Indisputable Proof (25 page)

CHAPTER 41

September 13. Thursday – 4:14 p.m. Isle of Patmos, Greece

Jade was pacing about the hotel room relentlessly.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Diaz said from the table. He kept his head down looking at the hotel guide on top of the desk.

She swept across the room, moving from wall to wall, not bothering to respond. There was something about the rolled parchment clue which nagged at her…something familiar.
God, lion, desert
…the words swirled in her mind.

This was a clue she felt certain Dr. Cherrigan, with his biblical archaeological background, could have solved, and it made her miss him that much more.

She involuntarily sucked in a breath and felt her chest shudder. Suddenly, she knew why the clue rang familiar. Everything came together as a memory from the past replayed. She looked at Diaz. “I’ve solved it! I know where the last jar and the cache are located!”

A firm series of knocks on the hotel room door startled her.

Diaz looked up at Jade, his finger pressed to his lips to silence her. He gently laid the guide book on the table and withdrew his pistol while silently motioning her to the bathroom.

There was another series of hard knocks.

Jade slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving it slightly cracked so she could see out.

Diaz went to the door, staying to the left side. “Who is it?” he called.

No response.

Jade felt a chill.

Diaz looked at Jade and raised the Beretta 9mm. He slowly moved his free hand across the door and grabbed the door handle silently.

Jade had a very bad feeling.

He glanced back at her one last time. With a quick twist of the knob, he yanked the door inward.

****

Tolen watched from a sitting position in a nearby copse of trees as the rescue vehicles arrived. His ears were ringing, his body was battered, and his clothes were torn in several places. He had been successful in lifting the freezer onto the trigger mat and, as he hoped, when the unit recalculated the additional weight after he stepped off, it bought him several seconds to flee. He had just enough time to traverse the basement stairs and reach the kitchen before the charge on Boyd Ramsey’s corpse detonated. He was propelled through the window into the yard where debris rained down upon him. Groggily, Tolen had dragged himself away from the burning building and into the sanctity of the woods.

Javier Diaz’s house was now engulfed in fire. The flames shot high in the air, sending black smoke billowing upward into the blue Spanish sky. Firefighters had converged on the scene and were hurrying about setting up hoses and waterlines from a mobile tanker.

Tolen looked at the palms of his hands. There were bloody cut lines across each where the sharp underside of the freezer had bitten into the skin. He flexed his hands in pain. After a few minutes, he rose, gathered his wits, and moved farther into the woods to avoid being seen. A loud static noise indicated the emergency crews were now fully engaged, armed with flowing water hoses, their concentration focused on containing the blaze. It would be some time before they had the fire under control. Even then, the house would be destroyed, as would any remains of Boyd Ramsey not already disintegrated by the explosion.

Tolen continued to weave among the trees, circumventing the activity. He kept track of the sun’s position to ensure he remained on course. Thankfully, the woods were thinned out as the lush summertime foliage had already died away, signaling the approach of autumn. With each step, Tolen felt a barrage of pain from a multitude of aches.

Minutes later, he reached the only other house he had seen on the road. A car was parked on a dirt driveway. Tolen limped up to the front porch. Tattered grocery bags and fresh vegetables were scattered everywhere: on the porch, down the steps, and on the ground. Tolen spotted a purse, its contents spilled out among the vegetables. A large metal ring held a series of keys. Car keys.

A minute later, Samuel Tolen was on the road headed back toward the airfield where Reba Zee was waiting. The ringing in his ears had subsided, and he was finally able to think with clarity. None of it made sense. He had confirmed Boyd Ramsey’s fingerprints had been planted, but he had no idea why the man’s body had been rigged as a trap.

The only certainty was that Dr. Jade Mollur appeared to be involved up to her neck.

Tolen pulled out his cell phone. Fortunately, it had survived virtually unscathed. He dialed Diaz’s cell number with mounting concern for the inspector’s well being.

It went unanswered. He redialed. Still no answer.

CHAPTER 42

September 13. Thursday – 4:12 p.m. Oviedo, Spain

16 hours 48 minutes until the start of the Feast of the Cross

“Bar,” Tolen said as he neared the airfield. “Have you found out anything regarding Nicklaus Kappel?”

“What’s going on? You sound…stressed.”

“Let Vakind know I found Boyd Ramsey. He’s dead and apparently has been dead for some time. I found him in the basement of Javier Diaz’s house. His corpse was rigged with explosives which detonated.”

“That’s terrible! Are you okay?”

“Anything on Kappel?”

