Sign Of The Cross (12 page)

He took a deep drag on his cigarette, then blew the smoke through his nose like a hungry dragon. He had already ordered ‘the pigs’ out of the fishbowl and was concentrating on the twenty women who stood in front of him, trying to figure out who would satisfy him the best. Each of the females had a number pinned to her dress like she was being judged in a beauty pageant. But in this case, the winner wasn’t given a tiara or a fancy title like Miss Thailand. She was given a stack of money and a male companion for the next few hours.

Several minutes passed before Narayan was sure. He studied each of the girls, trying to picture what they would do to him and what he would do in return. No need to rush such a critical decision. When he was ready, he nodded toward the manager who ran to his table like an overeager butler. The sudden flash of movement unnerved Narayan’s guards, who had positioned themselves near the two main exits and were ready for anything. One of them unholstered his gun and aimed it at the manager, an act that embarrassed Narayan so badly that he ordered his guards out of the club and threatened to have them killed if they came back before he was done.

The manager, familiar with Narayan’s temper, took his outburst in stride. In fact, it was the main reason that he waited on Narayan himself. He knew what to expect from his best customer.

‘As always, your favorite suite is waiting for you. Have you decided on a companion?’

Narayan rubbed out his cigarette on the tabletop. ‘I want them all. For the entire night.’

A round bed sat in the middle of the suite, not far from a hot tub. Steam covered the mirrors that lined the walls and ceiling, a fact that disappointed Narayan. He liked looking at himself when he lay among the models, their oiled-up bodies slithering over him like a pit of horny snakes, taking turns stroking him and kissing him in all the right places. It made him feel like a king.

Narayan smiled with anticipation as he took off his shirt and threw it on the couch, soon followed by his pants and shorts. It was one of the few times that he allowed himself to be vulnerable, which only made things more exciting. No bodyguards, no weapons, no clothes. Nothing to protect him but a condom.

He put on a CD, then adjusted the lights on a nearby panel, turning them down a notch until the room felt like dusk. He heard a soft knock on the door and told them to come in as he strolled toward the bathroom. Since he was a regular, the girls knew exactly what to do. They’d enter, get undressed, and lie on the bed like icing on a cake. At least as many of them as could fit. The others would stand nearby, waiting to take their turn whenever he beckoned.

Narayan heard footsteps in the suite, and his heart started to race. He put his hands in the sink and splashed cold water on his face, trying to contain his excitement. He’d been waiting for this moment since his last trip to Bangkok. It always made him feel like the most powerful man in the world. ‘Are you ready?’ he called in Thai. ‘Because here I come!’

The woman standing in the doorway was breathtaking – and completely naked. So was the one after that, and the one after that. Narayan pawed at all the ladies as they strode past, sometimes grabbing breasts, sometimes grabbing ass, but always doing something, just to let them know that he was their boss for the rest of the night and he could do anything he wanted.

He began by throwing five of them on the bed and spraying them with jasmine-scented body oil, just enough to lubricate every nook and cranny that he might want to explore as the night developed. Once he was positive that each of his beauties was glistening like a lotus blossom, he took a running start and dove on top of them like a little kid. The girls squealed with delight – much of it faked – as they slithered up and down his body, coating him with oil and bringing him to full arousal. From there they took turns pleasing him in a multitude of ways.

An hour later, when he tired of the first five women, he ordered them to clean themselves off and change the sheets while he climbed into the hot tub with four different models who had been sitting off to the side, watching. Narayan told one of the girls to sit on his lap and wash his hair while another rubbed his neck from behind. The other two took turns rubbing his feet and legs, all the while telling him how handsome he was and how horny he made them feel.

But their horniness disappeared when four hooded men burst through the door and charged with military proficiency toward the hot tub. One of the men pointed a gun at Narayan’s head, ordering him to stay still, while the others corralled the naked models and forced them into the bathroom. The task was harder than it seemed because most of the women were either coated with oil or bathwater, a mix that made the tiled floor as slick as a frozen pond. The models were screaming and crying and carrying on, all the while slipping and sliding in every direction. Eventually they got to the bathroom by crawling, a conga line of naked asses creeping toward the back of the room.

