Indisputable Proof (4 page)

CHAPTER 5

September 10. Monday – 7:38 p.m. Morristown, New Jersey

Upon landing at Newark International Airport, Tolen and Diaz took a taxi to Morristown. Traffic was steady, but they had missed rush hour and reached the outskirts of town a respectable forty minutes later. The driver turned off Interstate 287 onto South Street where low brownstone buildings and newer office complexes were sprinkled on either side of the road. It was a typical small New Jersey township consisting of mostly vacant buildings, a result of a decade’s worth of economic downturn.

They passed a downtrodden grocery/liquor store, where several people were milling about outside, and turned into the parking lot of the Morristown police station. The light-faced, two-story contemporary structure seemed severely out of place among the nearby aged and weathered buildings. They exited the cab, and Tolen instructed the driver to wait for them.

Inside, the cool flow of air conditioning was a welcome relief to the late summer humidity. Tolen flashed his credentials to the desk sergeant, a middle-aged man with deep dimples in his cheeks and blond crewcut hair. They had obviously been expected, as the officer slid a clipboard with a prisoner release form before Tolen. “I’ve never been so happy to see a female detainee leave this station house. That one in there is a real piece of work. Don’t get cut on her words,” the sergeant warned sarcastically.

Diaz raised an eyebrow and gave Tolen a vexing stare. Tolen signed the paper, and the sergeant wordlessly waved Tolen and Diaz toward a secured door to the side. There was an electronic buzz, and the door clicked open.

Inside, they were met by a portly male officer who seemed uncertain if he should greet them with a smile or a solemn expression. It was a clear indication that the local authorities also knew Tolen was CIA. It was a reaction he had seen before.

“You’re here for Dr. Jade Mollur?” the man asked, casting his eyes from Tolen to Diaz. He continued to vacillate between a grin and a frown unable to decide where to stop.

“I’m Samuel Tolen,” Tolen said, extending his hand in an attempt to put the man at ease. “And this is Inspector Pascal Diaz from Spain.”

The man shook their proffered hands. The officer finally landed on a grin. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Tom Rennsol. We don’t get many feds this way. You think someone’s trying to kill this Dr. Mollur?”

“It’s a distinct probability,” Tolen responded. “Did Dr. Mollur arrive with any personal effects we need to collect?”

Rennsol nodded. “Yeah, a laptop, clothes, and some manila folders with papers in a PC case. They’ll be waiting for you at Sarge’s desk as you leave.” Rennsol stood in place as if expecting to field another question.

Tolen was anxious to secure Dr. Mollur and be on their way. They had a long flight ahead of them to Costa Rica. “May we see the prisoner?” he prodded, his tone firm yet personable.

“Certainly, certainly,” Rennsol said stirring. He turned and waved them through another secured door with a porthole window to a series of holding cells and then followed behind. Once inside the corridor, they heard a succession of faint clicks. An unexpected fragrance filled the air.

“This smells much better than our Spanish jails,” Diaz said to Tolen.

“And most of ours,” Tolen added.

The first cell on the left held a shoddily dressed man asleep on the low rack. The next cell was empty. They approached the third, and last, cell.

Tolen had conjured up an image of Dr. Jade Mollur as a frumpy, scholarly woman in her fifties. Instead, an attractive woman with short black hair stood behind the bars glaring at them with hazel eyes. Her left hand was cocked on her hip; her right hand turned sideways drumming her fingernails incessantly on one of the iron bars: the source of the clicks. She looked no more than thirty-five years old, medium height, with a smart figure, wearing black dress pants and a black, long–sleeved blouse. She had obviously not changed clothes since Dr. Phillip Cherrigan’s funeral. The woman eyed Tolen and Diaz with an uncompromising glare. She spoke with an edge to her decidedly British accent. “Are you with the British consulate?” The finger drumming stopped as she waited on their response with steely eyes.

Rennsol had halted at the door, watching the interaction. Tolen ignored the question, instead speaking to Rennsol in an easy voice. “We have transportation waiting.”

“Right, one second,” Rennsol said, roused back to action. He momentarily fumbled with the keys, found the right one, sprung the lock and pulled the cell door open. Dr. Jade Mollur remained in the cell, eyeing the two men. She reiterated her question in a callous tone; each word enunciated slowly. “Are…you with…the British…consulate?”

