two men kept low, as they crawled carefully along the steep metal roof, until they were directly across from the back of Gale’s house. The feds’ view was blocked by the building that they were on, so Nanski and Leary just had to climb down one fire escape, and then go back up the one leading to Gale’s.
The lock picked easily. Bypassing the alarm proved a bit trickier, but it was not a sophisticated system. With four federal agents watching, they couldn’t do a thing until morning, when they could work in daylight, unnoticed. “Ever see what a wintergreen lifesaver does in the dark?” Leary said, snapping a candy between his teeth.
Nanski watched the resulting tiny fluorescent sparks for a few seconds. “Let’s get some sleep.”
After praying, each found a couch. They knew that if they got caught, it would be an embarrassment for the Church but, ultimately, Dover would protect their operation – they slept soundly.
Saturday July 15th
Nanski and Leary were already moving when the first sunlight filtered in. They opened and inspected every drawer and cabinet. The FBI report had indicated that she traveled with her laptop and didn’t have a desktop computer, but their job included looking for more casual information; something that would reveal why she had run and where she had gone. As always, they were thorough, but very neat. Everything was photographed. Only a book was taken, which Nanski had noticed while scanning Gale’s shelv
es. Through the profile he knew Gale opposed organized religion. Why then did she possess a copy of De Ente Et Essentia (Thomas Aquinas’ On Being and Essence)? It seemed odd, until he read the inscription and saw who had given her the book; then it seemed incredible.
Leaving was much easier than entering; they simply exited the back door, walked down the alley, and emerged within fifteen feet of one of the stakeout vehicles. The FBI would have had no way of knowing which house they had left, because they couldn’t see into the alley. The two Vatican agents uploaded the digital images and reported the information about the book to Pisano. Within an hour, they would be carefully ransacking Rip’s place in Harpers Ferry with the same questions – why did he run? Where did he go?
FBI Special Agent Dixon Barbeau joined Attorney General Harrison Dover at the press conference, noticeably absent was the FBI Director. A cover story was put forward about an ongoing investigation. No names could be released pending notification of next of kin. The alleged crimes were only hinted at – domestic conspiracy that included theft of government property, and plots to cause unrest and disorder. They rebuffed a reporter’s question about terrorism, but did not deny it. The point of their joint appearance was essentially to provide filler for the networks, which had to say something about nine dead cops, but the feds didn’t want the story to grow, and had decided to stonewall. Instead, toward the end, they produced the name and photo of a second rate criminal who had been indicted, but not arrested, for arms dealing and other related charges. He actually had nothing to do with the case, but the Attorney General declared him a person of interest. A national manhunt commenced. The media had its distraction.
Back in the halls and away from the press, the Attorney General delivered a stern lecture to Barbeau. Next, Dover provided a backstory for each victim of the catwalk collapse at the Grand Escape Hotel, and finally he revealed new details about the incident that stunned Barbeau.
“With all due respect, Mr. Attorney General, I think that proves we’re dealing with more than an impulsive archaeologist and a nature writer here.”
“Of course we are, Barbeau. But tell me, who is helping them and why? This is the most important case of your career. If you embarrass me again, it will be your last.”
“Mr. Attorney General, if this, as you say, is the most important case of my career, I must be missing something. If you’ve read my file, you’d know . . . ”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Special Agent Barbeau. This is your most important case because I say it is. Do you need to be reminded that your boss reports to me?”
“No sir.”
“Then stop wasting time and go do your job while you still have it!”
Chapter 32
Having told his parents all he knew about Josh’s death, Sean managed to talk them out of going to the police or the media, until they knew more. They were reluctant but, because of the official cause of death and virtually no evidence at the scene, it seemed unlikely anyone would believe Sean’s story. However, they would insist on an autopsy. His father made an appointment with a top criminal defense attorney for Monday, the earliest available time. Sean took a shower and put on fresh clothes, then found his parents in the living room.
“Yesterday, I woke up and my life was perfect,” his mother said weakly. “Now one son is dead, and the other is wanted by the FBI. How did this happen?” She couldn’t stop the tears.
His father put an arm around her. “Listen to me, Sean. You need to stay somewhere else. The FBI may be here anytime to arrest you. How about with your old high school friend, John, until we can meet with the attorney.”
“Okay. But can they really arrest me?”
“Sean, you may think you were just doing a favor for Josh by giving a ride to two friends of his. But when I talked to the attorney about making an appointment, he told me that if in fact those two were knowingly fleeing federal prosecution, then you can be charged with a number of crimes, including aiding and abetting. And what if Gale Asher and Ripley Gaines had something to do with Josh’s murder?”
“No way,” Sean said.
“How do you know? You just met them,” his father said, as his mother sobbed again.
