Pentecost (13 page)

 
“Buenos dias Father, I’m a scholar from Oxford University researching the bones of St James. Do you know how I could gain access to the crypt?”

 
The old man hobbled forward with a cane. His breath wheezed with chest infection. Morgan moved to help him to a marble bench by the crypt door.

 
“We don’t get many people wanting to look at the crypt any more. I’m the Custodian. What are you particularly interested in?”

 
He patted the seat next to him. Morgan felt odd talking to this stranger but she was running out of time and there was a long way to go in the next few days. Her father had always believed in honesty. He trusted people implicitly, believing, when it came down to it, that people sought to do good in the world. It hadn’t saved his life, but she knew he would still stand by those values. She made her decision.
 

 
“I’m looking for a stone,” she said, sitting down on the bench next to him. “It was with St James when he died and may be here in the church.” The old man went pale and clutched at his chest, the wheezing growing worse. “Are you alright?”

 
“Who are you really, child?” he asked, taking Morgan’s hand and squeezing it tightly.

 
“Truly, I’m just a researcher. My name is Morgan Sierra and I work at Oxford University.”

 
“You must know more than you’re telling me. I need to know about the stone you seek.”

 
Footsteps on the stairs down into the crypt made them both fall silent. Their conversation was not one to be shared in public. As Morgan saw the boots and then black jeans of the man descending, she tensed, aware that she was trapped down here with no backup. The man ducked down to enter the small crypt. It was suddenly crowded in the tiny space. Morgan bent her head, hoping the man was just a tourist and that he would pass them by. Putting her hands behind her back, she felt around the back of the bench for anything that could be used as a weapon, just in case. She was regretting the decision to come unarmed. The priest called out,
 

“Can I help you, my son?”

“Yes, I think you can,” the man said as he turned towards them. In that instant Morgan saw the pale horse tattoo on his left arm.

Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, Spain.
 
May 20, 12.32pm

 
Leaving Morgan by the pillar of St James, Jake walked towards the cloister, his steps quickening as the noise escalated. The cathedral was hardly silent, but raised voices were attracting attention even amongst a multitude of pilgrims. The cloister was a large quadrangle that led to the cathedral relics and the Library. Its stone tessellated floor was surrounded by buttressed arches and opened out to the azure Spanish sky. Jake stood behind one of the arched pillars and watched as three men argued with a gesticulating priest. He recognized them as ex-military operatives like himself from their stance and the faint shapes under their clothes indicated that they were armed. One had the pale horse tattooed on his arm. They were from Thanatos. He would have to create a diversion long enough to allow Morgan time to find the stone, and then they would both get out of here.

 
The largest man was holding the priest’s arm and pointing into the church, clearly demanding that he show them the bones of St James. They weren’t going to waste time looking for the stone discreetly, they were going to use brute force. Pilgrims and other priests were moving closer, but the threat of the three men was enough to keep them at a safe distance. Pushing the priest in front of them, the men started to head towards the church entrance and Jake’s position. He still wore the original stone that he had shown Morgan. He quickly weighed up his choices, then unhooked the stone from around his neck. He stepped out in front of the men, who were now only a few meters away.

 
“Father, I found it!” he shouted as if talking directly to the priest, holding the stone in front of him on its leather string. The mercenaries started running towards him, pushing the priest to the ground. Jake sprinted away from them into the main body of the church. The three men, weapons drawn, followed close behind.

 
Jake ducked low behind a group of pilgrims as they entered through the main door. They were huddled together, an emotional group intending to finish their journey at the statue of St James. Jake stayed with them, head bowed yet watching as the men scanned the room, their weapons concealed again. They couldn’t risk having their guns out in a such a crowded place. It would be mayhem within seconds and the tourist police were nearby in the square below. Jake moved with the group towards the main altar, aware that Morgan was somewhere close and that he didn’t want to lead them to her. He needed to create a diversion. Looking towards the main altar, he saw a heavy rope hanging down and knew just what he could do to bring everyone’s attention onto him.