Diaz stepped forward, extending his hand. “Madam, would you please come with us? We’re in a rush,” he said curtly.

She arched her eyebrows and looked at him incredulously. “You’re in a rush? You’re in a rush?!” she fumed. “I’ve been in this cell for two days, detained without cause, after someone ran
me
off the road! For TWO DAYS! And now
you’re
in a rush! Excuse the bloody hell out of me if I don’t take your hand and dance away with you!”

Diaz dropped his hand with a disgruntled exhale and turned away. “English women,” he jeered under his breath.

Dr. Mollur looked to Tolen. She stepped out of the cell to within inches from his face. Tolen did not budge.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Tolen spoke casually as he looked her straight in the eyes, unblinking. “I’m Agent Samuel Tolen with the CIA. The man you just annoyed is Spanish Inspector Pascal Diaz,” he said, pointing to Diaz. Diaz acknowledged her with a dismissive wave and turned away.

Tolen had expected her frustration. She had, in fact, been detained at the jail without so much as an explanation after the attempt on her life. It would not be easy dealing with her, since they were under strict orders not to divulge the murder of Pascal’s brother, Javier, or the theft of the Sudarium. At best, they would share partial truths, focusing on the threat to her life.

“The sodding CIA and a brash Spanish inspector. Isn’t this my lucky day?” she said. “Will you please explain what is going on?” She remained within inches of Tolen’s face.

“I’ll be happy to,” he said, holding his ground and speaking in a low voice, “but for your own protection, we must be going. Time is of the essence.”

“I’m not taking one step forward until you answer my questions,” she snarled. She lowered her voice, causing her words to seem even more venomous. “Why in the Queen’s name does the American government send one of their secret agents for me? Why was I held against my will?
I
was the bloody victim here. Do you know what happened to me?”

“Yes, we do,” Tolen said in an even tone.

“Then why was I held prisoner? And why are you and this…,” she pointed to Diaz with a disgusted smirk, “man…here to get me out? Where are you taking me?”

Tolen answered, “Your questions, while valid, are not pertinent at this time.”

Dr. Jade Mollur’s face turned a unique shade of red. She huffed, took several steps backward into the jail cell, and pulled the door closed. It locked with a
clink
. “Until you answer my questions, I’m not going anywhere,” she said with a sarcastic smile.

Officer Rennsol had been standing to the side quietly watching the show. Tolen motioned for him to unlock the cell door again. Mollur tightened her hands into angry fists at her side and then retreated to the lower bunk bed and sat down, continuing to face the cell door.

“Diaz,” Tolen said, motioning the man over. He leaned in and whispered as the inspector neared. “Please gather Dr. Mollur’s things and wait for me in the cab. Tell the driver I’ll be right out.”

“Gladly,” Diaz said, giving the woman one more scathing look. Rennsol accompanied Diaz back through the secured door.

“This is regretful, Dr. Mollur,” Tolen said, entering the jail cell. He approached the bunk bed quickly, grabbed one of her wrists, and lifted her to a standing position before she could object. Her eyes grew wide in disbelief at what the man was doing.

“I am not going with—!” she shouted, before Tolen cut her words off with his next move.

Tolen withdrew his Springfield .45. He turned it around and handed the butt end to her. She took it even as bewilderment spread over her face. “What....what are you doing?”

He spoke quickly. “You’re going to need this. It holds seven rounds and one in the chamber. I anticipate the first attack will come shortly after you leave the station. They’re inflicting painful deaths in the same manner as Christ’s Apostles were martyred. Your partner Cherrigan was beheaded with a sword like James. We’re aware of another man who was killed with a halberd, similar to Matthew. Of course that still leaves crucifixion with head down, scourging on an X–shaped cross, beating, flaying, lancing, burning, and stoning. I wish you the best,” Tolen said sincerely. He turned and departed, leaving the cell door open. He strolled back up the austere corridor toward the secure door.

“Wait!” he heard her voice call from behind him. Mollur had already caught up to him. She was holding the gun butt between two fingers, allowing it to dangle. “I don’t want this. I don’t like guns.” Her tone was reserved. He took the pistol and deposited it inside his coat. She looked at him for a long moment then sighed. “Oh, bloody hell! Okay, let’s go, but can you at least tell me where you are taking me?”

