The Guardian (40 page)

“You know, I used to think you were an idiot. Now I know it! Power is information. How can we have the power if we don’t have the information? The information is in the answer to the riddle!” He shoved back from his desk. “So why don’t you do something useful and go find us someone who likes riddles!”

Joseph let out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll find somebody. But Conclave is supposed to start in the morning. We may have to wait until after.”

Wickham’s face reddened. “I will not wait! Do it now! Find me someone!”

Joseph stepped closer to Wickham, his face mutinous. “I’ll do it after Conclave. Everybody around here is on pins and needles until the next pope is elected. Conclave starts in the morning. You are in charge of leading that, or have you forgotten? That thing”—he pointed to the scroll—”has eluded the Brotherhood since before you or I were even born. One more day isn’t going to kill you. Besides, if you’ve taken care of everything like you say you have, by noon tomorrow, I’ll be the next pope. And you’ll have the Vatican’s full resources at your disposal.”

A
nna sat alone on the couch downstairs, her head in her hands. She’d been crying since they’d gotten home two hours earlier. It was nearly daylight, but she couldn’t sleep.

The trip across the airfield had been a short one. They’d managed to get to the other side of the runway unnoticed. Benjamin, true to his word, led them to the end of the fence line, where a section of the fifteen-foot electric privacy fence had been cut. Wrapping his coat around his hands, he held the cut piece of fence back until everyone was through safely. From there they sneaked their way back to the main terminal where Patrice called her own chartered flight crew. They said they could be ready in thirty minutes. Fearing that they would be recognized at the private terminal, Benjamin made a second phone call and got special allowance to have her plane depart from the main terminal. The plane was waiting for them forty minutes later. They boarded and took off without any more delay. A few hours in the air and a short cab ride brought them back to the flat in London. Jason, Patrice, and Benjamin had

all gone to bed as soon as they had gotten home. Anna couldn’t sleep, so she let Patrice have her room. Benjamin was in the study, sleeping on a pull-out sofa, and Jason was in his own room. Anna made herself some hot tea and flopped down on the couch. She hadn’t moved since then.

For two thousand years her family had been entrusted by God with a secret. And now, in less than two weeks, she’d lost it. Jason had told her not to worry. The scroll was just a riddle. If they could figure it out, then the scroll itself wouldn’t matter. That only made her feel a little better until she reminded herself that they had no idea how to solve the riddle. The key obviously wasn’t where they thought it would be. They were at square one.

She wiped her eyes. She put her tea mug down on the coffee table and took a deep breath. No one could fix this but her. She had to stop acting like a three-year-old and pull herself together.

She had her grandfather’s notes. She had his maps. She knew what the scroll said. And she may not be the world’s most knowledgeable person on matters of the Bible, but Jason knew a lot. Her grandfather had been working on this for two years. Cardinal Wickham had only had the scroll for one day. She could do this. She could still figure it out.

Beams of light poked their way through the wooden shutters. The sun was already breaking the horizon. Jason had gotten enough sleep. She needed help.

She marched to the top of the stairs and banged on his door. “Get up! We’ve got work to do.”

From the other side of the door a weak voice spoke back. “Anna, go back to bed. The sun’s not even up.”

“Yes it is. I watched it come up myself, because I haven’t been to bed. And if I’m not too tired, then you’re not too tired. Remember, I make the rules. Get up! I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.”

The muffled voice groaned. “Don’t I even get a shower?” “Sure,” Anna said. “Just make it quick. You now have nine minutes!”

She walked back downstairs and found Benjamin in the kitchen. He was making coffee.

“I didn’t know you were up,” Anna said.

“I wasn’t until a few minutes ago, when a crazy woman began shouting upstairs.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” She moved over to the coffeepot. “Here, let me do this for you.” She took the coffee beans from him.

“Thank you,” he said, and sat down at the breakfast nook.

She pulled two bowls out of the cabinet and a couple boxes of cereal. She set them on the table and got the milk from the refrigerator. “Thank you, Benjamin. For everything.”

