CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 

IT WAS three-thirty in the afternoon when the three men first saw Simonopetra. Andoni had been leading them seaward, off the high ground, the better to approach Simonopetra, for the terrain was less rocky and precarious closer to the shore below them.

Jason had been looking out to sea, appreciative of its varying shades of blue as seen from above. He wondered how they would get away from Simonopetra, once the scroll business had been taken care of. Would there be a boat harbor, or would they have to make their way back the way they had come? He was about to ask when Andoni led them out of a grove of gnarled olive trees.

Jason suddenly murmured, "God!"

Compared to Simonopetra, the Empire State Building and all the skyscrapers of New York seemed somehow insignificant to Jason. He caught his breath.

Andoni was patriotically proud. "That 'Rock of Simon, boss. You like?"

"Incredible!"

Krenski said, "Incredible it is. And everyone said it was impossible when Simon wanted to build it there on that precipice, but there it is and there it has been since about 1365."

Before them, shooting almost straight up from the sea, was an enormous pillar of sheer rock, on top of which were the overhanging balconies of Simopetra. On each of the seven stories there was a balcony that seemed to be supported by wooden poles that appeared no more substantial than a spider's web.

The three of them contemplated this architectural wonder for some moments in silence.

"That really is a fortress," said Krenski finally. 'The monasteries of Mount Athos were once much plundered by pirates, but Simonopetra was not one of them."

Jason said, "Their library and treasures must be intact. I'll bet nothing's ever bothered them."

"No, boss, seem like every century they got big fire. Last time in 1891. Lots of relics burn. But they still got the left hand of Mary Magdalene."

Jason repeated, "Mary Magdalene?"

"That right, boss. They got her hand. That never burn"

Jason thought, “That’s like telling me the left hand of Lael is up there! No wonder Constantine brought the scrolls here! Not only was this fortress impregnable, but the scrolls could be guarded by Laels own hand! Maybe Constantine himself believed…?

Looking up at the amazing monolith, Jason recalled Byron's description of it that was quoted in the guidebook he'd read. "Athwart its great crag, the monastery's architecture resembled the barracks of Potala, the last palace of the God-king of Tibet." But until now, the description had been just words. Now he saw that the monastery seemed to be erupting out of the rock, and at the top of this seemingly inaccessible monolith were the unexpected balconies. Jason could only admire men with faith enough to walk on such balconies; he wonder if he could do it. Then he thought. For a look at the genuine left hand of Lael, I could do it. And if she is called Saint Mary Magdalene, I could still do it.

As they moved forward now, the massive golden rock was turning a brilliant coral hue in the afternoon sun. Jason saw the terraces of the vegetable gardens— rows and tomatoes hanging nervously fifteen feet above one another, an unlikely garden suspended high above the sea.

At the base of the great rock were dozens of beehives. Straw skeps in rows dotted the shale that covered the uncultivated areas.

When they arrived at the base of the escarpment, Jason looked up at the great forbidding walls. No one was visible at the top.

"How do we get up there, Andoni?" Jason asked.

Andoni pointed to a large gondola-type basket in front of them, hanging from a thick rope.

Jason looked at the basket and then up again at the awesome structure. It looked like a giant dovecote; he half expected to see black-robed birds flying out. This was certainly no Vatopedi, where one could just climb a little hill, show a pass, and walk through the gate. Visitors here would be highly visible and thoroughly scrutinized as they tried to enter.

"They're not going to let us in here without a pass, Andoni," said Jason.

"Yes they do, boss." Andoni reached under the tarpaulin-on the donkey's back and pulled out some cloth vestments.

"Ever'body know Andoni." He pointed to Krenski. "And he all right in his cassock. Now, you put on cassock and you be all right too."

He handed Jason the robes and sandals. "I borrow when we leave Vatopedi.-Jason laughed. "You are a wonder, Andoni!"

He slipped the cassock on over his clothes.

"But supposing they speak to me?"