“Back to Palmar Sur, Costa Rica,” he said. Tolen turned and waved at Rennsol through a porthole window, and the door buzzed open.

“Do I at least get to know why someone killed Phillip, and why they’re trying to kill me?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out.” Tolen stepped aside, allowing Dr. Mollur to pass first. She stared hard at him, and then proceeded through the open security door.

Tolen followed behind her, passing through a pleasant trail of the woman’s alluring scent.

CHAPTER 6

September 10. Monday – 9:02 p.m. Newark International Airport, New Jersey

They had flown into Newark International Airport on a commercial flight, but the remainder of their journey would be in more comfortable and private accommodations. Vakind arranged for a CIA-owned jet to take Tolen, Diaz, and Mollur to Costa Rica and any points beyond. The pilot was the unflappable Reba Zee, whom Tolen knew very well from numerous past assignments.

On the drive to the airport, Tolen convinced Jade—she had asked to be called by her first name—that the taxi was not the place to address her questions. She remained quiet the rest of the ride, staring out the window.

They arrived at the Terminal C unloading zone on the upper deck. The area was brilliantly lit, still bustling with activity despite the late hour. The taxi driver successfully wove through a throng of double-parked cars, vans, buses, and pedestrians and came to a halt. As the threesome stepped onto the sidewalk amid a sea of travelers, skycaps, and stacked luggage, Tolen’s cell phone rang. He threaded his way to a sidewall for privacy.

“Tolen,” he answered.

“Vakind asked me to call you.” Bar continued on rapidly without waiting for a reply. “On August 24
th
, a medical laboratory technician in Roanoke, Aaron Conin, was found murdered on the street in Vinton, Virginia, where he lived. Several weeks prior to his death, he’d received a call from Boyd Ramsey. We’re unsure what link the two might have had, as there’s no indication they had ever met or talked before. Since the crime was deemed a random mugging on the street, his apartment was never processed by a forensic team. Vakind has asked local police to go over the apartment with a fine-toothed comb. He thought you might want to take a detour there before heading to Costa Rica. I’ll send the address to your phone. Oh, and tell Reba Zee I said hey!”

“Got it. Thank you.”

He returned to the others, who were waiting silently to the side of the pneumatic entry doors leading to the concourse. Tolen looked to Diaz. “We have to make a stop before continuing on to Costa Rica. There’s a new development. I’ll explain when we’re on the plane.”

Diaz gave Tolen a quizzical look but nodded his understanding.

Jade stared annoyingly at the two men with her arms folded. She had her PC bag slung over one shoulder. It looked heavy. “You owe me answers, Mr. Tolen.”

“As soon as we’re on board. You have my word. Can I carry your bag for you?”

She rolled her eyes, and exhaled in frustration. “No, but there is one thing you can do for me. I was told by the local Costa Rican authorities that all of Phillip’s belongings were temporarily confiscated as part of the crime scene. Is there any way you can find out if his PC and his notes were found in his hotel room?”

Tolen did not hesitate to pull out his cell phone. He spoke to Bar, and she agreed to have an answer within several hours.

Fifteen minutes later, they were at the south tarmac strolling through the dark where several private jets were parked. It was a muggy evening, but a slight wind at their back cooled them as they walked. Ahead, a Learjet 85 was stationary on the taxiway, its running lights glowing. A burly woman with a shock of gray hair wearing a bombardier flight jacket was standing beside the stairwell leading to the jet’s cabin. She wore a whimsical smile that broadened as they approached.

“Tolen, good to see ya,” the woman said in a thick southern drawl.

“Reba Zee,” Tolen acknowledged, shaking her hand. “Reba, I’d like for you to meet Spanish police inspector Pascal Diaz and archaeologist Dr. Jade Mollur.”

“Pleasure to meetcha,” she said, nodding her head cordially in turn as she pumped each hand. “So I understand we’re headin’ south…and I mean the
deep
south.”

“Yes, but there’s a small change in plans. We have to make a detour first, to Roanoke.”

“Well, that’ll be a much shorter haul. We should get there round about an hour or so. Climb aboard and get comfy while I reset the flight plan. We’ll be streakin’ in no time.”

“How’s Frank doing?” Tolen asked with a smile.

