The Guardian (24 page)

“Okay,” she said. She walked over to the monitor and pushed a button that buzzed for a second. “Edmond, come inside.”

Jonathan watched the greasy-haired man grab his bag and step through the big garage door. Less than fifteen seconds later, he was back inside the apartment.

“So you have my money?” He stared at Jonathan.

“It’ll be here by the time you’re done.” Jonathan looked to Remy who had just come back from her bedroom. She had a bag draped over her arm and was putting on her coat. “Just remember what I said.”

She walked over and whispered something in his ear. As she pulled away, she winked at him. “And the beaches are white sand. You know how I love white sand.”

Jonathan said nothing. He just watched as she let herself out the door.

Edmond took his time coming back to the coffee table. He removed his jacket, took off his shoes, and went to the kitchen. Jonathan could hear him opening cupboards and moving things around. He laid his head back against the armrest and closed his eyes. His leg was killing him. It was burning. And it itched. He knew that Edmond was about to tell him something he didn’t want to hear. The leg was infected.

Edmond finally returned to the living room, carrying a coffee cup, a bowl full of some kind of liquid, and a roll of paper towels. He set them down on the coffee table then sat down beside them. “Now,” he said, “I have my coffee and other necessities. Let’s have a look at that leg.”

He waited until Jonathan had removed the bandages. He reached inside his bag and pulled out some latex gloves. He put them on and leaned in to look at the leg. He gently touched the area around the bullet hole. Jonathan sat upright and screamed.

“Easy there, killer,” Edmond said. “Here.” He handed him a leather strap. “Bite down on this. I have to poke around here for a second. It’s going to hurt.”

Jonathan took the strap from him and bit down on it. If it weren’t for the fact that the little weasel was helping him, he would’ve killed him right there.

Edmond continued to poke and prod around the wound. Little pockets of white fluid started to ooze out around the hole. He grabbed some clean gauze and wiped it away. “I’m afraid this isn’t good. You dressed the wound fine. You just didn’t clean it that well. It’s infected. You’ll probably lose it.”

“What?”
Jonathan spit the leather strap out of his mouth. “You’d better be kidding, you little psycho!”

“Relax.” Edmond waved his hand. “I am kidding. You’re going to be fine. In about a week.”

“I don’t have a week.”

“Yes, and I’m sure my sister doesn’t want you staying here for a week. However, that is not up to you and me, is it? The bottom line is, it’s infected. You need antibiotics. And a lot of rest. You’re not going anywhere for at least a week. That is, unless you really
do
want to lose that leg. Now lie back and let me fix this mess.”

Jonathan leaned back and closed his eyes. Wickham was going to lay an egg when he heard this. He would just have to deal with it. He certainly wasn’t going to lose a leg over that girl or some scroll.

The pain over the next twenty minutes could only be described as sick, demented torture. The little weasel was enjoying this.

Edmond finished redressing the wound and said, “There. That should do it.” He stood up and walked toward the door. “I’ll be right back.” He opened the front door and disappeared.

Edmond hadn’t been gone ten seconds when Jonathan’s phone rang. Remy. He flipped it open with a grimace.

“Six million dollars, Jonathan? Are you kidding me?”

“Hello, Remy. I’m going to be fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Well, I must tell you. I was expecting a good bit of cash, but this? This is ridiculous. Why do you have six million in a safe-deposit box?”

“For a rainy day.”

“What? Is this like your entire life’s work here?” “It’s a pretty good chunk of it. Want to help me spend it? On your little white-sandy beach?” “What did Edmond say?”

“He said I’m your new roommate. At least for another week.” “That’s a shame.”

“Why’s that?”

“‘Cause I’m not coming back.”

“I’ll find you.”

“For six million, I’ll risk it.”

“Your choice. I’m going to kill your brother.”

“He’s only my half brother, and go ahead. I’ve never really liked him anyway.”

“Good-bye, Remy. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Well, if you do find me, as least give me a heads-up. Who knows? I may have changed my mind about us by then.”

“We’ll see.”

Jonathan pushed the E
ND
button on the phone and threw it across the room. It hit the wall and shattered.

The front door opened and Edmond came back in carrying a set of crutches. He walked over to the couch and set them down. “There,” he said. “I’ll throw those in for free. At least you’ll be able to go to the bathroom on your own.”

