The Cleric's Vault (30 page)

Adriana
stared hard at all of the technology in the room.
 
A rack of servers sat humming quietly in a small closet
nearby.
 
A few laptops lay on a
table.
 
Cords and wires ran all
over the place, behind the workstations and along the wall.
 
“Why?” she asked after a few moments of
awed silence.
 
“I thought you quit
doing all of this a long time ago.
 
Who are you working for now?”

He
looked at her with a sincere expression.
 
A thick cigar hung between his fingers.
 

“My
sweetheart, I’m not working for anyone anymore,” he ignited a butane lighter
and held the end of the cigar near the flame, rotating it slowly until the
entire tip had turned bright orange.
 
He brought it to his mouth and took a few quick puffs sending
bluish-gray smoke drifting slowly toward a vent on the side of the room.

She
looked more confused than before.
 
“What do you mean you’re not working for anyone?
 
What is all this?” Her hand stretched
out, pointing to all the gizmos and gadgets.
 

“It’s
complicated.”
 
The answer didn’t
appease her and she crossed her arms, clearly not pleased with the
response.
 
He took the cigar out of
his mouth and walked back over to the mini-bar.
 
He opened the bottle of tequila and refilled his drink then
held up the bottle, offering her another as well.

She
shook her head.
 
“No thank
you.
 
I have to get going soon.”

He
nodded.
 
“I know.
 
I had a feeling you wouldn’t be here
long.”
 
With glass and cigar in
hand, he made his way over to a smooth, brown-leather seat and sat down.
 
He rested the drink on a wooden side
table made from dark oak.
 
“That
tequila,” he said pointing at the glass, “is the smoothest I have ever found.
 
And I have certainly tried my fair
share on this planet.”
 
He laughed
momentarily.
 
“It’s made from pure
blue agave.
 
Very rare.
 
Usually very expensive.”

“I
don’t care about the tequila, Father.
 
What are you doing with all this stuff?”

Her
directness failed to dishevel the old man.
 
“I work for myself,” he said as he took another puff off the
cigar, chasing it with a sip of the golden tequila.
 

“What
do you mean?” she stepped forward and turned a desk chair around, sitting in it
backwards while she interrogated him with an unwavering glare.

He
stared at the end of the cigar for a moment, watching the smoke flow smoothly
from the tip and flitter into the air.
 
“There are many bad people in this world, Adriana.
 
Too many for governments or police to
find.”
 
He paused for a moment and
took another drink.
 
“I find them.”

Chapter 55

Cuenca, Ecuador

The
priest looked up into James’ eyes, kneeling on the stone floor of the Iglesia
de San Blas.
 
There was no fear in
the old man’s eyes.
 
His wrinkled
face was stern, clearly casting rebuke upon those who disturbed the sanctity of
his church.
 

James
held a gun in one hand, giving an unspoken threat that would demand
answers.
 
“Where did they go?” he
asked plainly.

“I
don’t know what you’re talking about,” the priest answered bitterly.

This
caused James to raise his voice.
 
“The people who were in here earlier!
 
Where did they go?”
 
He shouted the last part.

Resolve
filled the face of the priest.
 
His
white hair and beard were a stark contrast to the black robe he wore.
 
“Most of our patrons are gone after the
evening prayers,” he spoke honestly but in a firm voice.
 

“These
were not patrons, old man!
 
There
was a group of men who came in here an hour ago.
 
Where are they?”
 
This time, James held up the gun to the priest’s head.
 

“Ah,”
he said after a moment of thought.
 
“You must be talking about the group who searching for the map of Padre
Crespi.”
 
He left the sentence
hanging.

“Yes.
 
Where did they go?”

“I’m
not sure,” he said with a sinister sounding chuckle.
 
“But I can tell you for certain, this is not Carlos Crespi’s
church.”

“What
do you mean?” Angela struck the old man across the face with the butt of her
gun.

The
blow shocked the old man momentarily.
 
A thin cut opened high on his cheek and began oozing blood down his
face.
 
James just stared as did all
the other men in the group.
 
The
priest looked down at the ground for a few seconds before looking up into the
woman’s eyes.
 
“I do not know where
the people are whom you seek.
 
But
if they were in here, perhaps they got out through the secret tunnel below the
building.”

“Secret
tunnel?” she asked impatiently.

“Yes.
 
There are old passageways that lead out
of the church.
 
It is possible that
they left through one of those if they knew where to find the entrance.”

“Where
does the passage end?”
“A few thousand meters due west of the church,” he answered calmly.
  
His breathing had intensified,
though.
 
Obviously, the old man
wasn’t used to any sort of physical punishment.

James
glanced at his partner.
 
The old
man was being honest.
 
But he still
hadn’t answered the original question so James decided to take a different
approach.

“Where
is Crespi’s church, Padre?
 
The
people who we are looking for represent a great evil.
 
If they find what they are looking for, the world will be in
great peril.
 
Many souls will
perish.”
 
He stared hard at the
priest while he spoke.
 
The voice
carried conviction.
 
“We are doing
the will of the Lord, Father.”

The
priest glared at him.
 
“Does the
will of the Lord mean spilling blood in his house?” he asked as his hand
motioned to the dead body a few rows over.

“We
carry the sword,” James replied referring to a verse in the Bible.
 
“Sometimes those who get in God’s way
must be sacrificed.”
 
Collack stood
back and let the priest think for a moment.
 

The
old man could not lie.
 
It was
against what he believed in.
 
He
only hoped that he had delayed the murderers long enough for Wyatt and his team
to escape.
 

“The
church you are looking for is the Iglesia de Maria Auxiliadora.
 
That is probably where they have
gone.”
 
