The Cana Mystery (34 page)

“Summon the emissary,” Constantine ordered. The guards ushered in Bishop Macarius, who bowed respectfully.

“I’m told you bring powerful relics. Show me.”

Constantine gazed in wonder at the shining disks, each golden as the sun, and listened to angelic voices. Two scribes, one Greek, one Roman, translated the message. When Constantine heard “In this sign, you will conquer,” he knew just what to do. That night, as his troops prepared for battle, Constantine commanded them to paint a new sigil on their shields: chi (X) crossed by rho (P).

Wicked Maxentius brooded in his palace. His situation was dire. The populace was beginning to support that son of a harlot Constantine. Citizens cheered for him, shouting acclamations during circus games. At the afternoon chariot races, spectators taunted Maxentius, chanting that Constantine was invincible. Maxentius knew Rome’s defenses could withstand a long siege, but if the people turned against him, he might not survive.

A messenger approached.

“What news?”

“Master, the keepers of the Sibylline Books have seen a prophecy. It foretells that the enemy of Rome will die tomorrow, on the anniversary of your accession.”

Maxentius was elated. He believed his anniversary to be a lucky day. Confident of victory, he issued bold new orders: “Prepare the army. Tomorrow we march north to defeat Constantine in open battle. We’ll see who is invincible.”

Maxentius crossed the Milvian Bridge, a stone structure carrying the Via Flaminia across the Tiber. Holding the bridge was crucial to defending Rome. He organized his force, which was twice the size of Constantine’s, into long lines with their backs to the river.

Soon, Constantine’s soldiers appeared. Instead of traditional standards, their shields displayed the mysterious new insignia. The army deployed along the length of Maxentius’s line and attacked. It was not a long battle: Constantine’s cavalry routed that of Maxentius. Constantine then sent his infantry, who pushed the rest of Maxentius’s troops into the Tiber. Many were slaughtered or drowned. The disciplined praetorians at first held, but under relentless assault they finally broke. Fearing defeat, Maxentius ordered a retreat. Only one escape route remained: the bridge. Then, miraculously, the bridge collapsed. All of Maxentius’s soldiers were killed or taken prisoner. Maxentius himself drowned in an attempt to swim across the river.

Constantine entered the city in triumph. Jubilant that the enemy of Rome had finally been defeated, crowds celebrated their new emperor’s grand entrance, parading Maxentius’s severed head through the streets. Constantine returned seized property, recalled exiles, released political prisoners, and offered the Senate a role in his government. He forgave Maxentius’s supporters and vowed to extend religious tolerance throughout the empire. In response, the Senate proclaimed him “the greatest Augustus.”

For almost thirty years Constantine traveled with the golden disks and marched under the
CHI-RHO
symbol, which came to be known as the Labarum. Thus armed, he achieved victories at Cibalae, Adrianople, the Hellespont, and Chrysopolis. After Constantine’s death, the sacred relics remained in Rome, protecting the Eternal City from evil.

B
OSTON,
M
ARCH 2013

Gabe burst into Jess’s bedroom. She grabbed a towel and covered herself. Gabe hadn’t even noticed that she was naked. He locked the door behind him. “How high is the balcony?”

“What? Why do you—”

“Those men are outside! Can we climb down?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Furious, Gabe ran his hands through his hair, trying to think. Jess pointed to her bathroom. “How about that window?”

He raced into the tiny room. Its tiled floor was covered with dirty laundry and towels. Just outside the window was a big swamp oak. One branch looked close enough to reach. Standing on the toilet, he unlatched the window and tried to lift it, but several coats of paint had sealed it shut. After quickly donning jeans and a sweatshirt, Jess rushed to help. She locked the door as Gabe drew a Swiss Army knife from his pocket, flipped it open, and began gouging into cracks. Seconds later the two of them heaved against the pane. Wood split with a loud crack. Holding the window open, Gabe kicked the mesh screen. It bent, snapped off, and dropped. Involuntarily, Jess gulped.

Someone was now rapping on the apartment door.

“Hurry!”

