God's Lions - The Dark Ruin (5 page)

“Thank you. I will trust you in your word.”

A brief silence ensued before the pope spoke again. “There’s one other point of business I would like to mention, Eduardo. Although you are not a Catholic and ask for no absolution, I have offered a special papal blessing for your soul. I have asked God to forgive you for taking the life of your son Rene in an act meant to spare millions of people from suffering a horrible death at his hand. We were all in a war against Rene, and whether you realize it or not, you were one of God’s soldiers in that war. The world owes you a debt of gratitude. As far as your other son Adrian is concerned, only a handful of people know about the significance behind the appearance of the dark star or your connection as his father.”

“Are you referring to the passage in the code that states I am the father of the Dark One?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, Your Holiness. As you probably already know, I am not the boy’s biological father. His identity remains a mystery. Therefore I can tell you with the utmost certainty that the code is wrong. I have seen many doctors over the years, and they all tell me the same thing. I will never be the father of anyone. It’s a medical impossibility.”

The line went silent as the pontiff chose his next words with care. “As with any code, Eduardo, sometimes the literal meaning is lost in translation. Upon further examination by one of the Israeli cryptographers who helped in the original discovery of the code, the word
father
had been transcribed in error. The original word in the Torah from which it had been translated was
guardian
, which was preceded by the word
dark
. Your name is also mentioned in conjunction with the words
dark guardian
in another section of the code, so when we took a look at that passage we found that the computer had once again transcribed the Hebrew words incorrectly, inserting the word
father
instead of the correct word ...
guardian
.

Eduardo felt his grasp on the phone begin to slip as the tiny room swayed with the motion of the train.

“Eduardo ... are you there?”

“Yes, Your Holiness ... I am here.”

“Last week we discovered that you are also mentioned as a
guardian
in conjunction with the name
Adrian
. Do you mind if I ask you why you chose that particular name for your adopted son?”

“Colette and I thought it appropriate because of his extraordinary black hair.”

“Yes, I see. That would make sense.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Probably just a coincidence. A man of your education would have known the original meaning of the name.”

“Of course. The origin of the name is Latin, and translated it means ...
the dark one
.”

Abbas had purposefully strayed from the main thoroughfares to make it easier for him to spot anyone following as he steered the big Chevy through the hodgepodge of Istanbul’s outlying streets. An hour later, they had finally broken free from the grip of the city and were well on their way, deep into the heart of southeastern Anatolia to a location that lay within sight of the Syrian border.

Off to their right, Leo gazed through his window at an ancient ruin in the distance before turning his attention back inside the speeding vehicle. “How far is it to the site?”

Abbas slowed as a lumbering truck pulled in front of them. “About 480 kilometers ... a little over 300 miles, Your Eminence. I’m taking back roads to the coast as you requested, which means we’ll miss Ankara, but we’ll be seeing some of the most beautiful and historic scenery in all of Turkey. The bishop and I took this same highway when we were doing his
Revelation
tour.”

“Revelation tour?”

“Yes, Cardinal,” Abbas laughed. “The road we’ll be using transits the area mentioned by the Apostle John when he wrote to the seven churches of Asia Minor. Most of the ancient cities mentioned in the Book of Revelation have disappeared, but Smyrna, which is now called Ismir, remains a great city on the Aegean coast. Then of course there’s Ephesus, which I told you about earlier, and there are the spectacular ruins at Pergamum in the Caicus Valley near Bergama. If you want to walk over the same ground where John and many of the other apostles walked two thousand years ago, you’ve come to the right place.”

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid we’ll have to save the Revelation tour for another trip,” Leo smiled, “but I’ll definitely hold you to your offer to show us around on our next visit. How long do you think it will take us to get to the site?”

“Eight ... possibly seven hours, the way I drive.” Abbas slowed for a mule that had wandered out into the road. “I’ve heard that you are a different kind of cardinal.”

“Oh? In what way?”

