Twisted Linen (4 page)

Simon winds the car down the parking garage
aisles, descending level by level, to where Grace’s car waits.

Grace denies the request with a sense of
urgency, “There's no time. These clients require the artifact in
two days.”

“Listen, Genovi's demand to see me sounded
more urgent than ever.”

Grace has heard this before and she’s tired
of Simon’s loyalty to Genovi and the Vatican. Grace never
complained about Simon’s work; she spent a decade enduring his
unpredictable work schedule related to counter-terrorism, but that
is over. The world is a different place now, and Simon and Grace
have to look out for their interests. The Vatican will have to
learn to survive without Simon LaCroix.

“Why are you still leading this dual life?
Tell Genovi you're done. We don’t have time for this anymore.”

Simon stops their car right where he picked
Grace up earlier.

Grace isn’t done making her point. “Are you
with me, Simon? We're running out of time!”

Simon gazes straight ahead, unsure of how to
make her understand.

“Look here,” Grace contests, “I gave up on
Genovi years ago.”

Simon responds defensively, “After all he's
done for me, I owe it to him. If it wasn’t for him, I would have
never met you, Grace.”

Grace pleads, “Simon, this may be the best
shot we have.”

Simon is resolute. “Try to delay the meeting.
I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Frustrated, Grace opens her car door and
exits in a huff.

* * *

8

Yeshua

David Cohen’s lifeless body lies on a table
in a nondescript room somewhere in Jerusalem. Two thugs, the
orderlies who stole Cohen’s body, sit with the windows open,
allowing a gentle breeze to pass through. It is the essence of
quiet.

Baculo quickly enters the room and the first
orderly turns to greet him.

“Sir.”

Baculo ignores him and approaches Cohen’s
body with great reverence as both orderlies step back, offering
Baculo his space. Baculo gazes at Cohen with a little smile, and
then he gently runs his hand over Cohen’s hair, moving a lock back
into place.

Gazing into Cohen’s lifeless face Baculo
mutters, “Yeshua…”

A moment later he turns to the orderlies.

“You’re sure you weren’t followed?”

“Yes, we are certain.”

“And his blood?” Baculo requests.

“Right here,” the first orderly replies as he
hands Baculo a vial of blood.

Baculo holds the vial up to the light with
high esteem and amazement. “Beautiful. It’s the first of three
blood types we need. I must take it to the lab immediately.”

Baculo begins to leave but then turns back to
the orderlies with military precision. “Do not leave under any
circumstances. No one comes in, no one goes out. Am I
understood?”

The orderlies nod but say nothing.

Baculo instructs, “Defend him with your
life.”

“It's our honor,” the first orderly
responds.

Baculo takes a moment to walk back over to
the orderlies. He puts his arms over their shoulders, pulling them
close to his side.

“My brothers, you are guardians of the Holy
Tomb. There is no greater honor.”

With that, Baculo turns to have one more look
at Cohen’s body. “Soon, my Lord…soon.”

Baculo pats the orderlies on the back and
moves toward the exit. As he walks away he offers the orderlies one
last command of inspiration. “Soon there will be no more death, nor
sorrow, nor crying.”

The orderlies simultaneously repeat, “No more
death!”

Baculo is gone.

* * *

9

The Shroud

A pair of designer shoes strides over a
centuries-old marble floor in the Vatican. The shoes are out of
place in the Vatican and don’t fit the black suit adorning the man
wearing them. He is walking briskly down the maze of hallways; he
knows exactly where he’s going.

The man approaches a door with restricted
access and places his right hand over the palm scanner. The
infrared light scans the pattern of veins in his palm for
authentication as he speaks into the voice authenticator.

“Simon LaCroix, Special Agent in Charge,
Vatican Security.”

The door unlocks and Simon continues on his
way. At the end of the long hall, he rounds a corner and approaches
a set of rustic office doors. A priest guarding the double-doors
sees Simon coming and opens the doors in advance.