He lowered his head,
knowing that with the information, his execution would be next.
 

Angela
gave a signal with her hand like a circle in the air and the entire team
started moving quickly out of the building.
 
She then stepped back over to the still kneeling priest and
pointed her gun at the top of the old man’s head.
 
James had turned away but saw her movement out of the corner
of his eye.
 
He lunged towards her
and kicked up with his right leg just as she squeezed the trigger.

Her
arm jerked up into the air, the silent pop of the gun sending a round into the
ceiling above.
 
Rage filled her
face but he had already grabbed her by the throat and had his own weapon
pointed at the base of her skull.
 
“What are you doing?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“We
do not kill men of God,” James said with a stern voice.
 
His grip on her neck got tighter.
 
The rest of the team in the room stared
in shocked silence.

“He’s
a loose end,” Angela replied.
 
“We
leave no loose ends.”
 
She
struggled for air while she spoke.

“We
do not kill men of God,” he repeated.
 
“Do you understand?”
 
James
gave one last squeeze of her throat and shoved her away.

She
staggered for a moment and bent over, trying to catch her breath.
 
James turned and started heading for
the front of the church.
 
Angela
straightened up, rage filling her face.
 
Strands of her dark hair had come out of the ponytail she always wore
and dangled around her cheeks.
 
Then, the same muffled pop echoed through the cathedral.
 
James stopped in his tracks.
 
All of the other men had already left
the building, not sure they wanted to see the conflict.
 
He turned to look over his shoulder in
time to see the priest fall over on his side, a thin trail of smoke tracing off
the top of his bleeding skull.
 
Angela stood defiantly, still aiming the gun at where she had fired it,
a look of indignation on her face.
 
“No!” he yelled and raised his own weapon from his side.
 
His movement was too slow, though.
 
Her gun was already trained on
him.
 
Two quick puffs exploded from
the end of her barrel sending rounds of metal into his chest.
 
The impact of the bullets sent him
stumbling backwards.
 
Shock filled
his eyes.
 
He could taste a
sickening flavor of iron in his mouth.
 
As he tried to regain his balance, again Collack attempted to aim his
weapon but another shot puffed from her gun, this one hitting him right below
the neck.
 
This time, he collapsed
on the cold stone floor.
 
Blood
spurted out of the third wound.
 
He
tried to pressure it with his hands but it was no use.
 

Angela
walked casually over to the man who had been her partner for such a long
time.
 
She looked down at him with
mock pity.
 
“When did you become so
weak?” she asked him.
 
There was no
answer as he continued to struggle with the leaking hole in his neck.
 
He gasped for air but blood filled his
lungs.
 
He gurgled loudly as he
tossed on the floor.
 
“We made a
good team,” she continued.
 
Weaver
squatted down low, watching him almost curiously.
 
His vision began to blur as he struggled not to lose
consciousness.
 
“I was tired of you
holding me back, anyway.
 
It is so
much harder to get things done when you have to check with someone else first.
 
I always hated having to get your
opinion on how to do things.
 
I
guess now I won’t have to worry about that anymore.”
 
She stood back up and started walking away.

James
Collack’s hands were sticky with blood, his neck and face were covered in
it.
 
His movements began to slow
and his hands dropped down to his side.
 
“Tell your priest I said hello if he happens to be in hell with you,”
she said without looking back as she walked towards the entrance.
 
The sound of her shoes clicked against
the hard floor and echoed throughout the silence of the church.
 
She didn’t hear the last few gurgled
breaths of her partner as she passed through the giant doorway and out into the
plaza.

*****

Sean
looked down from the rickety ladder.
 
His eyes scanned the immense courtyard, unsure of what he was even
searching for.
 
From the high point
of view, he could now see the pattern of the walkway that wound its way through
the open space.
 
Four stone paths
began in separate corners, twisting and turning until they reached the center
of the courtyard.
 
There, the four
pathways merged beneath an odd stone sculpture of a tree with two trunks.
 
A single path led away from the
sculpture towards a pair of doors on the side of the sanctuary.
 
“Hey Tommy!” he shouted from his perch.
 
“What’s that sculpture in the middle of
the garden?”

Schultz
had been investigating some of the Latin words that were inscribed, somewhat
randomly, along the walls of the area.
 
Most of the inscriptions were Bible verses talking about service to
others and spreading the Gospel of Christ.
 
“Gimme a sec,” he yelled back and started making his way through
the flowers and landscaping towards the center of the commons.
 
Wyatt watched while his friend looked
over the sculpture.
 
“Sean, I think
we may have something,” Tommy finally said.
 
“Come take a look at this.”

He
descended the ladder and jogged over to the odd piece of artwork.
 
He’d never seen anything like it.
 
Two stone pieces, shaped like tree
trunks, rose up from the ground as if they were rooted in it.
 
The trunks were each about three feet
in diameter at the base and narrowed as they twisted upward.
 
As the trees got higher, they arched
inward until eventually they joined in the middle and became one, rising still
higher until the single trunk opened up with intricately detailed branches.
 
The entire piece was impressive,
standing about ten feet high.
 

“Notice
anything odd about this tree?” Schultz asked as the other two men joined them
in the center of the courtyard.

“Other
than the fact that there are two trunks?” Sean replied cynically.

Tommy
pointed.
 
“There are no
leaves.
 
The tree is dead.
 
With one little exception.”
 

The
others followed his finger to what he was pointing at.
 
A single piece of fruit carved from
stone dangled from one of the middle branches.

“What
is it?” Will spoke up.

“You
don’t know what this is?” Tommy asked, a little surprised.
 

Will
shook his head.

“El
arbol de vida,” he whispered reverently.
 
“It’s a sculpture of the tree of life.”