The scene would’ve been comic if not for the coldhearted stares of the four men and the gun pointed at Narayan. The men didn’t laugh or smile or even stare at the procession of naked women that eased past them. Instead, they held their positions like they were trained to do.

The scourging wouldn’t happen there. It was far too public, and Narayan’s bodyguards were way too close. Instead the men took him to a remote bungalow outside the tourist traffic of Ratchadapisek Road yet close enough to get the job done quickly.

They started by binding Narayan face-first to the bed frame, his mouth sealed shut and his arms and legs spread wide, completely at their mercy.

The man with the gun tucked it into his belt and pulled out a flagellum, a short whip consisting of three leather thongs with balls of lead affixed to the ends of each. This was the type of weapon that had been used on Christ for his scourging, the one that ripped through his back like a chain saw, the one that sapped him of his strength long before he was attached to the beams of the cross. It would do the same thing to Narayan.

The first blow hit flesh with a sickening crack, followed by the horror of Narayan’s muted screams, yet no one would come running. The duct tape muffled most of the sound, and the bungalow was far too isolated to be threatened by interlopers.

For the next several minutes, the man flogged Narayan repeatedly, bruising his legs, shoulders, and back until his skin could take no more and ripped apart like wrapping paper. Blood oozed from the veins and capillaries in his epidermis, then spurted when the subsequent blows sliced through the arteries in his underlying muscle.

Just like two thousand years ago. Just like the death of Christ.

In time, Narayan passed out from the pain but not before the skin hung from his back like the remnants of a tattered flag, each strand soaked in crimson dye.

Yet this was only the beginning. Things would get worse. Much worse.

And it wouldn’t stop until their message was revealed to the world.

Wednesday, July 12

Orvieto, Italy

Payne and Jones caught an early flight out of London and landed in Rome a few hours later. While they were in the air, Payne called an executive at Ferrari headquarters who was always trying to convince him to buy one of their newest cars and asked him for a loaner. Payne figured, when in Rome… well, you know the rest.

Anyway, after getting their luggage, they saw a slick-looking
pisan
in an even slicker suit holding a sign with Payne’s name on it. The guy hugged them like they were kin, grabbed their bags, and then bolted down the corridor. Two minutes later he unlocked a side door and led them to a
VIP
parking lot filled with limos and luxury automobiles. When Payne had talked to this guy’s boss on the phone, he told him that he wanted something fast but nothing too conspicuous. Maybe an older model with some miles on it. Needless to say, something got lost in the translation, because Mario pulled up in the sleekest car that Payne had ever seen in his life. A brand-new, bright red, limited-edition Enzo Ferrari, right off the showroom floor. Jones let out a gasp, which might’ve been followed by seminal fluid, but Payne didn’t have the desire to look.

‘Jon,’ he managed to say, ‘I know what I want for Christmas.’

Mario popped open the winglike door and held out the keys. ‘Who wanna drive?’

Payne glanced at the Enzo and fantasized about its V-12, 650-horsepower engine. But he realized there was no way he was going to fit his six four frame behind the steering wheel. So he turned to Jones and said, ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘Are you
serious
?’

‘Don’t get too excited. I didn’t buy it for you. I’m just letting you drive.’

Jones rushed forward to admire the interior while Mario handed Payne the paperwork for the fastest rent-a-car in history.

Payne had been to every continent in the world including an ass-freezing excursion to Antarctica, the result of him losing a bet to a three-star general on the Army/Navy football game. That being said, he couldn’t remember ever visiting a place like the Italian countryside. The pastoral beauty of the rolling hills coupled with the ancient architecture took his breath away. Orvieto is sixty-two miles northwest of Rome, meaning they could’ve made the trip in about ten minutes if Jones had floored it. But they were enjoying the drive so much that they stretched it out over an hour.

