CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (34 page)

"Right," John was saying into the phone. "Try the two-twenty
flight on US Air. If there aren't any tickets for us at the counter in an
hour, I'll call you back. And Syd, thanks. Shalom."

US Air flight 319 touched down in New Orleans at 4:51 PM. Cotten
and John caught a shuttle to the French Quarter, then a taxi to
Checkmate Services on Canal Street where they picked up the money
Syd had wired. An hour later they checked into the ten-room Blue
Bayou Motel a few blocks from the Quarter. They paid cash in
advance for two days.

"I thought we had a choice of a smoking or non-smoking room,"
Cotten said, wrinkling her nose at the heavy smell of cigarette smoke
that seemed embedded in everything.

John left the door open to the outside letting the breeze in. "Can't
say I didn't warn you."

Cotten looked around the drab, shabby room. There was a double
bed with a faded gold spread-over the headboard a framed poster of
dogs sitting around a table playing cards-beside the bed, a dark-colored wooden nightstand with a cheap gooseneck lamp. The bulb
couldn't have been more than 40 watts. A small desk and chair sat
under the blackout-drape-covered window. The closet was only an
alcove with a solitary wire hanger on a rod. "About the only thing that
would help this place is arson," she said.

"We've already been down that road," John said.

Cotten laughed. "Or down that mountain. Guess that's what
brought it to mind." It was the same kind of humor that often came
up at funerals, she thought. Even during the bleakest situations, the
human spirit attempts to uplift itself.

John switched on the TV and sat at the foot of the bed. He tried
to adjust the volume with the remote but nothing happened. "No
batteries," he said, holding it up to show Cotten the battery connector
dangling like an empty fishhook. He reached out and turned up the
volume on the set as the weather report segment of the local news
started. The young, attractive girl with a slight Cajun accent swooped her hand over the map of the country, as the screen behind her
zoomed in on the Crescent City. She explained that high pressure
brought fair weather just in time for Fat Tuesday, but warned that it
was still winter and parade-goers should keep a sweater or jacket in
tow.

The news anchor appeared-a shot of St. Peter's Square at the
Vatican shown over his shoulder. It dissolved into a procession of
red-cloaked men walking two abreast past the camera. "Coming up
next, the ancient ritual known as a conclave got underway today in
Rome as the College of Cardinals gathered from all over the world to
elect the next pope. Stay tuned for details."

The station went to commercials.

"So it begins;" John said.

"Maybe my friend Mikey from the Rathskeller is a contender,"
Cotten joked.

"You are incorrigible."

"I've been thinking about the message on my answering machine.
The voice. It was disguised, but there was something vaguely familiar.
I just can't place it. And why wouldn't this guy tell me everything on
the phone instead of all the stupid intrigue?" She stared at the numerous leak stains on the ceiling.

"No idea who he was?"

"No. He sounded nervous, though. I could tell that much. What if
this is a setup?"

"I'd be surprised if it wasn't. But we don't have much choice. It's
the only thing we've got to go on."

The news was back and the anchor said, "To recap our top story,
front-runner independent presidential candidate, Robert Wingate,
put to rest the rumor that due to his health, he would drop out of the
race. His recent health scare proved to be just that, only a scare. In an impromptu news conference held during his visit to the Crescent
City, Wingate announced he has gotten a clean bill of health."

Cotten leaned toward the TV screen, watching the clip of Wingate.
He stood in front of a bank of microphones-the Tulane University
Hospital in the background.

"I have no intentions of letting down all those who have supported me, and I definitely plan to stay in the race," Wingate said.

The clip ended and the newscaster wrapped up the segment. "Stay
tuned to News Central for complete coverage."

Cotten jumped to her feet. "Did you hear that? Health scare, my
ass. He must have paid off the blackmailer." She read the parade
schedule that appeared on the TV screen. "What is the Krewe of
Orpheus parade, anyway?" Cotten asked. "I thought everything was
on Fat Tuesday, but this one is supposed to be tomorrow, Monday."

John flipped through a brochure he'd picked up in the airport.
"Lundi Gras parade. One of three on Monday. The floats will carry
over twelve hundred costumed riders. Says here they'll pass in front
of almost a million parade-goers along the route. And our mystery
man thinks we can find him among a million people?"

Cotten closed the door to their room. She would rather smell the
staleness than be chilled. "He said he'd be dressed as a pirate, and he
explicitly said the northeast corner of St. Charles and Jackson. That
should narrow it down a bit. I don't think we'll have to look for him,
anyway. He'll find me."

John opened a city street map and held it close to his face in the
dim light. "You'd think they could put a slightly larger bulb in that
lamp."

"You don't need a lot of light to do what most people rent this
room for." She sat beside him on the end of the bed.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. That's probably the original bulb." He
put down the map and picked up a phone book, turning to the yellow
pages. "Costume shops," he said, leafing through. "At least your friend
on the phone didn't tell us the kind of costumes to wear. We know
how he'll be dressed, but he won't know which ones of those million
people we are."

"But he said when I get to the corner, I'm supposed to remove my
mask," Cotten said. "That's how he'll know it's me. And, John, not
us-only me. He said I had to come alone."

"I don't like it. That's not going to happen. If we're both in costume, as far as he knows, I'm just another parade-watcher. I can't let
you go alone, Cotten. It's way too risky."

"No," she said. "If it's a setup-"

"There's no argument you can give me. Nothing you can say. I'll
stay back a short distance, don't worry."

She put her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "John,
I couldn't do this without you."

