The Cross of Sins (9 page)

The boy rushed to the tent as the storm began to die down. "Doctor, quickly, quickly!" he shouted in Turkish, his voice filled with what sounded like excitement. Or perhaps it was fear. "They've found something!"

Instinctively, Hadley grabbed his brush and chisel and raced out of the tent, following the boy who was already halfway to the excavation. The wind was settling quickly now, blowing the sand in harmless swirls. The sun was beginning to set. Darkness came swiftly in the desert, but as Doctor Hadley hurried as fast as he could down the path leading to the excavation, he saw a pool of yellow light deep within the dig site. It was the light from a dozen or so flaming torches, held by men in hooded robes, illuminating a well that some of Hadley's men had been excavating.

"What is it?" Hadley panted excitedly, his eyes focused on the well and the torches throwing light into it. "What have you found?"

It was only when he received no response from his men that he turned his back on the well and saw that of all the faces surrounding him—grinning at him menacingly from under their hoods—he did not recognize a single one.

Except for the boy whom he had followed here.

The one who now put his hands out greedily as three or four silver coins were thrown to him. He caught one of them and scrambled to gather the others from the sand. In a moment that Doctor Hadley hoped the boy would learn from and regret for the rest of his life, the brown-eyed child looked up and said, "I'm sorry."

And with that, he ran off, leaving Hadley surrounded by a dozen men in long robes and hoods and flaming torches in their hands, all of them standing over the well which was at least fifteen feet deep. This morning, before the storm, there had been an old wooden ladder leading down into that well. Hadley saw it now lying on the ground some distance away.

He swallowed hard, petrified yet trying his best not to show it. "Who are you?"

Three men stepped forward, two in black robes, the one in the middle in a crimson robe, all of their faces concealed beneath their hoods. The black-robed man to the left of the crimson leader wore a white sash around his neck; the black-robed man on the right was missing his left arm.

In a thick, Mediterranean accent, the man in the crimson robe said, "We are your fate. We are the messengers of your destiny. And we have but one question for you." Beneath the hood, Hadley made out a sneer as the crimson-robed man edged closer to him, forcing him to take a backward step. A step closer to the edge of the deep well. "Where is the stone tablet?"

Hadley stammered, "S-s-stone? What stone?"

The crimson-robed man gave Hadley a shove, and the archeologist stumbled backward a little further. "I don't think you understand the gravity of your situation. Perhaps, soon you will. I'll ask you once more, where is the stone?"

"I told you, I don't know what you're talking about?"

"There was a man on a horse."

"What man?"

"Your faithful young boy told us. There was a man on a horse who came and took the stone. You can either tell us where he took it—or you can die here tonight. A frightened old man. Another fossil. Another life that was never worth living."

Hadley trembled, but the words that came out of his mouth were very possibly the most courageous he had ever spoken in his life. "History will be the judge of that."

The crimson-robed man laughed. Then, with one hard vicious shove, he pushed Doctor Hadley backward.

For a moment, the old man teetered on the brink of the well, his heels slipping out from under him, sending a small avalanche of stones and dirt cascading into the well. Then, with his arms flailing wildly, he began to tumble backward.

The hooded man stepped forward to watch, laughing.

Hadley's body reeled backward, falling into thin air. But his hands reached forward, and before he fell, his fingers brushed the hooded man's cloak, desperately trying to snatch at his robe, in the process snagging something around his neck.

The crimson-robed man knocked the archeologist's hands away from him—not feeling the gentle tug around his neck—and laughed out loud as the archeologist plunged into the well.

The old man's shadow blurred and distorted against the excavated walls as he fell.

When he hit the rocky bottom of the well, Doctor Hadley gasped in pain. He felt several bones break on impact, including his ribs. For a moment, he lay on the floor of the well, stunned that he had survived the fall, yet terrified by the fact that he was unable to move. His fingers twitched. His arms moved an inch or two. He still had feeling in his right leg; he could feel the snapped bone and the hot blood coursing over his shin, so he knew he wasn't paralyzed.

But, as he saw the hooded faces of his attackers peer over the edge of the well above him, he suddenly realized his best chance of escape, was not to attempt an escape at all. As the light of their torches shined down upon him, Hadley clamped his eyes shut. He held his breath and stopped breathing. He froze. He played dead.

As the blood coursed from him—as each and every broken bone sent shock waves of pain through his frail old body—Doctor Joseph Hadley stayed completely still... until he heard the crimson-robed man's command from above. "Throw in your torches. Burn him."

In terror, Hadley opened his eyes and saw the first of the flaming torches descend into the pit, like a fiery comet from the skies, coming straight at him. All he could do was scream.

VI

The Chalet, the Austrian Alps

Although his eyes could see nothing, the Professor stood facing the enormous floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the valley and the mountain peaks on the other side of the forest. He stood as though he was watching something through the glass.

As the last of the day set beyond the far horizon, it turned the world a pale blue.

The Professor smiled, "Elsa, we have more company."

Fraulein Elsa Strauss, a stout woman in her early fifties, was setting the long oak dining table a few feet behind the Professor. She rushed to the window still clutching a fistful of knives and forks, and stood beside the Professor, looking out, squinting into the vanishing light.

"I see nothing," she said. She had grown up in a small hamlet on the border of Germany and Austria, and her accent was thick.

"There," he said.

Suddenly, a pair of headlights appeared in the valley far below, blinking off and on through the trees, making its way up the winding mountain road toward the chalet.

The Fraulein rolled her eyes and made a noise under her breath. The Professor smiled at the sound she made; it meant he was right. "Don't think I'm going to humor you or even ask how you do that," the Fraulein muttered. "I have food to prepare! Your boys eat like hungry lions."

