Indisputable Proof (6 page)

CHAPTER 9

September 11. Tuesday – 1:42 a.m. McLean, Virginia

Morris Vakind strolled down the tiled corridor, passing scores of people engaged in conversation. Every conference room he passed was in use with the doors closed. Somewhere out of sight, he could hear printers at work and the whirring of surveillance monitors. While most governmental facilities in the Washington, DC area had long since gone dormant, the Langley headquarters building was a beehive of activity. The CIA never stopped working.

Vakind reached the end of the hallway and veered into a small conference room, closing the door behind him. As usual, the tiny enclosure was chilly. He walked to the podium and punched a series of buttons on the control panel. A flat panel screen promptly slid from its recessed groove in the ceiling, and the static CIA symbol displayed onscreen. He took a seat at the short walnut table and glanced at his watch. It was 7:45 a.m. in Madrid, Spain.

This was not a meeting to which he was looking forward.

Suddenly, the screen came to life. It was segmented into two panes. The right portion remained as it had been, showing the CIA symbol, although now only half of it was visible. On the left appeared a live head-and-shoulder shot of the President of the United States, Gretchen Fane. Her black hair, with its signature gray streaks, was pinned up. There was a general weariness in her gaze. Her deep, dark eyes indicated another long day. Vakind realized that he probably exhibited the same signs of fatigue.

“Good evening, Madam President,” Vakind addressed her, “or more appropriately, good morning.”

“Director Vakind,” she acknowledged. “I’m bringing the Spanish officials on now. Presidente del Gobierno, Luis Jose Tezman will be in attendance.”

President Fane’s Spanish counterpart; although he was known as the prime minister in most worldwide media, in the constitutional monarchy of Spain, his official title was president of the government.

The heat was about to be turned up even higher. Vakind gathered his thoughts.

The right half of the screen flickered and then burst to life. In the center of the picture was President Tezman. Two men sat on either side of the Spanish president. One had a mustache and the other was bald and clean shaven. All three men were dressed in dark suits and light-colored ties. None of them were smiling. In fact, they wore a collective scowl.

Thirty-one minutes later the audio/video feed from Madrid cut off, and half of the screen displayed the partial CIA logo. President Fane remained on the other half. It had been a brutal meeting with the Spanish president reiterating his demand that the Sudarium be returned before the start of the Feast of the Cross in 73 hours.

“Jesus Christ, Vakind,” President Fane started in now that they were the only ones left on the video conference. “I know it’s water under the bridge, but why did Tannacay ever promise to find the Sudarium by this Friday? Not only has Boyd Ramsey disappeared, but no one’s ever heard of the ‘True Sons of Light’.”

It was a rhetorical question. Tannacay was the former Director of Operations who had convinced the Spanish government to deny that the Sudarium had been stolen after the communiqué from the ‘True Sons of Light’ hit the press. He was trying to cover up that an ex-CIA agent was responsible. From there, the situation had snowballed. Somehow, additional information reached the press—an unconfirmed leak—that a CIA agent was involved. Again, the U.S. convinced the Spanish officials to deny it, but by that time, religious fanatical groups had become suspicious of a cover-up. Sentiment toward the U.S. was already low in Europe, so the fuse to the powder keg was lit. If the Sudarium was proven to be missing on September 14
th
, all hell was going to break loose, and the target would be any and all U.S. citizens in whatever locations the terrorists could reach them. The whole sordid affair had taken on a life of its own. Tannacay had immediately been relieved of his position. Vakind had assumed the acting role of DO, controlling a staff of more than 1,000 clandestine service operations officers. If he thought his job was hard before, the difficulty had just multiplied exponentially.

“Madam President,” Vakind spoke, “Samuel Tolen is now assisting in the matter.”

There was a pregnant pause. “You pulled him off leave?”

“I didn’t see that we had a choice.”

President Fane stared at Vakind for a long moment. “Given the circumstances, you made the right decision.” Another pause ensued. “Director Vakind, I have no choice but to warn U.S. citizens abroad by this Thursday, September 13
th
, if the Sudarium has not been found. I’ll have a press release prepared which will say America has received terrorist threats, and we’re going to DHS security threat level red for citizens traveling overseas. We’ll have to put our overseas embassies and military bases on highest alert. Every consulate must be told of this situation.”

“Madam President, the actions will be noticed. You’ll be tipping off the fanatical groups that we are, indeed, responsible for the Sudarium’s theft if you do so. We’ll be admitting guilt.”

“We’ll blame the terror alert on some anti-American faction based in North Africa. It’ll have nothing to do with Spain or other European countries.”