Simon marches into the grand office; he has
been here many times before. The office is splendid, exhibiting the
weight of time. An impossibly tall and narrow window extends from
the floor to the ceiling, creating a large column of light within
the room.

Standing at the window, looking upward into
the sunlight, is Cardinal Genovi. He’s a gentle-looking,
white-haired man in a majestic flowing red robe. There’s a kindness
in his face which is belied by a glint of sorrow in his eyes.

Simon is very familiar with his office, and
Genovi is used to having him there. Genovi senses Simon's arrival
but does not turn to face him.

“Cohen is dead,” states Genovi.

“Yes, I heard,” Simon unemotionally
responds.

Genovi continues to gaze up into the light
with his eyes closed.

“What do you make of it?” Genovi probes.

“My initial assessment based on the video…it
looks like the round went clean through Cohen’s head. I’d say an
armor piercing, high velocity round. The assassin may be a remnant
of Hamas…an amateur, expecting to shoot Cohen through body armor,
but he couldn't resist the head shot.”

Genovi’s head snaps around, “It wasn't
Hamas!”

“Really?” Simon snaps back in response.

Genovi looks back up into the light, seeking
to warm his face. “We are losing our world,” he mumbles.

Simon doesn't share Genovi's oppressiveness,
and he responds accordingly.

“Hard to lose a world that's already
lost.”

Genovi is unresponsive and Simon sees he is
lost in thought. “Genovi, what's going on?”

Genovi sighs as he looks through the massive
window, searching for some clarity.

“How long have you faithfully served this
office?”

A little smile forms on Simon’s face as he
reminisces on the question. “Since the day you brought me in…a long
time.”

Suddenly a change comes over Simon's mental
state, and he thinks back to his earlier conversation with Grace.
Now is the time to tell Genovi he is “out.” Simon apprehensively
says, “But I need to talk to you about…”

Before he can finish, Genovi interjects, “In
a minute.”

With a sense of purpose, Genovi walks over to
his desk and takes an intelligence folder from the top drawer, then
slides it into the center of the desk with the tips of his
fingers.

It’s simply titled: THE SHROUD

Simon peers at the folder, and then utters in
a faint voice, “The Shroud…of Turin?”

* * *

10

Golden Dawn

Genovi waves his hand at the chair in front
of his desk. “Take a seat, Simon.” he says before falling into his
leather chair on the other side of the desk.

“What do you know about the Hermetic Order of
the Golden Dawn?” Genovi inquires.

The mere sight of an intelligence file
spontaneously puts Simon in the mind-set of a Special Agent in
Charge.

“It’s an ancient cult, undergoing a modern
revival based on the teachings of Aleister Crowley and Alice
Bailey.”

“Yes,” Genovi confirms. “But it's also a
magical Order that uses modern science in combination with perverse
pagan rituals. Their present-day practices involve rituals around
astrology and theurgy.”

“Theurgy?”

“Black magic…the art of combining religious
rituals with modern-day science. The purpose is to evoke the
presence of spirits and unite the spirits with man.”

“And they want to use the burial shroud of
Jesus Christ?” Simon asks suspiciously, seeking confirmation.

“Yes, the cult’s Chief Priest does. He wants
Jesus’ DNA, left behind in the blood.”

“Well, isn't the Shroud currently held in the
Cathedral of Turin?”

Genovi smirks, an inward smile, almost like
he’s proud.

“That’s a replica. The real Shroud was hidden
years ago when scientists began experimenting with DNA clones.”

Simon is bewildered.

“Hidden by whom…the Vatican?”

Genovi doesn’t offer clarification but rather
leans forward to point at a picture in the intelligence file. The
face matches the person who stole Cohen's body, Julian Felipe
Baculo. Written next to his picture is the alias “Magick.” Simon
pulls the file close, flipping through the printouts.

Genovi asserts, “He's trying to engage a
thief to obtain the genuine Shroud, someone with intimate knowledge
of the Vatican.”

A sudden sense of uneasiness comes over
Simon. He snaps his head up and says, “If you want me to bring this
guy in, take him down…I can't. Grace and I are…”

Genovi interrupts again, “I want you to meet
with Baculo…play along. Help me expose those at the top.”