Andoni shrugged. “They got monks from lots of countries. Besides, I do talking."

Jason looked again at the reed basket; shaking his head, he said, "That can't be the only way."

"Yes, boss, only way."

"What's the bell for, Andoni?"

"You ring, somebody bring you up. Better we don' tell ever’body we coming, huh, boss?"

Jason nodded.

Andoni tethered the donkey and said, "I go up first, boss, then I pull you up.”

Andoni went to the basket and stood in it.

"You can't climb up there!"

Andoni laughed. "I do this all time when boy. Sneak out, come home late. Have to get to cell without the monks find out!"

Andoni grabbed the rope and started to shinny up it. It was an amazing display of strength as his powerful arms hauled his great body up and up in a humping series of movements. Up and up he went, his legs scissored around the rope, his arms straining as he grunted himself up foot by foot.

At the top, he swung his legs over the parapet and looked down and grinned. He motioned for Jason and Krenski to get into the basket. Jason climbed in first and then helped Krenski in. He waved to Andoni, and in a moment they felt a jerk and heard the ratcheting as the winch lifted them up into the air.

As they were winched up, Jason looked out over the Aegean, orange now in the hot sunlight. He ventured to look down at the blue grapes against the verdure of the receding earth, far below. He saw the peaches ripening, the fig and walnut trees. The pole beans formed green tepees as he looked down on them from above.

Suspended in space, high above the sea, he felt also suspended in time; he could already see how this primitive way of life might have a profound attraction.

"I hope you have a plan once we get up there” he said to Krenski.

"The plan, as I see it, is no plan. We lie low and wait for a chance to get at the chapel, and hope that Andoni was not exaggerating about knowing where the treasury hiding place is."

"Supposing we just play it straight. Confront Constantine, tell him what we know, and demand to see the originals?"

"Insanity." Paul shook his head. "My friend, you are dealing with fanatics."

"But if we tell him that we have seen the photos, that I have the negatives of some of them — "

"Jesus, you don't have those with you?" 

Jason shook, his head. I’ m not that dumb. But knowing that, won’t he want to talk to us?”

"Knowing that, he'll want to expel us, denounce us, and probably burn the originals. No, believe me, theft is the only way."

"Then what do we do with them?"

"That, as Mr. Kipling said, is another story."

They were nearing the top.

"Paul," Jason started hesitantly, "may I ask you something?"

"I think I can guess," He said with a small smile. "Do I believe in the scrolls' authenticity?"

Jason nodded.

"Of course I do," Krenski said. "Otherwise I've wasted a good part of my life. When not actually working on them, I was thinking about them. Of course they're authentic. That is, they are old, they are of the era they purport to be, and the language is faultless."

"But—"

"Now, if you ask whether I believe the story they tell— who's to know? A hoax? I seriously doubt it. They didn't play religious games in those days. Writing materials were too hard to come by then for frivolity. That was back about 60 A.D. That kind of hoax—holy shrouds and pieces of the True Cross and all that—didn't come in until the fifteenth century."

"So, then..."

But they had reached the top. Andoni locked the winch and helped them step out of the basket onto a little landing platform. "Welcome to Simonopetra," the big man said in a hoarse whisper.

Bells began to ring, some deep and full-throated, some metallic, some pealing melodiously. Bells on every balcony rang out.

"Vespers? This early?"

"No, boss, matins!" Andoni said. "Monks here on different time schedule. Different calendar, too. Thirteen days later than us."

"Good," said Krenski. "We won't be noticed."

They walked through an arch and down a narrow, cobblestone-paved tunnel to a big square. They hung back in the shadows and watched the monks9, like columns of black ante streaming across the courtyard and around the huge fountain in silent rows toward one of the chapels.

"Outrageous said Andoni with a smile. "This afternoon they use that chapel, not kathlikon!” He pointed to the opposite side of the square, where the huge red church stood. "Used to be, they keep those important things in kathlikon. That where I see when the monks open the... how you say, script?"

