CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (39 page)

Gus sighed. "He served his purpose."

"I can't believe Cardinal lanucci was willingly involved," John said.
"He couldn't have known what was going on here-the cloning."

"Oh, on the contrary, Father Tyler. He knew. Though he was duped
just a bit, thinking he was helping bring about the Second Coming. Ironically, he was half right. It really will be the Second Comingafter all, Christ is about to be born again ... with a twist."

"But lanucci repented," John said. "He realized what he had done
and asked God to forgive him."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Perhaps. Who knows what's really in a man's
heart. But the cardinal was predictable. We knew that from the start.
That's why he was chosen. Sinclair let lanucci discover our true plan,
then allowed him to escape and contact you-invite you to the ball.
He was just a pawn."

"Why didn't you kill me when you murdered him?" Cotten asked.

"Much cleaner this way. We knew you would be coming hereyou and Tyler. A twofer, so to speak." Gus Ruby paused as if reluctant
to go on. "Your priest friend has to be taken care of, but the fact of the
matter is, I can't kill you."

"Because you're my uncle?" She struggled to accept his explanation.

"Well," Gus said, drawing out the word to an exaggerated length.
"How should I explain? I'm your father's brother, just not quite in the
same sense as you might normally think. But part of a family, just as
well."

Cotten's eyes blinked rapidly as she shook her head. "I don't
understand."

"Of course you don't. It's just like you didn't understand when
Archer said you were the only one. Now, there's an understatement. I
suppose this is as good a time as any;" Gus said.

Cotten reached to clutch John's hand.

Gus nodded to John. "Perhaps introductions are in order."

"Father Tyler, do you realize whose company you keep? Meet Cotten Stone, daughter of Furmiel Stone. I'm sure you've heard of Fur-
miel-the Angel of the eleventh hour? Furmiel ... one of what you
call the Fallen, the Watchers, my brother."

Cotten felt as if she were hallucinating. "Stop, stop," she whispered. "What are you talking about?"

"Your father was with us from the beginning. He fought in the
Great Battle. When we were defeated, we were cast out and have been
condemned to wander this place forever. Eventually, your father
weakened and begged God's forgiveness. He deserted our ranks ... a
traitor. He groveled, shaming us. God took pity on him and granted
him a life as a mortal man. He was permitted to marry and procreate.
You and your twin sister are his offspring-half breeds, Nephilim.
But your father had to pay for God's mercy. Selfishly, God took your
sister and left you on earth to fight His battles. Of course, your father
splintered under the pressure of mortality, and always feeling guilty at
the burden placed on you. And for what? A life of misery. He chose to
end his life, disappointing God once again. As I said, he was weak."

Gus shifted his gaze to John. "And, priest, your God is not what
you think. He is not the all-merciful, all-forgiving god you pray to.
Not Furmiel, not any of us, can ever return to our home in Paradise.

"Fortunately for you, Cotten, all of my brothers have sworn to
never harm any of our own kind-your kind-as our number would
dwindle and diminish our legion. To do our work, we have recruited
mortals-egotistical, power-hungry men, the likes of Charles Sinclair
and the Templars. But you, dear Cotten, are different-a one of a
kind. For not only are you of this place, but part of you is of a higher
order. You are one of us."

His expression softened, and Cotten saw the same familiar smile
she had loved for so long-now a repulsive mask of evil and betrayal.
It sickened her.

Lowering the pistol, Gus Ruby said, "I'm not here to kill you, Cotten. I'm here to bring you home."

As Gus RUBY LOWERED the gun, John sprang forward, slamming the
big man full in the chest, knocking him backwards into the hall. Dropping his weight onto Gus, John gripped his wrist and wrenched the
weapon away. Fighting for breath, Gus tried to rise up but stopped as
John aimed the gun at his face.

"Don't move," John said. "Not a sound."

Wind knocked from him, Gus coughed and struggled to talk.
"You haven't been listening, priest." His lips warped into an arrogant
grin. "You're wasting your time. You can't kill me."

Cotten stepped beside the two men. "You're right, Uncle Gus," she
said. Geh el Grip. You are the only one. It was all becoming so clear to
her.

"He can't hurt you," Cotten said as she slowly reached to take the
gun from John's hand. She pointed it at Gus. "But I can. Isn't that right?
You said you can't kill me-that there is a pact not to harm another of
your kind-our kind. That must mean we have the power to harm
each other ... that I have that power."

John rolled off of Gus and stood.

Cotten motioned with the gun. "Get up, Uncle Gus."

With great effort, Gus Ruby managed to pull himself to stand. He
looked at Cotten, his chest straining the buttons on his shirt as he
breathed. "You're not going to shoot me."

His confidence seemed to ebb.

"But you don't know that for sure, do you?" she said. "You don't
know which part of me controls the pressure on the trigger."

"Cotten, you've done enough to pay your father's dues," Gus said.
"It's time you were set free. We want to bring you into the fold."

"Don't listen to him;" John said.

Gus laughed. "You're out of your league, priest. You have no say in
this matter."

Gus glared at Cotten. "How has your life been so far, sweetheart?
Has God shone his glorious grace on you? Hmm?"

"Leave her alone;" John said.

"Unlike your god, Father Tyler, the Son of the Dawn is forgiving.
Cotten, your father was never allowed to return to Paradise, no matter what he did, no matter how he begged. And his punishment never
ended, did it? His day-to-day battle to survive, to provide for his family, to live as a man, crushed him. God never let up on him. Remember the drought? All the hardship? Poor Furmiel finally broke. Why
would anyone choose to honor that kind of a god? But we are opening our arms to embrace you. You will be given anything you wantwealth, fame, contentment-there is no limit."