“What? I'm Special Agent in Charge for
Vatican Security. He won't trust me!”

“You were a thief when I found you…were you
not?”

“That was another life, a long time ago.”

“Simon, I understand it's once again part of
your life. Isn't it?”

Simon is speechless, frozen, chagrin at the
thought of Genovi knowing what he and Grace have been up to. Genovi
expected Simon to feel this guilt, so he offers a bit of grace.

“I know you and Grace are fearful with all
that's happened, the U.S. collapse, and the recent war.”

“Genovi, I…I'm only doing it for Grace. The
Church can't protect us from what's coming.”

“Whoever said the Church protects us from
anything!”

A ringing silence separates the two for a
moment.

“Simon, the Lord will use even our most
selfish intentions for His glory. I think your lapse in faith is
such a case.”

Simon looks down. He feels a bit ashamed, as
though he has failed Genovi.

Genovi pushes his agenda forward.

“In the eyes of this world, it’s logical that
a man of your talents would be tempted to provide for his own
safety and for those he loves. Your selfish acts of recent are now
your cover. I need you to continue being the ‘thief’ you now
are.”

Genovi extends his hand, gesturing at the
intelligence file.

“I'll need that file back. You leave for
Spain tonight. Meet with Baculo, aka Magick, and convince him
you're the right man for the job.”

Simon is stunned and can only sheepishly nod
in response.

“This is not sanctioned by the Church, is
it?”

Genovi shakes his head no. He puts the file
back in his drawer, closes it, and locks it.

“Remember what I did for you long ago?”
Genovi asks.

“Of course I do,” Simon defensively
replies.

“Can I trust you again?”

Simon is a bit offended that he’d ask that.
“Yes, of course!” he snaps back.

“Good…because you will be tested.”

Simon now realizes how gravely serious Genovi
is about this cult. Simon feels compelled to relieve the
tension.

“Genovi, we’ve seen these types of cults
before. They have a limited following. They’re just deceived by the
witchcraft.”

“It’s not witchcraft. And their following are
many, and they are powerful.”

Simon is taken back and questions Genovi with
concern.

“Is this cult really a present danger? What
can they really do with the DNA of Jesus?”

“Get going,” Genovi commands. “I’ll make my
jet ready to fly you to Spain.”

Simon is confounded by Genovi’s hesitancy to
share the details; it’s not their usual type of interaction. The
uncertainty brings forth a deep desire to plead, even beg, to
explain why he can’t take on this task. Not now, not after all the
plans he and Grace have made. All the risk and work they have put
into their future life in Tahiti. He wants to explain that he has
given up on this way of life, fighting the evil in the world. But
most of all, Simon just wants to yell: “All I care about is Grace!
I need to find a safe escape for Grace and me!”

But instead, he simply mutters, “I don't even
know where to go in Spain.”

Genovi quickly replies, “San Sebastian…the
train station. We have two days, so get moving.”

Genovi looks away, making it clear that their
meeting is over. He wants to appear calm in front of Simon, but in
reality, everything about the situation unnerves him.

Simon gets up and begins to walk toward the
door. After a few steps, he stops. Without turning back to Genovi,
he utters, “They'll need more than Jesus' DNA to make a clone. They
need an embryo and a surrogate woman to carry it to term.”

Genovi is haunted by those words, but he
forces himself to respond. “Yes…that's correct.”

Simon continues fishing for more
information.

“So this cult has geneticists? And what about
a woman? Who would be crazy enough to birth it?”

Genovi quickly stands, leaning forward over
his desk, his body posture displaying an unusual side of
aggression.

“Take the meeting with Baculo. Help me put a
stop to this once and for all.”

Simon nods in surrender and obedience and
leaves the office. As the door gently closes Genovi remains
motionless at his desk, shaken, almost buckling under the pressure.
His guilty conscience becomes unbearable as he pulls a different
folder from the very back of the drawer. It’s an older file
labeled:
Twisted Linen
.