Indisputable Proof (24 page)

CHAPTER 39

September 13. Thursday – 2 p.m. Oviedo, Spain

Tolen approached the Cathedral of San Salvador, admiring the elegant structure with its towering stone bell tower. Clarín, the Spanish novelist, had described it with poetic precision when he referred to it as a “stone finger pointing to heaven.”

He arrived at the central door of the cathedral. A robed priest shuffled past, turned, and asked in broken English if he were Samuel Tolen.

Tolen nodded.

“Uno minuto, por favor,” the priest said, ducking back inside.

Tolen admired the craftsmanship of the relief of the Transfiguration on the door as he waited in the comfortable Spanish sunlight before the entryway.

Shortly, a man in a black cassock appeared at the doorway and stepped outside. He sported a crew cut of gray hair and had narrow, accommodating eyes. His wrinkled face signaled his advanced years. Tolen shook the man’s proffered hand. “Mr. Tolen, I am Archbishop Juan Gustavo. Inspector Pascal Diaz asked me to show you the most unfortunate scene of the events which recently occurred at our magnificent church. I must insist we keep the visit brief. The Feast of the Cross starts at 9 a.m. tomorrow morning, and we have much to do to prepare. The Cuerpo Nacional de Policia has spent much time examining the Cámara Santa, and I suggest you seek them out for their details. I will allow you some time and try to answer any questions you may have.”

Tolen nodded. “Thank you, Archbishop. I understand what an inconvenience this is, but I think the time will serve both of our countries well. I will keep my visit short.”

The Archbishop gave Tolen a subtle nod of agreement. There was an unspoken understanding of the ramifications if the Sudarium was not returned before the next morning’s events began.

He led Tolen inside, and they strolled down the long center aisle. Given the Archbishop’s advanced age, he was quite spry and moved with purpose. Today’s work for the elderly man was far from perfunctory. Preparing for the start of the Feast of the Cross was surely one of the most hectic and trying days of the year for the Archbishop.

Tolen marveled at the architecture inside the cathedral. Massive columns shot upward to a vast arched ceiling with ornate images, occasionally interrupted by magnificent stained glass windows. The eight-sided dome in the center lifted to a staggering height. Carved figures and reliefs were almost everywhere he looked. Tolen had read that the Cathedral was classical Gothic at heart, but a litany of styles had been integrated into the church design since its original construction in the 8
th
century. Various influences were clearly visible in the cloisters, choir, naves, narthex, and ambulatory—everything from Pre-Romanesque to Baroque, and even Romanesque, exemplified by a collection of fabulous column-statues. It was almost like walking through centuries of historical architectural progression.

Beyond the nave and before the choir area, several priests busied themselves fussing over a tapestry that hung at the front of the main altar where the image of the Divine Savior was situated on a four-column baldacchino. Nearby, the images of the other prophets who took part in the Transfiguration story mentioned in the Gospel came into view. The altar was further surrounded by eight magnificent paintings depicting scenes from the life of Jesus Christ embedded within a complex array of decorative masonry. Above it all, the colorful Churrigueresque cupola towered into the air.

On one side of the altar, Tolen eyed two robed priests who were putting the final touches on a diorama. Tolen recognized the scene as Mary and Joseph tending to the baby Jesus in a thatched cradle. The revered couple was depicted by life-size mannequins replete with period clothing being arranged with care by the priests. Baby Jesus was a simple toy doll wrapped loosely in a small, off-colored blanket.

“In preparation for tomorrow’s celebration,” the Archbishop announced, obviously noticing Tolen’s gaze.

More priests were milling about the transept on the left, before disappearing out of sight. Their voices stayed low, softly echoing in the vaulted chamber. The smell of freshly polished wood lingered in the still air. Tolen figured the pews had just been attended to for tomorrow’s ceremony when thousands of people would converge on the cathedral and spill out into the side streets and avenues, having journeyed from nearby towns and distant lands to pay homage to the treasured and venerable holy relic: the very cloth that staunch believers say covered the bloodied face of Jesus Christ while He still hung upon the cross immediately after His crucifixion; the cloth that most believed was now tucked safely away in the Arca Santa in the adjoining Cámara Santa relic room.

Tolen suddenly felt an irrepressible urgency to find the Sudarium.

The Archbishop continued on, directing Tolen to an opening at the apse wall where steps led up to a small room. Light shined ahead on the length of the room, accentuating its rough stone-masonry walls and barrel-vaulted ceiling. To the sides, pilasters were adorned with carvings of the twelve Apostles, two set upon each of six pilasters.

