The Greatest Gift (23 page)

Wooden boxes slid a few feet side to side as a strong wind whistled below deck, catching Michael off guard. He clung to a beam and landed on a pile of carts. He watched Alexander lurking at the far end.

“Look away,” he said to Michael. “You are no friend of mine.”

“What you may have heard is not true,” Michael said. “My daughter did not murder the Roman soldier. Our friend did not murder Marcus. They defended themselves, just like you would if another man threatened you.”

Alexander stood and gave him a menacing stare. “Why would I believe a man who speaks strange words and cannot tell me where he comes from?” He took a couple of steps toward him, spear in hand.

Michael staggered to his feet as the cart beneath him slid a few feet away. “Whoa, I have got to find a better way to get around.”

“There,” Alexander said, holding his spear forward. “You talk not like any man I know.” He pointed it at his face. “Where are you from?”

“Jerusalem, outside the city wall.”

Alexander shook his head. “You do not speak like any man from Jerusalem I know.”

“I live way beyond the city wall.”

“How far?”

“Beyond the aqueduct.”

“Are you like the prisoner? A preacher?”

“No,” Michael said, putting his hands up. “I am just a man who lives with his daughter on a farm.”

“Where is your wife?”

Michael lowered his head. “She died many sunsets ago.”

Alexander took a couple of steps back and lowered his spear. Michael looked up and saw him sitting on a box. The rocking motion of the boat slowed. Michael peered up through the opening by the small stairway and noticed Julius was talking to Augustus.
I wonder what is going on. No one is rowing
.

“Do you know why the ship has stopped?” Michael asked Alexander.

“I do not know. I do know I get paid whether we sail or not.”

Michael raced up the steps and to the deck. He waited for the two to finish their conversation. Julius turned toward him and frowned. “We must change our journey.”

“Augustus, what is going on?” Michael asked.

“We have a problem with this ship. There is that, too.” He motioned to the horizon.

“I cannot see anything,” Michael said.

“Feel the wind,” Augustus said. “Listen.”

“I am. The wind is brisk. So?”

“What?”

“It is strong.”

“Turn,” Augustus instructed his rowers.

“This is a bigger ship than the last one. This one should be able to get through a storm.”

“No, my friend. This ship leaks, and I am wasting men removing the water when they can be pushing it forward.”

“We are going back to Malta?”

“No. Back to Caesarea.”

“Why there?”

“Because it is the safest place for us.”

“No, Augustus! Please. My daughter! She is on the other boat, going to Rome. You must keep going to Rome. Please!”

Augustus shook his head and walked away. “Julius is the man with the silver,” he said. “What he says goes.” His voice became faint.

Michael raced to Julius and grabbed his arm, struggling with him. “Stop! Release me,” Julius said.

“No. I am not letting go until you head back to Rome.”

They jostled for several moments before the altercation alerted a couple of Romans at the far end of the boat. “Sir, is there a problem?” one shouted to them.

Julius glared at Michael. “Is there, traveler?”

Michael gripped his arm tighter and twisted it. “Guards!” Julius shouted.

Michael released his hold and pushed him away. Julius pointed at him. “You take many risks for a man whose head can fetch silver.” Michael stayed on deck, still glaring at Julius walking away.

“I need to calm down,” he said to no one in particular. He saw the horizon was shining its last light.
I am going to have to find a way to turn this ship back. I’ll have to steal a weapon or two. There’s no way this ship can go to Caesarea.

He pounded the top part of the wooden deck.
I never should have let her go. She would have been better staying here with me.
He sighed.
No, she wouldn’t be safer here. She was protected with Paul.
He shouted at the top of his lungs, looking skyward. “I’ve helped Paul. I’ve written what needed to be written.” He took a short, deep breath. “I made the right decision, didn’t I? I’ve risked a lot. Where is my reward?”

Michael spent the next few minutes trying to convince himself that his only choice was allowing Elizabeth to be free of this boat and Titus’ pursuit.

Michael staggered back down the stairs and fumbled with a cart. He managed to open it and pulled out a loaf of bread. He tore off a piece and dropped the loaf. He fell back onto a cart.