She scampered away. The Professor continued to smile. "Yes, they do."

His blind eyes continued to stare through the glass.

Then, he sensed a third headlight coming up the mountain road.

Luca turned the wheel of the red 1976 Alfa Romeo and steered the car swiftly up the road, the forest pines passing in a blur on the high side of the road as he quickly gained altitude. Through the windscreen, he could see ahead of him the glimmering lights of the chalet far up the mountain.

Then, something else caught his eye.

As the road straightened for a moment, he saw in his rearview mirror the bright beam of a motorcycle headlight, coming up fast—almost too fast—behind him. For a fleeting moment, he suspected danger.

Then, a smirk spread across his face. "Will," he shook his head. "You should know better."

With that, he ripped through the gears on the Alfa, picking up speed with each throw of the shifter. The Alfa soared along the road, the suspension so smooth it seemed almost weightless, leaves and pine needles taking flight in its wake. But gaining rapidly from behind was the roar of a Ducati, bending perilously low on every curve and burning full throttle on the steep straights.

Luca crunched the gears again, spinning sharply around a bend and leaving a swirling set of tire marks along the road like an artist's signature.

And still the bike gained on him.

Taking each turn faster than the one before.

Leaning into the curves so aggressively that leather shrapnel shot from the rider's kneepads and splintered off into the air.

Up ahead, the lights of the chalet grew brighter and closer through the trees. Luca melted into another bend and lost the headlight of the bike behind him for a split second. And in that moment his heart sank. Where had his pursuer gone? Had he crashed? Had he spun off into the forest taking the corner too sharply? Luca immediately slowed the Alfa. His eyes scanned the rearview mirror, looking for any sign of the bike. Any sign of life behind him. He saw nothing, and pulled the car over to the side of the narrow mountain road.

Luca leaped out of the car and turned back down the road, when suddenly the blinding beam of the motorbike's headlight swung around the corner and roared toward him at top speed.

As Luca pressed his back hard up against the side of his car, the bike shot passed him at breakneck speed, revving through its gears. Luca caught Will's triumphant "Woohoo!" listening to the sound of the kid's voice changing frequency like an ambulance siren as he raced by.

"Just you wait," Luca said, shaking his head again and grinning at the same time. He straightened his hair with his fingers now that the wind from the bike had knocked it out of place, before getting back into the Alfa and continuing up the mountain.

At the foot of the chalet, Luca pulled up beside the black Ducati. As he stepped out of the car, Will appeared from nowhere—dressed in full leathers and carrying a shiny black helmet—and launched himself at the handsome Italian, greeting him with a full and passionate kiss, his tongue plunging deep into Luca's mouth.

When Will pulled back, his face was fixed with a mischievous grin. "God, I've missed you."

"First, you try to race me out of the road, and then you tell me you've missed me."

"Off the road, not out of the road," Will laughed. "Geez, dude, your English sucks almost as bad as your driving."

Suddenly, a voice called from behind both of them. "Boys! It's cold!" Both Will and Luca turned to see Elsa standing in the open doorway of the chalet, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders and a stern look on her face. "Quickly, come inside, before you let all the heat out! Before my schnitzels turn into icicles!"

"Elsa!" Will shouted, genuinely thrilled to see her. He raced over to her and gave her a giant hug, almost thumping her on the back of the head with the helmet still in his hand. Elsa's eyes nearly popped out of her skull at the strength of his big-hearted hug.

"Let go of me and get inside!"

Will kissed her on the cheek and did as he was told, disappearing quickly inside the chalet.

Luca smiled then and walked up to Elsa. "He's happy to see you."

"And I'm happy to see him, too. But I'll be happier inside where it's warmer. Now quickly." She wanted to shoo Luca inside, but he wrapped an arm around her affectionately.

"It's not so cold."

"Austria in the mountains is always cold."

Luca smiled and pecked her on the cheek. "I'm happy to see you, too."

Elsa started to smile, and then snapped her hands together like a boarding school teacher. "Come, come. Enough hugging and kissing. If I stay out here any longer I'll turn into a snow-Fraulein. You get old, you get cold. Come, come!"

Luca chuckled and watched as Elsa headed inside, mumbling to herself as she disappeared up the stairs leading to the main floor of the chalet. He closed the door behind him and followed her.

Instantly, he felt the warmth of the chalet.

Jake opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a face. A face that was at once familiar—yet foreign. It was the face of a stranger, a handsome stranger. Jake realized it was the last face he had seen—on the boat—seconds before he slipped into unconsciousness.

He squinted his eyes in concentration. In pain. Somehow, from somewhere deep inside his brain, a name returned to him. "Eden?"

The face hovering over him smiled. "You're awake," the handsome Brazilian said. "How do you feel?"

Jake nodded, winced, and then shook his head. "Like someone just chewed me up and spat me out. And I think his name was Perron."

Eden Santiago slid a needle into Jake's forearm. "It's a sedative. I've already given you morphine. For the pain. You'll mend, but it'll take time."

"Where am I?"

"Somewhere safe."

Jake seized Eden's forearm. It was not a gesture of hostility, Jake could not summon up that kind of strength, and he knew it. It was a plea, made in good faith; made with a measure of trust. "Where?"

Eden took Jake's hand in his. He gently cupped his fist, taking his hand safely in his grasp. "Austria," he replied. "You're somewhere safe—in Austria."

As the sedative took effect and the morphine took hold, Jake let his fingers ease into the cradle of Eden's palm. He surrendered to the drugs once more, knowing at this stage it was his only hope of survival. Almost instantly, he felt the pain subside. He watched that handsome face fade away yet again. And as he lost consciousness once more, he thought to himself in all his years of journeying, never once had he been to Austria.