He returned her embrace, then said, "Why don't you try to take a
nap."

Cotten let go and parked herself on the edge of the bed. "I am
tired," she said. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she slept.

When she awoke, it was dark. John sat at the desk by the window-a
second dim lamp barely illuminating its surface. He studied an open
book while making notes on a small pad of paper.

Cotten lay watching him for a long time. It was hard remembering anything about her life before John. She wondered what his destiny was, and hers.

"You hungry?" John asked, looking up from his notes.

"Starving," Cotten said. "I crave pizza. Sloppy with cheese and
covered in pepperoni."

"It's a deal." He pointed to the nightstand. "I put the phone book
back in the drawer. Should be a place around here that delivers."

Cotten sat on the side of the bed and pulled out the directory,
thumbed through it, and found a Dominoes. After placing their
order, she stood behind John and peered over his shoulder. "What are
you working on?"

"Some things about this mess we're in that have been nagging at
"
me.

Cotten saw that the book on the desk was a Gideon's Bible. Beside
it, he had filled a couple of pages in the pad with notes and diagrams.
"You think the answers are in there?"

"I think the Bible contains the answers to everyone's problems,
Cotten."

"You believe it's that simple? Want to share the enlightenment
with me?"

John turned to face her. He sat quiet a moment, just looking at
her. Finally he said, "Not yet. In a little bit."

She could tell he didn't want to talk. At least he didn't seem
offended by her flippant remark. If reading the Bible made him feel
better, she shouldn't spoil it for him. "I think I'll go shower before the
food arrives," she said.

John nodded without looking up.

Everything about the shower, the whole bathroom, she found
seedy. The toilet seat slid to the side when she sat on it, the mirror
needed resilvering, and the tile was held together more by mildew than
grout. Even the toilet paper was slick and stiff like gift wrap tissue.

Under the water trickling from the showerhead, Cotten finally let
go and cried. It seemed unfair that she was alive while Vanessa and
Thornton were gone. And Uncle Gus, fighting for his life-all because
of her. John sat in the next room searching for answers in the Bible. He said it gave him understanding and strength. Would it have the
answers she needed? Would it help her understand? Give her strength?
Don't hold your breath, Cotten.

Her life had come down to this moment in a dank, seedy motelher only friend, a man searching for his destiny, trying to find
answers in a book written thousands of years ago.

She held her face up to the sprinkling water. "If you're really there,
God, then how could you-"

John rapped on the door. "Pizza's here."

Cotten turned off the water and climbed out of the shower. Her
hair would have to drip dry. There were no amenities like a hairdryer
mounted on the bathroom wall at the Blue Bayou Motel. She dried
herself, then turbaned her hair in the thin white terry towel and wondered how much water it would be able to wick away.

She threw on a pair of jeans and T-shirt they had bought on the
way to the motel. "That was fast," she said, coming out of the bathroom.

"Apparently, they're just around the corner," John said. "The guy
told me he walked over here."

"Ready to eat?"

"You go ahead."

He seemed pensive, and she asked, "Is everything all right, John?"

"I think so. I mean, I'm starting to put things together. And it's
caused me to lose my appetite."

"Like what?"

He hesitated, obviously gathering his thoughts. "Let me preface by
saying I believe that God speaks to us through the scriptures. Whenever I need answers, I turn to this book. One way or another, it always
gives me what I'm looking for." He paused and glanced at her. "After
you fell asleep, I decided to pull it out of the bedside drawer and read. As I opened the book, this was the first thing I came across." He lifted
the Bible. "It's from the book of Revelation. I saw a woman sitting
upon a scarlet beast that was full of names of blasphemy, having seven
heads and ten horns. The woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet, and
adorned with gold and precious stones having in her hand a golden cup
full of abominations."

"I don't get it."

"I didn't at first, either. But then I started thinking about the list
that Cheryl read to you. Thornton put that list together because he
believed those people are connected to the Grail theft. Thornton ends
up dead. Then you give the list to your uncle; he somehow makes a
connection and winds up almost killed in a car crash. And then
there's Archer's death at the start.

"There are seven names on the list, all of them powerful world
leaders. They cover the entire gauntlet of politics, economics, communications, and the military. Remember the Bible quote-the seven
heads-the seven world leaders. The cup, full of abominations. The
Grail. Someone, some group, with enormous resources managed to
switch the real Cup with an almost-perfect replica right out of the
Vatican's Secret Archives. I think the Templars are alive and well, and
they are the seven heads. The ten horns puzzled me for a while, but
then I realized the list probably didn't include everyone, only the
world leaders. There must be a core, those who are directing the chorus. My guess is there are three more, one of which is the Grand Master. I think Thornton figured it out, set off some alarms, and he had
to be stopped."

"But if the Templars are Guardians of the Grail, why would they
be such bad guys in the Bible?" Cotten toweled her hair. "And why
abominations? If the Grail contains Christ's blood, how could that be
considered an abomination?"

"That's the part that really rocked me. It's not the blood, it's what
someone could do with the blood ... that's the abomination."

"I still don't understand."

John turned the pages in the Bible until he came to one he'd dogeared. "You might want to sit down for this."

She sat on the edge of the bed, and he joined her.

John didn't say anything for a few moments.

"Come on, tell me."

He heaved out a sigh. "I think I have some idea of what God has
planned for you ... for us-why we have been brought to this place at
this time. I believe that you are someone extraordinary."

Cotten's stomach clenched. He was leading up to something that
she felt sure was going to scare the hell out of her. "Just tell me," she
said, closing her eyes.