The Guardian (39 page)

Jonathan watched the mirror on the passenger side door of the cab explode. Just then his driver jerked the wheel again. The gun flew out of his hand and onto the floor as the truck veered onto the side of the road to miss rear-ending another car, whose driver decided to slam on his brakes, in their lane. The cab instantly shot ahead of them.

“Get back on the road!” He felt for his gun under the seat. “Am I the only one here who’s packing? Did I not buy nice firearms for all of you?” The men in the truck looked at him with bewilderment. “That was a rhetorical question! What are you waiting for? Shoot!”

All four windows on the Suburban went down as each of them stuck their arms out the window and began firing at the cab ahead of them.

“What did you two get me into? Get out of my cab!” the cabbie said, slamming on his brakes.

Jason banged on the back of the driver’s seat. “No! Drive faster. If you stop, they’ll kill us and you.”

The driver saw the gun pointed at him and punched the gas as the Suburban swerved off the road to avoid hitting another car.

That allowed them to get ahead.

Anna crept back onto the seat and rolled down her window.

Jason grabbed her arm. “You’re not shooting at them in the middle of the highway!”

“They don’t know I have a gun. If I shoot back, we can gain some distance from them.”

“Or it could just make them mad. Have you lost your mind?”

The rear window exploded and shattered all over the backseat.

“Okay! Shoot back!”

Anna turned around in the seat and leveled her arm. She took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.

The front windshield of the Suburban cracked like a spider’s web as three bullets hit it. The driver’s visibility disappeared. He slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop on the side of the road. “They’re shooting back!”

“No kidding, Einstein!” Jonathan spat. “What are you doing? Get after them!”

“I can’t see anything!”

Jonathan crawled over the seat, reached across the man sitting beside him, opened the door, pushed the man out, then leaned back and kicked the front windshield until the glass flew out of it’s frame and onto the side of the road. “Now let’s go!”

The Suburban’s tires kicked up gravel as they spun back onto the road. The cab was almost out of sight now.

“It worked!” Anna shrieked, as the Suburban skidded to a stop behind them.

The cab was now a few hundred yards ahead of the Suburban, which had pulled off the side of the road. The cab driver hadn’t said a word since the first gunshot. He seemed in shock. The airport was just ahead, and the signs for the private terminal were already coming into view.

“There!” Anna said. “We need to go to the private terminal.”

The cab changed lanes and sped onto the off-ramp. The terminal was just ahead. They passed a sign for the parking lot just as the driver slammed on his brakes.

“No more!” he yelled. “You get out!”

They were less than a hundred yards from the runway. Anna could see her plane sitting there ready to take off. They just had to get through the little security building and out onto the tarmac. “Come on, Jason. We can make it.”

“We’d better hurry!” Jason said, as he saw the headlights coming at them.

They jumped out of the cab, barely getting out before the driver punched the gas and sped off. They ran as fast as they could toward the security building. They could hear screeching tires behind them. They entered the building just as the Suburban stopped at the front doors, screeching to a halt.

They hurried down the hallway, trying not to draw attention, and exited the building. They could see the plane at the front of the runway, engines running, and the stairs down. A man in a windbreaker and ball cap was standing at the top of the stairs waving frantically at them. Knowing their attackers were moments behind them, they took off running toward him.

Jonathan exited the building just in time to see Anna and Jason running for the plane. Something wasn’t right. He stopped for just a second. Wickham was standing at the top of the stairs, waving at them like a beacon. What the heck was Wickham doing on Anna and Jason’s plane? He pulled his gun and started running after them. He took aim and tried to pull the trigger but couldn’t. His arm went slack.

His leg collapsed beneath him. He couldn’t breathe.

And what was this pain shooting through his chest?

He fell to the pavement, blood pouring out of his arm, his leg, and his chest. Shot.

This was it. Not how he expected it. He always thought of dying at his home on the beach. The sun would be setting, there would be a lazy breeze, it would be warm—oh yeah, and he would be really old.

He’d been shot from behind. But how? Double-crossed by his own men?

