by Tom Haase
“You are a traitor to our society,” the cardinal hissed at Jonathan.
“You betrayed the oath of fidelity you gave to Pope Linus on his assumption of the papal office,” Jonathan said. “You swore allegiance to him and absolute obedience. A far worse act than anything I’ve done.”
“You’ll rot in hell,” Puglisi shouted. “When I get to Rome you’ll pay for this.”
“What’s next in your story?” Bridget asked, ignoring the Cardinal’s gibberish.
“The priest came with the expedition which set up a permanent colony here in St. Augustine.” Jonathan opened the car door to let in fresh air and continued. “Father Gonzolas provided for the spiritual needs of the settlement here until his death. His letters to the society contain some revelations. One is that he sent some large shipments of cash, in the form of gold to the society over the years he lived in Florida. I believe we can assume he controlled the treasure.”
He took out the pistol and pointed it at the Cardinal. “I think it’s time to go inside. This is the spot on which Father Gonzolas built his first church. It has been rebuilt many times over the same spot. He served as its initial pastor. The cross served as his way of letting any member of the order figure out how to find what he moved.” He waited until Scott and Bridget were out of the car and then pulled Puglisi out.
“Do you really think it’s here?” Scott asked.
“You two got us this far. Without your efforts there would be no beginning to this venture,” Jonathan replied. “It has escalated from a search for a gospel to a multi-religious matter of global proportion. The holy relics are something unknown before you discovered their existence. You have provided a great treasure to the Christian world and perhaps to Islam.”
His cell rang and he took the call. He said nothing after hello and hung up in less than a minute.
“We were just getting to like being kidnapped, shot at, and almost executed,” Bridget joked. “Now you want us to be heroes.” She laughed.
“I hope we’re at the end of the road. I think we are,” Jonathan said.
“How come so certain?” Scott asked.
“Because of the helicopter.” Jonathan pushed Puglisi through the front door of the church. “I called the Holy Father while you waited at the fort and he knows everything and has organized some surprises.”
“Whatdayoumean?” Bridget shouted, spitting out the words in rapid fire.
Jonathan led them through the main church to the sacristy. He stopped and waited. “I believe you two should find out about the treasure. It is in this church. I’ll keep an eye on the cardinal and you can go and search.”
“How do you know?” Scott asked.
“Because I am the papal secretary.” He smiled.
Bridget stared at Jonathan and shook her head in wonder at what the priest planned.
“Thanks,” she said. She turned and moved off with her brother.
74
St. Augustine, Florida
Catholic Cathedral Church
“We need to find the church’s oldest part.” Scott scanned the area. He led off heading in the direction of a small door he saw to the side of an altar to the Virgin, which stood much shorter than an ordinary door. “In those days men were smaller than today and this part of the church doesn’t look like it’s used because of the low ceiling.”
“Even I need to bend to get in here. It smells musty and damp,” Bridget said.
“I think dawn is not far off but do you have a flashlight?”
“No, but I see light ahead. This passage might just lead outside,” Bridget replied.
They entered a small room with candles flickering on the walls, not the sunlight expected. The glow most likely what Scott took for the dawn, but a man stood in the middle of the room.
“Do not be afraid,” said an old man dressed in a black cassock with a gold cross on a chain around his neck. His soft and cracking voice gave away his age. “I’m Archbishop Givanni. Please come forward. I’m anxious to meet you two. The Pope informed me that he has followed your adventure from the start. Father McGregor kept the Pope informed by his regular phone calls on everything you have done. You are quite resourceful.”
“Thank you,” Scott said. Scott observed the lean tall priest with his full crop of gray hair combed toward the rear across his entire head. He had to keep his head bent to avoid the low ceiling.
“I am the Apostolic Nuncio from the Pope to the United States. What you call an ambassador.”
“I guess we didn’t find what we’re looking for, at least not here,” Bridget said.
“You did find it,” the Archbishop said.
“But there is nothing here,” Scott said.
“A few minutes ago, it left here,” he replied.
“You stole everything,” Bridget blurted out.
“I assure you young lady, I did no such thing. Father McGregor called with the information that led us here. You must understand the items you seek always belonged to the church. And the head of the church has reclaimed our property and I placed it on our helicopter that I believe you heard land a few minutes ago. They will be taken to Rome to the Vatican Archives. The text we found here of Aristotle’s polemics and other ancient Greek works will be released in a few months to the world. I will assure you, you and your sister will get credit for finding them.”
“What about the Islamic text?” Bridget asked. She noticed the archbishop’s beautiful ring, the symbol of his office. It did not impress her at this moment, as their goal seemed to be slipping from them. She felt anger starting to boil.
“Those texts,” said the archbishop, “are sacred to the Islamic world and the Pope has ordered that they will be released to that world on the feast of Ramadan. Their scholars will get the manuscript when he decides.”
Scott heard a sound of footsteps behind him as Jonathan entered the room. “Archbishop, I left the cardinal in the hands of the Pope’s security men in the church nave.”