In the distance the light gray rock of a 900-foot plateau rose out of the ground like a massive stage, framing Orvieto against the periwinkle sky and suspending it above the olive trees below. Jones noted its strong defensive position on top of the plateau and the single hue that dominated the entire town. ‘I bet this place used to be a citadel. See how the buildings blend in with the rock face? They’re made from the same stone as the tufa, meaning the city would’ve been camouflaged from a distance. Just like the Greek city of Mycenae.’

They parked the Ferrari on the west edge of Orvieto, figuring their car was bound to draw attention. After that they didn’t have a plan of attack, so they strolled down the first road they saw, soaking in the architecture as they passed through a series of archways. Though slightly weathered, the structures still held their form after centuries of use, contributing to the town’s allure and giving a glimpse of a different era. The only splashes of color came from the window boxes outside every window – boxes filled with pink, purple, red, and yellow flowers – and the thick patches of ivy that clung to the side of several buildings.

‘Where is everybody?’ Jones asked. ‘I haven’t seen anyone since we started walking.’

No cars, no merchants, no children playing in the afternoon sun. Their stride was the only sound they could hear. ‘Do Europeans take
siestas
?’

‘Some Italians might, but not an entire town. Something must be going on.’

Five minutes later they found out what it was.

After walking through a long, curved arch, they spotted hundreds of people jamming the
piazza
in front of them. Everyone was standing with their heads bowed while facing a massive cathedral that seemed completely out of place in the monotone town. Instead of blending in with the light-gray theme of Orvieto, the Gothic church opted for the exact opposite: its triple-gabled facade was filled with a rainbow of multicolored frescoes that depicted scenes from the New Testament. They were surrounded by a series of hand-carved bas-reliefs and four fluted columns.

Moving into the crowd, Payne had a hard time deciding what to examine first: the church or the people. He had never seen a building with a more striking exterior, yet he realized they were there for Dr Boyd and should be scanning the crowd to find him. Their search went on for several seconds until the sound of a handheld bell on the church’s steps ended the ceremony. Strangely, with little fanfare, the citizens of Orvieto went back to their daily lives.

‘What the hell was that? Everyone looks like zombies.’

‘Not everyone.’ Jones pointed toward an obese man who stood twenty feet away, taking pictures. ‘That guy looks like a tourist. Maybe he can tell us what we missed.’

They approached him cautiously, hoping to determine his country of origin before they attempted a conversation. His body odor screamed European, but his University of Nebraska T-shirt, tattered John Deere hat, and cargo shorts said he was American. So did his stomach, which hung over his belt like a giant beanbag chair.

Jones said, ‘Excuse me. Do you speak English?’

The man’s face lit up. ‘Hell yeah! My name’s Donald Barnes.’ He possessed the flat tone of a Midwesterner and the handshake of a blacksmith, something he developed by squeezing ketchup on everything he ate. ‘I’m glad someone else does, too. I’ve been yearning for some normal conversation.’

Payne joked, ‘That’s the problem with foreign countries. Everyone speaks a foreign language.’

‘That’s just
one
of the problems. I’ve had the shits since I arrived.’

Talk about too much info. ‘So, what did we miss? It looks like the whole town was here.’

Barnes nodded. ‘They were honoring the local cop who died in Monday’s accident.’

Jones asked, ‘What accident? We just got into town.’

‘Then you missed all the fireworks. I’m telling you, it was the damnedest thing. This big ol’ helicopter crashed into a parked truck near the base of the cliff.’

Payne whistled softly. ‘No shit? Did you see it?’

‘Nah, but I felt the sucker. The explosion was big enough to shake the whole damn town. I thought Mount Vesuvius was eruptin’ or somethin’.’

Jones considered the information. ‘I know that this is going to sound weird, but who did the truck belong to? I mean, did someone claim it?’

Barnes looked at Payne, then back at Jones. ‘How did you know about the missing driver? The cops have been looking for him, asking everyone in town if we seen him.’

‘And have you?’ Jones wondered.

He shrugged, causing rolls of fat to gather at his neck. ‘They don’t know what he looks like and neither do I, so how the hell am I supposed to know if I seen him?’