Blood. Pain. His breaths came in short gasps. He tried to lift his head. All he could see was Anna and Jason looking back at him. They both looked confused. What was going on?

He turned his head to look behind him. His vision was getting blurry. No air. Who was that? It looked like an old man. And he had a woman beside him. They were both holding guns, drawn on him, their barrels trailing with thin wisps of smoke.

He hated them in that moment. Hated all of them. He coughed, a coppery liquid filling his mouth. It dribbled from his lips. The woman approached him. How he wished he had the strength to kill her.

She studied him closely for a moment. Anger mixed with pity darkened her face. She bent down and whispered in his ear. “I take no pleasure in killing you, but my job is to protect that boy and girl. I do, however, feel sorry for you, love. You think you’re in pain right now. But if you think that hurt, it’s nothing compared to what you’re about to face.”

O
ut of the corner of her eye, Anna saw the man chasing after her and Jason as they were running for the plane. She was about to scream and dive for cover when he fell to the ground. Out of the shadows she saw Benjamin and Patrice running up to the body.

Within seconds she was back down on the tarmac running to them with Jason close behind. “Benjamin! Patrice! Oh, thank God! You saved our lives.”

Benjamin put his arm around her and shook Jason’s hand. “We followed you. It’s a long story. Let’s just say that God’s timing is perfect. Two seconds later and you both may have been dead.”

Anna stepped back, looking at the dead assassin. She had completely forgotten about the plane until she noticed the man closing in on her.

“Anna,” the man shouted.

Drawing the other’s attention, they turned to face Cardinal Wickham, who had his arm outstretched. He pulled the trigger of the small revolver in his hand.

The gun exploded. Benjamin dropped to the ground. Anna screamed and lunged for him. The cardinal grabbed her shoulder and placed the barrel of the gun tightly against her head.

“Anna, just stay calm,” Patrice shouted, as she moved toward them. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Just stay calm.”

“All I want is the scroll,” Wickham shouted, wrestling Anna back to the plane. “Give it to me and you can all go about your way.”

Patrice aimed her gun at him. “Let her go, or I’ll shoot you in the head.”

Wickham laughed. “You do and you’re dead a second later.” He pointed with his head at the two guards. “Just give it to me,” he said in Anna’s ear. “We can end all of this right now.”

“You’re going to have to kill me first,” Anna snapped.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Anna, you stay put.” It was Benjamin. He had gotten to his feet holding his arm. It was bleeding, but other than that, he appeared unhurt.

Three men dressed in black and sporting automatic weapons sprinted out of the terminal building. They were less than a hundred yards away.

Anna knew that in a few more seconds she would be inside the plane. After that she would be this man’s prisoner. She couldn’t allow that to happen. Not after all she’d been through. She shouted to Patrice, “Shoot him!”

“What?” Jason said. “Are you nuts?”

“Patrice! You told me you can hit a moving target the size of a baseball card. Shoot him! Now!”

“Let her go, mister!” Patrice ordered. “This is the last time I’ll tell you.”

Wickham backed himself and Anna up the stairs. “I told you, give me the scroll and she can go free.”

Shots rang out from the tarmac. Jonathan’s men were gaining and shooting at everybody. Benjamin and Jason dove behind a small Cessna a few feet away. Benjamin pulled his pistol and returned fire. Jonathan’s men scattered behind some barrels and crates that lay off to the side of one of the hangars and kept shooting back. The two Swiss guards shot at Benjamin, Jason, and Jonathan’s men.

“Shoot him! Now!” Anna screamed.

Patrice pointed the gun at Wickham’s head, frowned, moved a few inches to the right, and pulled the trigger.

Wickham’s left shoulder exploded as he was thrown backward from the blast. Holding on to the only thing he could, he fell backward into the plane. Anna dove the minute she felt Wickham release his grip on her, but something restrained her. The backpack. She twisted her arms and fell free from it. She tumbled down the short stairway and onto the hard blacktop of the runway.

Wickham fell backward into the plane, her backpack in his hand.