Jonathan stared at him with an icy glare. “Do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“In your sister’s bedroom there’s a painting on the wall. Behind it there’s a safe. The door’s open, I’m sure. Inside there is a little black satchel. Bring it to me, please.”

“I’m hardly going to go rummaging around in my sister’s private things.”

“It’s not your sister’s. It’s mine. And she put it there last night for me, for safe keeping.”

Edmond let out a long sigh and disappeared into the bedroom. He came back carrying the bag. He tossed it over to Jonathan.

Jonathan reached inside the bag and felt the cold steel of his 9mm. He could tell by the weight that it was still loaded. “Your sister has your money. She’s going to be joining you soon. You can ask her for it when you see her.”

He pulled the gun out of the bag and shot Edmond five times in the chest and once in the forehead.

C
ardinal Wickham slammed the phone down. Really hard this time. His patience was at an end. He had been trying to get Jonathan on the phone all morning. Each time he got the same result, a fast busy signal. He was starting to think Jonathan was avoiding him.

He went to his kitchen where a fresh pot of coffee was percolating. The aroma of the French roast wafted throughout the apartment. It would be his fifth pot of coffee in seven hours. He’d been up since three o’clock this morning, unable to sleep. Each time he would doze off, visions of the scroll would occupy his mind. He was having horrible nightmares now. Some were recurring.

In this one, he was standing on the edge of a cliff, the scroll hovering above him just out of reach. Each time he would stretch out for it, he would lose his balance and fall over the side. On the way down to the bottom, he would see Jonathan standing in a crevice of the cliff, laughing as he fell. When he looked down,

there was nothing but a gaping black hole. At the far bottom of the hole was Thomas Riley, waiting for him with a sword, pointed upward, waiting to impale him as he reached the bottom.

He poured another cup and sipped it slowly, savoring the bitter taste. He was exhausted. It looked like he would be running on caffeine all day.

To make matters worse, the pope was still sick, still hanging in there like a hair in a grilled cheese sandwich. That also infuriated him. The person he bought the drug from said it would take only a few days. A week tops. They were fast approaching the week mark. Maybe he could up the dose and hurry it along. He decided he would go see the pontiff this morning. See how he was doing.

What worried him the most was Lucifer’s news. Michael, the archangel, was here, walking the earth. He knew his Bible, even if he didn’t live and abide by it. And as far as he knew, Michael didn’t make a habit of interfering with humanity. That meant problems. He needed to find that scroll. Fast.

If he were truthful, he wanted it for himself. That was always the objective. Now, however, he was scared. He thought back to the conversation he recently had with Joseph when he told Joseph that he didn’t fear anyone or anything. He was starting to admit now that was a lie. He was afraid.

As a child, he had always heard stories of the devil and his legions. He guessed he even believed them. But seeing them face-to-face, feeling Lucifer’s anger firsthand—that was something altogether different. He feared the fallen angel. And since Lucifer promised him power beyond all that he had ever seen, he decided that he would take him up on his offer. He would give the scroll to him.

Wickham had asked several times what was on it. Lucifer told him when he found it, he would see for himself. He asked what the reason was for wanting to possess it. Lucifer told him that when he had the scroll in his possession, he had won. Game over.

Wickham knew that he had turned his back on God a long time ago. He was too caught up in what this world had to offer. He liked this world. He knew that the only way to preserve what he had was to serve Lucifer. Lucifer promised him eternal life here on earth. He told him that he didn’t have to be afraid of dying. He would make him immortal. And he would give him a great kingdom here on earth. People would bow to him. They would revere him, not as a pope, but as a king. All he had to do was get the scroll.

After a quick shower, he felt a measure of renewed vigor. He knew he was close. Jonathan would be calling in any minute now, telling him the scroll was within his grasp. He would call Joseph and see what the buzz around the Vatican was this morning. It was going to be a good day. And that was confirmed with the ringing of his telephone.

He walked over to his desk and lifted the receiver. “Good morning. This is Cardinal Wickham. How can I help you?”

The voice on the other end of the line was shaky. The woman tried to get the words out but choked between sobs. “Cardinal Wickham … you need to come over here. His Holiness is dying. We don’t know how much longer he’ll be with us.”