"Crypt,"

"Altar table look like regular altar. Got beautiful linen on it, all embroider and lace and candles. But the top—big white marble slab. Under that slab, they keep treasure. They bring out treasure for special time, like saints days. That why some things, they no get burned in big fires. The safe in that marble script."

"How do we get in?" Jason asked. There are two big monks standing in front."

"They sort of guards," said Andoni. "We go around back. But we gotta cross square first. Gotta act natural."

He stepped out into the courtyard, and Krenski and Jason followed. In his attempt to "act natural” Jason held his hands behind his back and strolled out onto the big flagstones.

Andoni looked back; then, frowning, he hissed, "Boss, don’ do that! Monk never put hands behind back!

"It's a sign of the denial of Christ.”  explained Krenski.

They went across the square, not quite ambling, but not walking too purposefully either. Andoni led them past the fountain, past the marble wellhouse, to a corner of the square about one hundred feet from the kathlikon. There was a narrow alley, and, after glancing around to see that the monks weren't watching, he stepped into it, motioning Jason and Krenski to follow.

They ran down the alley, turned the corner, and dashed to the back of the big church. There was a small wooden door with blistered blue paint peeling off it; a rusted lock hung above the rusted knob.

Andoni cursed. "I forget about lock!”

He took a large folding knife from his pocket, snapped it open, and began prying at the hasp. He cursed in Greek as he worked at it, digging into the crumbling wood around the screws.

In a few minutes he was able to yank the screws out of the wood and the door swung open; It was pitch black inside.

Andoni crossed himself and said, "You go in, boss. I stay guard here. Don't stay long. We get the hell out of here. I don't like this job."

There were three lanterns on the floor inside the door. Jason took out a match and lit the wick in one. By its light he could see a long, narrow corridor, almost a tunnel. He stepped in and motioned to Paul, and they went down the corridor cautiously. The stench was almost overwhelming, a mixture of hundreds of years of mustiness and urinations, both animal and human. There was no sound except the slapping of their sandals and the scurrying of two black rats in front of them.

After thirty feet, they came to some steps. Jason stopped, took off his sandals, and put them in the pocket of his cassock, and Krenski did likewise. They went up the steps slowly and came to a wooden door. Jason eased back the bolt and opened the door slowly and stepped through. Krenski followed. They were behind the altar, and Jason could see, by the light of one great candle, the Byzantine icon of Christ. In the incensed mustiness, Jason sneezed. As it echoed, they looked around quickly and waited for disaster to strike, but there was no one in the church, which, in the gloom, seemed as big as an airplane hangar.

Jason whispered, "The altar table!" ' Krenski's eyes flashed and he led the way past the iconostasi screen to the area behind: the bema. There was the huge marble table. It was a sarcophagus.

Paul pointed to it and hissed, "Yes! The only place it could be. God bless Andoni!"

He quickly grabbed up the objects on the table, the silver chalice, the gold cross, the candelabra, and handed them to Jason, who put them quietly on the floor. Then Paul whipped off the ornately embroidered cloth, exposing the great white marble crypt.

"See!" Krenski exulted. "Andoni was right. It is a vault!"

A barely discernible crack outlined the lid cut in the marble.

"Help me!" Krenski bent, the palms of his hands pressed against the lip of the marble lid Jason did the same.

"Now!”

They both strained, and the heavy lid gave a little. They pushed and slid the marble slab inch by inch until they had a fair clearance to the contents inside. Jason held the lantern over the opening, and the sight that met their eyes was staggering. The light reflected off great piles of jewelry of incalculable beauty and value: tiaras, raw gold, worked gold, cut diamonds, uncut diamonds, swords with dazzling pearl and ruby hilts, crosses inlaid with emeralds, lapis lazuli, sapphires, jade, turquoise, and golden topaz. There were small-jeweled boxes with glass windows revealing rare and sacred relics.

"Lord God above," whispered Krenski. , In one corner Jason saw what appeared to be a silver box almost buried under gold medallions. He leaned far down into the crypt and brushed the medallions off the box and pointed it out to Krenski.