“You realize it won’t matter, right? It will be seen exactly for what it is: preparation against attacks when the Sudarium is confirmed to be missing a day later.”

“At this point, Director Vakind, I don’t give a damn. We owe it to our citizens. They will be warned,” she said resoundingly.

“Understood,” Vakind relented.

The transmission went dead.

Morris Vakind leaned back in the chair, locking his fingers behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, contemplating the ramifications. The room was still. Only the low hum of white noise filled the audible void. He agreed with the president’s decision. The protection of American citizens was a top priority. On the flip side, in doing so, it had effectively cut the time to search for the Sudarium and return it to Spain by a day.

Tolen had been integral in the 2010 on-site surveillance which had identified Osama bin Laden’s compound in Pakistan. Vakind had the utmost confidence in him, as did President Fane, especially after the ordeal in Sri Lanka a month ago. Compared to those missions, the odds of successfully recovering the Sudarium were miniscule, and the timing for Tolen and Diaz, which had already been impossibly tight, had just been squeezed even further.

CHAPTER 10

September 11. Tuesday – 2:26 a.m. Flying over New York State

“Once on the ground, we’ll head directly to Cambridge. Analyst Bar and a CIA operative, Agent Lattimer, are on their way to the Washington, DC, site to check the stone sphere there,” Tolen said after returning from the cockpit. He took a seat beside Jade. Diaz sat across from them. Outside, the engines rumbled, propelling the jet through the dark night.

Jade felt a continuing rush of optimism. The fact they might actually find information which would lead to Joseph of Arimathea’s tomb brought a feeling of anticipation, yet she tried hard to temper her excitement. She kept reminding herself it was probable the
creature of anonymity
was not an overt image. If, after checking these last two stone spheres they came up empty, it meant one of two things. Either they had been unable to locate all of the spheres, which was a distinct possibility given how they had been spread throughout Costa Rica over the centuries, or it meant she would have to start examining them all over again. Either way, after the CIA agents checked the sphere in DC, and they examined the Harvard stone, she would have her answer.

Another potential roadblock was that, even if they found the directions to the tomb, they had no way of knowing if such directions would still be relevant today. Ancient texts frequently mention landmarks which are unrecognizable today or no longer exist.

Yet, if they did find the stone—and the directions—the possibility existed they would not only find the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea, but they would reach the end treasure as well:
the earthly objects of Jesus Christ
.

The thought of such a wondrous discovery brought a mild shiver. Suddenly, a sneeze overcame Jade before she barely had time to cover her mouth.

“God bless you,” Diaz said.

“Thank you,” Jade said with a nod.

Tolen spoke, “It’s interesting that the origin of the word
bless
is from the English word
bledsian
, which means ‘to consecrate with blood.’ In essence, when you say ‘God bless you’ to someone, the literal meaning is, ‘God bathe you in blood.’ ”

Diaz stared at Tolen with a raised eyebrow and a disgusted frown.

Jade found herself suppressing a laugh at Diaz’s expression.

Tolen flicked an overhead cabin light on, turning toward Jade. “Isn’t it true Jesus is only mentioned in two pieces of literary work in the first century?”

“I’m not the biblical archaeologist. That was Dr. Cherrigan. But yes, according to what I’ve read, Jesus of Nazareth is referenced in the Bible, of course, and also by the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus.”

Tolen nodded. “It’s interesting that Josephus wasn’t born until 37 AD. In a single paragraph, he mentions Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection, thus confirming his divinity. Oddly, no writer before the 4
th
century makes reference to Josephus’ text.”

“And what does that mean?” Diaz said in an irritated tone, inclining his head.

Tolen continued. “It’s interesting if you consider Flavius Josephus was an orthodox Jew, yet he strongly upholds the Christian ideology with this one paragraph. Strange that Josephus would make such a brief mention of a figure who was considered so prominent.”

Diaz’s face colored. “Are you not a Christian?”

“We’re not here to discuss my beliefs, Inspector Diaz. I’m simply mentioning the facts.”

Diaz stared at Tolen incredulously. “These so-called facts…you don’t believe Jesus existed?”

“I only mentioned the evidence as it has been cited.”

“You’re asserting that Flavius Josephus, the historian, made up the information about Jesus? Is that what historians in America do? Make up history?” Diaz asked with rising agitation.

“Actually, I think Josephus was an intelligent man who penned only factual information,” Tolen responded in an even tone. Jade was intrigued at how he remained calm in the face of Diaz’s growing anger, but even she was unclear what point Tolen was trying to make.

Diaz shook his head in confusion. “Then, Señor,” he half smiled, “you have just contradicted yourself. If he only wrote the truth, and he mentioned Jesus in his writings, then there is your evidence that Jesus existed!”