 
He had read that the cathedral held one of the most famous Botafumeiro or Incensory in Christendom. It was the largest censer in the world, weighing over 170 pounds. On holy days and high mass, the Botafumeiro was filled with incense and swung over the crowd of pilgrims who crushed into the cathedral for a blessing. The heavy smoke from the incense settled over the gathered faithful, a heavenly scent to some, and a choking, cloying stink to others. The smoke curled its way up, taking prayers to God, bridging the gap between the spiritual and physical worlds. Jake also knew that one of its purposes was to mask the stench of pilgrims who had rushed to the church after days on the trail without washing. The heavy rope that linked the pulley system for the giant thurible was tethered near the main altar. It went right up into the dome above the main crossing of the church, the highest place to swing the incense over the faithful.

 
One of the men spotted Jake and shouted. He saw them rushing towards him, hands on concealed weapons and they spread out to trap him near the altar. Jake sped towards the rope for the Botafumeiro, drawing a knife from his leg holster. He grabbed the attachment end of the rope, wrapped it around his waist and leg. He slashed the stable line that held it in place and the pulley system hoisted his weight high into the church. One of the men reached for his arm but the rope whizzed Jake away up into the dome. Nearby pilgrims watched in wonder as he was taken into the air high above the altar. Priests started to run towards the sight, shouting at him and waving their hands. They were appalled at the sacrilege, calling urgently for security.

 
Jake laughed at the sight of them all rushing to stop him, for by then he was flying in the dome, swinging above them. It was indeed a marvelous view from up here. With the cross of the church below him and the flash of cameras lighting the scene, he rocked his body back and forth causing the pulley to swing as it would do with the incense. The three men faded back into the crowd, obviously waiting for security to bring him down. At least their attention was now on him and not on looking for the stone. They thought he had it up there with him. The only question remaining was, how would he get back down?

Crypt of the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, Spain.
 
May 20, 12.41pm

 
Morgan saw the man’s hand move inside his jacket and knew she couldn’t let him fire a gun in here. Her Krav Maga close combat training kicked in, and her anger exploded. She launched herself at him, springing up and jabbing an elbow into his gut. As he doubled over, she rammed her knee into his face. He didn’t go down easily and as his eyes widened in surprise at her attack, he grabbed to catch her as he pulled a knife from his boot with the other hand. There was little room in the crypt but Morgan ducked under his arm, just as the old man rushed in to separate them, unaware of the danger he was in. The attacker’s knife connected with the priest’s body and he sagged with a faint exhalation of surprise as crimson blossomed on his white cassock. Time slowed for Morgan in that moment. She had to finish this now. Grabbing a heavy Bible from the bench, she swung it into the attacker’s face, smashing his nose, driving him backwards as he gasped in surprise. She kicked his wrist and the knife dropped to the floor, leaving a skid-mark of blood. Seeing a silver candlestick on a ledge just behind him, she ducked under his clumsy punch and whammed her elbow up under his chin. As his neck snapped back, she jumped onto the bench, grasped the candlestick and swung it hard, connecting with the side of his head in a dull thump. He collapsed to the floor, and she followed him down, weapon held high to strike him again. A moan from the old priest stopped her. He whispered, “No more, please.”

 
Morgan paused, then nodded, aware that she was in a holy place and the stone was her first priority. She felt for a pulse in the attacker’s neck. It was weak, but he was still alive. Quickly she felt in his jacket and took his gun, tucking it into the back of her jeans. She kicked his bloody knife into the crypt behind the locked gate. Then she pulled the man’s belt off, used it to tie his hands and finally stuffed one of the ornamental altar pieces into his mouth as a gag.

 
Moving close to the priest, Morgan knelt and put pressure onto his wound, trying to stem the bleeding. It wasn’t deep, as his voluminous robes had caught the force of the blow but he was still in pain.
 