At the end of the room, Archbishop Gustavo approached a second, overlapping room with a much lower barrel-vaulted ceiling. It was set apart from the first room by an archway where perpendicular iron bars and an iron-barred door prohibited access. Unlike the entry room, this secured room—which Tolen recognized as the Cámara Santa—was filled with artifacts.

The Archbishop stopped before the locked gate and turned to Tolen. “The Cámara Santa was built to house the holy relics obtained during the Asturian Monarchy: the Cross of Victory, Cross of Angels, Agatha Box,” he said, sweeping his hand before him with a swish of his robe as he pivoted, “and, of course, there are also the reliquary items stored in the Arca Santa.” He pointed to a large, black, oak reliquary chest in silver gilt adorned with repoussé in the center of the room. “This is where the Sudarium is usually—” He stopped himself. A pained expression crossed his eyes. “That is where it is stored.”

“Had anyone else opened the chest recently before the theft?”

“No, Señor Tolen. The Sudarium is only put on display three times a year. The last time the chest was opened was on Good Friday.”

“It’s not periodically inventoried?”

“No, there is no need. The contents remain inside.”

Tolen leaned forward and peered at the decorative chest. “Is the chest locked?”

“No, but the iron gate is kept closed and locked at all times.”

Tolen knelt down and examined the keyhole. There were scratch marks where someone had clumsily picked the lock. “Who has the key to this door?” Tolen asked.

“I have a key in my office, and the local police have one. They confirmed after the crime that they still have their copy of the key, as do I.”

“Do you keep your office locked?”

“Yes.”

“Does anyone besides you have a key to your office?”

“Yes, the poor guard, Javier Diaz, did.”

Tolen thought for a moment. “Where was his body found?”

“On the floor behind the chest. Father Carletta, who discovered Javier with that halberd buried in his chest, hasn’t been the same since.”

Tolen looked deep into the man’s eyes. “Archbishop Gustavo, surely you are aware of the violence which will erupt tomorrow if the Sudarium is not returned in time. Is there any way to forestall the festivities, even if for only a few hours to buy us more time to locate it? Could a substitute be used in place of the Sudarium?” Tolen knew what he was suggesting equated to blasphemy. No matter how small the chance, he had to try.

The Archbishop’s gaze turned icy. He spoke sternly. “The Feast of the Cross will proceed as it always has. God will be with us. Everything we do is part of
His
plan.”

There was a long pause.

“Thank you for your time, Archbishop Gustavo,” Tolen said, shaking the man’s hand. “I can see myself out.”

The Archbishop wore an expression of surprise as if to say,
is that all you needed to see?

Tolen left the Cámara Santa, passed through the main sanctuary, and left the building. He stepped out into the grassy courtyard where he was greeted by a mild wind and comfortable temperature. The sun was beaming into his face, and he placed his sunglasses on.

He walked to his rental car parked in the side lot, now armed with information which had turned his investigation in a new direction.

CHAPTER 40

September 13. Thursday – 2:57 p.m. Oviedo, Spain

Tolen contacted Bar and requested a residential address, which she provided. He found the single-story villa situated at the end of Calle Cristiana, a quiet street on the edge of Oviedo. The residence was secluded, at least a hundred yards away from the nearest dwelling; a house situated far from the road on a wooded lot.

It was the home of Javier Diaz.

Tolen no longer believed Javier Diaz was an unsuspecting victim of a malicious, premeditated murder and theft. He now had evidence suggesting the man might have been part of the theft and, most likely, had been double-crossed somewhere in the process. Unfortunately, Boyd Ramsey’s attendance at Simon Anat’s gathering suggested that the ex-CIA analyst was, indeed, deeply involved. Tolen theorized that Ramsey and Javier Diaz had formed an alliance intent on winning Simon Anat’s $30 billion reward. Ramsey must have somehow believed the Sudarium held the key to satisfying the proof Anat sought. The fact that the Virginia lab tech, with whom Ramsey had been in contact, had thread samples of the Sudarium on August 24th meant they had access to the Sudarium at least a week prior to its known theft. To compound matters, there was still the mystery of how Jade factored into all this.

Tolen pulled into the long, gravel driveway after confirming the address on the mailbox. The yard was overgrown, but the exterior of the house was well kept. Tolen parked, left his coat in the car, and approached the front stoop. He was not sure what he was looking for, but similar to Aaron Conin’s apartment, which had not been thoroughly searched since it was believed his murder had taken place on the street, Javier Diaz’s house had been left out of the investigation since the homicide occurred in the church. With any luck, he might uncover some telltale evidence to help solve this ever-twisting riddle.