Taking Jess’s hand, Gabe helped her up. Nervously, she poked her bare feet through the opening, then, with a dancer’s grace, eased herself out. Balanced on the sill, she let her heels glide across the dry stucco ledge until they wedged against a decorative corner piece. Gripping tightly, Jess looked down. She’d be lucky to survive, she thought. She studied the oak. Its closest branch was four feet away though it seemed miles. Jess glanced back at Gabe, eyes asking if this evacuation was absolutely necessary. As if in reply, the apartment door crashed open.

“Go, you’ll make it,” Gabe said urgently.

Jess took a breath and jumped.

She hit the branch hard, scraping her cheek and biting her tongue. Rough bark bit into her skin. Terrified, she hugged the tree and tasted warm blood. With supreme effort, Jess overcame her fear and began inching down the trunk. She found a solid foothold and descended the next stage with relative ease, moving from branch to branch. Ten feet aboveground she chose a sturdy limb, let herself hang from it, and then dropped to the ground.

After determining that no bones had broken, Jess watched her heavyset friend try to replicate her actions. Feeling helpless, she stage-whispered encouragement, but it was useless. He’d snagged a belt loop on the latch. The bathroom door gave way and angry voices shouted in Arabic. Desperate, Gabe leaped headlong through the opening, clawed the nearest branch, swung, and tried to wrap his legs around the trunk. Unable to bear his weight, the limb snapped, and Gabe fell three stories.

Inside Simon’s villa Paul strode back and forth, occasionally peering over Ava’s shoulder or out the window.

She raised her eyes from the notebook. “Will you please stop pacing? You’re driving me crazy.”

“What? Oh, sorry. Are you almost done?”

“I told you!”

“I know, I know. Horribly complex, two thousand years old, et cetera, but are you at a stopping place? I really want to go.”

“Not now. Let me finish this stanza.”

He swore. “Will you please just indulge me?”

She looked at him.

“Maybe I’m getting paranoid, but I haven’t seen any security guards around. That feels wrong. Even if Tomás went to Naples, Simon would have left someone.”

Ava opened her mouth to argue. Paul was jumping to conclusions. Then she reconsidered. Paul’s intuition was usually on target. Maybe he was right.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I bet the Piccolo Bar is still open. Can you finish the translation there?”

Ava gave in. She gathered her papers and they made for the gatehouse. As they rounded the final corner, Ava froze. Two men, armed with identical SPAS-12s, patrolled the driveway. She recognized one immediately: He’d followed her in Yemen, and she’d never forget his frightening face. Like a specter from her nightmares, he opened his mouth to reveal sharp, wolfish teeth.

As the man raised his weapon, Paul reacted with lightning speed. Gripping Ava’s arm, he yanked her back behind the building. “Follow me,” he said. “Run!”

Concealed by a retaining wall, they hurried uphill on a narrow path that tracked the cliff’s edge. Far below, waves thundered against crags. Not far behind, the pursuers’ footfalls pounded closer. Paul raced ahead, rounded the final corner, and cut toward the main house, but as he broached the illuminated portico, two silhouettes appeared. Soon he could distinguish their features. The first man, dark-skinned and lean, was a stranger. The second was Sheik Ahmed.

Paul skidded to a stop. Unprepared, Ava slammed into him but Paul barely noticed. Rather, shielding her with his broad body, he backed away from Ahmed. The sheik advanced.

The Americans retreated to the cliff, hoping to escape the way they’d come. Unfortunately, their path was blocked by the men with guns. Backed up against the precipice, they were trapped.

Keeping Ava behind him, Paul lifted his arms and announced, “Okay, Ahmed. You win. Let her go and I’ll surrender.”

The sheik smiled. “How gallant. Sadly, you’re in no position to negotiate.”

“I stole the jars. I’m the one you want. She had nothing to do with it.”

Pleasure radiated from Ahmed’s eyes. He raised his weapon.

Paul’s mind raced. “Wait!” he said. “What about the disks? I know where they’re hidden. I’ll lead you to them.”

Ahmed shook his head. “You’re a miserable liar, Mr. Grant.” Glancing over his right shoulder, he continued: “Besides, my spy confirms that the artifacts were lost at sea.”

Slowly, a third figure materialized out of the shadows to stand beside the sheik. Her posture proud, Mellania gave them a cold smile.

“Surprised?” she asked.