Reba Zee laughed. “As talkative as ever.”

The three passengers boarded the plane and moved to the front quadrant of seats. The well-lit cabin was spacious and luxurious and smelled of fine leather. It had four seats at the front: two sets of two, facing each other, and four more in the same arrangement aft. Avionics was just beyond a closed and secured door. To the left of the cockpit door was a lavatory. A fully stocked galley took up the rear of the cabin. Reba disappeared inside the cockpit, closing the door behind her.

Diaz turned to Tolen. “What country is your pilot from? I don’t quite understand the dialect.”

“Texas,” Tolen responded with an almost-perceptible grin.

Jade went to the lavatory carrying her bag. When she returned several minutes later, she was clad in a white tank top with light brown hiking shorts and tennis shoes.

Diaz looked at her appraisingly. Even Tolen had to admit she had a striking figure, with her long, toned legs, firm torso, and shapely shoulders. Her short, dark hair accentuated her high cheek bones and hazel eyes.

Jade stared at Tolen as she took her seat. “I’d appreciate some answers now.” Her tone had softened, but there was no less determination in her words.

Tolen and Diaz had agreed on the context of information they would share with Dr. Mollur long before arriving at the Morristown jail. They would offer facts she could confirm, yet stop short of acknowledging the Sudarium’s disappearance. The communiqué from the “True Sons of Light” had hit the Internet and been widely read. It was possible Jade had already heard the claim, along with the Spanish government’s denial of the theft. If pressed, they would throw in a benign fact to give the illusion that she was being brought into their confidence. The deceit was not favored by Tolen, but in this case, it was necessary.

“Not long ago, a fanatical group calling themselves the ‘True Sons of Light’ sent a letter to the Spanish press denouncing the historical existence of Jesus of Nazareth. Their charter was twofold: stop anyone from searching for physical evidence that might substantiate the claim of His existence, and steal any historical relics that claimed direct association with Him. Their threat mentioned that they had already killed two archaeologists in the same manner as Apostles.”

“That’s what you meant back at the prison,” she said, her eyes locked on him.

To her side, Diaz added, “The first man murdered was an archaeologist in Israel.” It was a lie. “He was killed with a halberd.”

Jade’s voice turned sullen as she continued his thought. “And the second was Phillip: beheaded with a sword,” her words trailed off with a shiver as she looked down. It was the first sign of pain she had shown. She lifted her eyes after a long moment. “What about the Sudarium?”

“I see you’ve heard the news,” Tolen acknowledged. “That part of the letter was false. It’s still unclear why the group made the claim that it had been stolen. My guess is they were trying to create an upheaval with the Spanish citizens. As radical groups are prone to do, they attempted to create turmoil with blatant lies.”

Jade pointed to Diaz but kept her eyes directed to Tolen. “Then why is a Spanish Inspector here if the Sudarium of Oviedo is safe and sound?” The distrust in her voice was thick.

Diaz responded, “I’m part of an international task force working with the CIA, Italian AISI, and French DGSE, among other international agencies.”

“He’s in the States assisting in the search for an American who we believe is leading the ‘True Sons of Light,’ ” Tolen added.

“And you think this man killed Phillip Cherrigan and then tried to kill me?”

“The attempt on your life is curious in that it doesn’t match with the Apostle-style executions. Then again, they may have been trying to disable your vehicle and take you somewhere where they could finish the job in another manner fitting their self-prescribed forms of murder.”

Tolen turned to address Diaz. “We’re stopping in Virginia because Boyd Ramsey had contacted a medical lab technician in Vinton, Virginia, who was subsequently found dead on the street several weeks ago. We need to know if there’s a connection between this death and the others and also see if there are any clues which could help us find Ramsey.”

“Seems like a thin lead,” Diaz remarked.

“Given the lack of information we have to go on, we must follow every possibility,” Tolen countered.

“Are you aware of the origin of this fanatical group’s name?” Jade chimed in.

“Yes,” Tolen began, “ ‘True Sons of Light’ appears to be a derivative of the ‘Sons of Light,’ one of the names given to the people who penned the Dead Sea Scrolls.”

“Did you know that Phillip and I were working on a find related to the Dead Sea Scrolls; specifically the Copper Scroll?”

“Yes, but not the details.”

