Indisputable Proof (9 page)

Tolen checked his watch: 8:45. He waited patiently for the next minute to tick off. Once 8:46 arrived, he hoisted his shot glass into the air, as did Reba Zee.

“To those who have fallen…,” Reba Zee said, a tear threatening to fall from her eye.

“We will never forget,” Tolen finished solemnly.

They both gulped down their respective shots, and on the exact minute of the anniversary when the first airliner was flown into the North Tower of the World Trade Center, Samuel Tolen and Reba Zee commemorated all the people in the world whose lives had been lost as a result of terrorist activity, including Frank.

For a long moment, Reba Zee stared at the third, full shot glass sitting stoically to the side. “Okay, back to business,” she finally said, forcing a grin.

Tolen rose and was about to return to the cabin when he paused. “Would you like to take a break? I can take the wheel for a few hours.”

“Are you kidding?” Reba Zee said with a smirk. “No one who’s sipped alcohol is touchin’ my baby.”

CHAPTER 14

September 11. Tuesday – 2:04 p.m. Northwest coast of Costa Rica

Tolen had to keep the speed down as the vessel pushed west through the waves, rising and falling with each comber. The salt in the breeze was strong, and, in a way, invigorating. The sky was clear and bright. To starboard, the shoreline of Costa Rica fell away and blended seamlessly into the Nicaraguan coast in the distance. Ahead, the dark blue horizon stretched out to infinity. Yet it was the port side Jade was watching with building anticipation, as they paralleled the barrier of gray, mountainous walls which abutted the sea and reached to lofty cliffs overhead.

If she had not been so anxious about their quest, Jade might have felt more sympathy toward the inspector. It had taken Pascal Diaz all of five minutes riding aboard the 25-foot boat to turn green from seasickness as they pitched and swayed in the choppy waters of the Pacific Ocean. The Spaniard had quickly disappeared below deck where he now lay on a mattress in a small cabin, hugging a pillow. Diaz’s attitude was vexing at times, but no one deserved to suffer as he was at that very moment.

Jade held onto the rail beside Tolen on the upper wheelhouse deck as he guided the boat. He occasionally lifted his sunglasses to glance at a handheld GPS display on his iPhone to mark their position. His mastery of the vessel was apparent. He was very much at ease as a captain.

This truly was a man of many talents.

As they rode in silence, the boat tossed to and fro. She found herself involuntarily stealing glances at Tolen’s form. He stood erect, dressed in long dark pants, wearing a dark sports jacket over a white tee shirt. When the jacket opened with each brush of wind, it revealed a muscular chest, a well-defined mid-section, and a holstered pistol. With smooth cheekbones set against a firm jaw, he exuded confidence, without appearing arrogant. Samuel Tolen had an undeniably regal appeal.

Although in desperate need of a shower, Jade had at least managed to secure five hours of sleep, which was miraculous, considering the adrenaline rush that had swarmed her when Tolen had shown them the picture of the land formation. It matched the clue so precisely she was certain they would find Joseph of Arimathea’s tomb inside the cave, and it might be the first step to finding archaeological evidence which would confirm Christ’s existence. Tolen and Diaz, on the other hand, had remained reserved. As monumental as the discovery would be, their priority was focused on capturing Boyd Ramsey and recovering the Sudarium. They viewed their efforts as a trap; a means to get to the ‘True Sons of Light.’ Yet, even knowing the possible danger, she could not suppress the exhilaration she was feeling, and despite the warm sunlight drenching her skin, she tingled with excitement. It had been a long search for the stone sphere referenced in the decoded Copper Scroll text. Her only regret was Phillip could not be here to experience the moment with her.

The water continued to churn, frothy and alive, dipping the bow of the slow-moving vessel into a trough just before the next wave lifted it up again. It had been like this since leaving the dock where they had rented the boat, and there was no indication it would calm any time soon. Jade was certain Diaz would not come topside until he was forced to debark. Even she began to wish for calmer water as the boat gyrated in the turbulent seas.

Through sunglasses, Tolen intently assessed the agitated surface, slowing as they crested each wave, then gunning the motors as they climbed from each gully. The stiff wind kept the temperature moderate.

Jade spoke above the drumming of the twin Mercury motors. “How long have you been with the CIA?”

He remained focused ahead. “I joined the agency immediately after college, much to my father’s disapproval.”