Benjamin smiled. “Anna, I am an old man. I’ve lived a good life. The only thing I regret is that I took so long to surrender to Christ. Half of my life was wasted. The only thing I want to do is whatever I can to help you. I know that my role in God’s plan was to help you and your grandfather. I don’t know what that scroll is or what it says. But I know that it was given to John by God. And I would gladly give my life for its purpose. So you don’t have to thank me. It is I who thank you.”

“You can stay here as long as you need. Just make yourself at home. Okay?”

“As much as I would love to stay and see what will happen next, I do still work for Mossad. They will want to know where I am and what I know about the bomb at the Wailing Wall. I will be leaving shortly after breakfast.”

Jason came into the kitchen fully dressed, hair wet, and a toothbrush in his mouth. Patrice followed right behind him.

“Morning!” Anna said. “And right on time.”

Jason went to the sink and rinsed his mouth. “Still got thirty seconds.” He pointed to his watch. He gave Anna a snide grin and set his toothbrush on a napkin. “So, you cooking, or what?”

“Yep,” she said, and tossed him a box of cereal. “Here you go. Freshly made.”

“Gee, thanks. I fix you eggs, bacon, toast, the whole works. And what do I get? Cold cereal.”

“You’ll thank me for this the first time you ever eat my cooking,” she said, returning the snide grin as their hero gunslinger walked into the kitchen. “Patrice, make yourself at home.”

“Thanks, Anna, I’ll just have some coffee. And maybe the other half of your grapefruit if you’re not eating it.”

“Sure. Here you go.” Anna handed her the other half. “Spoons are in the second drawer on your left.”

When they’d all sat down at the table together, Anna spread her hands flat on the tabletop. “Okay. So what do we do now?”

Jason swallowed a bite. “Well, I think we need to figure out where the key is.”

T
his was a momentous day. A new pope was being elected. The Vatican was bustling with reporters from around the world. The city and the rest of the world all were standing by for the sign: white smoke coming from the Sistine Chapel’s chimney. Black smoke would only mean an undecided vote.

All 117 eligible-to-vote cardinals were gathered together at St. Peter’s Basilica for a midmorning meeting and prayer session. They had already held their celebration of the Eucharist earlier that morning. It was a ten o’clock. Soon all voting cardinals would be sequestered inside the Sistine Chapel, where they would stay until a new pope was decided on.

Cardinal Louis Wickham stood at the front of the group and called them to order. “Gentlemen, this morning we are called to a great burden. As many of you know, I was very close to Paul. His time as our pope was cut too short. I hope you’ve all been in prayer about this. I’m confident that we will come to a quick decision.” He stuck his arm out in a welcoming gesture. “Cardinal McCoy?

Lead us in prayer, if you would, please.”

The cameras flashed and rolled tape as Cardinal Joseph McCoy lead them in prayer. This was a very odd thing. Pre-Conclave goings on were rarely, if ever, made public. And this was going to be one of the most watched papal elections since the invention of the television. To have access to the proceedings taking place at this moment was one of the most coveted journalistic privileges in the world.

Immediately after the prayer, the men formed a line and followed Cardinal Wickham into the Sistine Chapel. Two Swiss guards closed the door behind the last to enter and took up sentry posts. No one would disturb the cardinals for as long as it took to elect the new pope.

Inside the mood was already nasty. Arguments roiled through the divided room. Wickham stood on one side of the room surrounded by the Brotherhood. He wasn’t about to let this get out of hand. He had a scroll to decipher. He moved a chair out into the center of the room and stood on it. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “That’s enough! All of you, shut up!”

The room fell silent. All eyes were on him. Just the way he liked it. He made eye contact with everybody. “We all know how this works. Those people out there are expecting to see some smoke very shortly. They expect a preliminary vote, as is custom. I say we shock them. Give them smoke, but give them white smoke!” The room erupted again. This time he merely held up his hands and the room returned to order.

