Twisted Linen (7 page)

Moments after the jet rolls to a stop in San
Sebastian’s private jet hangar, Simon disembarks and approaches the
waiting customs agent. Both he and Grace are traveling light with
only a roller-bag each. Grace lags behind a bit, still fiddling
with her bag at the bottom of the stairs.

Simon nears the customs agent and holds out
his Vatican credentials.

“Simon LaCroix, Vatican Security,” he
says.

The customs agent confirms Simon’s name
matches one of the names in the log file.

Then the agent then looks up and asks, “My
logs show there are three of you traveling. Where’s the third?”

“Nope, just two of us,” Simon clarifies as he
nods back toward Grace. “Where’s our car? We’re in a hurry.”

“Over there,” nods the customs agent.

It’s a white VW Pollo, clean and in good
condition, but Simon is almost offended by the thought of driving
it.

“Are you serious? Don’t you have anything
else?”

The customs agent ignores the plea and stares
hard at his roller bag. “Do you have anything to declare?” the
agent inquires curtly.

Simon dismisses the question and walks by
him, but then pauses to turn back and says, “Yes, diplomatic
immunity my friend.”

Grace athletically trots toward Simon,
hurrying to catch up. The customs agent is obviously distracted by
her passing figure so Grace flashes the agent a cute smile on the
way by. Grace usually ignores these types of awkward first
impressions but the agent’s lewd look requires a response.

“Feel free to call the consulate,” she says
with a quick wink.

The customs agent suddenly realizes he’s
gawking and quickly looks down. His eyes bore into the fine print
of his travel log papers, but it’s hopeless, he’s too flustered to
read anything. He rustles the papers in a desperate attempt to look
busy.

After taking a moment to gather himself, the
agent peeks up, trying to get another look at Grace LaCroix, hoping
to solidify the image of her stunning beauty in his memory bank. He
waited too long; there is only gets a glimpse of Grace entering the
car, and Simon closes the door behind her. Simon scurries around to
the driver’s seat, and the VW rolls off into the night.

A few minutes later, Genovi surfaces and
pauses on the top stair of the jet. He slowly makes his way down,
holding the railing for support. It’s been a disruptive flight with
little rest. The customs agent looks up from his travel log and
sees Genovi coming.

“Cardinal! So there are three of you?”

Genovi nods as he shuffles toward the agent.
Holding out his credentials, he says, “Yes my son, working deep
undercover.”

The agent looks at him in a confused and
doubtful manner.

Genovi gives him a befitting smirk before
putting an end to the charade. “The plane will remain on standby.
We won’t be here long. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the agents responds, coming to
attention.

Genovi walks off, heading directly toward two
men in dark suits standing beside a black Hummer, waiting in the
shadows of the hanger.

The Hummer is the smaller H3 model, one of
the last made in GM’s South Africa factory before the collapse. But
this H3 is customized for police enforcement. The most obvious
additions: a driver’s side search light; a military grade push bar
that wraps the front grill; and bullet proof windows tinted black
as a starless night.

As Genovi approaches the two dark-suits, he
commands, “Let’s go. I’ll brief you on the way.”

* * *

18

Paseo Nuevo

Grace’s persistence was effective and her
plan is operational: Simon will meet with Baculo and pretend he’s
willing to steal the Shroud of Turin. While Baculo and Simon
converse, Grace will gather Baculo’s full dossier using
facial-recognition software. If all goes as planned, Simon and
Grace will leave the meeting very rich, $12.25 million in physical
gold richer and in possession of accurate intelligence on the true
identity of Julian Baculo. They’ll surrender the intelligence to
Genovi and then disappear into the islands of Tahiti on a newly
purchased yacht, in hopes of living life like it used to be.

Simon drives the little VW while Grace scouts
the area from the passenger seat. Simon drives them past the San
Sebastian Train Station where the meeting with Baculo will soon
take place. Grace reiterates the game plan.

“Just find a seat next to Terminal C. Baculo
will look for you there.”