“Not a fan of bureaucracy?”

“He was a pacifist. He never saw the need for such a governmental agency.”

His responses seemed measured. Jade noticed that he referred to his father in the past tense, and was void of any emotion as he spoke, although it was hard to tell behind shielded eyes. Her intuition told her he was covering pain.

“You said that all hell will break loose if the Sudarium is not returned by 9:00 a.m. Friday. What did you mean?”

“There will be considerable, and deadly, backlash toward U.S. citizens if it’s discovered missing. The Spanish government, at the urging of the U.S., covered up the theft with the hope of finding it before then.”

“The U.S. is trying to cover their arse because this Ramsey fellow is ex-CIA?”

“Correct, although it’s not in his character to lead a radical sect; especially one intent on killing archaeologists and stealing relics that are thought to be tied to Jesus of Nazareth. Ramsey is agnostic, but he saw religion as a personal choice no one else had the right to criticize.”

The conversation lagged for a few seconds. “What about you?” Jade said, trying to brush her black bangs out of her eyes to no avail, as the wind whipped her hair constantly.

Tolen turned toward her and removed his sunglasses revealing his enchanting blue eyes. “Come again?”

“What about you? What’s your take on religion?”

“Like Ramsey, I believe it’s an inherently personal decision. Belief is a choice, not an obligation, as any organized religion would have you think.”

“Do you believe Jesus was crucified on the cross and died for our sins?”

Tolen paused before responding. “It was the French philosopher, Voltaire, who said, ‘
If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him
.’”

Jade looked at him, unsure of how to respond.

He took the invitation to continue. “I believe there is a clear delineation between fact and belief. A belief shouldn’t directly conflict with a fact; otherwise, you’re wearing blinders, ignoring all reality.”

“Then how do you distinguish between the two?”

Tolen turned back toward the bow as he steered. “What I know for a fact is that the Bible claims to be a record of truth, and in support of its claims, long forgotten places and cities mentioned within its text have been discovered. In several cases, the existence of historical figures has been confirmed, such as King Herod, whose tomb was discovered in 2007. The reality, though, is there is no documented historical support for the existence of Jesus.”

Jade felt mild frustration in his circular logic. “You don’t believe Jesus ever walked the Earth? You realize that eleven of the twelve Apostles preached His word and died as martyrs? Doesn’t this offer more than just a compelling argument for His existence? Would they really subject themselves to heinous deaths if Jesus hadn’t existed, and they didn’t believe in His teachings?”

“Is there any historical proof, beyond what’s in the Bible, that any of the twelve Apostles existed?”

Jade was momentarily speechless, but then managed a surprised, “Well, no; no hard archaeological evidence.”

“Don’t misinterpret what I’m saying. I’m not making a judgment. You found a code in the Copper Scroll which supports the existence and travels of Joseph of Arimathea and references objects belonging to Jesus. All of it is intriguing, but we must keep an open mind. It may have simply been instigated by someone perpetuating a story.”

“A deception? From the first century?”

Tolen did not respond. Instead, he returned the sunglasses to his eyes and concentrated on the tumultuous waves meeting them head on. A fishing boat was anchored several hundred yards on the right. Seagulls looped above it, squawking as they looked down on the half-dozen occupants who were dragging in a seine net. It appeared to be a lucrative catch as they worked fast to pull the fish into the boat.

She felt a swell of rejection. “So you’re in Diaz’s corner? You think the deciphered text—the clue from the stone sphere—it’s all an elaborate hoax?”

Tolen’s words remained calm. “Fact versus belief. We’ll know soon enough.”

Jade stared at Tolen, unsure what to say. She wanted to argue the point. She refused to accept that the search she and Phillip had undertaken was based on a 2,000-year-old ploy. The thought was extremely unsettling.

Tolen stood at the helm, busy guiding the boat. He had stated his position then abandoned the discussion and left her struggling for answers. His points were salient, yet bloody well disturbing, as was his laconic speech and stoic veneer, she thought.

“Do you mind telling me what religion you are?” Her words had more of an edge than she planned.

“I was raised Methodist.” There was a slight pause as he again turned to look at Jade, removing his sunglasses. “And you? Where do you attend now?”

The comeback question caught her off guard. “I…um…I was raised a member of the Anglican Church, like most British citizens, although I have to admit, I haven’t attended church in a few years…17 to be precise.