Realizing how thoroughly they had been betrayed, Paul’s shoulders sagged.

The sheik laughed, enjoying Paul’s despair. “You see, Barakah? Never trust a woman. It’s her nature to deceive.”

The wind howled and the surf hammered the rocky shore. Ahmed clicked the safety off his pistol.

Suddenly, Ava shouted. “Wait!”

Paul turned. A vision of courage, she was balanced on the ledge. Long hair blowing in the gale, eyes bright with defiance, she extended an arm to dangle her notebook over the edge.

“I know why your master covets the jars. I know why he forbade you to destroy them. He has a secret. The jars hid that secret for two thousand years, but I deciphered it. Shoot now, and his prize is lost.”

The sheik’s smile dissolved into a sneer. “Insolent girl. You think a schoolgirl’s scribbles matter to him? Our victory is
preordained.”

“You know I’m right, Ahmed. He’s vulnerable. He’s scared. Why else send his best agent? Lose the secret, and you fail him. Tell me, what’s the Beast’s penalty for failure?”

Fear showed in the sheik’s eyes. For a second Paul thought Ava’s gambit would succeed. Instead, their enemy regained his composure. “No. We cannot fail. Victory is certain. Kill them. Kill them both.”

As he issued the command, a powerful voice roared in challenge.

“Ahmed!”

From the darkness, Sinan attacked. He took the first gunman by surprise and shoved him off the cliff. The Yemeni reacted faster. He dodged Sinan’s blow, pivoted, and raised his gun, but an instant before it fired Sinan grabbed the barrel, diverting his aim. Sinan ripped the weapon from his opponent’s hands. Like Ariosto’s Orlando in fury, he raised the gun above his head, reared, and clubbed his adversary’s face. Unconscious or dead, the man dropped. Sinan turned. Eyes burning with rage, he charged.

Ahmed fired. His first bullet clipped Sinan’s thigh. The second shot flew wide, but the third shattered Sinan’s wrist and the fourth opened his stomach. He collapsed. With a sadistic smile, Ahmed continued firing, emptying the clip. When the gunshots finally stopped, he ejected the spent magazine. “Finish them, Barakah.”

The lieutenant aimed. Desperate to save Ava, Paul played his final card. Whispering a prayer, he pulled the bishop’s amulet from his neck and held it before them like a shield. The talisman had no effect on the sheik, but when Barakah saw it, he paused. Then, to Paul’s shock, he pointed his weapon at Ahmed. Though Barakah’s mission was incomplete, the sacred amulet signified that it was time to reveal his true allegiance.

Sheik Ahmed’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Then he erupted in a paroxysm of grotesque laughter. Spittle flew from his lips as he raved, “You fool! You weakling! You’ve damned yourself! Can’t you see that the master’s triumph is inevitable?”

Barakah shook his head. In a calm, confident voice, he said, “No. Your master will fall. It is written.”

Fury blazed in Ahmed’s eyes. Nostrils flaring, he said, “You’re blind. Nothing that happens here matters. The infidel leaders have already gathered. Three hours after sunrise, the master will touch a button and blast them all to hell.”

Barakah was unmoved. “There’s still time for you to save yourself. Reveal the master’s plan. Renounce Satan, and your life can be redeemed.”

The wind gusted savagely now, tearing at their clothes. Sheik Ahmed seemed to consider the offer. Then, quick as an asp, he dropped the Ruger, pulled a knife, and whipped his arm around Mellania’s thin neck. Pressing the blade to her jugular, he began to back away.

Barakah raised his weapon. “It’s no use, Ahmed. I’ll kill her. I won’t let you escape. Surrender is your only option.”

The sheik grinned. “Sorry, friend, but that’s a lie. You’re not strong enough to sacrifice her. Your spirit is crippled by mercy.”

Barakah hesitated. Ava was sure he’d pull the trigger. Instead, he lowered the pistol.

Smiling victoriously, Ahmed backed his hostage down the narrow walk. “Prepare yourselves, cowards. Tomorrow, in the bloody aftermath, humanity will crave a strong leader. When the world sees a mushroom cloud, people will beg for safety and security at any cost. Then he shall rise in glory. Then he shall reign!”