Sign Of The Cross (39 page)

Next he turned his attention to Boston, trying to remain calm, trying to stay focused even though he knew that he had cracked the riddle. He placed his ruler below the pushpin and ran the pencil from left to right, 5° below the 45° N line, near 40°.

He traversed the Atlantic, continued through France and Italy and Bosnia and extended through China and Japan before ending in the Pacific. Then he traced his finger from left to right, searching for major cities on the line, looking for anything that jumped out at him.

Nothing in France. Or Italy. Or the war-torn lands of eastern Europe. But there, just beyond the Gobi Desert, just before he reached the Sea of Japan and the warm waters of the Pacific, he found the spot that he was looking for. The perfect spot. The one that followed the pattern. A city that was directly east of Boston. Far east of Boston yet in a straight line. Right near 40°.

Located in China, the most populous country in the world. A nation where billions of people were suddenly looking to the West for organized religions. A place where the killers could get more bang for their buck than anywhere on earth.

The Spirit would die in Beijing.

The Forbidden City,

Beijing, China

This one was going to be special. Not only because it was taking place so far away but because it was the final clue in a massive puzzle that would rewrite the history of religion. This would be the pièce de résistance that revealed their secret to the world.

It would complete the sign of the cross.

The Forbidden City, called
Gu Gong
in Chinese, served as the imperial palace for several centuries, and ordinary citizens were prohibited from entering its grounds until 1911. Protected by a moat twenty feet deep and a wall that soared to over hundred feet high, the rectangular city is composed of 9,999 buildings on 183 acres of land. All told, it took over one million workers to finish the project. Most of the large stones were quarried from Fangshan, a local suburb, then moved into place during the winter months on giant sheets of ice. To make the process go smoothly, the Chinese built a well every fifty meters to have a steady supply of water to repair the frozen road.

Nowadays
Gu Gong
is one of the most popular tourist destinations in Asia, attracting millions of visitors a year, people of all ages, races, and backgrounds. People with cameras and sketch pads. People like Tank Harper. Except, unlike most tourists, the photos he’d taken over the past few days weren’t of paintings or shrines, but rather to illustrate the position of the armed guards and the weaknesses in the massive gates. Because unlike the tour groups who helped him blend in, Harper didn’t give a damn about China or their fucked-up Commie culture.

Why? Because Harper wasn’t a tourist. He was an executioner.

He’d been contacted a month earlier by a man named Manzak who’d heard of Harper’s exploits as a mercenary in Asia. One conversation led to another, and before long, Manzak was offering him a job. A big job. The one that would allow him to retire.

After hearing the terms, Harper was asked to choose three men he’d worked with before, three men he’d go to war with. Manzak took their names and ran a background check on each. They were natural-born killers, the scum of the universe, the type of men who would scare Satan.

Simply put, they were perfect.

Manzak insisted that he meet the four of them at once. Somewhere distant, somewhere private. It didn’t matter where, he’d said, just pick a spot and I’ll be there. Anywhere.

Harper wanted to see if Manzak was as good as he’d claimed, so he decided to test him. He picked a bar in Shanghai near the Huangpu River, a place that only the locals knew about. No way Manzak would find it. Not in forty-eight hours. It was next to impossible.

When Harper arrived, Manzak was waiting at the bar. He wasn’t smiling or gloating. He wasn’t even drinking. He was just sitting there, quiet, as if to say,
Never doubt me again
. Not surprisingly, Harper and the others agreed to his terms later that night.

Manzak’s rules were simple. Sixteen men had been chosen to commit four crucifixions. Four men were assigned to each location. ‘Do not discuss your mission in public. Do not split up at any time. If a member of your crew is caught or killed, your team is disqualified. Same thing if someone talks or walks. The murders must be done as outlined. Bodies must be left as planned. Do not improvise at the crime scene. There is a reason for everything, even if you don’t understand it.’

At the end of the week, everyone was to meet near Rome where the survivors would split up sixteen million dollars. In other words, if his crew didn’t choke, the least Harper would make was a cool million. And if the other teams fucked up, he could possibly take home four.

Not a bad payday for something he was going to enjoy.

Paul Adams was born in Sydney, Australia, the only child of two missionaries who spent their lives trying to make the world a better place. Whether it was bringing food to India or vaccinations to Africa, their only goal was to help those that were less blessed than they were.

Remarkably, even as a child, Paul Adams enjoyed the missionary lifestyle even more than his parents. Where most children would’ve crumbled under the severe conditions, Adams managed to thrive. He shrugged off the heat and the bugs and the lack of creature comforts because it was the only life he’d ever known. Why would he waste his time watching TV when he could be helping his fellow man instead? That’s what was really important.

When he reached his twenties, he knew it was time to leave his parents’ side and start his own ministry. Not because he didn’t love them or the life that he was living, but because he knew that he could do more on his own. And everyone around him sensed it. There was an energy about Adams, a glorious mixture of compassion and charisma that drew people to his side, a force that made people want to follow him and work for him no matter where he went.

In his native Australia, the Aborigines called it ‘the golden spirit.’ They claimed it was a gift that was bestowed by the gods every hundred years or so. In their culture it was the greatest quality that a person could possess, a quality that only the eldest Aborigines could recognize because they were the wisest members of their tribe, therefore closest to God. And according to the elders, Paul Adams was the man who had the spirit.

He was someone who would change the world. The chosen one for this century.

The media seemed to agree.
Time
magazine referred to him as the ‘Mother Teresa of the New Millennium’ while
Newsweek
dubbed him ‘Saint Sydney.’ He was young, charismatic, and loved throughout the world. Which was the main reason he was chosen to die.

