Solomon's Grave (24 page)

He knelt beside the bed after moving Johnson’s rug aside and worked a finger into the slight indentation in the boards where once there had been a knot. He hesitated. Next to the treasure in John Solomon’s grave, the strongbox had been his most secret possession. Bringing it out, letting eyes other than his own see its contents, seemed such a final act of transition.

He removed the board, but folded his hands against his chest.

God, please guide my hands and my mind. Everything is happening, everything seems right. After so many, many years, how can I be certain? What if I go back there and they’re gone? What if they’re the
enemy
?

No answer. Of course not. He’d made his conclusions already and there could be no mistake. Maybe he was dragging his feet because he didn’t know his own role in the coming events—if he had one. If he could convince these people of the truth, they might take the treasure and leave. Vincent could move on. Maybe go back to school after all these years, earn a degree, become ordained and serve in some new capacity which did not require so much seclusion.

It was a joyous proposition, one that made the act of lifting the strongbox from its hole easier to bear. Still, he shouldn’t be so eager to end his ministry. Such eagerness would only open them up to mistakes. Right now he needed to tread carefully. Quickly, but carefully.

He left the compartment open and walked back into the kitchen.
Could
he convince Dinneck? The young man seemed to be listening. And there was the matter of his dreams. But the girl. He’d been trying not to look at the mocking way her eyes squinted at certain details. She laughed at him with those eyes.

She held the same expression when he returned to the table. They’d been whispering to each other. He’d heard the sounds but not the words.

The box
thunked
on the table. He undid the latch and opened the lid, turning it toward Nathan.

“You do not need to read the contents now,” he said. “But here are all the notes I’ve taken over the years. There are also ledgers from Ruth, and many others who came before her. It’s not complete, and I don’t admit to knowing everything they say since many are in different languages, some pretty archaic. But the story is there if you’re willing to take the time.”

Elizabeth snorted derisively. “Oh, come on, Tarretti.” She nudged Nathan’s shoulder. “I think we’ve heard enough for tonight.”

Nathan looked at her. “I told you, we’re staying until he’s told us everything.” He turned back to Vincent.

She leaned forward, whispering though she had to know Vincent could hear. “You don’t believe this. He just told us that the Ten Commandments are buried in our town cemetery. The same ones that Charlton Heston carried down the mountain!”

With a calm that belied his growing anger, Vincent said, “Moses carried them, Ma’am. You’d do well to show some respect for—”

“For who? You? A nut who lives like a hermit with his delusions and then takes notes about them? Delusions that God’s buried the Ark of the Covenant in a graveyard in a backwoods town like ours?” She stood. “Nate’s going through some tough times right now. He has enough to worry about with Pastor Hayden dead and his father involved in some weird group in town. Now you bring us here and tell us that he’s got to start guarding some dead guy’s tombstone!” She leaned forward and jabbed a finger at him. Johnson growled. “Oh, shut up, you mutt.”

Johnson lowered his head and whimpered.

Nathan said nothing. Like Vincent earlier, his eyes were unfocused, his face set in concentration. Vincent decided to ignore Elizabeth and looked at him.

“Reverend,” he whispered, and the use of the title made Nathan look up. “This
group
she’s talking about—is it the same one you asked about the other day?”

Nathan nodded.

Vincent said, “Tell me everything you might have learned about them since. And do it quickly.”

Chapter Forty-Four

As Art Dinneck spoke with the computer operator on the phone, he tried to picture Raymond George. He thought he knew him, but for the moment the man’s face eluded him.

“You will need to leave tonight, and go to the storefront. There might be a few men there if the card game isn’t over. If not, there is a key hidden under a stone in the back alley. I have just told you that a computer program you wrote is not working. Do you know which program that is?”

Art looked across the kitchen where Beverly was putting detergent into the half-full dishwasher and eyeing him suspiciously. The operator mentioned a program he’d written that had just gone down. He concentrated, trying to remember the name.

“Do you mean FBB714?”

“Yes,” the controlled voice of Peter Quinn / Raymond George said. “That is the program. You need to come in and correct the problem.”