“Yeah...um…whatever instinct caused you to check on him appears to be well founded. He doesn’t have a criminal background, but his sister, Cecily, is incarcerated in Haufmer Langstrafenanstalt, a German prison, and will be for a very long time, for armed robbery. The two are close in a creepy way. They were in foster homes in their teens after their father died. It seems they had an incestuous relationship. From what I’ve uncovered, Kappel is desperate to get Cecily out of jail. He testified as a character witness at her trial and his testimony vacillated from a crying tantrum to a fit of rage. He was only permitted to visit her, for the first time, this week. German prisons are not known for being corrupt, but with enough money I’m sure he could buy her way out. If he’s after Anat’s reward, there’s your motive.

“Kappel also called the hotel on several occasions in Costa Rica where Dr. Phillip Cherrigan and Dr. Jade Mollur stayed. Oh, and get this: Anat’s private jet took off from Switzerland about the same time you and Reba Zee departed from Zurich International Airport en route to Oviedo, Spain.”

“That’s why he drove me to Zurich airport,” Tolen said aloud, “he was also flying out.” He paused. “Bar, can you track the movement of the plane?”

“No, not like I could if it was in the U.S. They filed a flight plan for a town in southern Switzerland, but they never landed there. I checked. If we had started tracking it by satellite the moment of departure, I could have followed it, but there’s no way to know where it’s going now.”

“Can you tell if it’s landed somewhere?” Tolen asked.

“If you have a destination I can confirm with the airport or airfield.”

“Try the airfield on the Isle of Patmos.”

“Give me a sec…”

Tolen could hear Tiffany Bar typing quickly.

“Whoa, Anat’s jet
did
land on Patmos this afternoon; at an airstrip to the north of the one you used. The plane’s already left the island, though. How did you know?”

A bad feeling settled in the pit of Samuel Tolen’s stomach.

****

It was 8:32 p.m. when Reba Zee landed the jet on the well-lit runway at the Patmos airfield. Tolen had changed into a fresh set of clothes and tended to his assortment of cuts and scrapes. He had already ruled out involving the local authorities, since he was not willing to risk the entanglement of an investigation which would have taken hours to explain. Besides, the homing beacon he had secretly placed in Jade’s PC bag clearly showed she was still in the hotel. With Bar’s information that Jade and Dr. Cherrigan had been in contact with Nicklaus Kappel, it was apparent now that Jade and Kappel were working together. Given the inability to contact Pascal Diaz on either his cell phone or the hotel room phone, Tolen had a mounting concern for the inspector’s safety.

Reba Zee arranged for a priority rental car to be waiting for Tolen when they touched down. He reached the hotel in less than twelve minutes toting a handheld digital display. The signal remained strong, signifying Jade was still in the room. He reached the fourth floor landing in less than a minute, deposited the digital display in his pocket, and drew his Springfield, checking the magazine to ensure he had a full seven-round clip with an eighth bullet set in the chamber. He eased up to the hotel room door and pressed his ear against it listening for any sound. An older European couple, speaking Italian, emerged in a hurry from a nearby room. They were bickering about where to go for dinner. Tolen calmly slipped the gun back into the holster underneath his coat and nonchalantly walked past them so as not to draw their attention. Once the couple was inside the elevator, and the pneumatic doors swished shut, he spun around and quickly returned to the door. Again he pressed his ear to the door but detected no sound coming from the room. He drew the Springfield once more.

There was no way to know how many would be inside. Since Anat’s jet had already departed the isle, it appeared Kappel had come and gone, although there was a possibility he had remained behind with Jade. If Kappel was using Anat’s plane without the billionaire’s knowledge, he might have sent it back to Switzerland.

Tolen weighed his options. He had gone through multiple attack scenarios on the drive over. Considering the probability that Pascal Diaz was being held prisoner, this might very well turn into a hostage situation. The other possibility was that Pascal Diaz was already dead, and this was a trap. Jade knew Tolen would eventually return, especially if the phones went unanswered. For him to enter via the front door might be playing right into her hands, but there was no time for anything other than a direct approach. He would do so as cautiously as possible.

Checking to ensure the hallway was clear, Tolen knelt down. He shifted the automatic pistol to his left hand as he gently grasped the door handle with his right. He turned it so slowly it took nearly a minute to rotate the knob an inch. He had expected to feel a hard stop during the rotation. Surprisingly, the handle continued to turn. Spinning it another half inch, to his surprise, he found the door unlocked. He paused, concerned that at any moment the door would release inward and blatantly announce his arrival.

Tolen took a deep breath. He could wait no longer. With a quick turn, he thrust the door open, falling back against the hallway wall to the side of the door, bracing for gunfire or explosives to erupt from the room.

He was met with only silence.

The faint light from a table lamp limped into the hallway.

He waited several seconds, drew in a deep breath, and rounded the corner with his gun leveled, prepared to fire at the first sign of movement.

Instead, what he saw caused him to freeze in his tracks.