The sun wouldn’t be up for hours, giving Tank Harper and his men plenty of time to work. They had grabbed Paul Adams two days before, nabbed him in Morayfield, Australia, while he was on his way to Brisbane. They’d done it so cleanly that it looked like Adams had been plucked off the face of the earth by the right hand of God.

No witnesses. No evidence. No problems.

A day later they were in Beijing going over their plans one last time. Advance surveillance told them that they couldn’t get inside the Forbidden City without being seen. It was surrounded by a moat and steeply angled walls that would’ve been doable with some light gear but not while carrying a 500-pound cross and a 175-pound victim. That meant his team had to figure out a different way to get inside. Something that the Chinese would never expect.

Harper considered many concepts, everything from a winch system that would hoist the cross over the wall to a giant Trojan horse. Nothing excited him, though, until he heard an ancient Chinese proverb about treasures falling from the sky. At that moment Harper realized that he was looking at the problem all wrong.

Why go up when it was much easier to come down?

As smoke filled the hall and sprinklers drenched them, Payne realized something was missing: the sound of a fire alarm. Most of the time the order went: fire, smoke, alarm, then sprinkler. But not today. He wondered why that was and if it was important.

‘The alarm should be on,’ Ulster assured him. ‘Both here and at the firehouse in Biasca… It must’ve malfunctioned.’

Somehow Payne doubted that. ‘Is there a manual turnoff?’

He nodded. ‘It can be deactivated with the proper key.’

‘Who has the keys?’

‘Me, Franz, and all the guards.’

Kill a guard, take his key, and turn off the system before it could warn the fire department. That’s what Payne would’ve done to stop help from coming. ‘Where’s the switch?’

He pointed to the eastern section of the house. ‘There’s an electrical panel in a back hallway. Everything can be run from there.’

‘Then that’s where we’re going.’

Ulster looked at Payne like he was crazy. So did Boyd, Maria, and Franz. The heat was starting to build and so was the smoke, yet Payne wanted to head deeper inside. The only one who understood was Jones, because they’d been stuck between a rock and an even bigger rock several times before. They knew in situations like this they weren’t going to outgun anyone. That meant they had to outthink them. They had to do something unexpected, or they were going to be slaughtered. ‘Trust me on this one. I know what I’m doing.’

Everyone nodded tentatively.

‘Petr, lead the way with D.J. Doc and Franz, you’re in the middle. Maria, you’re fifth, followed by me.’ Payne gave her a rifle. ‘This will be easier to aim than a Luger.’

The fear in her eyes told Payne that she was worried. Whether it was from the soldiers, the fire, or Payne, he didn’t know. In truth, he was tempted to tell her that they’d discovered her connection to Manzak just to clear the air. That way, he could stay focused on everything around them instead of keeping an eye on her. Unfortunately, if he told her he knew, he ran the risk of dealing with an emotional mess, which might be tougher to control than what he was facing. That’s why he decided to wait. He would hit her with it later. If both of them survived.

Sprinklers sprayed water through the billowing smoke, causing black rain to fall. It clouded their vision and affected their breathing. They tried to compensate by staying as low to the floor as possible, but that slowed their pace as they moved deeper inside the building.

As they approached the final hallway, Jones signaled for them to stop, then waved Payne forward. Refusing to take his eyes off Maria, he walked backward until he reached the front. At that point he turned to Ulster and said, ‘Maria’s getting a little jumpy from the stress. See if you can calm her down.’ He grabbed his arm for emphasis. ‘And if she does
anything
irrational, ask to inspect her gun, then refuse to give it back. I don’t want her hurting herself or anybody else.’

Ulster nodded and headed toward Maria. Payne watched them interact for a few seconds before he turned his attention to Jones. ‘How do you want to play this?’

‘You lead, I’ll follow.’

‘Works for me.’ Payne stepped forward and peered around the corner.

According to Ulster, the security panel was down the hallway to the left, so he stayed as close to the left wall as possible, hoping to hide his approach until he was on top of them. That is, if anyone was even back there. The truth was, all of this was an educated guess on Payne’s part. For all he knew, the fire alarm could’ve malfunctioned, and he was risking death for nothing. Then again, it wasn’t like they had a better alternative, because Payne knew if they ran out the front door they were going to be gunned down before they made it halfway to the fence.

At least this way they had a chance to get out alive.

Three steps from the bend, Payne heard two muffled voices. He pointed to his ear then raised both Lugers in the air to let Jones know that he had heard two men. Jones slid beside Payne and waved his gun near the floor. That let Payne know he was shooting low. Payne nodded while taking another step. One of the men was speaking in Italian, while the other answered in Schwyzertütsch, the German dialect that most people used in Switzerland. They were teamed together yet communicating in two different languages. Payne hoped Jones was listening, because he knew he’d have some theories on what that meant and what they were saying.

Of course, they’d have to worry about that later, because it was time to take them out.

Payne pointed to his watch, then mouthed, ‘Three… two… one… go!’

Jones stepped low and wide, while Payne stayed high and tight. Their movement was so quick the soldiers didn’t have time to react. Both of them wore military fatigues and gas masks, which accounted for their muffled voices. AK-47s hung off their shoulders on straps.

In a normal assault, Payne would’ve ordered them to surrender before he did anything violent. But not here. There was a language barrier to consider, so Payne decided to be aggressive. His first bullet went through the Italian’s biceps about the same time Jones put one through his calf, a shot that tore through his muscle and imbedded itself in his other leg. He dropped to the floor in a writhing pile of agony as blood oozed from him in several different directions. Meanwhile, the Swiss soldier stood there with a deer-in-the-headlights look, not really sure what was going on, even though he saw Payne and Jones at the end of the hall.