Authors: Pamela Hegarty
Percival frowned, adjusted his glasses. “I don’t know if I’d say that,” he said. He took the crucifix from her and clasped the chain at the back of her neck. “But it’s clear he wanted you to have this.”
“
This is the proof,” she said, “that I’ve been searching for all these years. The 1755 Lisbon earthquake and resulting tsunami and fire destroyed the city. I thought, maybe, the historical record of this expedition could have been lost. But to find no reports, no passing references, no captain’s entries about the Breastplate in any other cities, nor libraries, nor texts. Even a leap of faith didn’t account for that.”
“
Leap of faith,” he echoed. He twisted his wedding band, a nervous habit. “As I said, my Latin is a tad rusty, but before that intruder grabbed the letter from me, I saw a name, in darker ink, bold-faced in today’s vernacular. Contreras.”
“
The name Dad has been searching for, Alvaro Contreras,” she said, pointing to the name in the letter, “the conquistador. He was the one who brought the Breastplate to the new world.”
“
The villain, so to speak.”
“
Returned to Spain in chains,” she said, “according to Salvatierra’s letter.”
“
The head of NewWorld Pharmaceuticals,” his eyes met hers, “his name is Baltasar Contreras.”
“
NewWorld Pharmaceuticals,” she repeated. “Gabriella’s company. Gabriella’s boss is named Contreras?”
“
I was computing the odds whilst I was upstairs shaving,” he said, “and, well, it simply cannot be a familial connection. It’s just a peculiar coincidence. Baltasar Contreras is no villain.”
“
What does he look like? Stout, pale skin, pudgy face, contrived wardrobe, like wearing a safari suit into the remote Arizona desert?”
“
I wouldn’t know.”
Percival had plenty of smarts to puzzle out fifty-page mathematical proofs, and none for social skills. “You don’t know what Gabriella’s boss looks like?”
“
He’s a recluse,” he said. “Won’t even allow a photo of him online on their website. Gabriella and the children met him once, at last summer’s company picnic. Bit of a miracle that he showed up at all. Rich people are eccentric, you know, not crazy.”
Crazy, like a self-proclaimed prophet. It would explain how that thug this morning found out so quickly where Gabriella lived. “Lucia and Liam met him?” Panic clawed into her gut. She handed him the phone and fished out her cell. “Call the school. See if Helen’s picked up Lucia. I’ll try Helen’s cell.”
No answer. She left a message, trying to restrain the desperation in her voice.
“
I spoke to the principal,” Percival said. He replaced the handset in its cradle. “Lucia is fine, just finished rehearsing for her part of angel in the school play. She’s out at recess.”
It still didn’t feel right. “I couldn’t reach Helen. And she never turns off her cell phone.”
“
She’d have to turn it off at the clinic. Liam receives excellent care there, you know. The campus clinic is state of the art, thanks to Baltasar Contreras. He’s quite the philanthropist. And he’s done well by Gabby. Her holiday bonus was generous, to say the least. He even sent a gift for the children.” His face paled.
“
Percy, what is it?”
“
His gift to the children,” he said. “It was a Trojan Horse.”
She handed him the printout. “Read this,” she said. “We both need to get up to speed, fast. I’m going to pick up Lucia.”
CHAPTER
17
Letter, written by Juan Jaramillo de Salvatierra to his brother, Pedro Alonso de Salvatierra, Vatican City. Vissilus Ruins, Morocco, February 14, 1586.
My dear Pedro Alonso,
Pray for me, brother, that I have earned everlasting peace, for my death is nigh, and I go to my grave in a heathen land, without the benefit of last rites. Yet it is oddly fitting. I lay in a remote village, Muslim tents erected in the old, forgotten Roman ruins of Viscillus. God’s breath blows through the abandoned streets this night, beating upon the tent walls, reminding that when man aspires to rule the world, then his empires surely will crumble.
I pray that you have received the missive I sent to you via our sister ship, the
Espiritu Santo
. It is a faster vessel, and its captain determined to return his prisoner in great haste, without making further stops. You know by now that I could not complete the mission for our Holy Father Sixtus V which carried me to the New World and, ultimately, my earthly end, but I believe, with all my soul, that our Supreme Creator, in His wisdom, called me to the path I followed. I ask your forgiveness, and pray that you believe, after you read this final missive, that I have acted only by God’s hand, in service to Him and no other.
I was not without doubt, especially when Our Lord sent a mighty storm to wrack the
San Salvador
even as we neared home, safety and victory. I could have endured this storm with less anguish if my life alone had been in danger, not only because I know that I owe my life to the Supreme Creator, but also because deep in the jungle I had seen death only a hair’s breadth away. What caused me infinite grief and anxiety was the thought that after our Lord had deigned to enlighten me with faith and certainty in this enterprise and had crowned it with victory, abashing our nemesis and sending him back to Spain in chains, his Divine Majesty should now seek to hinder this with my death—a fate that I could have borne more easily had it not also threatened the people on board with me, who sought only treasure, with no aspiration to our sacred enterprise.
By the third day of this ravenous storm, all men aboard had made our vows to the Supreme Creator, no longer relying on lots cast by the officers. Every crewman, from Captain to Able Seaman, swore to make pilgrimage, barefoot, to the first shrine of the Virgin that they might encounter if saved by our Lord from the wrath of the seas. Yet the storm grew more violent. I, for my own part, clutched my crucifix to my breast and created my own secret pact with the Lord, that if He should save me, I would then tell you of our enterprise, and what had come to pass. If I should drown, then my secret would be buried with me in my watery grave.