Using a compact tool kit he pulled from his pocket, Tolen picked the front door lock and entered the house. The stagnant air inside was warm. The decor was quaint, not particularly color coordinated, nor had it been dusted in a while. Sports and automotive magazines were heaped on an end table. Typical bachelor’s house, Tolen thought.

He made his way into the kitchen. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink where the sour smell of rancid food rose from the drain. There was a stain on the counter which appeared to be the result of a spill from tomato-based pasta sauce of some sort.

He passed through, into a dining room with a small round table and two chairs. A filing cabinet was on the left. It was unlocked, and he opened it. The first two drawers were empty. The bottom drawer contained folders in complete disarray; turned and twisted, some ripped off the metal runners. Papers were scattered everywhere. Tolen spent the next fifteen minutes sifting through them. It was all personal information: bank statements, receipts, car titles, insurance cards, etc. Tolen assembled the monthly bank statements from the last four years. The only one missing was the statement for the month of June two years ago.

Tolen drifted into the master bedroom. The bed was unmade; the adjoined master bathroom cluttered with toiletry items. He thumbed through the junk mail on the bureau and found nothing of interest.

He checked a second, then a third bedroom with the same results. Whatever secrets Javier was hiding, he had left no evidence behind. Or perhaps someone had already purged the place, as evidenced by the file folders being scrambled and disorganized.

He moved into the living room and den before he returned to the kitchen. He checked inside the refrigerator. Only a scant amount of food was tucked into the small freezer above the main storage unit. He meticulously went through each cupboard, yet still nothing of substance turned up.

Tolen eyed a pantry door across the way. He looked at it momentarily, then strolled over and turned the handle expecting to see a shallow recess containing shelves of food.

Instead, when he swung the door open he saw gaping darkness.

Thin wooden stair steps led down into a basement. Tolen looked around on the wall near the door, inside and out, for a light switch. He found none. He retrieved a pen light from his pocket and turned it on, aiming the small shaft of light down into the abyss. Eight feet below, the beam landed on a solid cement floor. He carefully negotiated the steps, holding onto a rickety wooden side rail. The air became damp and cooler as he descended. A rank, earthen smell pervaded.

He arrived at the base and found a hanging string. After a single tug, an exposed light bulb on the ceiling flickered on. Tolen turned his pen light off and returned it to his pocket.

The enclosure was small; no larger than the kitchen above. The walls were unfinished, revealing uncovered wall struts and electrical wiring. The bare cement floor was uneven and rough. The only object in the room was a white freezer at the far end. He headed over to it.

The chest freezer was a large, rectangular unit. He could hear a low whir of a motor that signified it was turned on and working. There was a smear of red at the lip where the gasket sealed the lid to the main body. Tolen flashed back to the pasta stain on the kitchen counter above. A disquieting thought ran through his mind:
What if the two stains were something other than spilled food?

Tolen leaned forward to examine the red fluid, which had long ago dried. He stood upright and removed a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and put them on. After wrapping his fingers under the edge of the lid, he pulled up. With a
pop
, the lid broke free of the cold-air seal.

A light came on inside, illuminating the assortment of frozen foods. Like the filing cabinet, the contents were strewn about haphazardly. Boxes of vegetables, bags of poultry, bread and food of every ilk packed the freezer nearly to the brim. Chilly air lifted to Tolen’s face. Steam left his mouth with each exhale.

It was only after several seconds of examining the contents that Tolen saw it.

An icy human head was wedged in the back left corner, facing him. The frosted face resembled an alabaster statue. The eyes were closed; the nose holes plugged with crystallization. The thin, off-colored lips had mutated into nothing more than a frozen horizontal cut in the lower half of the face. The cheeks were pressed out, locked in a bizarre position as if food was stuffed in both sides.

Even in this grisly state, Tolen recognized the face. It was Boyd Ramsey.

Damn
.

With his gloved hands, he reached forward and pulled some of the frozen items away. It had first appeared the head was severed, floating atop the frozen goods, but it had only been an illusion. As he drew back the stiff bags and cold boxes, he saw the man’s taut neck led down to clothed shoulders and chest. His body was intact, which was not much consolation.

He spotted Ramsey’s left hand sticking up between two bags of frozen carrots. As he had morbidly expected, the ring finger had been severed at the first joint.

Tolen looked back at the permafrost face. Just below the neckline, Ramsey was clad in a dark, bulky shirt of some sort. He gently dug the food away. Strangely, a red light began to flash across the man’s chest where he could now see a harness and vest had been secured. The flash speed escalated until it was nearly a steady red light.