“Alexander, do you know when the next ship leaves Caesarea for Rome again?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I need to get to my daughter. She has gone with the prisoner.”

Alexander walked over to him and put his spear through the loaf of bread lying on the floor. He lifted it up to his mouth and bit into it. He swallowed and shook the remaining bread off his spear.

“There is much silver at stake for the return of your daughter and friend,” he said, bending over to whisper in his ear. “You would fetch a nice reward.”

“I understand,” Michael said.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Silver is the only language I understand.”

Michael nodded as Alexander lifted his head.

“May you have much silver to give me when we arrive back in Caesarea.”

“I will get you what you need.”

“I will help you if you do,” said Alexander.

“I will give you silver only if my daughter is found,” Michael replied.

Alexander gave a devious smile. “Your daughter has been found.”

“What?” said Michael, jumping to his feet. “Where?”

“She is safe. When Titus said she was wanted for the murder of a decorated Roman soldier, she was taken off the boat. She is worth more to us here on this ship than in Rome.”

“Tell me where she is,” Michael said, grabbing the spear. He lifted it up and pinned it against Alexander’s chest. “Tell me or I will cut your heart out and feed the sharks.”

Alexander gripped his hand, twisting it. “Traveler, you are not making many friends on this journey. You hurt me, your daughter will not leave this ship. Put the spear down.”

Michael lowered it.

“You need not worry about her safety if the silver fills my hands when we reach land.”

“I will not give you any silver until you show me she is safe.”

Alexander shook his head. He grabbed away the spear and swatted Michael with the metal rod. He gripped Michael’s neck with his hand. “Your choices are clear. You can give me the silver I want and your daughter will be freed. Or you can be a problem for the rest of the journey and end up overboard swimming for your life.”

Alexander shoved him into a stack of carts. Michael groaned as he reached to hold onto one, but he fell back again as the cart toppled off a pile.

“I will be watching you,” Alexander said. “The murderer of a Roman soldier would fetch any man a big bag full of silver. I hope you have done well.” He turned around and glared. “I hope it is good enough to save your daughter.”

Michael got up, taking a couple of steps up to the deck. “I would not seek help from Julius or Augustus,” Alexander said. “If they know your daughter is aboard, they will seek the same silver I do.” He walked to Michael, clutching his arm. “I will not lose my chance. If it is taken from me, I will take it from you.”

Alexander released his grasp and turned away. Michael glared. “I do not believe in killing another man. But if you harm or hurt my daughter in any way, I will give up my life to take yours.”

Alexander faced Michael.

“Do you understand me?” Michael asked him.

“We can agree there is much at stake,” Alexander replied.

“You’re damn right,” said Michael as he took a step up to the deck.

“Be careful with your words, my friend,” Alexander shouted. “The wrong word spoken could mean death to your daughter.”

Michael rushed back down the stairs and tackled Alexander. His spear bounced away. They wrestled and rolled into a pile of carts, the top one falling off and onto their heads. Michael swung and struck Alexander’s nose. A cart opened and two jugs rolled out, striking Michael in the back as the water rushed out.

“Stop,” yelled Augustus. He removed Michael’s grip and picked him up as Julius stepped in front of Alexander.

“What is your dispute about?” asked Augustus.

“There is no problem here,” said Alexander as he wiped blood from his nose. “Just a couple of men having fun, discussing a bet.”

“A bet?” Augustus asked. “What kind of a bet leads men to try and kill each other?”

“A bet over a woman?” Julius asked.

“Men, I will say this only one time,” Augustus said. “There is no woman in this world worth killing each other over. No woman.”

Michael stared at Julius.
Should I tell him? Would it put Eli
z
abeth in danger? Can I trust him? Can I trust Augustus?

“We will reach land in the next few sunsets, maybe sooner. The men are working hard. Rest. Relax. We have plenty of food and drink.” Augustus pointed to the carts. “Put these back in order.”

“I will rest,” said Alexander. “Let the farmer from Jerusalem work.” He retreated to the far end of the room and retrieved his spear. “I am bound by the rules of the Roman Empire.”

