The Fourth Bible Page 5
Arledge’s spoken Frankish wasn’t perfect, though it was better than most of his countrymen. He had been taught to read and write when he was young, his aptitude recognized early, languages such as Latin and Frankish voraciously consumed. All languages that would help him on his journey. He patted his donkey. “This poor beast is my only traveling companion.”
The man cursed. “Have you seen a group of your brothers, a party of perhaps six, on this road?”
Arledge’s pulse pounded in his ears. “I’m afraid I have not.”
“Let’s go!” The man turned his horse and the party pounded off into the distance, soon out of sight, leaving Arledge frozen in place as he struggled to control his breathing. Who these men were was of little importance. Their intentions, however, were. Were they eager to see the Bible for themselves? Or were they motivated by something else, something more nefarious? As much as he’d wish he could have faith in the general good of his fellow man, he had seen little evidence in his lifetime to think such desires were likely. He had no doubt these men meant to steal the Bible his friends were transporting, and to do so, that likely meant killing them.
He climbed on his donkey, urging it forward, praying for the Lord to give them both the strength to do some good before it was too late.
15 |
Guggenheim Bilbao
Bilbao, Spain
Present Day
P etra Marchand scrolled through her Instagram feed, as bored as she had ever been. Every post of her friend Zoe’s birthday party restoked the fire in her belly, and she glared at her parents as they mingled with the crowds, her father getting all the attention, enough so, that he apparently lost track of her mother’s cocktail habit.
She frowned.
That wasn’t fair. Her mother was likely still nursing her first, though at this moment, she preferred to think the worst of both of them.
I wish you were here! Party of the decade!
She growled.
“What?”
She glanced down at her little brother. “Go away.”
He stared up at her. “Mommy said to stay with you.”
She growled again.
What did I do to ever deserve this?
She swiped up on her phone, a list of apps displayed, and she stared at Uber’s large U, beckoning her to join it on the dark side. She could call an Uber and be out of here in minutes.
But what purpose would that serve? The party was in Paris. She was in Spain. She growled again, her frustration making her stupid. And besides, even if she were in Paris, the punishment of leaving would far outweigh any momentary satisfaction the act of rebellion might give her.
“Wipe that scowl off your face.”
She flinched at her mother’s voice, her focus on her own misery having her losing track of the stealthy woman. She gave her an exaggerated, toothy smile.
Her brother giggled.
“Don’t ruin this night for your father.” Her mother pointed toward an exit behind them. “Go out in the hall, cool off, then come back in when you’re ready to be a part of this family.”
She thrust her arms down her sides, audibly glaring at her mother, then stormed toward the hallway, past several gaping guests. She disappeared around the corner and spotted a set of stairs. She sat on one of the steps and groaned when her brother sat beside her.
“Go away.”
“But Mommy said to stay with you.”
She sighed. “Fine, but stop speaking.”
“I wasn’t until you told me to go away.”
“Argh! I can’t wait until I’m eighteen and free of all of you!”
“I think I’m underdressed.”
Acton gave his wife an exaggerated elevator assessment, taking in her slim form. “I think you’re breathtaking.”
She beamed. “You’re not so bad yourself. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in a tux.”
He glanced down at his fine self. “Sometimes it’s nice to get dressed up. We should do it more often.”
“Jim!”
He turned to see Yves Marchand waving at them, beckoning them over. Laura took his arm and they joined their host. “Yves, so good to see you. It’s been too long.”
Marchand grasped him by the arms, giving him the traditional French greeting, something of which Acton was never a fan. “So good to see you, my friend. May I present my wife, Sophie.”
This time he was treated to a gentle handshake. He turned to Laura. “And may I present my wife, Professor Laura Palmer.”
“A pleasure, madame.” A hand was kissed, then shook, and the greetings were finished, leaving Acton and Marchand competing on who was giddier.
“Congratulations on your discovery, Professor. An impressive find.”
Marchand waved a hand at Laura. “Please, call me Yves. I feel like I’m in class when I hear ‘professor.’” He bowed slightly. “But, thank you for your kind words, though I fear they are undeserved. I was merely the lucky soul who was assigned to investigate what was supposed to be nothing.” He shrugged, displaying his palms. “But, alas, it was much more than a blacksmith’s forge that was found that day in northern France.”
“Any theories as to how it got there?”
“Many!” Marchand laughed, the man, whom Acton had only met a couple of times, both of those years ago, the happiest he had ever seen him, and for good reason. “You’ve seen the pictures of how we found it?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know it was obviously very deliberately, and carefully, buried. Why it was, one can only speculate, and unfortunately, I can see no way for us to ever know for certain. The fact it was directly under a large stone that once served as the base of a blacksmith’s forge suggests some effort went into hiding it, and I must assume it was hidden by the blacksmith himself, for I can see no possible way his own forge would be moved without his knowledge. In those times, he would have lived where he worked.”
Acton’s head bobbed in agreement. “It’s fascinating to speculate, but…”
Marchand grinned. “But you want to see it, don’t you?”
