Twisted Linen (13 page)

Baculo quickly kicks the knife to the side
and grabs a fist-ful of Grace’s hair, yanking her head back so he
can look into her eyes. Baculo wants his answer to be crystal
clear.

“Because God answers our prayers. He answers
the prayers of His chosen people.”

“It’s not 'God' answering your prayers,”
Grace mumbles in a whimper. “You’re a blood worshiping cult.”

Baculo attacks Grace with his fierce eyes.
It’s an unnerving glare that torments her soul. In fright, she
wildly strikes Baculo across the face with a cracking blow. It’s
ineffectual, and the sting of it causes Baculo to smirk in
response. He likes the pain.

Baculo turns and pulls Grace up the
staircase, dragging her along by the hair. She slaps the hand
holding her hair while clutching the railing with her other hand,
trying to resist his intimidating strength. Baculo jerks her loose
and quickens his step, ascending the stairs with speed now. Grace
scrambles to keep her feet under her.

“You have deceived me, Grace. I can’t express
how angry this makes me,” he grumbles in a menacing tone of voice,
still pulling her upward.

After yanking her body up the last stair,
Baculo flings Grace to the terrace floor. He glances at his
henchmen who anxiously stand in the dining room doorway awaiting
his command. Baculo wags his head at them, as if to say,
do not
approach her
. Baculo then glares back toward Grace. His eyes
torment Grace, and she scoots her body so that her feet point
toward him, ready to kick and fight off an attack. But her panicky
movements cause Baculo to erupt in a bellowing, evil laugh.

Fortunately for Grace, Chief Priest Olivier
holds Grace in high reverence; she is considered the holy mother of
their coming King. And Olivier made his mandate crystal clear:
Grace LaCroix is not to be harmed – she must remain unblemished
until Rosh HaShanah when the last trumpet blows.

In mental submission to his Chief Priest,
Baculo beckons his henchmen to come.

“I’m finished with her,” he commands under a
surly snarl. “Take her back to the cell.”

* * *

30

Out of the Blue

Genovi and Simon had a restless night on the
flight back to Rome. Simon wrestled with bad dreams, then awoke and
realized they weren’t dreams. Sleep deprivation and stress are
making it very difficult to think clearly, and critical thinking
will be vital for them to navigate the next 24 hours.

Genovi and Simon walk side-by-side down a
quiet hallway in the Vatican. They strategize on how to best
retrieve the Shroud. It’s a whispered conversation in an effort to
conceal the topic until they arrive at Genovi’s office.

“The Shroud is under video surveillance
24/7.”

“Where exactly is it?” Simon asks.

“Deep in the Vatican Grottoes, hidden in a
fireproof cabinet.”

Simon comes to a sudden stop and with a
sarcastic chuckle asks, “You hid the Shroud in the Grottoes?”

A somber looking Genovi stops, steps back
close to Simon and quibbles, “Actually, it’s in the catacombs but
it’s only accessible from the Grottoes. So yes…and why do you
care?”

“Well, I don't know,” grumbles Simon. “I
guess I expected it to be under lock-and-key in some kind of
climate-controlled case or something.”

Genovi delivers a look of dismissal and
retorts, “The real Shroud isn’t a tourist attraction, Simon.”

Genovi’s response has the benefit of knowing
the history of the Shroud of Turin. It changed hands many times
over the millennium, and there was much blood spilled to protect
it.

History has proven that secrecy, not
security, was the best way to protect the Shroud. In France, in
1532, the Shroud was severely damaged by fire, believed to be
started by arson. Ironically, the very security measures put in
place to protect the Shroud from theft hindered the Shroud's rescue
from fire. The burn damage seen today is from that very fire.

At some point during the Middle Ages fine
craftsmen repaired the Shroud’s burnt edges. They painstakingly
intertwined new twisted linen with the original linen, then colored
the new linen fibers to match. Only recent microscopic analysis
revealed this restoration had been done. Unfortunately, the
restoration led to conflicting and inaccurate carbon-dating tests;
and thus, mass confusion about the Shroud’s age and
authenticity.

Genovi and Simon silently turn the corner and
approach Genovi’s office. The priest guarding Genovi’s office comes
to attention and greets Genovi.

“Cardinal,” he announces while opening the
door for Genovi and Simon.

“Thank you, my son. That will be all for
today. You may go.”

“Yes, sir,” the priest responds.

The attending priest withdraws from the
doorway and walks around the corner into the distance. Simon checks
to make sure the hallway is clear of anybody else. He then closes
the door to Genovi’s office.

Simon takes his customary seat in front of
Genovi’s grand desk. As usual, Genovi wanders over to the window,
closes his eyes and subtly lifts up his chin, allowing the early
morning light to warm his face. Simon blankly gazes towards the
window in an apathetic torpor.

“You want me to go down into the Grottoes?”
Simon asks in a weary tone. “Isn't that only for Priests?”

“Yes. I have something you can wear.”

Simon chuckles. Genovi responds with a
serious look.

“The Shroud is located in a secret
compartment by the tomb of Saint Francis. Decades ago, while we
were undergoing renovation on the catacombs, construction of a
secret escape tunnel was undertaken. At that time I made
arrangements to have a stealth hiding place made for the
Shroud.”