Art looked at the wall clock and sighed. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” He wondered why Raymond was making such a big deal out of a report program.

“No, and you do not think so either.”

“All right. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Beverly slammed the dishwasher door and turned the knob to start the cycle. From her expression, however, Art knew she would accept it. It was work pulling him away from her this time, nothing else. She wouldn’t like it, but at least he wasn’t going out to... where was he going again?

“Mr. Dinneck?”

“Yes, I’m still here. I—” he hesitated. He didn’t
know
any computer operator named Raymond George.

“You have to go now. Go to the men’s club, and when you get there you will
want
to be there. Mingle. You have something very important to talk about with Peter Quinn. Wait there until he arrives. You will believe you are going to work until you are about to reach the highway. Is that understood?”

The man’s voice sounded strained. Art decided he must be a new hire. Hopefully the visit wouldn’t take too long. “Fine. See you in a little bit.” He hung up. “You heard?” he asked Beverly.

She was wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I heard. Will it take long?”

Art grabbed his sneakers beside the back door and sat in a kitchen chair to put them on. “Not at all. The guy’s just new, doesn’t know what he’s doing, or which jobs have what priority, I guess. I should be back in less than an hour.”

“Promise you’ll come right home?”

He pictured the HMC storefront. He needed to tell Quinn something. But at the moment he couldn’t remember what it was. It could wait until tomorrow, worst case. He got up and grabbed a jacket from the closet.

“Promise.”

Before he could leave, Beverly was beside him and touching his arm. He turned around and found himself in her strong embrace. He returned it, wishing for a moment that he’d told the guy to ignore the problem and wait until morning.

He could still do that.

No. This was important. He’d be back soon. He gave his wife another prolonged squeeze, then kissed her slowly on the lips. “I’ll be right back.” He patted his coat pocket, felt a bulge. “I’ve got my cell if you need to reach me.”

Beverly looked like she was going to cry. He thought he understood. He’d been spending so much time at the men’s club, and for what? The rift between them was only getting larger. That would change. He walked outside and got into his car. Backing from the driveway, he wondered why he was spending so much time there. A bunch of guys, some no older than Nate, playing cards and drinking. What was the point?

He drove street to street, heading for Interstate 190. As he neared the on-ramp he flipped on the directional. What was he doing? He wasn’t going to work, not at this hour. He drove past the ramp and continued across town. He needed to get to the club. It would be the last time, though, for a long time. Maybe ever. Beverly needed him home. He would swing by and talk to Quinn. This was important, and had to be discussed tonight. Then he’d come home and
stay
home. Maybe this weekend he’d go with her to church, watch Nate.

The thought filled him with immeasurable pride.

The strip mall loomed ahead. The lights of the convenience store shone two doors down from the ethereal glow of the HMC’s whitewashed windows. The rest of the storefronts were dark. He tried to remember what it was he wanted to tell Quinn. No matter. It was important and it’d come back to him, in time.

Chapter Forty-Five

Nathan kept his face calm, but inside he was screaming. His mind reeled with so many facts, Tarretti’s fantastic story among them. It fit too neatly. He’d prayed for God to show him what the dreams meant, what was happening with his father. The visit to the HMC this morning revealed a shocking association between them.

Now, Vincent’s intense interest in his father and the cult was like a physical blow. Tarretti and his predecessors, if his story was to be believed, had been hiding the Ark of the Covenant from a group of Old Testament Ammonites—a name which Peter Quinn made a point of dropping in their earlier conversation.

To the apparent disgust of Elizabeth, he told the caretaker about his visit with Quinn. When he was done, Tarretti was pale. The man stood so abruptly, Nathan leaned reflexively back in his chair. Johnson rose and moved to his master’s side, assuming something was about to happen.

“The flowers in the graveyard,” Vincent said, turning in a half circle toward the front room then, as if remembering something, turning back. He picked out the topmost notebook from the stack in the box. “Entry 818,” he mumbled. “Here, see?” He held it out. Nathan caught a quick glimpse of messy hand-scratch in blue pen before Vincent pulled it away to look at it himself again, running his fingers along the edge of the page. “They know. They know where it is. Reverend Hayden. Oh God, I’d suspected it myself but I checked...” He pinched the bridge of his nose, sounding and looking as if his tether had finally come loose.