Acton laughed. “Is the Pope Triarii?”
Marchand’s eyes widened slightly. “Huh?”
Laura’s hand gripped his arm a little tighter. “Nothing, an inside joke. Too long to explain.”
Marchand shrugged. “Please, follow me.”
“I’ll stay here,” said his wife. “I’ve seen it before, and if I don’t get some of those hors d’oeuvres, this cocktail is going to hit me about the same time Yves starts his speech.” She gave her husband a peck then smiled at their guests before pursuing a server with gusto.
Marchand watched her for a moment, clearly a proud husband much in love, then led them out of the atrium where the guests were gathered, and down a series of hallways before reaching a room with a coded panel. He entered a code, covered by his hand, then pushed open the door. He held it aside and Acton allowed Laura to enter first before following, his eyes widening in anticipation at the shroud-covered wheeled trolley that could only contain what they were all there to see.
“Ready?”
Acton’s heart hammered. “Does a bear—” His arm was viciously squeezed. “Yes.”
Marchand removed the shroud with a flourish, leaving Acton and Laura to both gasp in awe at the sight. The Bible lay under protective glass, the light from above highlighting it as if from Heaven, the massive tome split into two halves.
“Unbelievable!” hissed Acton as goosebumps raced across his entire body, a shiver rushing up and down his spine. He slowly walked around the impressive work, carefully taking it in from every angle, before finally stopping in front of it and bending over the glass.
“It’s remarkably preserved,” observed Laura. “I knew from the pictures it would be, but in person…” She sighed, shaking her head. “Simply stunning. This is in better condition than the Codex Amiatinus, I can assure you.”
“After the discovery, I was fortunate enough to be able to see the Codex Amiatinus for comparison purposes, and I have to agree.”
Acton pointed at a thin hole that appeared to go through one half of the Bible, perhaps a couple of inches in length. “What do you think made—” A faint alarm sounded and they all froze, Acton tensing. “What’s that?”
Marchand dismissed any concern with a wave of his hand. “It’s nothing. Just the alarm from a fire door. I accidentally set one off this morning when I went for a cigarette.”
“There’s no sign?”
“There is.” He shrugged. “I thought it was just for show!”
P eeters watched the argument between mother and daughter, then turned his attention to the man of the hour, the vile intellectual who had made the discovery, from all accounts accidentally, yet was still fêted by the elite of the antiquities world.
It disgusted him to no end, yet this gathering could do more to further the cause than a thousand marches.
Gaining entry had been easy. The invitation had been in his parents’ mailbox two days after his conversation with a man who turned out to be Oskar Richter.
He had never heard of him.
He had Googled him and confirmed he was nouveau riche, his wealth from the telecommunications industry, his company based in Berlin.
The man meant nothing to him.
Though his money—and connections—meant everything.
Apparently, he was a bit of an eccentric, hated being in public, and was rarely seen, few, if any, recent photographs to be found on the Internet.
A rarity these days.
Though it had served Peeters well.
No one knew what the real Richte
r looked like, so when he showed his invitation, he was waved through with smiles and wide eyes.
He felt as if Howard Hughes had just made an appearance after a decade of isolation.
Fortunately, no one was announced as they entered, and the paparazzi were left outside beyond the gates, the elite of society here tonight with no desire to be on camera, though the Hollywood types he had no doubt were disappointed with the overruling by the rich that funded them. Yet phones abounded, selfies quickly filling the newsfeeds of a society that relished lifestyles they could never attain, video taken by those who had wrangled an invitation without being among the upper crust of society, many, he assumed, arm-candy purchased for the night by old men desperate to be perceived as virile.
Mankind should be wiped from the earth.
He headed toward the bathrooms as he sent a text message.
Ready?
His phone vibrated with a response.
30 seconds.
He pulled a cigarette case from his rented tuxedo, Richter having come through with a few thousand Euros, eager to see this event disrupted.
If only he knew.
He popped a cigarette in his mouth, returning the case to an inner pocket, then fished out a lighter as he walked with confidence past the stairs leading to the upper level, past the bathrooms, and toward a fire door at the far end of the hall.
He continued the thirty-count in his head, staring at the sign warning an alarm would sound the moment he pushed on the handle.
Thirty.
He pushed.
And an alarm sounded.
The door was hauled open and the rest of the Brigade chosen for the mission rushed inside. He yanked the door shut and the alarm cut off as Karl handed him a weapon, one of many procured by contacts he had made during his days in the German Army, his exit rather ignominious.
“Everyone ready?”
Nods all around.
“Then let’s do this!” He rushed toward the opulence he had just left. “For the animals!”
P etra glanced over her shoulder from her perch on the stairs, the alarm startling her. She spotted a man holding open a door to let in some party crashers. She activated her camera and started recording, clasping a precautionary hand over her brother’s mouth.
But the gasp came from her own as she spotted the guns.
Oh my God!
“For the animals!”