“I’m curious,” she continued, hoping to avoid further confrontation. “You seem to have significant knowledge of global history. Is that some sort of CIA prerequisite?”

For the first time that afternoon, Tolen smiled. “No, I have a master’s degree in world history to go along with a PhD in criminology.”

“You have a doctorate and don’t use the title in your name?”

“I always found it a bit pretentious to ask people to call me Dr. Tolen. Dr. Tolen is my father.”

“A family lineage of PhDs,” Jade said. “You’re quite an educated man to be a secret agent.”

“Secret agent. Now that’s an antiquated term. The official title is ‘clandestine service operations officer.’ ”

“You just made that up,” she said in a whimsical tone.

“Not at all, although it no longer fits in my case, especially given my current assignment supporting the Smithsonian Institution. These days, I’m more of an international liaison.”

There was a slight twinkle in his eye. She suspected his work with the Smithsonian better suited his intellectual side. “How did you come by such a plum assignment? Surely you don’t get to choose the position that makes you the happiest? You are working for the government. They have rules against happy employees.” Playfulness had seeped into her voice, and she felt at ease again. It was in complete contrast to how she had felt only minutes before when they were discussing religion and faith, and it was a welcome change.

Tolen smiled and looked down. “Some people are just lucky, I guess.”

She wanted to press him again about how he had acquired his early-Christian-era knowledge, but she was reticent about falling back into another uncomfortable discussion. “Did you specialize in any certain time period or culture? Every world historian I’ve ever met had a favorite topic.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve always been very fascinated with Egyptian history—the pyramids, the sphinx, the historical cities, monuments, funerary temples, mummification techniques, and so on. Ancient Egyptians left an indelible mark on history unlike any other past civilization. I believe we have only scratched the surface of the discoveries yet to be made there.”

“Phillip also had a fondness for Egypt,” Jade replied. Her thoughts drifted back to the last time she saw him alive. He was waving goodbye from the airport terminal as she boarded the flight to the States. She could see him staring at her through the window. He had his usual intellectual grin which she found so remarkably attractive.

She realized their conversation had gone silent, and she discarded the image, searching for something to say. “Prior to our teaming up to decode the message and search for the stone sphere in Costa Rica, Dr. Cherrigan had been involved with an excavation not far from the Giza Plateau. A section of floor in the basement of a hotel had collapsed, revealing an underground tunnel. Unfortunately the passageway ended after a short distance and no artifacts were found.”

“I recall reading about it.”

Again there was a lull, but it was soon broken by Tolen’s voice carrying over the sound of the engine and churning ocean. “There it is.”

“There what is?” she said. His words had been so placid, the meaning had been lost on her. Then she saw the direction Tolen was pointing and turned to the south.

There, shadowed in the gray stone facing, was the triangular doorway of Formacion Descartes Santa Elena.

****

After a visit that morning to his sister Cecily at the German prison, Haufmer Langstrafenanstalt, Nicklaus Kappel had returned on Simon Anat’s private jet to the estate in Switzerland. Ever since his boss had become a recluse due to his condition, it was one of the few perks: nearly unquestioned use of the man’s private plane.

Kappel was surprised to see two of Anat’s contemporaries—the obnoxious old Englishman, Walter Ganhaden, and the Brazilian, Shauna Veers, a woman whose face was so tight from cosmetic surgeries that her smile looked painted on—departing from the estate just as he arrived. As usual, his employer offered no explanation for their visit, and he did not bother to ask. During his tenure working for the billionaire, Anat had shared some of his most private thoughts with his personal assistant, yet the man also held some closely guarded secrets (like what lay behind the steel door on the second floor). Kappel’s role was to listen, respond when asked, and never ask too many questions.

Kappel spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening catching up on his duties, which went unattended in his absence. As was usually the case these days, his employer seemed indifferent about where Kappel had gone with his jet or what he had been doing that morning.

Now, as evening fell, in the privacy of his office, Kappel checked to see if anyone had responded to his email. There was only one reply: Gordon Nunnery. Kappel vaguely recalled him from the gathering last year. He reached down and removed a thick folder from the bottom drawer. He thumbed through it until he came to Nunnery’s file where he looked at the man’s picture and dossier.

This is not a very imposing man, he thought. Then he smiled. Yet he’s enough of a threat to keep things moving ahead on target.