“I know,” said Augustus, turning to face him. “On this ship, you are now bound by my rules or you can swim with the rest of your friends. We have lost enough men on this journey. Let us make the rest of this trip a safe one.”

Alexander raised his spear in the air. “I agree. What about you, Michael?”

Hewitt declined an invitation from Connie to spend the rest of Christmas Eve with her. Their walk was brief as he flooded his mind with new theories. “I’m still working this case,” he said.

“What if you get caught by Kevin or your boss?” she asked.

“Then I do,” he said. “It’s only a matter of hours before they decide to bury this case in the public’s mind. If they sense there’s a cold trail, they’ll try to divert attention to another case.”

“I don’t believe it,” Connie said.

“It doesn’t matter if you do or not. I know the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are critical in finding something my boss can sink his teeth into.”

They shared a brief hug, and he left after dropping Connie off at Michael’s house.

He arrived back on Main Street minutes later. The last stores opened were finally closing up. He stared at a few couples holding hands, leaving the Variety Store. He found a spot for his Cadillac a block away from the church. The steps were jammed with churchgoers leaving the last service of the evening.

Beautiful. Perfect timing. Maybe I’ll get lucky. I could use a li
t
tle help.
He gripped the black book and raced inside the church. The pew area was empty except for a lone woman at the front bending down.
I’ll wait until she leaves.

He sat in the last row and pulled out his cell phone. He ignored a woman removing books from a pew. He clicked his cell phone. “Sir, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a lead now in the Stewart case.”

“Did you forget our conversation we had earlier?” asked Wrightman. “You’re off the case. Did you give your notes and laptop to Special Agent Holligan?”

“I did. But – ”

“There are no buts. I don’t want to hear from you again about this case. Good night.”

Hewitt sighed and put his phone away. He watched the pastor instruct Katie to gather up the rest of the Bibles.

“How many more books are left to package up?” said Pastor Timothy, his voice carrying to the back of the church.

“I’d say about ten or fifteen,” she said.

Hewitt jogged to the front. “I’m sorry to bother you, Pastor. I need to talk to you.”

Pastor Timothy adjusted his glasses. “One moment.” He pulled a book out of the carton and paged through it. “Hold on,” he said. “This one is fine.”

Katie shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I checked every one of them earlier today.”

“You must have made a mistake,” Pastor Timothy said as he continued to page through the book. He handed it to her. “Take a look.”

She stared at the page. “Am I losing my mind?” She showed him. “Look. I marked it to be sent back.”

“Is there a problem?” Hewitt asked.

“No, no,” Pastor Timothy said, waving at him. “We’re just sending back a bunch of defective Bibles with missing pages.”

“Printing problem?” Hewitt asked.

“Looks like it. Katie, let’s go through this carton again. I want to be sure. We’ll look stupid if we’re sending back good books.”

“Pastor, I need to talk to you,” Hewitt said. “Now.”

Pastor Timothy bent down and grabbed five books. He turned and handed them to Hewitt. “I could use some help too. Help me and I’ll help you.”

“What am I looking for?” Hewitt asked.

“Look for anything from the Acts of the Apostles, specifically Acts 27-28:10. Those are the sections I need.  In the defective books, this writing was missing. If it’s missing, throw the book in the carton.”

Pastor Timothy emptied the box and sat beside Hewitt. They leafed through the books, page by page. A pile of good Bibles grew between them. Katie did the same in the pew in front of them.

“I only see books with it,” Hewitt said, putting the last one down.

“The material about Paul being on the island of Malta, right?” asked Pastor Timothy.  “Acts 27-28:10.”

“Yes.”

Pastor Timothy stood and leaned over the pew in front of him. “Katie dear, are you sure we have the right books?”

“If they’re marked, we have the right ones.”

Pastor Timothy stepped back. “They are marked, but they’re not the books we looked at before.”

“I know,” Katie said, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Where are the books with the missing pages? Did you throw them out by mistake? It’s okay. I won’t be mad.”

“I didn’t throw any books out,” she protested, turning around.

Hewitt glanced at Pastor Timothy and shrugged his shoulders.