This vow, I humbly propose, is what saved me from being swallowed by the sea that so did open its gaping maw and gulp down our caravel
San Salvador
and all souls aboard save one, being myself. For even as the storm raged, the men’s cries of fear and anger barely audible above the din of the crashing waves and angry wind, Our Lord’s hand reached down from above, pushing a mighty wave across the gunwales of the ship, cracking the mast like a stick, and wrapping a line around my torso like the fearsome snakes of the New World jungle. The sea water coursed over me and I knew at that moment I should be drowned even though I lay lashed tight to the deck of the
San Salvador
and not thrashing in the ocean. Yet then, Our Lord’s hand came down once more. A wave, even mightier, ripped the decking I lay lashed to clear from the
San Salvador
. I know not what happened next, but when I awoke, I and my small plank of decking was all that was left of the
San Salvador
, the ship and all its souls gone.
The storm abated, but the sun, equally harsh, burned me like a demon’s tongue. I lay trapped, lashed as securely as any treasure barrel, to the planking that I feared would only prolong my death, not save my life. I could not sink. I could not swim. I could choose neither life, nor death. And yet, the Supreme Creator saw it fitting to save me. His wave carried me to the shore of this heathen land. I now pen this missive to you, for my physical body, the earthly vessel of God’s will, lays crushed and broken in this foreign land. I can only surmise that Our Divine Majesty offered these last days to me so that I may keep my vow and share with you the outcome of my mission.
It is with this urgency that I stave off death. The heathens have sent to me a man who speaks a rudimentary Spanish. I have requested that he deliver this missive to you at the Vatican, and have given him my cherished crucifix as payment in good faith. It pained me to proffer such intimate and holy treasure to a Muslim, especially with my being so close to God’s judgment at my death, yet I pray that the gold and jewels of the crucifix will be his reward. The information I am sending in this letter is of utmost importance. It is God’s will.
In one part, I have accomplished the mission which you, under the auspices of the Vatican, assigned to me. Alvaro Contreras is in chains, returned to Spain on the
Espiritu Santo
to stand trial for treason. He will most certainly be damned. But I swear to you, brother, I shall not be damned.
As for the golden Breastplate that my earthly words so inadequately described in my last missive, I could not, as a man of God, follow the order of the Vatican. The Lord opened my eyes to bear witness to the destruction that the Breastplate could cause in the possession of an evil man. God’s hand brushed the stench of death through the jungle lest I forget. If you had been with me, brother, you would know. Whole villages were destroyed, every savage dead. A mother had strangled her infant child. An old man had bashed in the heads of young women. Contreras had promised to give them an elixir to cure their madness, but he broke that promise.
Through this hell, the Lord led me to the clearing lorded over by Demon’s Wings, the rock outcropping that towered above the trees. Demon’s Wings watched over the pyramid temple that Contreras enslaved the locals to defend, blocking access to the Oculto Canyon. The temple’s eyes,
above and to each side of the stone lintel,
gave warning to all who dared enter. But the temple’s mouth, which had once poured forth life-giving water, Alvaro Contreras had strangled dry.
In its inner sanctum, the very heart of Satan, the Lord pierced it with a beam of sunlight, sending His true wisdom. I saw the golden Breastplate with the twelve sacred stones, worn by Aaron, brother of Moses, that God designed and built by man’s craft. The Breastplate truly is a conduit between the Lord and His Earth, for it was our Supreme Creator who commanded,
Salvatierra, destroy the Breastplate
!
Contreras tempted me. “
The gems of the Breastplate reveal the secret to my domination.
” He enticed me. “
Don the Breastplate. Stand upon this platform. Call God’s light to shine upon you. You will hold the powers of the Heavens in the palm of your hand
.”
I refused to submit.
My heart pounds. Each breath is a stab of pain. I lay close to death. I had prayed to tell you in person the end of my adventure, for I dared not risk anyone learning of His divine plan, but this missive shall be my testament. After I wrenched the seven stones from the Breastplate, as the boulders rained down around me, I buried the Breastplate deep beneath the heads of those who had once claimed dominion over its power, knowing the Indians will not touch it. Escaping the temple, our ragged crew returned through the jungle to our ships. At the port before we disembarked from the New World, I learned that natives had ruled Contreras’s pyramid to be kept strictly secret and forbidden.
As for the seven sacred stones, God showed me clearly His divine plan in a dream. I compelled my most trusted allies, our Circle of Seven, to each become a guardian of a sacred stone. I bade each one to embark on a voyage of opposing directions, to the far corners of God’s Earth. My hands were steadied only by the will of God as I entrusted to our noble astronomer and my dearest friend, Tristan de Luna, the Turquoise, to carry north into the desert wilderness. The Sapphire headed east to England, Babur’s Diamond west to Asia. The Urim and Thummim, and the jacinth, secreted to distant lands. My Circle of Seven risk execution for desertion, and can never again return to their homeland. They are the first generation of guardians, but can not be the last.
I, for my part, took custody of the Tear of the Moon, locking it away in my strongbox with my Bible. Both sacred stone and sacred words now lay at the bottom of the sea with the
San Salvador
and all her souls. God has relegated the power of the Emerald to a place that no mortal may reach. If it is God’s will, then the other stones have met a similar fate.
I now seal this letter and my fate. I kiss my crucifix and my life goodbye. I pray that Our Lord and His Holiness will judge that I have served well. And I pray with my last breath that this heathen will deliver this missive to you and fulfill my destiny.
May the Lord have mercy on my soul, Juan Jaramillo de Salvatierra