“I have to get you help, but that man was also looking for the stone of the Apostle James. You said before that I must know more. You’re right, I have a stone myself, from John, the beloved disciple.”

 
She reached into her shirt and pulled out the stone that hung around her neck. The old man reached up and gently touched it, his eyes bright in wonder and reverence despite the pain he was in.

 
“La Piedra de Dios.” He spoke in a whisper. “The stones are a secret carried by only a few through millennia but I heard rumors of a reckoning. There’s a prophecy that speaks of a new Pentecost in the end times.”

“I don’t know if this is that time, Father, but I have to find the stone and I need to get you some help. Let me call someone.”

 
He shook his head. “Not yet. If others come, you won’t be able to take the stone from the crypt.”

Morgan’s eyes widened.
 

 
“It’s here, then?”

 
The old man looked away from her into the darkness of the crypt.

 
“I’m clearly no longer able to protect the stone,” he said. “But will you protect it for the church, Morgan Sierra?”

 
She hesitated, and then spoke honestly. “I’m not a Christian, Father, but my sister’s life is at stake and I need the stones to get her back.”

 
He sighed.
 

“You’re a Keeper and the stones know their masters. It’s time for this one to be seen again.”

 
He pointed at the gold and silver reliquary behind the locked gate, his hand shaking.
 

 
“It’s in there. I’ve never seen it myself but the relics were authenticated in 1884 by Pope Leo XIII. At that time, my great great grandfather was a silver worker. He fashioned the reliquary and was given the stone to hide by the Pope himself. They were trying to protect the stones by ensuring they stayed apart.”

 
“Why was it so urgent to hide the stones?” Morgan asked.

 
“Pope Leo had a vision that year which shook him deeply.” The priest crossed himself, his eyes haunted. “He heard the voices of God and the Devil while praying at his private altar. Satan boasted that given 100 years he could destroy the Church and gain absolute power over the faithful. It seems that God would allow Satan to do his worst as he did with the prophet Job. But Pope Leo was determined to bolster the Church’s power and ensure that the Devil didn’t claw a foothold. Hiding the Pentecost stone was just one of the things he did to protect the Church from those who would use its power for evil.”

 
“So where did they hide the stone? Did your father tell you?”

The priest nodded.
 

 
“It’s molded into the top of the reliquary. Here, take this and you can see for yourself.”

 
He produced a key from his vestments and gave it to her, waving her towards the locked gate and the ornate box inside. Morgan unlocked the gate, pushing the creaking door inwards. The reliquary was a large engraved silver chest, resting on top of a mahogany table in the center of the crypt. An altar stood before it with large candlesticks and a crucifix. She inched her way behind the altar.

 
“Look at the top,” the old man called faintly from behind her. “There are two raised silver discs. The stone is hidden under one of them.”

 
“But which one?” Morgan ran her fingers over the silver detail, marveling that the stone could be here. “And how the hell do I get it out?”

 
“My father told me of a mechanism to release the stone. On the sides of the box are scallop shells. Count three in on the left side.” Morgan followed his directions. “Follow the seam to the figure underneath. That’s the servant of James, the first Keeper. He holds the key to the stone. That’s all my father told me, passed down from his father before him.”

 
Morgan looked closely. The figure seemed to be the same as the other molded statues on the side of the reliquary. She bent closer and saw that his staff didn’t seem to be part of the molding. It was a separate piece of metal. She carefully pried it out of the hands of the servant, a sliver of metal finely tooled, like a needle with a hooked end shaped like a scallop shell. She felt over the raised dials on the top of the box, acutely aware that it might contain one of the most holy relics in Christendom, the bones of the Apostle James. Her fingers found a tiny hole in the dial on the left side and she pressed the metal shard into the little space. It slid in snugly but nothing happened. She tried lifting it like a lever and the silver dial opened smoothly to reveal a plain grey stone in the space beneath.