Sign Of The Cross (41 page)

Before they took off, Harper and his men were forced to do the same things that the other crews had done to their victims. Scourging him with a leather whip until the skin hung off his back. Nailing him to the cross one spike at a time. Hanging a sign above him. Then, on top of everything else, they made sure the modified cross – a reinforced base, steel hooks on top, etc. – was going to hold. Otherwise, things would get messy when it hit the ground.

‘Two minutes,’ said the pilot as he scanned the horizon. ‘We can go lower if you want.’

‘Just stick to the plan,’ Harper growled. In his mind this wasn’t the time to improvise. He’d made all the necessary calculations earlier in the week, double-checked his figures after some test runs, and scouted the interior of the Forbidden City for the best place to aim. All they had to do was follow his numbers, and everything would be fine. ‘Move into position.’

The other two crewmen jumped to their feet and slid Adams and the cross to the special hatch that allowed large crates to be dropped behind enemy lines. Above the door was a series of clasps that connected to the cross’s parachute, guaranteeing that the forty-foot canopy would open the moment it hit the air.

‘Thirty seconds,’ the pilot shouted.

Harper looked at his watch. They were right on schedule. All that was left was to administer the final blow before he pushed Adams from the plane. ‘Any final words?’

Adams tried to speak but wasn’t able to because of the gag in his mouth. The entire crew laughed as Harper put his hand behind his ear and leaned forward, pretending to listen.

‘Twenty seconds,’ the pilot warned.

Harper smiled as he positioned the iron-tipped spear. He’d been waiting for this moment all week. ‘Since you have nothing to say, I guess you’re ready to die.’

‘Fifteen seconds.’

The cargo door fell open as Harper rammed the spear into Adams’s side. The roar of the outside wind covered the snapping sound of Adams’s ribs and the wet sucking of his punctured lung. Blood poured from the wound like a cracked bottle of Chianti, its contents gushing down the victim’s skin. Harper wouldn’t risk being identified, so he pushed the spear in deeper until the metal tip actually burst through the other side. Only then was he willing to pull the spear out.

‘Five seconds.’

Harper cut the gag off Adams’s mouth while his crewmen cut the safety cords near the base of the wood. Suddenly the giant canopy sprang to life, pulling the cross from the plane with a mighty whoosh and sending Adams toward the grounds of the Forbidden City.

Catrina Collins had honed her skills at the
Washington Post
and the
New York Times
before taking a job at
CNN
. She was used to living out of her suitcase, flying wherever the news took her. In the past it had always been a week here or there, never three months in one place. Yet that’s what she had to look forward to: a summer in Beijing.

A summer of unbelievable boredom.

Her assignment was to monitor a series of economic summits that were scheduled in the Far East. Ambassadors from all over the world were in China to discuss capitalism and its long-term benefits for Asia. Not exactly earth-shattering news but important enough to cover.

Collins woke up early Friday, dreading the thought of going to work. If she had to listen to one more lecture on free trade, she was going to vomit. Thankfully, a phone call from
CNN
headquarters gave her a reprieve. Someone had called in an anonymous tip about a demonstration near the Forbidden City. The caller didn’t give many specifics, only that it was going to be violent. And
violent
was a magic word in the world of television.

Collins was disheartened when she realized several networks had beaten her to the scene.
ABC
,
CBS
,
NBC
, and Fox were already there; so were dozens of reporters from around the world. Yet no one really knew why, only that they had received the same tip as
CNN
.

‘Cat,’ called Holly Adamson, a reporter for the
Chicago Sun-Times
who used to cover the same beat as Collins. ‘What are you doing here?’

Collins smiled as she gave Adamson a hug. ‘Economic summit. What about you?’

‘Human interest stuff.’ In the world of journalism, that was a polite way to say,
I’m not allowed to tell you
. ‘What have you heard about this?’

She shrugged. ‘Not much. What about you?’

‘Even less.’

Collins laughed. ‘You know how most tips turn out. It’s probably just BS.’

‘If this falls through, we should grab a beer or something. It is Friday, after all.’

