‘So all of this,’ Jones made an exaggerated hand movement that suggested everything they had done, ‘and we still don’t know for sure.’
‘Not conclusively, no… And the truth is, we probably never will.’
Dr Boyd excused himself and headed to the house. His face was swollen and misshapen, and his sterile gauze was no longer doing the trick. It was time for a bag of ice and a bottle of Tylenol.
Payne and Jones watched him go inside before their focus shifted to the helicopter that was hovering above. At first they thought it was a police chopper assigned to protect the grounds. Then they figured it was the media, possibly the paparazzi trying to get a picture of the murder scene. They continued to believe this until Jones pointed something out. The chopper was running dark. No searchlights. No taillights. No lights of any kind. For some reason it was trying to blend in with the dark sky above. Trying not to be seen. ‘You don’t think that’s…’
Jones nodded. He knew what Payne had in mind. ‘The second chopper from Vienna.’
Before Dante left the marble mine, he had given orders to his men to wait until the weather had cleared before they loaded his discovery from Vienna onto the next chopper. After that, they were supposed to fly to the villa where he was planning to meet his father.
Suddenly it dawned on them that the chopper had never arrived. Or, at the very least, had never landed. If their theory was correct, the pilot was still hovering above them, wondering what to do next. Jones grinned. ‘Let’s see if he’s willing to join us.’
Payne bowed in his direction. ‘After you, my devious friend.’
Dante’s personal chopper was still sitting on the helipad at the back of the estate. There was plenty of room to land a second chopper in the yard. It was just a matter of convincing the pilot that it was the right thing to do. Payne suggested using a light to flash him Morse code, but Jones thought of something better. He climbed into Dante’s chopper and slipped on the headset. A couple of buttons later, he was barking orders.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Jones screamed in Italian. ‘Set her down now!’
Thirty seconds passed before the pilot responded. ‘What about the police?’
‘They’re not here for you. There was a shooting at the house. Dante’s taking care of it.’
The pilot considered this for a moment before he flipped on his running lights. A few minutes later he was landing in the middle of the backyard. ‘Now what?’ the pilot asked.
‘Unload the merchandise, then get out of here. We’ll call you when we need you.’
Like magic, a team of six soldiers hoisted the relic out of the chopper and eased it onto the grass. Payne and Jones couldn’t risk being seen, so they stayed hidden inside the first chopper, although that probably wasn’t necessary. The men were too spooked by the cops to even look their way. A minute later, they were airborne again. Off to Rome. Or Vienna. Or wherever they were going next. Payne watched the entire scene in disbelief.
‘That went well,’ Jones said, laughing. ‘I hope it isn’t a bomb.’
The two of them walked across the lawn, unsure of what they were getting into. The sky was dark, and the moon was partially hidden behind a bank of clouds. There were few lights in this part of the yard, and they weren’t about to turn any on. Not even a flashlight. But Payne almost changed his mind when he saw the sarcophagus. It was made out of white marble and was decorated with a series of carvings that reminded him of the ones on Maria’s tape. With one glance Payne knew that they told a story – he could tell that from their layout – but their meaning was impossible to interpret in the darkness.
For an instant Payne wondered if this was the reason that Dante brought Boyd and Maria here. To help explain what this thing was. Maybe to help him figure out what he should do next. Those thoughts disappeared quickly, though. And his mind went back to the stone artifact.
Strangely, Payne felt like a blind man reading Braille, running his fingers over the ancient designs, trying to understand the narrative. Just then the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, and he could see Christ on the cross and the laughing man standing nearby. A team of centurions was carrying a body to a cave. Then he saw a man walking out. Meanwhile, Jones was on the other side of the box, calling out images as he deciphered them.
He saw soldiers. A large boat. A series of mountains. The tip of a sword.
Neither of them knew exactly what the stone was saying. And they realized they wouldn’t unless they fetched Boyd or Maria for help. But where was the fun in that?
Instead they decided to examine the contents on their own. They figured, how much damage could the two of them do? They were only going to take a short peek inside, not even for a minute. They would push the lid aside, take a look, and then push the sucker back. No one would ever know. It would be their little secret.
They studied the box’s construction and decided they should push it from Payne’s side. Smiling, they counted to three, then heaved with all their might. The stone lid groaned and trembled, then slid five inches to the right. A wisp of ancient air filled their nostrils but they didn’t care. Not one bit.
They were too intoxicated by what they found within.