Nathan got up from his chair, slowly, and stood beside Elizabeth. She gave him a look that said,
See? What’d I tell you?

“Quinn,” Vincent continued. “He or someone working with him. They killed Pastor Hayden.”

Nathan’s heart skipped a beat. All he could think to say in reply was, “What?”

Again, Vincent turned the notebook toward him. “See? Here. I wrote that Quinn made a point to mention Hayden was leaving. That’s how I knew to stop by the church that morning. I wondered how the guy knew... he knew because he thought Ralph was leaving with the Ark. Only a priest can move it. Don’t you see?”

Elizabeth lashed out with her right arm and knocked the notebook away. Pages flapped as the book tumbled against the wall beside the back door. “That... is... enough!” Using the same hand, she backslapped Vincent’s face. He stumbled back. Johnson, already cowed by Elizabeth’s earlier assertiveness, simply watched and whimpered.

Tarretti put a hand to his face and glared. Nathan steeled himself, knowing he was going to have to fight to protect her, now.

“I don’t expect you to believe what I’m saying, Miss. You were not the one to whom God has given the signs.”

Elizabeth was breathing hard, trying not to cry—but in rage rather than sorrow. His last statement had unwittingly struck a nerve with her.

Nathan stood between them. He had to balance what Elizabeth stood for—worldly rationale, logic—and what Tarretti was saying, which in anyone else’s mind, including Elizabeth’s, would sound like madness.

It was time, right now, to take a stand one way or the other. He hoped Elizabeth would understand.

He faced Tarretti. “Those people you told us about, the ones you say have been hunting this thing for thousands of years. You’re telling me they’re the Hillcrest Men’s Club? The group my dad belongs to?”

Still holding his cheek, Tarretti nodded. “It’s the only answer. And no, they are not the whole organization. I can’t imagine they’re a very large group. Maybe a couple of hundred people around the world, all told. For the most part, they’re nothing more than common thugs. Well-connected, but petty criminals when it comes down to it. More organized crime than any sort of established religion. But that’s the crazy part.” When he said this, Elizabeth offered an exasperated laugh. “After all this time, neither side knows very much about the other. Knowing anything would mean getting too close. They may number a dozen, or a thousand. But for our side, as far as I know, there’s only been one at a time.”

Looking for a moment at Nathan and Elizabeth, he added, “Three, now.”

 “Don’t you dare count me or Nate in your little delusion.”

“My father is not a demon worshipper.”

“Perhaps not.” Vincent lowered his hand to reveal a fading red blemish on his face. “He might only be part of the camouflage Quinn has laid around himself. It’s been done before.” He gestured to the box. “It’s all in there.”

“Nate...”

“Wait. Vincent, you want me to drop everything I’m doing, turn my back on my calling, my church, and... do what?”

Vincent stepped forward. When Elizabeth moved to intercept, he stopped her with a look filled with such loathing she stopped. She was temperamental and protective, but Nathan knew she wasn’t stupid. Tarretti was not going to let her get in his way again.

“Reverend Dinneck, I believe God wants you to take the Ark of the Covenant and its contents and leave this town. Forever. You must disappear, trust in the Spirit to guide you to a new location. Of the three of us, only you can even
touch
the relic. This has been the case throughout history. Many men have died testing it.”

Nathan looked at the strongbox. “You’re saying Quinn went after Pastor Hayden because he thought an eighty-year-old man was running away with a gold-laden chest the size of a hatchback car?”

Vincent began to speak, caught himself, then only said, “It’s not that big.”

The kitchen was quiet. All three of them stood facing each other. Johnson hunkered warily between them. Nathan took in a deep breath and said, “Take me to the gravesite and show me what’s inside. I’m not agreeing to do anything you say, but if what you’re saying is true, then this would be the next natural step.”