Simon acknowledges. “Got it.” He then looks
directly at Grace and says, “But you can't be anywhere nearby.”

Simon turns left, across the bridge, over Rio
Urumea, the river that winds its way past San Sebastian. On the
other side, he turns right and continues along Paseo Nuevo. It’s a
narrow and remote road around the base of Urgull Hill. The farther
they follow the road, the more isolated it gets. It dead ends at
the tip of the horseshoe bay where the river head opens into the
ocean. Simon stops the car in a deserted location and says, “This
will have to do. I want you to establish communications here.”

Grace looks out the small car window into the
darkness, scrutinizing their surroundings. A steep hill climbs up
to their left, leading to the top of Urgull Hill where the statue
of Christ silently watches over the city. To the right is a small
drop over a tide-wall into the bay where the tranquil water gently
laps against the rocks.

Simon continues to state his demands, “Stay
in the car and monitor the video feed. I don’t want you leaving
this spot, no matter what.”

Grace appreciates Simon’s concern for her
safety but this location is too remote and much too far from the
train station. She won’t be able to aid Simon in an emergency.

“I won't be able to help if something goes
wrong,” she pleads.

“If something goes wrong, I want you to
disappear. Take what we have and go. Get as far from here as you
can.”

Grace doesn’t like the feeling she gets when
Simon becomes tense and definitive; her breathing becomes shallow
and a bit irregular knowing that Simon has good instincts, and his
instincts say something bad may happen tonight.

Grace fights to hold her anxiety at bay and
warns, “You know I won't ever do that.”

Simon grabs her hand and squeezes
tightly.

“As far from here as you can…promise me!”

Grace nods, just to appease him.

It’s rare for Simon to get this disturbed and
Grace knows there’s more going on than meets the eye. The dangers
are more than physical; she senses a spiritual struggle
mounting.

“It’s still not too late to abort…change our
course,” she pleads. “We can drive back down this road, out of town
and not stop. Figure it out as we go…live day-by-day.”

Simon’s expression says it all. That’s a
desperate plan; they won’t last a year. It’s not an option.

* * *

19

My Collateral

The small San Sebastian train station is
crowded but not hectic. Some travelers march toward their
respective terminals while others chatter quietly among themselves,
waiting for the arrival of loved ones. Simon discreetly enters the
side entrance. He’s tieless, wearing jeans and sporting a blue
blazer to conceal his 9mm. The spycam glasses Grace prepared for
him fit the business-casual attire perfectly. Feeling confident
with their playbook, he casually strolls into the area of Terminal
C and quickly identifies a reclusive seat to settle into.

Not a minute later, Baculo appears out of
nowhere, as if he were following Simon. Neatly dressed in a black
suit and red tie, Baculo holds a briefcase. His attire is overly
flamboyant for a secret meeting of this type, and compared to
Simon, he looks the part of a rich elite.

“Mr. LaCroix, I'm glad you made it.”

Simon turns to face him and is initially
caught off-guard by Baculo’s brazen dress. Instantly, Simon becomes
more disturbed by Baculo’s presence; he is more sinister in person
than Simon imagined. His eyes manifest the most ominous and evil
presence Simon has ever experienced.

“Likewise,” Simon puts forth, trying to act
polite.

Baculo gently puts his briefcase down and
casually sits beside Simon.

“Your associate…she is not here?” Baculo
inquires.

“I'm afraid you're stuck with me.”

Simon's spy glasses point directly at
Baculo’s face and the hidden camera begins recording.

Grace monitors the real-time video and audio
feed on her laptop in the safe confines of the VW Pollo.

Grace mumbles to herself, “No, I'm here you
sicko. I see you.”

Grace’s laptop runs sophisticated
facial-recognition software that Simon “borrowed” from the Vatican.
It captures and analyzes imagery of Baculo's face. His image
bounces around the laptop screen while the software works to
identify key facial points. As it does, it locks each point in
place.

Baculo pushes his agenda forward and says, “I
understand you can retrieve an artifact I'm very fond of.”

“It depends. What might that be?” Simon
responds, stalling for time while he holds his head still so the
camera can focus on Baculo’s face.