“I believe you still possess a computer disc of all the documents,” the archbishop said as he pointed to Scott. “Please give that to Jonathan.”
“Then we’ll have nothing, no record of all this to prove we found it or that it even existed in Poland or Spain,” said Scott. He started to back up.
“The world has to know about this,” Bridget said, stomping her foot.
“I have given you my word on what will happen.”
“What about the gold? We planned on making a lot of money on this,” Bridget stated with force.
“Young lady, the value of the relics is incalculable, as much of what is left of the gold is in relic boxes, and other precious sacred items. For your efforts the church will transfer to you a sum of four million U.S. dollars as a finder’s fee. Father McGregor will arrange all the details. By accepting the money you swear never to reveal anything about your adventure until the Vatican releases the news.”
“It’s worth a lot more,” Scott insisted, moving closer.
“You are correct, but do you not think my offer is generous for your efforts?”
They looked at each other and nodded.
“Please hand over the disc,” he demanded.
Scott dug it out from his backpack. He handed it to Jonathan, who took the circular item out of the plastic container, broke it in half and then into quarters.
“What’s in the gospel of St. Peter? Did you find it here?” Scott asked.
“Yes, it was here. We uncovered it with the rest of the items just a few minutes ago. They were in a sealed container. We will not open it until we reach Rome. The small container lay by itself and not wrapped like the other documents and the staff. That gospel will give us a detailed history of the ministry of Peter and of the rules he wanted established in the church to guide all the faithful on the road of salvation.”
“Did you read it?” Scott asked.
“I read a few pages. The writings of Peter are more specific than any of the four gospels. The instructions the Lord gav
e to Peter to set up the church and how he wanted it to function are contained in the writings. It details how to teach the gospel of the good news of the coming of the Son of Man into the world and it does not conflict with the teaching of our church. It contains Peter’s instructions to his successors and we believe it is for them alone. I regret the new priest younger that Jonathan are not taught Latin as a main language anymore. Fortunately, I read it as fast as my native tongue.”
The archbishop stopped for a moment and after taking a breath continued, “Mankind does not need another gospel detailing the real power of the good news that Jesus Christ taught. What we now use is more than enough for the salvation of man if he would see and live the commandments. We need only to obey the prime commandment, to love God and our neighbor and salvation will be ours. I thank you for what you have done and commend Father McGregor for his assistance. I need to be away before my presence causes problems. Jonathan, I expect you on the chopper with me back to meet the Pope.”
“What about the Crown of Thorns?” Scott shouted. “I want to at least see it.”
The Archbishop opened a brief case on the table. He took out a golden container, set it on the table and opened it.
“The Crown of Thorns is said to give the gift of true prophesy to anyone who wears it. That is what your message said in Warsaw. The one you found in the monks chamber and told Father McGregor about. The pontiff believes is too enormous for anyone to possess other than the intended one.”
He began to open the lid of the gold box and on purple velvet rested the crown of thorns. The room filled with a penetrating bright silvery glow. The intertwined branches of thorns looked as if they were just made that day. The box shook and the lights flickered. Jonathan crossed himself and at that second the Archbishop slammed the lid shut. The light disappeared and he clamped the lid shut.
The archbishop said, “You see this is by far the most precious thing you led us to. It will lead many Christians back to the faith Jesus Christ left us with and will be a beacon for others to follow. These relics and documents will be of great value to those who believe and have not seen. They may be of even greater value to those who have not seen. The Crown of Thorns will be returned to its rightful owner and never exposed to the public or the faithful. The first pope gave those instructions. Now I must go.” He went out leaving the three of them in the candlelit room.
“No, he can’t,” screamed Bridget. “It should be ours. We did all the work to find it.”
Jonathan faced Scott. He did not look at Bridget.
“Here is my cell phone number. Call me in twenty-four hours with the bank information where you want your finder’s fee sent. It has been a great pleasure to work with you both. Never a dull moment around you two. I hope we will meet again someday.” He made a slight bow before he walked away.
* * *
In the sacristy of the church, Jonathan found Puglisi.
“You betrayed your oath,” Jonathan shouted. “On our return to Rome the Pope has declared that you will be stripped of the role of Secretary of State and removed from the cardinal’s list. Your attempted plot to murder the pontiff by using your cousin is a criminal offense that carries a severe penalty. I want you to know that your cousin will not be able to carry out the mission you gave him. He met an untimely death in Rome yesterday.”
As Jonathan spoke, Puglisi’s face took on a look of total defeat.
“You have earned my contempt,” Jonathan flung at the man, “but I tell you what the Holy Father told me to say to you. He forgives you for what you did. For your penance, you will go to a monastery to spend the rest of your days in prayer and penance for the salvation of your immortal soul.”
“Bring him to the helicopter,” Jonathan said to the security man.
75
St. Augustine, Florida
The Old City House
Scott slept for four hours and woke when the sunlight hit his eyes. He went down to the hotel restaurant to wait for Bridget. Bridget said she would meet him for breakfast at ten. It was now ten-thirty. He sat with his third cup of coffee getting cold. Scott checked his watch again for the fiftieth time.