‘You know what? That doesn’t sound like a bad idea -‘

The sudden clicking of cameras caught the women’s attention. Both of them turned toward the photographers and noticed them pointing their lenses toward the sky. Collins shielded her eyes and tilted her head back, trying to figure out what was falling from the clouds.

‘What the
hell
is that?’ Adamson asked.

Collins shrugged and turned toward her camera crew. ‘Shawn, you getting this?’

Shawn Farley adjusted his focus. ‘Not sure what it is, but I’m getting it.’

Collins dug through their gear and found a pair of binoculars. The sound of clicking continued up and down press row. ‘What is that? Is that a parachute?’

‘Definitely a parachute. A red one. Not sure what it’s attached to.’

‘I hope it’s not a bomb. That would ruin my day.’

‘Cat,’ he said, serious. ‘I might be seeing things, but I think that’s a guy up there.’

‘Wow. A Chinese skydiver. Stop the press.’

‘And it looks like he’s attached to, um…’ Farley zoomed in closer. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. ‘A
cross
... I think he’s attached to a
cross
.’

Collins had followed the crucifixion cases while killing time in her committee meetings, often scouring the Internet for the latest developments. She had gotten her start with the D.C. crime beat, so she was a sucker for a good serial killer. Without delay she called her boss.

‘You aren’t going to believe what I’m looking at.’

‘Let me guess. A naked poster of Yao Ming.’

She ignored the wisecrack. ‘The fourth crucifixion.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘And you
won’t
believe where the victim came from. I swear to God you won’t.’

‘Where?’ he demanded.

She watched the parachute drop slowly from the sky. ‘Heaven.’

Austrian Expressway,

Swiss/Austrian Border

Border crossings could be tricky, especially if the guards had your photo and were promised a large bonus if they spotted your ass. Therefore, Payne felt it would be best if Ulster and Franz dropped everyone off about a mile from the border, allowing them to hike into Austria on their own. Payne figured the sky was dark, the trees were thick, and he and Jones had the survival skills to help Maria and Boyd avoid detection. But Ulster laughed at the suggestion. He promised he knew everyone at the border and said they wouldn’t search his truck due to a prior agreement.

And Ulster was right. Ten minutes later they were on the open road to the capital city of the
Republik Österreich
. Vienna (or
Wien
) is located in the northeastern corner of Austria and has over two million citizens. Known for its contribution to classical music (Mozart, Beethoven, and Brahms) and psychotherapy (Sigmund Freud), the city’s most amazing spectacle is the Hofburg, a sprawling hodgepodge of a palace that covers 2.7 million square feet and holds over a million pieces of art. The Hofburg became the official royal residence in 1533 when Ferdinand I of the Hapsburg dynasty moved into the imperial apartments. Since then, the Hofburg has housed five centuries of dignitaries including the rulers of the Holy Roman Empire (1533-1806), the Emperors of Austria (1806-1918), and the current Austrian federal president.

The most interesting aspect of the building wasn’t a list of its former residents but rather what they did to the place while they were there. From 1278 until 1913, every monarch contributed his own addition in the prevailing taste of the day. The resulting mix was a time capsule of interior design, spread throughout eighteen wings and nineteen courtyards in a wild assortment of styles that included Baroque, French and Italian Renaissance, Gothic, and nineteenth-century German.

Yet the only decoration that mattered to them was the laughing man statue that Payne spotted in Ulster’s picture. A statue that was inside the front gates of the Austrian White House. Somehow they needed to find a way to examine the piece without being shot or arrested.

While running scenarios in his head, Payne gazed across the cargo hold and listened to Boyd and Maria discussing the significance of the statue. The rumble of the truck’s engine drowned out half their words, but their passion for the topic made up for the missing syllables. Boyd argued that the laughing man’s presence in Vienna was proof that the Romans succeeded in their plot to fake the crucifixion. Why else would he be honored in such an important building?

But Maria wasn’t as confident. She reminded Boyd that she saw the laughing man on the roof of
Il Duomo
in Milan, even though no one knew who he was or why he was there. Furthermore, since that statue was made out of Viennese marble, she argued it was probably the work of a local artisan. That meant the Hofburg piece might be nothing more than a replica of the Milanese design. Or vice versa.