76
Monday, July 31
Küsendorf, Switzerland
Their helicopter hovered above the Archives for several seconds, just enough time for Payne and Jones to view the reconstruction from the air. It had been less than three weeks since the fire, but the work zone was buzzing. Bulldozers were plowing. Trucks were hauling. Workers were cutting boards and pounding nails. Things were looking great, at least to novices like them.
Sadly, they couldn’t say the same thing about Christianity.
Payne and Jones had spent two weeks researching the topic, more to appease their curiosity than anything else. They read books. They talked to experts. They did everything in their power to answer the questions that were bothering them. And some of the answers left them perplexed.
For instance, they never knew that the Koran, the Islamic bible, asserts that Christ’s crucifixion was faked. Yes, faked. Muslims view Christ as a prophet, someone who should be revered in the same terms as Abraham, Moses, and Muhammad, so it stunned Payne and Jones that the Koran questioned Christ’s integrity. Yet it comes right out and says that he wasn’t crucified. The line reads:
[4:157]And their saying: Surely we have killed the Messiah, Jesus son of Mary, the apostle of Allah; and they did not kill him nor did they crucify him, but it appeared to them so…
Amazingly, this verse wasn’t stashed away on a hidden scroll or locked in the Vatican’s basement. It is known by a billion Muslims around the world. Still, neither Payne nor Jones had ever heard about a fake crucifixion until they met up with Boyd and Pelati.
How is that possible?
How could something so important be ignored by the Western world?
Whether it’s accurate or not wasn’t the point. Payne couldn’t understand why this line was never discussed in a public forum. Why no one was curious enough to investigate it. Payne joked it was too bad Oliver Stone didn’t direct The Passion of the Christ. Because he would’ve come up with a much different ending to the film – something with a conspiratorial twist.
Oh well, maybe Mel Gibson is planning a sequel?
Changing subjects, they also found several interesting facts about Pontius Pilate. The most surprising was Pilate’s close friendship with Joseph of Arimathea, who played a major role in the crucifixion and Christ’s final resting place. All four Gospels claim that Christ’s body was sealed in a tomb on Joseph’s personal property, even though Roman law forbade crucifixion victims from being buried. During this era, victims would be left on the cross for days where they would eventually be eaten by birds. Furthermore, the Romans were so adamant about this law that they actually posted guards to make sure that the victim’s friends or relatives didn’t touch the corpses.
Yet Pilate was willing to go against this code and gave Jesus’s body to Joseph of Arimathea, even though he had no rightful claim to remove it. Unless, of course, something was going on behind the scenes, and Pilate and Joseph were coconspirators in the deception.
Stranger still is the wording that was used in Mark’s Gospel. In the original Greek version, when Joseph asked Pilate for Christ’s body, he used the word soma, a word that refers to ‘a living body,’ not ptoma, a word that means ‘a corpse.’ In other words, Joseph asked Pilate for someone who was still alive. This line was eventually changed in Latin and English translations of the Bible because translators used nonspecific words that failed to explain whether Christ was living or dead when he was removed from the cross. However, in the original version, even Mark says that Christ was alive when he was turned over to Joseph.
Payne and Jones came up with dozens of facts like these, tidbits that weren’t talked about in most churches, even though they’d been verified by experts. Payne wasn’t sure why that was – conspiracy? ignorance? something else? – but they intended to keep digging until they were satisfied. In fact, that was one of the reasons that they came back to the Archives.
To get the answers that they were looking for.
As soon as Payne and Jones landed, Petr Ulster greeted them with a hug. The stress that had been evident in Vienna was no longer there, replaced with a twinkle in his eye and a warm smile. All in all, he looked even happier than he did when they’d first met. And that was saying a lot, because Ulster was one of the happiest people Payne had ever come across.
‘Jonathon! D.J.! It’s so wonderfully great to see you! I’m so glad you could return.’
‘Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ Jones replied.
Payne nodded in agreement. ‘Looks like you’ve been busy.’
‘Very!’ Ulster said. ‘But it’s been wonderful. I’ve always been tempted to expand the Archives, and this gave me the perfect excuse. If the donations keep pouring in, we’ll be able to double in size.’
Payne whistled, impressed. ‘And what about the artifacts? Did you lose anything in the fire?’
‘Nothing invaluable. There were some personal items, things with sentimental value that we couldn’t salvage. Like my grandfather’s photo collection.’