“Josh told me he’d known Gale for years. Gaines is an archaeologist, not a murderer. They’re running scared.”
“Why are they running? Why are they afraid of the FBI?”
“Come on, Dad. How many times was Josh arrested for demonstrating against war? The government isn’t always right.”
“I know that, but something is going on that we don’t know anything about.”
“I know one of my sons is dead,” his mother began. “And I don’t want to lose my other one!”
A knock at the front door sounded like a gunshot to their frayed nerves. Sean and his parents exchanged terrified looks. Sean ran for the back door. He wove between dunes and houses, making it four blocks down the beach, before his father opened the front door.
During his breathless run, he didn’t think of being caught. Instead, his brother filled every thought. Wanting Josh’s death to count for something, needing answers, and devastated by the tragic expressions of his parents, Sean decided to return to Asheville. His plan grew more out of desperation than logic. He boarded a bus from Virginia Beach to Asheville with a $121 ticket. The twenty-two-hour trip would give him plenty of thinking time; something he needed, but didn’t want.
Sean’s mistake was paying with a credit card; in less than twenty minutes the FBI knew his destination; half an hour later, agents were following the bus. Barbeau gave orders not to arrest him until he led them to Gaines and Asher, “but, by God,” he said, “don’t let this punk get away!”
“Sean Stadler might not be heading to Gaines,” Hall cautioned. “Our research shows no evidence that the three knew each other before six days ago.”
“He’s going somewhere and he’s our only real lead at the moment,” Barbeau said, opening a pack of M&M’s.
Hall nodded. “The twenty agents we just deployed to Asheville will be there long before that bus arrives. Virginia and North Carolina State Police have been alerted. No one is getting off that bus without our seeing it.
“Get two agents on that bus. Make sure they’re competent, young, and that they don’t look like us.”
Rip’s place in Harpers Ferry presented a problem to the Vatican agents. His loft apartment located above a fancy gift shop had only one entrance, a narrow staircase accessed from Washington Street. The balcony on the back, with its view of the river, could not be reached from the ground. It might have been possible to get in from the roof, but the feds had the front and the back well covered.
“Jesus loves me, yes, I know, ’cause the Bible tells me so; Jesus loves me . . . ,” Leary sang softly.
“Why are they wasting this manpower?” Nanski asked, “These two are too smart to return to their homes.”
“We need a diversion,” Leary suggested before resuming his song.
“A diversion big enough to pull an FBI agent off-post would require approval from Pisano,” Nanski said, dialing. “He’s not picking up.” They decided to wait and hope they got lucky, at least until they could reach Pisano. Leary blended in with the tourists and watched the agent watching the front, while Nanski sat in the car and took the one in back.
Nanski couldn’t help but think about the amount of resources the government had put on a case that normally wouldn’t require more than a few forest rangers, and maybe a couple of state cops. He knew the Church was applying as much pressure as possible without wanting to show how much was at stake. He said a prayer of thanks that a good Catholic, like Harrison Dover, was the U.S. Attorney General. After an hour, Nanski tried Pisano again.
“The feds have just moved on Asheville, North Carolina. We’re sending a helicopter for you. You’ll be in Asheville in less than three hours.” Pisano told him where to be for the pickup.
“What about Gaines’s apartment?”
“Forget it. We’ve ju
st been granted access to the stuff the feds took out of there on Wednesday. If we don’t catch them today, we’ll get someone else to hit his place.”
Nanski drove around the block and pulled up to Leary.
“Change of plans,” Nanski said.
“Again?”
“Strange case, this one. But Lord willing, this will be the final day for Mr. Gaines and Ms. Asher.”
Chapter 33
Gale and Rip had been frustrated for most of the morning. The Eysen acted entirely differently from the way it had on their previous viewings. The sequence began with lights, but only for a few seconds, before blinking off to black and then incredibly to random flashes of faces. Rip tried moving his hands, pressing the surface, spinning it to other positions, but nothing worked. Gale continued reading Clastier, enraptured by the spiritual depth of the man who had written the secret text. “It’s like he knew everything,” she said. “Where did he get all these answers, and how did he know so much about the future?”
They were just breaking for lunch, when a car sped down the long driveway in a cloud of dust. Rip grabbed the Eysen and stuffed it in his pack at the same time Gale shoved the English translation of the Clastier Papers in hers. They darted to the far side of the house and made for the trees. Only when they were safely concealed, did they chance a look back.
“It’s Topper,” Rip said, trying to catch his breath.
“Why did he drive? And is he always such a speed demon?”
“No. Just to be safe, let’s watch for a minute.”
“He’s alone,” Gale said, as they saw Topper come out of the house.
“So it seems.”
“Ripley, there’s trouble,” Topper shouted from the backyard. He shifted directions, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled again. “Ripley, Gale, are you there?”