Genovi lays both hands on the cross necklace
near his heart, and whispers the words,
Munire me digneris
,
asking the Lord for strength and protection against all evil. After
a long moment, Genovi pulls the necklace over his head and paces
toward Simon. With reverence, he gently places the cross and chain
into Simon’s hand.

“You’ll use this as a key,” he says.

Simon’s eyes fall to the cross, gleaning gold
with a blue stone in the middle. It certainly doesn’t look like a
key.

“Pull the bottom off the cross,” Genovi
instructs.

Simon pulls on the lower part of the cross,
increasingly harder, until it pops free. It slides off to reveal a
hidden metal shaft underneath. At first glance the shaft looks like
a simple rod, but it has a unique shape. It was “keyed” into an
elongated hexagon like a very weirdly shaped hex-key.

Genovi continues to explain: “There are four
flower carvings on Saint Francis’ tomb, one on each corner. Insert
the key into the center of the bottom left flower. It will unlock a
hidden door leading to the emergency escape tunnel. Once inside the
escape tunnel, look to the floor. One of the paver stones in the
floor will be larger than all the rest. If you look closely, you’ll
see what I mean. I hid the Shroud in a compartment under the stone
floor.”

“Are you kidding me? Who set this up for
you?” Simon asks in bewilderment.

Genovi ignores the question and continues:
“My key has been magnetized with a unique code that will release
the paver stone and unlock the secret compartment. Once you have
the Shroud, follow the emergency escape tunnel through the
catacombs and make your way to the jet. I’ll meet you there.”

“You want me to exit through the emergency
escape tunnel?”

“Yes, we can’t risk bringing the Shroud
through the Vatican.”

Simon sternly shakes his head back and forth,
making his unwavering opinion and surly disposition evident.

“Okay, now look here,” he rants. “The escape
tunnel is restricted and accessing it in a non-emergency is a
direct violation of strict Vatican protocols. Every access point is
monitored with its own video surveillance and dedicated storage
system. I’ll never get away with this…I won’t do it without
sign-off from the very top.”

“There’s no time…now pay attention!” Genovi
yells, temporarily losing his composure. He then puts both hands on
the desk and leans in close to Simon.

“We can’t involve anybody else,” he says in a
calmer tone.

Simon pushes his chair away from the desk in
frustration.

“Why not?” he protests with narrowed
eyes.

“Because I don’t know who I can trust!”
Genovi uncontrollably exclaims.

Simon is hushed by the revelation as the two
men glower at each other. Genovi reluctantly admitted it; the place
he spent his life serving is cracking from within, and Simon
struggles to make sense of it all. Until recently, Genovi always
exhibited a transparent and calm demeanor.

Genovi somberly continues, “There are deep
fractures in the church. There always have been, but now they go
all the way to the top.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I was questioned by the Pope. When I pulled
the intelligence file on Cohen and discovered his body was stolen
from the morgue by the Golden Dawn, he told me to back off.”

“Cohen’s dead,” Simon declares. “What does
the Vatican care about a missing dead body?”

“The Golden Dawn bred Cohen decades ago to be
their King. They have not given up on him; they plan on
resurrecting him from the dead using the Shroud.”

Simon is now at his wit’s end. “That’s
ludicrous! Cohen took a bullet to the head.”

“Not with the Jesus’ DNA. They’ll recombine
Christ’s DNA with Cohen’s and with his mother’s – Grace’s. If they
heal his fatal head wound, he’ll be the Messiah that ushers in the
New Golden Age…the New Jerusalem.”

Simon shakes his head in denial and
bewilderment.

“Why do you doubt?” Genovi demands.

“Because, he…is…dead. There’s nothing to
heal!”

Genovi turns his back on Simon and steps
toward the window. He mumbles just loud enough for Simon to hear,
“You underestimate their magic, and you’ll regret it.”

Simon scoffs at Genovi with a huff and a
forbidding hand gesture. It is silent in the room for several
moments.

Finally Genovi says, “Trust me, Simon. If
resurrected, Cohen will present himself on equal ground to Jesus
Christ. They'll claim today's wars, threats of wars, and social
chaos can be stopped through him.”

Simon scowls with great doubt. “Why? He’s not
God. He’s just a man. And even if they heal him, he’ll still be
just a man.”

Genovi knows the world won’t understand this.
They watched his assassination on national television; doctors
confirmed his death; and then he comes back to life. The world will
demand an investigation and study his blood, confirming his DNA
fingerprint matches Jesus’s holy fingerprint. Jesus will be his
father according to a genetic definition of fatherhood. It will be
all the proof this “science following” world needs.

Genovi’s head snaps around to face Simon. He
comes down on him hard. “If you can’t do it for God, then think
about Grace. The Shroud is the only thing that will save her.”

Simon squints hard at Genovi, frozen in deep
thought, wondering if Genovi’s threat is in earnest. The Shroud is
his best chance to free Grace, and maybe God wants him to rescue
her with the Shroud. Maybe this is his destiny and God has a plan
that will be revealed later. Who knows? How will he ever know?

Genovi interrupts his doubting thoughts and
demands, “We’re running out of time. What’s it going to be?”

Simon closes his eyes and swallows hard,
mentally committing himself.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

* * *

31

Twisted Linen