Patrice ran to her, firing shots into the doorway of the plane. She grabbed Anna by her shirt and hauled her away. She hit one of the guards, while the other one dove into the cabin. The plane was already moving, turning in a circle to line up for the runway. The stairs started to retract as the pilot gunned the engines. Within seconds the powerful G-5 was speeding down the runway.

Patrice dragged Anna safely behind the door of the hangar they were next to. “Are you okay? Were you hit?”

Anna shook her head and tried to speak, but no words came.

“Anna!” Patrice snapped. “Are you hit? Are you okay?”

Anna still didn’t answer. She lay there on the floor of the hangar crying. Patrice quickly checked her over and found no

injuries. “Anna, you’re fine. You’re not injured. What’s wrong?”

“My backpack …. He has it …. The scroll was in there.” She pointed as the G-5 lifted off into the night sky. There was no way to stop it now.

She had failed. Failed her grandfather, failed all her ancestors, down to the apostle John. And most of all, she had failed God. She had lost the scroll.

T
he G-5 touched down at the private airstrip and pulled into the hangar. A Vatican limo waited there for the plane’s passenger to disembark. The plane pulled in, circled around, and came to rest. Wickham exited the plane and jumped inside the limo. Without a word, the stretch Mercedes pulled out of the hangar and left the airport.

His shoulder was killing him. Luckily, the bullet had passed through. Both he and one of the Swiss guards had been shot. The other was a trained medic and took the task of patching them up. Thankfully, one of the plane’s state-of-the-art facilities was a first-aid cabinet, complete with sutures, sterilization tools, and bandages. It also had prescription painkillers. He reached inside his pocket and retrieved two of them. He popped them in his mouth and downed them with a shot of scotch from the limo’s stash.

The funny thing was, he didn’t care about the pain. He didn’t care about being shot. As a matter of fact, this was the happiest

day of his life. He had finally managed to possess the one thing that had consumed him for years. He had the scroll.

The limo pulled inside the security gates of the Vatican and dropped him off. As soon as he walked inside, he was met by his secretary, who seeing his arm in a sling, bandaged and bloodstained, immediately began firing questions at him. He ignored her and walked into his office and locked the door. He pushed the intercom button on his desk and, before she could get a word in, told her that he wasn’t to be disturbed.

He sat down at his desk and opened his briefcase. He spent a few moments just looking at the scroll. When he was on the plane, he hadn’t examined it. He’d been in too much pain and had been too tired to do anything but rest. And he hadn’t wanted those idiots with him asking any questions.

He picked it up and held it in his hands. It was small and weighed nearly nothing. He placed it back on the desk and unraveled it. He assumed it would’ve been written in Hebrew or Greek, languages that he was fluent in. And it was. Beautiful Greek.

But the words made no sense. Cryptic. Mysterious. Meaningless.

He pushed the button on his intercom. “Get me Joseph McCoy!” He picked up a paperweight from his desk and threw it against the wall.

The speaker on his desk buzzed. “Cardinal McCoy will be here in five minutes, sir.”

Ten minutes later the door to his office opened, and in walked the young cardinal. He sat down at Wickham’s desk. “You wanted to see me?”

Wickham pushed the scroll across the desk and asked, “What do you make of this?”

Joseph looked at the leathery paper for a minute and finally said, “It’s Greek.”

“I know that, you idiot!”

“It looks like a riddle.”

“I know that, Joseph. I can read Greek.”

“That’s the scroll?”

Wickham muttered a curse. “What’s happened since I left?”

“The cardinals are grumbling about the letter. None of them are happy about Paul suggesting his successor. But I think that they are going to do it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know. I just do. We all know that you have great influence over everybody. And our brothers in the order have agreed that they can make sure the others will fall in line.”

“And how can they be sure of that?”

“Because they know that you would have them killed if they don’t.”

A thin smile creased Wickham’s lips. “Good. I’m glad we are all on the same page.”

Joseph looked back down at the paper on the desk. “So now we have it. What do we do with it?”

“Well, obviously, we have to find someone to decipher it.”

“I thought that once we had it we would obtain this great power,” Joseph said mockingly. “I don’t feel any different.”