“Our church is in desperate times. The world is looking to us for clarity. How can we give them the perception of clarity if we can’t decide on our own internal matters in a timely way? You all know what Paul’s wishes were. He made that very clear. We believe that, as pope, Paul’s words were infallible. I say let those

words dictate how we vote.”

One of the senior cardinals pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Wickham, you are a vile, corrupt man. I will not stand by and watch you manipulate this system for your own benefit!” The room erupted again.

Wickham raised his hands and shouted above the noise again. He looked directly at the French cardinal who challenged him. “Jean-Francis, whatever you think of me doesn’t matter. What does matter is this.” He held the falsified letter up over his head. “In his own, infallible words, our beloved pope gave us the direction we are to take. Now, you can stand there and argue your point, but I suggest that if you question the pope’s role in this organization, then I say you are not fit to even be in this room!”

The room stood quiet. Finally, with the shaking of his head, Cardinal Jean-Francis said, “Then let it be on your head.” Then he turned and walked away. The other cardinals stood stone-faced, looking at Wickham.

He stepped down from his chair and said, “I hereby call this session of Conclave to order. We will take our first vote in ten minutes.”

London, the Safe House

Benjamin shook Jason’s hand and kissed Anna’s cheek, wished them well, and said good-bye. Patrice walked him outside to his cab.

Inside Anna and Jason sat in the study, poring over Thomas’s notes and maps. They had been there since breakfast, and neither one had come up with anything.

Anna massaged her temples and said, “My eyes are burning. Everything is starting to blur.”

Jason looked up from the map he was holding. “That’s what happens when you don’t sleep, Anna. You need to go rest.”

“I can’t. This is my fault. I’m the one who lost the scroll.”

“And you can’t do anything about it when you’re exhausted. Now go lie down. I’ll keep looking at this stuff. If I find anything, I’ll come get you.”

Anna nodded and stood up. Jason hated to see her looking so fatigued. “I’ll be upstairs. You come and get me the moment you find anything. That’s an order, mister.” She bent down and gave him a quick kiss and left.

Jason wasn’t working on much sleep, but at least he did get some. He was determined not to let Anna blame herself for losing the scroll. He would stay up for the next week if he had to, in order to decipher the riddle.

He’d prayed last night before he went to bed, asking God to give him wisdom beyond his years. A sense of peace had flooded him, a sure knowledge that possessing the scroll was not as important as solving its riddle.

He surveyed the books and maps and sticky notes adorning every wall. Thomas had been thorough. He was absolutely sure that they were looking for the Garden of Eden. The question was, what was the key? And did finding out that information give the exact location? Because if he was right, they definitely were going to need more than a general idea. According to all of his studying and what he’d concluded, the Garden of Eden was at the bottom of a very big body of water: the Persian Gulf.

He closed the journal and rubbed his eyes. He’d been reading for the better part of four hours. He couldn’t remember what he read twenty minutes ago, let alone two hours ago. He went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Patrice was sitting at the small table, reading the morning paper. “Anything about us in there?”

Patrice looked up and said, “Not us, specifically, but the whole front page of the international section is about the explosion at the wall.”

“What are they saying?”

“They think it was some radical Israeli group trying to goad the Muslims. One article suggested that the Muslims did it to themselves so that they could have reason to start a conflict with the Jews.”

“When are they ever going to get it?” He shook his head.

“Who?”

“Everyone. I mean, granted, we were responsible for this particular explosion. But things are so bad right now that every little thing sets someone off. We could have set firecrackers off at the wall and the result probably would’ve been the same.”

Patrice sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right, love. I guess we’ll just have to wait for the new Jerusalem to see the end of that little tiff. Unfortunately for them, one side thinks Jesus was just a prophet, and the other side called him a heretic. The whole lot of them is going to be surprised someday!”

“That’s it!” Jason clapped his hands.

“What’s it?” Patrice asked.

Jason closed the ten-foot distance between them in three strides. He had a huge smile on his face. He grabbed Patrice on both sides of her face and planted a giant kiss on her forehead. “I have to go wake her up!” He ran out of the kitchen. “We have to leave. Right now!”