Jade sharpened her eyes in thought, “Odd coincidence.”

“I agree,” Diaz said.

Tolen folded his hands in his lap. “Tell me about your relationship with Dr. Phillip Cherrigan.”

Jade leaned back, stiffened slightly in her seat, then relaxed her shoulders. “Purely professional. He was a biblical archaeologist who contacted me last year. I’d had some experience with cryptic ciphers, and he was on the verge of cracking a code embedded within the Copper Scroll text.” Her speech faltered as her eyes rimmed with tears. “I…I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

Tolen read her body language: her pronounced reaction the moment he mentioned Dr. Cherrigan, her defensive posture, and now her withered features.

“Why were you two working in Costa Rica? It’s halfway around the world from the Holy Lands.”

She seemed hesitant to talk. She bit her bottom lip, and looked from Tolen to Diaz and back again to Tolen. She inhaled deeply then spoke in a reserved voice, “We found a coded message within the Copper Scroll which led us there.”

“Led you to Central America?” Diaz snorted and waved a hand, rejecting such a ludicrous notion.

Jade ignored Diaz and continued. “Have you ever heard of the Stone Spheres of Costa Rica?”

“Yes,” Tolen nodded. He suddenly understood. “That’s why you and Cherrigan were at Palmar Sur?”

Jade nodded.

“What are these spheres?” Diaz asked, looking down at a magazine he had just picked up from a side slot. He was trying to appear disinterested, but his voice betrayed his renewed curiosity.

Jade responded, “In the Diquis Delta region of Southern Costa Rica, there are more than 300 carved spherical stones ranging in size from a softball to several meters in diameter. Their origin and purpose are an enigma; lost in history.”

“And what could these stones possibly have to do with the Copper Scroll?” Diaz asked, looking up.

“The text we deciphered in the Copper Scroll helped solve the age-old mystery of the origin of the Costa Rican spheres: they were replicas of the stone that sealed Jesus’ tomb and which, according to the Bible, was later found pushed aside on the third day after His crucifixion. The creation of countless numbers of these spheres was a way to pay homage to the resurrection. Equally astonishing, the text also mentions one of the stones as a starting point.”

“A starting point for what?” Tolen asked, fixing her with his azure eyes. His interest was also firmly aroused now.

“From the cipher, we discovered that Joseph of Arimathea authored the Copper Scroll. Yet more remarkable is that we found a cryptic clue to Joseph of Arimathea’s final resting-place.” Jade recited from memory:

I will be entombed far across the waters where I have helped to instill Christianity. Once I told the native people of Christ, they took it upon themselves to create countless numbers of perfectly round stones, as a sign of reverence to the one stone that covered Jesus’ tomb after the crucifixion. These hewn stones are spread in and around their village. The stone sphere with the creature of anonymity will lead to my tomb.

Tolen remained silent as he digested this information. Costa Rica? Even he had his doubts.

“You think
the
Joseph of Arimathea’s body is in Central America?” Diaz scoffed. “The very man who went to Pontius Pilate and asked for permission to take Jesus’ body after the crucifixion to prepare it, then placed the body in his own family tomb?”

“Let me be clear,” Jade responded. “I’m aware that the original family tomb where Jesus was placed was in Israel. After He was said to have been resurrected, Joseph of Arimathea’s family never used that tomb. What we found indicates he built a second tomb for himself in or near Costa Rica.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Diaz muttered.

Jade ignored him and went on. “We were in the process of looking for the stone sphere which would direct us to the tomb’s location when Phillip was murdered.”

The cockpit door opened, and Reba Zee sprang forth. “Let’s saddle up. We’re going top side. Time to ride the wind,” she said with a gregarious smile. Reba Zee was a top-flight pilot who loved to display her exuberance. Tolen had learned long ago to appreciate the woman’s talent, even if she sometimes required a translator to be understood.

Diaz and Jade stared at the woman dumbfounded.

Reba Zee returned to the cockpit and closed the door. Moments later, the jet engines revved, and the plane nudged forward before breaking into a steady taxi. Once they were airborne, the lights from New York City sparkled in the distance, illuminating the horizon to the east as the cabin lights were doused and the interior fell into murky darkness.

“Texas
is
in the United States, correct?” Diaz asked.

Tolen nodded.