Jones was sitting next to Payne, researching the Hofburg in a travel guide that he found in a box. He said, ‘Ever hear of the Vienna Boys’ Choir? They sing Mass at the Hofburg every Sunday. If we wait until then, we could sneak in with the rest of the churchgoers.’

The mention of a weekly Mass in a government building intrigued Payne. Not only because it was a security hiccup that could be exploited but because it highlighted an interesting difference between Austria and the United States. By hosting a Catholic service in the Hofburg, the Austrian government was openly endorsing Catholicism as its official religion.

Payne asked, ‘Haven’t they heard of the separation of church and state?’

Jones pointed to the guidebook. Inside it referred to the relationship between Austria and the Roman Catholic Church as the throne and the altar, two entities that worked hand in hand for the betterment of Catholicism. ‘It says the Vatican has an agreement that guarantees financial support from the Austrian government. Citizens can follow any religion they want. However, one percent of their income goes straight to the Roman Catholic Church.’

‘Really? I’ve never heard anything like that.’

‘Me, neither. Then again, I guess their union makes
some
sense. Their connection with Rome goes back two thousand years when Vienna was a Roman military post. In fact, you’ll never believe who one of the founding fathers of Vienna was. None other than Tiberius himself. It seems he was the leader of a Roman garrison that occupied the foothills of the Alps. While there, he grasped the importance of the region and ordered his men to take over the Celtic city of Vindobona. Once they did, it became a military stronghold for the next five hundred years.’

Until that moment Payne wasn’t sure if the laughing man statue was worth a ten-hour drive. He figured they might find a clue or two but wasn’t convinced it was worth their exposure time – especially since the Hofburg was a federal facility. Too many things could go wrong, he told them. Too many well-trained guards would be nearby. Yet Boyd and Maria persisted, practically demanding that they go to Vienna.

This latest bit of information helped Payne understand why.

Strangely, the link between Tiberius and the laughing man was irrefutable, yet for some reason their partnership had never been acknowledged in history books. That meant some group went out of its way to hide the alliance between these men. And the instant their secret was threatened, they panicked, sending in a hit squad to take out Boyd and Maria at the Catacombs, then blowing up a bus to silence anyone who might’ve overheard them talking.

But why? And more importantly, who? No one would go through that much trouble unless there was a modern-day consequence to the secret. And if so, then this had to be about Christ and the people who believed in him. There was no other explanation for such desperate behavior.

Payne whispered, ‘What’s your take on the Catholic Church? I mean, do you think they could be behind this?’

‘That’s a difficult question. Most people like to view their church as infallible. But any time you throw humans into the mix, anything is possible.’

Jones pondered his next statement for several seconds. ‘Are you familiar with Pope John VIII? Legend has it that he was an English scribe who signed up for work as a papal notary. Years later, after dedicating his entire life to the Church, he was named pope. Great story, right? Unfortunately, there’s a tragic ending. Shortly into his reign he was overcome by excruciating pain in the middle of a public processional. Before anything could be done to help, the pope died right there on a Roman street in plain sight of everybody… Any idea how he died?’

‘Let me guess. He was poisoned by a priest.’

‘Nope. He died giving birth. You see, it turns out John
VIII
was actually a pregnant woman.’

‘A woman?’

‘Amazing, isn’t it? The head of the Roman Catholic Church lied to everyone for several years in order to get what
she
wanted out of life. Her vows didn’t matter. Catholic law didn’t matter. The only thing she cared about was becoming Pope Joan.’

‘Pope Joan? That was her name?’

‘Not her actual name. That’s what fourteenth-century academics named her.’

The legend of Pope Joan goes beyond Christian history. Medieval tarot cards used to honor her with the papess card (
la papessa
in Italian) before the Catholic Church applied enough pressure to have the card changed to the priestess card, hoping to minimize the scandal.

‘And she isn’t the only one who has broken church laws. From what I’ve read, popes have fathered several hundred kids over the years. Plus many popes obtained the papal throne through illegal means to begin with: bribery, blackmail, extortion. And even worse, many of them committed crimes while they were the pope, everything from theft to assault to murder.’