Tolen’s blood went cold. He recognized it in an instant: he had primed an explosive.

He willed himself not to panic. He had to find the source and disarm it quickly.

Tolen looked at the underside of the lid, expecting to see a wire connection which had armed the device when he raised it. Oddly, there was none, but he did see a thin insulated wire running from inside the freezer and curving over the back edge. From there, it dove behind the freezer and out of sight.

It appeared that opening the freezer was not what had armed the device, but Tolen was unsure exactly what had. Holding his feet in place, he looked down. He was surprised to find he was standing on a paper-thin, white rubber mat which blended almost seamlessly into the cement floor. He squatted, ensuring his feet remained in place. He spotted the tiny insulated wire again. It originated from underneath the freezer and slipped beneath the mat where he stood. Stepping on the mat had armed it. He was also certain it would detonate if he stepped off the mat. Weight-trip detonators were activated when weight was applied and then detonated when some percentage of the original weight—usually 20%—was removed.

His only chance was to displace his body weight with another object. He looked about in the empty room struggling to discard morbid thoughts of what would be left of him if the device went off.

Now he knew why the basement was barren. Whoever had set this trap had considered the countermove.

He had to come up with another plan. As gruesome as the thought was, he considered pulling Boyd Ramsey’s body from the freezer and placing it on the mat, but that would surely entail removing the harness with the explosives, and he was reasonably sure doing so would trip the detonator.

Tolen pulled out his cell phone to call for help. Then he hesitated. If someone was smart enough to establish an arming device underneath a mat (and remove potential weight displacements from the room), they were smart enough to engage relay tracking of cell phone transmission signals as a secondary form of detonation. Hitting the
send
button would have the same effect as stepping off the mat. He deposited the phone back in his pocket feeling more and more defeated.

His father’s words rang in his ears:
Defeat only grabs you by your feet and yanks you under water when you invite it to do so. Always tell defeat to hold its place at the muddy bottom while you enjoy success swimming across the surface.

An idea struck him. He could use the weight of the freezer.

But there were inherent risks in doing so. If the sensor underneath the mat was complex, it might complicate the parameters for detonation. For example, if additional weight is added, it may re-establish this new combined weight as the top mark, and a 20% decline in this weight would detonate the explosive. So if he was able to lift the freezer and get a corner of it on the mat, once he stepped off, chances were it would still detonate. The positive side of such a scenario was that such a more complex trigger would have a lag time in order to re-establish a top weight and assess the 20% drop. That lag time could be a few seconds.

Would that be enough time to get up the stairs and clear of the basement?

Another problem was lifting the corner of the freezer onto the mat. With the freezer full of food and a corpse, there was no question it would be immensely heavy. If, once he raised it, he was not able to move it over onto the mat quickly and set it back down, the loss in weight would spell his doom. For him to be successful, he had to lift it, move it onto the mat, and drop it down in one motion, then sprint up the stairs. There would be no second chance.

It was a glum predicament, yet it appeared to be his only option. Time was running out, and he had to take action. Beads of perspiration sprouted across his forehead.

He looked up at the top of the stairs. Light was coming through from the kitchen where he had left the basement door open. At least he had that going for him.

Tolen closed the lid. He knelt down and reached underneath the freezer. The bottom edge was sharp. It was going to be painful. He steadied his resolve and took a deep breath, knowing it might be one of his last.

****

Maria Sanchez had just returned home on Calle Cristiana, navigating up the long, dirt driveway. She had been out buying groceries and exited the vehicle carrying an armload of bags. Alimerka had a sale on vegetables, and she had taken full advantage of it, practically filling her front and back seat. Now she was tasked with getting them into the house and put away. She awkwardly readjusted her purse onto her shoulder, struggling to hold the numerous bags. Content she had everything under control, she headed to the front door, realizing with chagrin she had already placed her keys back in her purse.

Just as Maria reached the porch, a tremendous explosion rocked the afternoon silence, violently shaking the air. She jumped, uttered a slight scream, and dropped everything she was holding. To the left, a monstrous fireball appeared over the trees, swirling red and yellow, and then mushroomed out as the awful sound reverberated in the distance. The repercussion left her ears ringing.

It took her a moment to gather her wits. The only thing in that direction was Javier Diaz’s house.

She shook herself from her daze and found her purse several feet away. She fished out her cell phone, spilling most of the contents of her purse, and dialed 112 for Emergency Services.