“Now I know I’ve lost my mind,” Katie said.

Pastor Timothy sat back down on the bench.

Hewitt handed him a book. “Got nothing here,” he said.

“Strange,” Pastor Timothy said. He got up again. “Go home, Katie. We’ll figure this out tomorrow after the morning service.”

“Yes, Pastor. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I did. I was sure I had the right collection of books.”

“Wish your family a Merry Christmas from me.”

“I will. Merry Christmas to you.”

They watched Katie gather up her purse and a big bag of presents.

Pastor Timothy walked her out the door. He pushed the latch across and turned off the back lights. “Need to conserve electricity. Our church isn’t doing well now after what happened here.”

He sat next to Hewitt. “Very odd,” he said. “She’s been reliable.”

“Um. Okay, Pastor,” Hewitt said, moving the pile of books to the side. “She’s like most people during this time of the year – stressed.”

“You are right, sir. Forgiveness is the ultimate gift to give at this time of the year.”

“I could certainly use some of that,” Hewitt said.

Pastor Timothy nodded. “A church member came by my office today all upset and in a frenzy. She showed me a picture of you she had downloaded from the Internet. You were digging up Pastor Dennis’ grave! Are you here seeking my forgiveness for this?”

Hewitt grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I thought I had a clue that would help me find Michael and Elizabeth Stewart.”

“Down there in Dennis’ grave?”

Hewitt shook his head.

“How, son? How?”

“I’m not sure how. But I need you to tell me about this.” He held the black book up.

“What is this?” asked Pastor Timothy.

“A book that describes some events that have happened in this church.”

The pastor took the book and began reading. He pushed back his graying hair and read several more pages. “Some of it is rather miraculous.”

“Some?” Hewitt said as he took the book back. “I’d say all of it.”

“What do you need from me?”

“I need honest answers. I need to know if you knew about this book. Have you heard about it in any way? Is this some hokey way for religious nuts in this community to conjure up publicity for the church? I know the church has been struggling to meet its bills. Pastor Dennis told this to me as well. Or are these just tales, like the tales you read in the Bible?”

“What tales are you talking about?”

“The healing nonsense. The religious wacko stuff you read about on the Internet.”

Pastor Timothy smiled.

“Did I say something funny?”

“You referenced the Internet as your source. My, we have come a long way in how we preach God’s word.”

“I didn’t write the tales.”

“What makes you say they are just tales?”

“I work with physical evidence, Pastor.” Hewitt took out the short, metal rod. “Like this.” He gave it to the Pastor.

“Interesting,” he said while examining it first with his hands and then inspecting it in the lone church light. “I hate to break this news to you because I know you’re looking for a good tale.” Pastor Timothy paused. “This,” he said, holding it up, “is nothing more than a device pastors used a couple of hundred years ago to press down pages in their journals. Many preachers carried it with them as they wrote. They used it often as a bookmark. Look at the bend. It fits perfectly to keep track of a page.”

“Are you sure?”

“Would I lie?” asked Pastor Timothy.

Hewitt looked away.

Pastor Timothy slapped him on the back. Hewitt took a deep breath, gathered some energy and stood. He brushed by him.

“Can I help you with anything else?” he asked Hewitt.

“No. I’m done.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Hewitt waved his hand in the air as he touched each pew on the way to the back door. He turned around and began his thought. “Pastor, my … where did he go?” He stood there for a few more seconds and gave up. He pushed the old latch back and pushed the door open. A cold breeze kissed his face. The street was empty and the lamp above shone the only light, illuminating a small tree with an angel sitting atop.

I’ve got nowhere to go. How about that? The man who helped so many families find their children. The man who has a drawer full of plaques and citations. The man who has all the money in the world. The man who can travel to any city he wishes. The man who has a closet full of Italian-made suits and shiny shoes. The man who has everything.

He opened the door wide. “I have nothing,” he said, letting the wind pummel his body. “There is nothing out there for me tonight. Nothing.”

Hewitt stepped back inside, closed the door and locked it. He turned and walked to the front and knelt down in the first pew.