Baculo chuckles at the absurdity in Simon’s
fake charade. Grace encourages Simon over the comms. “Another
minute and I'll have his ID made.”

Simon persists in playing ignorant of the
details of their engagement. “I understand it's a religious
artifact, correct.”

“Let's not play games, Mr. LaCroix. My
associates and I require the Shroud within two days.”

Grace gets a facial-recognition “hit.”
Baculo's bio and dossier appear on screen. She begins to
confidently read the information aloud into Simon’s earpiece.

“Here we go…he is Julian Felipe Baculo. A
Sicilian music teacher and composer. No religious affiliation.
…What?”

Grace is confused. The information is
obviously fake.

“This makes no sense,” she says in
bewilderment. “It says he died in 1944. He's a shadow!”

Baculo has somehow managed to access the
government’s repository of “identity management” and changed his
identity to
shadow
another person, and that person died over
seventy years ago. Baculo finds prophetic irony in thinking he is a
dead man walking, and he’s arrogantly hopeful that Simon will
uncover his shadow identity.

Back in the train station Simon hears the bad
news. He looks closely at Baculo now. This guy is a step ahead and
untraceable. It infuriates Simon.

Grace starts to anxiously chatter into the
comms equipment. There is now a bit of panic in her voice. “Okay,
listen…just get the money and get out of there!”

Simon’s face turns stone cold, maybe a bit
dazed, his mind races, trying to determine the best course of
action.

Baculo finds Simon’s blank stare
encouraging.

“Mr. LaCroix, two days. Are you the right man
for the job?”

“Ah…yes. Of course. And our arrangement?”

“It’s as I stated, forty-nine million in
SDRs, 25% up front in the form of allocated bullion. As requested
by your associate…Grace was it?”

Simon simply nods, trying to figure out how
to handle this character.

Baculo hands Simon a slip of paper and says,
“Have her run this authorization and transfer code.”

Simon takes the slip and reaches for his
phone.

Baculo stops him by remarking, “No need for
the phone. Just read it to Grace over your mic.”

Simon sits up tall in his chair, thinking
hard for a long moment with the phone frozen to his hand: this guy
is dangerously good whoever he is, and smart enough to see around
corners. Simon pans the train station, not comfortable being the
one under surveillance, looking for anything out of place.

Baculo smiles wickedly, now watching Simon
closely.

After a pause, Simon’s eyes fall to the slip
of paper and he relays the number to Grace in a robotic tone, “The
transfer code is +011972569023017. Do you copy?” The last three
words are said with a great sense of dejection.

Grace feels Simon’s distress. This is not
going as planned.

“Yep, I'm running it. Hang in there,
Love.”

Tense silence ensues as Simon’s eyes walk all
over Baculo. Baculo immediately pulls Simon’s focus back to their
agreement.

“Mr. LaCroix, we take our appointments very
seriously. Please don't lose that piece of paper.”

Simon’s external appearance is stone cold,
but internally, he fights to control the debilitating emotions of
fear and rage. Baculo’s fake identity means Simon has nothing to
turn over to Genovi, and if Simon aborts now and flees with Grace,
Genovi will flounder in his effort to chase down the Golden Dawn
leaders.

Grace rescues his emotional dilemma with an
encouraging update, “We got it…the gold is ours. Get out of
there!”

Simon chooses to focus on the positive and he
abruptly stands and automatically extends his hand for a handshake.
“Okay, I'll have the Shroud within two days.”

Suddenly Grace’s voice comes in over the
comms, “Keep watch of your 10 and 3 o'clock.”

Simon turns to survey the area and sees two
dark-suits, maybe security guards, watching unobtrusively from a
distance. Baculo remains seated, dead calm, not threatened by his
surroundings, and not extending his hand. Simon aborts the awkward
handshake and turns to leave. Yet, after only a few steps, Baculo
summons him back.

“Simon!”

Baculo’s call demands attention and Simon
freezes.

Why is this bastard using my first
name
, Simon ponders internally.