The naked corpse of a female was suspended on the wall upside down next to the bed. It was covered in a veil of impossibly ashen skin, with a ghastly face full of deep bruises and lacerations. The bloodshot eyes, encased in dark eye sockets, were open and void. The body more closely resembled a demonic creature, with its contrasting white skin and red eyes, than a human being. The woman’s feet were bunched together near the ceiling, restrained by wire which disappeared into the wall. The body was vertical except for her arms which were extended perpendicular to either side and were also tied to the wall by wire which sunk beneath the surface. The victim’s hair, although dark like Jade’s, was long and had been pinned up on her head. Blood had pooled a foot below on the carpet.

Tolen moved to the bathroom, checked the shower, and returned to the bedroom to confirm the closet was empty. He then holstered his weapon and stepped up to the wall, kneeling down to get a closer look at the battered face. Only then did he recognize the lifeless features of the French woman, Claudia Denoit. On the blood-stained carpet below the body, he saw a tiny object no larger than a shirt button mired in the coagulated substance. It was the homing device he had placed in Jade’s PC bag.

He pulled a plastic glove from his coat pocket and put it on. He touched the woman’s arm and found it stiff. Rigor mortis had already begun to set in, indicating death had been more than three hours ago.

Tolen rose and retreated a few steps, still eyeing the wall.

The symbolism was obvious. The upside down position, the arms stretched out at shoulder level, the gathered feet. The morbid positioning of the woman’s body resembled an inverted “T.” It was reminiscent of the Apostle Peter who, when he learned he would be crucified on the cross, asked to be martyred upside down, stating he was not worthy to die upright in the manner of his Lord Jesus Christ.

Under normal circumstances, Tolen would have immediately notified local authorities of the crime, but these were not normal circumstances. He simply could not afford to get caught up in an investigation.

Tolen surveyed the rest of the room for any signs of a struggle, but all seemed in order. In fact, it had been completely vacated and thoroughly cleaned. Even the bed was made.

He looked to the table. The second stone jar was gone.

What had become of Pascal Diaz?
The thought of the Spaniard’s fate was disquieting. If Kappel and Jade were capable of the atrocity on the wall before him, there was no telling what they might have done with the inspector.

With this latest murder of Claudia Denoit, the charade continued. By staging another Apostle-style murder, Kappel and Jade had once again implicated the ‘True Sons of Light,’ a group that Tolen now knew to be fictitious. The “True Sons of Light” had been an elaborate creation invented so that Jade could stage an attempt on her life, draw the CIA’s interest as a target, and continue the search for the cache of Jesus’ earthly objects on the CIA’s bankroll.

It sounded clean, but there were several gaping holes in this rationale which tugged at Tolen, such as what was being accomplished by continuing these murders, and what was the significance of intentionally involving highly skilled agents from a multitude of international intelligence agencies, including the CIA, in their nefarious activities. Forcing this elaborate union with the CIA was a hell of a risk, comparable to “inviting the fox to guard the henhouse,” as Jaspar Tolen used to say. There must have been a pressing need to continue the search for the cache of Jesus’ belongings which overruled the danger of drawing worldwide attention to their activities.

Tolen turned away from the wall, deep in thought. Obviously, Simon Anat’s reward was the key. Tolen closed his eyes, willed himself to calmness, and allowed his mind to work. Events and dates of relevant activities, starting with Aaron Conin’s murder on August 24
th
through the Sudarium’s display tomorrow morning, tumbled through his thoughts. He mentally linked the chronological order of the events to players and clues they had uncovered along the way. Removing all preconceived assumptions of guilt, it all parlayed into an interconnected maze of motives, timing, and facts. He knew the truth was embedded within this tapestry of clues, still waiting to be solved. He could feel it. Still the answer eluded him. He opened his eyes.

Tolen was about to remove the plastic glove from his hand when he had an epiphany, and he stopped cold: what if the culprits needed the CIA’s involvement and public attention for another reason?

He was roused from his thoughts by boisterous voices which quickly grew louder. Tolen recognized the accent and dialect as belonging to the older couple he had passed earlier in the hallway on their way to dinner. It seemed they had been unable to come to consensus on where to eat. Tolen looked to the door where the voices flowed. With chagrin, he realized he had been so caught up in the gruesome scene that he had failed to close the hotel room door behind him. Now, the Italian couple stood silently in the doorway, their mouths hanging open, their eyes transfixed in horror at the body pinned to the wall behind the dark man wearing a single plastic glove.

The woman released a blood-curdling scream. Tolen left the room in a hurry, pushing past the couple just as the man withdrew his cell phone and began punching buttons with a shaky finger. As Tolen reached the stairwell, he heard the Italian man speaking in broken English reporting a murder and then giving his description of the man fleeing the scene.