“Just that you are more of a regular guy and don’t go for all the formal stuff ... and that you have a girlfriend.”

Morelli broke into a sudden spasm of coughing as Abbas’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “I’m sorry ... did I say something wrong?”

It had been a minor cultural
faux pas
, but different cultures had differing ways of getting to know strangers, and Leo was beginning to find that the people of Turkey were very open in their exchanges with newcomers when it came to inquiring about their personal lives.

“It’s a long story, Abbas,” Leo said, keeping his gaze out the side window.

“My apologies, Cardinal. I always go too far. My natural curiosity about people tends to race ahead of my ability to keep my mouth shut.”

“Probably why you chose a career in archaeology,” Morelli said quickly. “It’s a profession bound by curiosity.”

“Ah, there it is,” Abbas said, relieved to change the subject as he pulled to a dusty stop in front of a small store made from mud bricks and set back from the road under a cluster of gnarled olive trees. Jumping from the vehicle, he disappeared inside before returning moments later with a handful of small plastic containers filled with freshly made humus, a jar of olives, some cheese, and a paper bag overflowing with
Pide
, a Turkish flatbread.

“Food for the road,” he said, jumping back into the driver’s seat. “I had to toss the sandwiches I brought with me. My daughter made them early this morning, but she’s only five and you never know what you’ll find inside. One time I found a dead frog covered in mayonnaise. For the past year, she’s been under the impression that she’s been keeping me alive with her culinary delights, and my wife and I agreed that I must keep up the charade. Even if I say I’m eating out, she still makes the sandwiches.”

“You’re a very lucky man to be blessed with a child like that,” Leo said, clapping Abbas on the shoulder before he stepped outside. Stretching his muscular, six-foot-three-inch frame, he ran his hands through his long, gray-streaked hair and stared out at the barren landscape. “Do they have a restroom around here?”

Abbas cast a host’s eye at their surroundings. “Around back. Very clean ... considering.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

As they waited for Leo, Abbas began sputtering a litany of apologies to Morelli for inquiring into the cardinal’s personal life.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Abbas,” Morelli said. “Leo’s a big boy, and he’s received more than his fair share of questions about what went on while he was on sabbatical in France. The pictures of him and Evita were spread out on the front pages of the tabloids after the
paparazzi
spotted them dining together in a small restaurant in Foix, but despite the rumors nothing improper happened between them when they were alone for a week in that remote mountain cabin.”

Abbas cast a suspicious eye. “A man and a woman in love ... alone in a cabin for a week?”

“Believe me, I know how it looks. They’re very close and they enjoyed each other’s company immensely, but they’re hardly teenagers, and both of them are fierce when it comes to matters of faith. You probably didn’t know this, but Evita is a Cathar. They have their own strict rules about sex before marriage. Not only that, but Cardinal Leo is a Jesuit who takes his holy vows very seriously, and the pope’s edict allowing priests to marry hasn’t been made official yet. The pope chose wisely when he made Leo his Secretary of State.”

“You mean to say that the man I just sent to an outhouse behind that grocery store is the second-in-command of the Catholic Church?”

“Yes.” Morelli was beginning to feel guilty for being amused at Abbas’s obvious discomfort. “Cardinal Leo is also one of the first in line to become pope if something should happen to Pope Michael, which should give you some indication of the importance of our mission. Only a man like Cardinal Leopold Amodeo, a man who has spoken with angels and remained true to his God, will have any chance at all in protecting us from whatever waits for us at the end of this road.”

Hopping back into the vehicle, Leo saw Abbas staring at him from the front seat. It seemed that the color had drained from the man’s face, along with his perpetual smile.

In the early morning hours, before the sun had climbed over the eastern hills to spread its warmth over the Greek island of Patmos, the Carmela glided in from the Aegean Sea to a darkened anchorage at Skala. Now, with the sun blazing overhead, Alex Pappas, the yacht’s captain, stood by the railing in front of the bridge, sipping his coffee and squinting at all the brilliant white painted houses that stair-stepped their way down the steep hillsides to the turquoise water lapping at the edge of the harbor.