His voice turned soft, tender, the old Uncle Gus that she had loved
all her life.

"Come home, Cotten."

Tears streaked Cotten's cheeks and her arm trembled as she raised
the gun. "I am home ... and I'm the one who has to end this." She
pointed the gun at Gus's head.

"Don't make the biggest mistake of your life, sweetheart."

Cotten shook her head. "Where's the lab?"

"That's your problem," Gus said.

"Turn around;" she said. When his back was to her, Cotten nosed
the gun into Gus's shoulder and said, "Down the hall."

They guided the big man to a guest bedroom they had entered
earlier. Cotten nudged Gus inside the closet.

John stripped the king-size sheet off the bed, wound Gus inside
the top sheet, and then tied the contoured sheet around him.

As he did, Gus said, "How many times do I have to tell you that
you're wasting your time?"

"We've got to keep him quiet," Cotten said. She took off her
pinafore and ripped a broad swatch from the cheap material. "Here,
jam this in his mouth and tie it with the rest."

When John was done, Cotten stared at Gus for a moment, wondering if all their effort would be in vain. "Think that will hold him?"
she asked. "Or does he have some kind of special-"

"It will hold the flesh. That's all I can guess," John said.

"All right, let's do it," Cotten said.

They descended the staircase, veered opposite the study and
entered a room as elaborate as the lobby of a Park Avenue hotel. It
opened to the dinner hall. They froze at the sight of servants scurrying about, adding last minute touches to banquet tables.

Cotten suddenly stopped short, hearing the clatter of pots, the tinkle of crystal, the voice of what was probably the head waiter ordering
about the servants. "Not that way," she said. "That must be the kitchen.
She broke down a passageway to a closed door at the end. Cotten
turned the knob and pushed the door open.

This part of the house looked barren and sterile. She peered up
into the eye of a security camera.

"Go, go," John said, almost pushing her down the empty corridor.
The lighting here didn't come from Strauss or Waterford chandeliers,
but from recessed fluorescents. The walls were stark and the doors
stainless steel.

"See what's in there," Cotten said, pointing to the first door.

John opened it. "Looks like laboratory supplies," he said.

"Then we must be close. This wing has got to be Sinclair's private
lab suite."

The remaining doors they passed stood open, revealing what
appeared to be rooms for surgical procedures, pharmaceuticals, general laboratory operations, more storage, and even a collection of
medical and science reference materials. The hall made a turn to the
right, ending with an imposing steel door.

They stood before it.

"Looks like a bank vault," Cotten said. "This must be it."

John pointed to the combination keypad and a device shaped like
the bowl of a spoon.

"Oh, shit," Cotten mumbled, realizing what it was for.

John reached into his pocket.

She watched him open the cardinal's box. Inside rested a human
index finger severed at the second knuckle.

John turned and glanced around the corner, down the hall. "I
think I heard something. They're bound to be coming any second."

Cotten motioned to the box. "Do it."

John took the finger from the box.

She fought back a gag as she saw the trail of dangling tissue and
ooze from the severed end.

He positioned the pad of the finger in the spoon. The device
hummed faintly, bringing the keyboard to life, each key backlit in soft
blue. The readout scrolled the message: Cardinal Antonio Ianucci. Identity confirmed. The screen darkened and then displayed a new
message. Enter code.

Cotten looked at John. "What code?"

"I have no idea," he said.

"We're dead."

Just south of Scotland's capital city of Edinburgh is the village of Roslin,
the home of Rosslyn Chapel and Rosslyn Castle, the home of the St.
Clairs (Sinclairs). In that small village is a state-of-the-art research center, Roslin Institute. It is here that Dolly the sheep was cloned.

The God of peace will crush Satan under your feet. (Romans 16:20)

"A CODE, A CODE," Cotten whispered. "Why would the cardinal get
us this far and not tell us the code? If he knew about the security, he
must have known we needed a code."

Suddenly, in her mind Cotten heard Archer's mumblings. A rush
of heat swept through her. As if inspired, she said, "Oh, my God!
John, I think I know what it is! I've known it all along-Archer told
me." She reached to the keypad. "Please let this be it. Please." She
looked at John. "Matthew," she whispered, then pressed 2-6-2-7-2-8.

The keypad turned from blue to green, and the display read: Code
accepted. Entry authorized. There was a heavy metallic thump as the
magnetic locks released, and the motor-driven door slowly opened.

On the inside wall was a red rectangular button the size of a pack
of cigarettes labeled open/close. John slammed it with his palm, and
the mechanism reversed. With a heavy thud, the door closed and
locked.

Cotten whirled around, catching a panoramic view of the laboratory. "Where is it?"

Her eyes fell on a silver travel case, and then next to that, a transparent container. The Cup. She approached the acrylic container in
awe of the beauty and simplicity of the remarkable relic inside. Two
thousand years ago, Jesus Christ drank from it and the next day it
caught His blood as He died on the Cross. Carefully, she removed the
Cup. Her finger traced the rim, then made a long stroke down the
outside of the bowl and the stem to the base. It was completely
encased in some sort of thin, clear coating, but even with the protective veneer, touching it gave her chills. Cotten placed it in the silver
travel case, closed the lid, and hugged it to her chest.