She quickly tapped at her phone and began live streaming as the seven men and women rushed toward the atrium, the atrium where not only the guests were celebrating, but where her parents were.
Gunfire erupted and Jean Luc cried out as she flinched. She rose, pointing at him. “Stay here! No matter what!” She rushed toward the atrium, coming to a halt at the edge of the wall, then peered around the corner, her phone leading the way, as the gunmen continued to fire, shouting in several languages for everyone to get down. To her horror, many were complying, but more weren’t, too shocked to obey.
Three security personnel were mowed down as they entered the atrium, and that was when she noticed half a dozen were dead or dying only feet away from her, perhaps sent to investigate the alarm, likely expecting a smoker like her father this morning.
Then she heard the screams and sobs, and as she recorded the terrorists surging through the room, shooting anyone with a gun, the unsuspecting security quickly overwhelmed, she searched for her mother and father, but couldn’t find them.
Someone grabbed her hand and she almost screamed.
It was her brother.
“What’s going on?”
She picked him up and rushed him back toward the stairs, searching for someplace to put him where he might not be spotted. She put him down, pointing at the dark shadow under the bottom few steps. “Get under there, as far as you can, and stay quiet, okay?”
He nodded, scurrying into the darkness, and if she didn’t know he was there, she wouldn’t have noticed.
She crawled under with him then nearly peed when her phone vibrated with a call.
It was her friend Anne.
She swiped her thumb.
“Oh my God, what’s going on? I’m watching your feed!”
And suddenly it became real. It wasn’t some figment of her imagination, it wasn’t some misinterpretation of innocent events.
It was real.
And she was in the middle of it.
Her family was in the middle of it.
“I-I think terrorists have taken over the museum. Wh-what do I do?”
“What do you do? You keep recording! I’m sharing this with everyone. Keep shooting. This is going to make you famous!”
And her terror was forgotten, the tremble of fear replaced with that of excitement. Anne was right. This was her moment. This was the moment everyone hoped for, that one moment that could change a life, that one chance to turn everything around and become famous.
It was the moment that could mean her freedom.
If she played her cards right, she would be the next Khloé, the next Kim.
The next Kylie.
Someone screamed and a gunshot rang out, silencing it.
And she shook anew with fear and horror, as she realized the price being paid for her future fame.
“W hat the hell was that?” asked Acton, spinning toward the closed door to the secure room, his question redundant for there was no doubt what he had heard.
Laura cocked an ear. “That’s gunfire!” She turned to Marchand. “You don’t have something planned, do you? A movie, some fireworks?”
Marchand shook his head, visibly pale, evidently not as used to the sound of gunfire as they were. “No, nothing of the sort.” He headed for the door. “I’ll go check.”
Acton blocked him with an arm. “No! Call the police.”
Marchand shook out a hasty nod, retreating into the far corner with his phone. Acton pointed at Laura. “Pull up a map of this place. We need to figure out how to get out of here.” He stepped over to the door as she started tapping on her phone. He placed an ear against the door, listening for anything. There was security here, and he had heard several different weapons types. A single shot rang out, then nothing beyond muffled cries.
Is it over?
He opened the door a sliver so he could hear better, and it was shoved into him, the barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead.
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if we’d be getting in here quite so easily.”
P eeters pushed the fool who had opened the door into the corner with his friends, one he recognized as the bastard who had discovered the abomination, an abomination that sat in all its hideous glory at the center of the room, lit from overhead and behind protective glass.
It enraged him, bile filling his mouth as he took in its massive bulk, every square inch representing the skin of an innocent creature raised from birth and slaughtered before its time for the sole purpose of creating the pages that this monstrosity required so long ago.
“Disgusting.”
The man from the door took one step forward, his arms spread, protecting the two behind him. “What is it you want? What can we do to help resolve this, so no one else gets hurt?”
Peeters turned slowly, glaring at the man, his finger twitching on the trigger of his submachine gun. He stabbed a finger toward the Bible. “Do you really think there is anything that you can do to atone for that ? That abomination! That testament to all that is wrong with mankind! Can you bring those poor creatures back to life? Can you in your infinite self-absorption not see that its very existence is an affront to all that we should hold dear? Can you—”
Karl rushed into the room. “The police are here!”
Peeters spun. “What? Already?”
“Yeah, a car just pulled up. I think more are coming.”
Peeters cursed. “Fine, secure the doors and get everything we’ll need from the van now. We’re going to have to speed things up.”
“What are you people planning?” asked the doorman.
Peeters glanced at him over his shoulder, his eyes boring into the beast who would dare partake in this sinful creation. A sneer crawled up Peeters’ mouth. “Something you won’t like, I can assure you.”
16 |
Frankish Burgundy
716 AD
O nly his faith carried him forward now. He had stopped as scheduled, but had only taken advantage of a meal, fresh provisions, and a fresh horse, a significant upgrade agreed to by the abbot when he informed him of his fear for the previous night’s guests hosted within his walls.