He decided to go up to her room to get her butt out of bed. Before he could move, Bridget walked in with her backpack over her right shoulder. She appeared distraught, her hair a tangled mess, and her expression fixed in a heavy frown as she moved toward him.
“Have you seen the news?” she asked, drawing near the table.
“What news?”
She sat down. “I’ve been listening to TV in my room. It seems our friend Jonathan gave a statement to the press a few minutes ago in Jacksonville on a breaking news story. He reported the Pope’s deepest sadness on the death of the Vatican’s Secretary of State, Cardinal Puglisi.”
“What?” Scott almost shouted his question.
“According to the statement Jonathan read, the cardinal’s brain cancer must have caused him to lose all his reason and on a morning helicopter flight to Jacksonville to join the Pope for a return to Rome, he jumped out of the chopper at three thousand feet.”
“You’re kidding.”
“We’ll never know what happened on the flight. My guess is the old bastard took his own life rather than suffer the humiliation awaiting him in Rome. The pope wouldn’t be able to condemn him if he were dead and this is the cover up story to save face.”
“Sounds like the reasoning of a college professor who will soon be two million richer,” Scott said, smiling. “No matter, we failed to get the original purpose of our quest. We don’t have the manuscripts or any proof of anything we did. But, and I mean but, there is no one following us now.”
“What do you think we ought to do?” Bridget intoned.
“We did keep something to remind us of our adventure that is real.” He reached into his backpack on the floor and withdrew the gold cross.
“You didn’t?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You smart SOB. I forgot about it. I’m surprised Jonathan didn’t get it.”
“I think he conveniently forgot. He is a good man,” Scott concluded.
“Too bad he’s a priest, as I could fancy him.”
“God will see you burn in hell for your wicked thoughts, sister.” He wagged his finger in her face for emphasis.
“As long as he lets me act them out first. Now, what can we do?” Bridget when to the bar and poured herself a cup of coffee and a juice from the buffet. When she returned she put her backpack on the floor next to her and faced Scott.
“Well, it’s a damn shame we didn’t get to keep the disc,” Scott said. “With it, we could do an analysis of the Islamic text and prepare a commentary for publication when the Vatican releases the original. It would provide a tremendous career boost for us to be published on something we had helped to uncover.”
“I could have translated the Greek and Latin works and be ready to publish on those texts before anyone else even suspected they existed. What a scoop for both of us to write articles on a major find. We’d both be famous in the academic world in addition to the credit the Pope says he’s going to give us for the discovery.”
They both sat in silence.
“It’s not a bad feeling to be a millionaire, is it?” Scott asked. “I guess we can’t have everything.”
“Really?” Bridget put on a broad smile.
Why smile like that? Maybe thinking of what she could spend her money on. Scott would be happy about that later. For now he was a bit bummed about the lost opportunity to explore the texts.
Bridget reached down to the floor and picked up her backpack. “You remember when we were in Granada and I asked you to borrow some of your music discs you always carry in your backpack? Would you like to hear those disc?”
“Not now.”
“Come on, bro. You want to hear this music,” she insisted.
“What in hell are you talking about? That’s old music and we could buy some of the latest CD’s today.” He slouched back in his
seat with a frown.
Bridget, on the other hand, wore a wide grin. Then she giggled.
A realization started to form in the back of his mind. She wouldn’t have done that, would she?
“You didn’t, did you?”
She gave him a smile, exuding great satisfaction.
“Tell me. Put me out of my suspense. What did he destroy?” Scott’s voice rose in anticipation.
“That old copy of the Beatles you love to listen to for some perverted reason.”
She tossed a disc onto the table in front of him.
The original disc from the Warsaw Museum.
Epilogue
New York City
Benjamin Joseph Schultz gazed out his window to the spectacular sight of New York at night from his fifty-sixth floor penthouse apartment overlooking central park.
His phone beeped on the desk behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he stared at it in amazement for a few seconds. Few people knew the private number and no one should be calling him at this time of night. He glanced at the display, which read: “out of area.”
He turned to pick up the phone. “Yes,” he said, answering it.
“Mr. Schultz, it is I.”
The panorama view out of his window of his penthouse onto Central Park forgotten in a second and his mind focused on the voice of a dead man.
The voice contained an African sounding accent.
Schultz tried to think. There were two men who knew this number once —though it couldn’t be them as they both died in Africa. He knew the police checked on their deaths.
“It is me, Kesi.”
“The police said you were dead,” Schultz said.
“No. I live. And so does she. We didn’t kill her,” Kesi said. “She knifed me in the desert and it has taken me months to recover. You owe me money.”
Schultz’s mind raced at something so unexpected and not planned for. His normal and well thought out plans did not include people coming back from the dead. When both of the men he hired didn’t report back and the police certified deaths near the archaeological site in Ethiopia, he wrote them off. But Schultz knew how to turn this unexpected revelation to his advantage.