Pappas was reveling in the fact that here, back in the land of his birth, he was considered to be a very important man. The seafaring heritage of his ancestors had bestowed upon him an invisible laurel that hovered above a head endowed with the same chiseled features familiar to anyone who had studied ancient Greek statues, and as the captain of a yacht the size of the Carmela, he had been granted a status envied by all those who captained smaller boats, for they were, by definition, lesser men in the eyes of a culture rooted in nautical mythology.

Tossing his lit cigarette overboard, he turned away from the water’s reflective glare and walked back inside the bridge to talk to his boss. Sitting in a raised chair in front of the navigation console, Lev Wasserman was talking on a satellite phone. “They’ve just left Istanbul. I’ll call you back when I hear from them again.”

Replacing the phone on the instrument console, Lev ran a pair of calloused hands through a mop of curly gray hair. “I don’t like being this far away from them, especially now.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Danny Zamir. He has a few Mossad agents scattered around Turkey, but it would still take time for them to get to Leo and Morelli if they found themselves in a jam.”

“Why did they decide to go by themselves? We could have sent someone with them. Alon, Moshe, John ... there’s a lot of very capable people onboard. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“This is spiritual warfare, Alex. We’re no longer involved in a military campaign in the traditional sense of the word. Leo made that very clear to me when I objected to them going out there all alone. Besides, part of the puzzle remains hidden here in Patmos, and Leo and Morelli can’t be in two places at once. We have our work cut out for us here.”

“Will you be using the chopper?”

“No need.” Lev pointed through the large windows. “The cave lies just past a big white monastery on the other side of that large hill. The first group going ashore will be using the motorbikes we have stored below.”

“I’ll have the crew lower them down onto the dock.”

“Good. They’ll be leaving within the hour.”

* *

The soft brown grass wavered against a pale cloudless sky that outlined the tops of the distant rolling hills. As the vehicle carrying the three men drew closer, they could sense it. Like an electric charge in the air, something intangible reached out and pulled at them. It was a force, pure and simple; a force that flowed over the land, calling out only to those who were attuned to its presence, for not all men had the ability to feel its subtle tug.

Taking a swig from a metal thermos filled with water, Abbas pointed to the horizon. “We’re almost there. This road passes between those two big hills, and the ruins are off to the right behind the larger round one.”

Straining to look ahead through the front window, Morelli saw a solitary mulberry tree on the summit of the potbelly-shaped hill, and as they got closer, he could see tattered strips of cloth hanging from its bare branches. “What’s up with that tree?” he asked.

“Oh, the little pieces of cloth.” Abbas shrugged. “It’s a wishing tree. The local farmers tie little strips of cloth to its branches for good luck.”

As the hill loomed larger in the windshield, Morelli kept staring at the tree, marveling at all of the pagan symbolism he had seen in this area of the world. Even in these modern times, the land they were passing through was filled with appeals to invisible deities. Turning his attention back inside the vehicle, he saw Leo reading passages from the New Testament on his new e-reader, a Christmas present from Evita. Morelli smiled to himself when he thought back to the time when Leo had sworn he would never own one of
those things
. He had been certain that, as the battery wore down, all of those beautiful books would be turned into electronic dust. But those fears had all changed when, still professing his love for paper, it soon became evident to Leo that no true scholar would be able to pass up the opportunity to carry around an entire library in their hip pocket.

“Leo ... we’re here.”

Looking up from the small gray screen, Leo surveyed the barren landscape. He could feel the difference. There was a palpable tension in the air as Abbas steered the vehicle around a curve and turned off, trading smooth pavement for a barely perceptible trail through the tall grass.

“Tell me about the priest, Abbas,” Leo said, bouncing in the back seat as the vehicle plowed over the uneven terrain.

“What priest?”

“The one who died.”