“I agree with you.”

Tolen’s response surprised both Diaz and Jade. Diaz gave a confused smile. Jade watched as Tolen offered her a furtive gaze. At that moment, she realized the other shoe was about to fall.

Tolen went on. “The fact is, the first person known to have quoted Josephus’ text related to Jesus was Bishop Eusebius about the year 340 AD. The hyperbolic language in this single paragraph—such as the use of the word ‘divine’ and ‘foretold’—was incongruent with the Jewish historian’s style of writing. This has led some scholars to conclude that Flavius Josephus’ tome had been altered, possibly by Bishop Eusebius, and the reference to Jesus was integrated hundreds of years
after
the original text was written.”

Diaz’s face twitched in bewilderment.

Jade’s own religious beliefs aside, she found amusement in watching Diaz squirm. Once again, she was impressed by Samuel Tolen’s breadth of knowledge.

“It doesn’t matter,” Diaz snorted. “The Bible holds the truth. Jesus Christ was the Messiah.”

“I’m not arguing the authenticity of the Bible. This is just educated speculation,” Tolen responded. “Discounting Flavius Josephus’ account, the only place Jesus is ever mentioned in all of history is in the New Testament. There is no other historical record of his existence.”

Diaz elected not to respond and the interior of the plane went quiet except for the steady drone of the engines. The Spaniard grabbed a small pillow to the side, turned his back, and settled into it against the seat. Jade could hear his breathing and knew the discussion had angered him terribly. Diaz’s faith was obviously his guiding force, and she had no quarrel with that. She might resent his brusque mannerisms, but all people are entitled to their beliefs.

Diaz, she had figured out. Samuel Tolen, however, was a complete mystery. The American was the complete opposite of the Spaniard. Where Diaz had a fiery temper, Tolen kept his under complete control. Where Diaz took his beliefs on faith, Tolen appeared to open his mind to possibilities. He seemed to teeter between faith and tangible facts, as if balancing on the precipice between the two, unsure which way to fall. There was no denying he was intelligent and well read. That much was apparent when he had, yet again, exhibited his knowledge of history. His comments regarding the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus and the possibility of tampering with the man’s work centuries later had surprised her. It suggested Tolen not only knew the esoteric arguments surrounding the historical Christ figure, but that he had studied the facts in detail. She sensed that, in everything he did, Tolen had a profound need for absolute understanding and, in turn, absolute truth.

Indeed, Samuel Tolen intrigued her with his insightful analysis and his logical disposition. He was a man of few, but effective words. She felt incredibly safe in his presence, and it had nothing to do with the pistol he had shown her at the jail. She sensed that before he resorted to physical violence, he leveraged his intellect. She just wished he had come clean about whatever was going on. She was sure she was only getting part of the truth.

A short time later, the plane lazily pitched forward in descent. Jade looked down to see the darkness give way to the ubiquitous glow of white. Even at this early hour, the lights of Boston saturated the landscape.

Two minutes passed, and the cabin suddenly began to rattle. It turned out to be a harbinger of things to come, as moments later the entire plane shook violently like a toy in the grasp of a child throwing a temper tantrum. Jade felt her body whipped to one side, before she was violently jerked straight up. If not for the seatbelt restraint, she would have slammed into the ceiling. She bit her tongue as she settled harshly into her seat, her teeth slamming together with aching force. The plane continued listing hard from side to side, jostling the threesome with great force.

Reba Zee’s voice broke through the cabin speaker. “A little turbulence, folks! We’re gonna ride it out!”

Jade could taste the warm flow of blood. Her tongue ached, and her gums were on fire. She tried to steady herself by grabbing the armrests of the chair, only to have her grip broken, leaving her hands clutching at air with each tumultuous lunge of the fuselage.

In the frenzy, she looked across at Diaz, who was staring her straight in the eyes. With considerable difficulty, he raised a hand to his chest and crossed himself. Then he closed his eyes and relaxed.

Seconds later the cabin dipped abruptly and settled. As quickly as it started, the plane steadied into an easy descent. Tolen seemed unconcerned as he straightened out his shirt and his coat.

The otherwise excitable Spaniard also appeared unbothered by what had just happened. At no time had he shown any fear of death, and was now quite calm; a bastion of tranquility. If tragedy had come, it appeared Pascal Diaz was ready to accept it.

In many ways, she envied such staunch beliefs, which led to a twinge of remorse on her part. Buried within the recesses of her soul, an ember of hope yearned for days gone by when her own convictions were just as passionate, back to a time when archaeological evidence was secondary to blind faith.