Wickham grinned. He tried to muster up a soothing, peaceful voice. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t fret. Tell the pontiff that I’m coming. He needs to be given his last rites. I’ll hurry.”

He hung up the phone, grinning from ear to ear. If he didn’t think he’d draw the attention of the Swiss guards, he would’ve shouted to the top of his voice. It was, indeed, going to be a good day.

D
ishes were scattered about the kitchen, the aroma of coffee and bacon filled the air, and two empty plates sat in the middle of the table. Anna and Jason had just finished stuffing themselves with breakfast.

Anna was halfway to the sink with a stack of breakfast dishes when the doorbell rang. She stopped midstride and looked back. Jason raised his eyebrows. They weren’t expecting company. That’s when Anna remembered her conversation with Hale. She quickly dumped the dishes into the sink and made a beeline for the door.

“It’s okay. It’s Hale. He’s bringing the head security guy over this morning.”

Jason jumped out of his chair, knocking it over behind him, and ran into the living room. “Wait!” The bell rang again. “What? I told you: it’s just Hale.”

Jason squatted next to her. He lifted her pants leg up to see the revolver strapped to her ankle. He unfastened the strap and took the gun and handed it to her. “Now we can see who it is.”

Oh man. She’d been assuming that it was Hale. And it probably was. But she couldn’t afford to be that trusting, especially with the scroll and all of the notes and papers lying all over the place. Anyone could easily walk in and grab them up. “I’m sorry, Jason. I wasn’t thinking. I’m still not used to all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

The bell rang for the third time.

Jason brushed past Anna, moving her behind him with his arm, and crept to the door. He bent his head and peered through the peephole. He finally let out the breath that he’d been holding. “It’s Hale.” He unlocked the dead bolt, slid the chain back, and opened the door.

Behind a worried-looking Hale stood an extremely big man dressed in a suit—an expensive one, it looked like. He held a very large, shiny black pistol, his thumb on the hammer and his index finger brushing the trigger.

Hale stepped through the doorway. The man with the gun followed. “I was about to have Christopher here call the team and rush the house.”

“Just being cautious,” Jason explained.

“Good. Glad to hear it. Guys, this is Christopher Wallace. He is the head of your London security detail.”

The man returned his gun to the holster inside his jacket, stuck out his hand, and greeted them both. Both Jason’s and Anna’s hands disappeared inside the man’s grip. “Your grandfather and I were very close. He talked a lot about you, Anna.”

“Yeah, seems like everyone but me knew that,” she said sorrowfully.

“I’m sorry to hear about … you know …”

“It’s okay, Mr. Wallace. Thank you for your concern.”

Hale gently took Anna by the elbow. “Chris, please excuse us for a moment. I need to talk to Jason and Anna alone if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Christopher nodded his head and waved a hand in the air.

Hale led Anna and Jason into the kitchen. “I just wanted to make sure that everything is all right.”

“Everything’s fine, Hale. Is something going on?” Anna had a worried look.

“No. Everything’s fine.” Hale saw the coffeepot sitting on the counter. He could smell the fresh brew. “Mind if I have a cup?”

“Go ahead,” Anna said. “So what’s Mr. Wallace’s deal?”

Hale took a mug from the cabinet and poured himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t bother to sweeten it or add cream. He just tipped it straight up and drank. “Now that’s good coffee.” He had a smile from ear to ear.

“Thank you,” Jason said. “I have been known to make a good pot of coffee every now and again.”

“Mr. Wallace,” Hale continued, as if he hadn’t even stopped to have the coffee discussion, “is strictly a hired gun. No pun intended. But that’s what he is. Just a hired gun. He knows nothing of the scroll. Therefore, he knows nothing of anyone chasing you around. He especially knows nothing of what happened in Pau. He only knows that your grandfather was working on some kind of archaeological thing for the Vatican. He knows that Thomas had an ‘accident,’ but I’ve decided—and you can override me if you want—not to tell him anything else. But I think it’s the right call. He and his team are really good. They will shadow you everywhere you go. You will not see them. They will be on the lookout for anything or anyone that seems out of place. If they think you are in danger, they will send someone in, probably a woman, to make contact with you. They will then take you out of wherever you are and get you to safety. Any questions?”