It was an ornate, ancient box, a twin to the one Jason had seen in the locked cellar he'd broken into at Vatopedi.

"Yes!" breathed Krenski; "Oh, yes, yes!"

He helped Jason lift it out and put it on the side of the crypt.

Then Jason saw it: a small leaded-glass box, much like the others in the crypt that contained relics, but this one was not jeweled. Through the heavy glass, Jason could see the withered remains of a small brown hand! Could it be that he was actually looking at the hand of Lael? He stood gazing down at it for a long moment; an engraved plate had Greek writing on it, and Jason glanced at Krenski, but the man was in a frenzy of activity, releasing the catches on the silver box, his hands shaking, perspiration dripping from his face. Jason watched as he pulled out a scroll gingerly.

"It's Aramaic!" Krenski hissed with elation. He flipped through the rest of the contents in the box. There were scrolls, photos, and Greek and English translations.

"This is it! All of it!" He grabbed the translation and went toward the last pages, the unknown part.

"Listen... listen!" he whispered as he began to read, faster and faster in his excitement. Jason stood listening to the words as he looked down into the little glass box, transfixed. How long... how long had the left hand of Mary Lael been hidden away here on Mount Athos, here with the scrolls, the story of her life... Mary—Lael—Magdalene...

Krenski's voice was low and urgent.

Then Lael came near and said, "Come, John, for we have work to do."

And so we went to the tomb and she spoke to the guard, and such was her power that he fell fast asleep against the boulder. And she commanded me to roll back the great round stone that blocked the tomb. And I said, "I am but one man, and small. It would take four men to remove that rock."

And she said, "John, move the rock." And I tried, and the great rock moved as though it were a small stone. We went into the tomb, which was lit only by the light of one candle. And Jesus' body was on a shelf, wrapped in the linen cloth and facing toward Jerusalem. She quietly moaned over Jesus’ body when she saw it, and she embraced him and held him in her arms. It was then that the spirit of the divine departed from Lael, and left her body to return to Heaven. And this explosion, this blinding light, this separation of the Divine from the human identity, was like lightning, and I could see that it burned an imprint on the shroud in which Jesus’ body was wrapped.

From that moment on, the rest was deception. Lael and I brought out the body of the Master and we placed it lovingly across the donkey's back. Then Lael started away with the animal, and I, too, walked along on the other side. Lael turned to me and said, "Thank you, John. I will now take Jesus to a secret place and bury him."

She wanted to do this alone, so then it was that I took my leave of her.

And I said to her, "When you are ready, come to us in Ephesus, for it is there that Mary and I are to go. None of us will ever be safe here again. I can already feel evil forces moving about us, threatening us."

And she answered, "When I am ready and finished with what I must do here, I shall come to you."

And I watched as she walked the path, and I wondered where she would take Jesus. And she looked so desolate and alone that I called after her asking, "Can I be of no help to you?"

And she only shook her head. Her eyes answered no questions. Yet in those all-knowing eyes I saw the knowledge of her own doom, and, I feared, mine.

Again she started up the path, leading the ass that bore the body of Jesus; and over the city of Jerusalem, night fell.

And it came to pass that the news spread overall the nation that Jesus was risen from the dead. People were looking for him in the street, and the disciples believed they recognized him under all manner of disguises. The legend was alive; the fires were burning; the Word was being spread.

But already evil people are gathering in the name of Christ, and if God chooses to leave me on earth to continue the fight for the souls of men, my next task will be to deal with those who do evil in the name of the Christ. And tomorrow I must..."

"That is the end," said Krenski, and he sighed.

"Just like that?" Jason said.

Krenski nodded.

Jason again looked down at the little hand in the box and said, "But then... then what happened to Lael? Did she go to Ephesus with John and Mary?"

'There is a short codicil here about what finally happened to hers. And all this is the true word of John; it is no hoax."

Suddenly another voice rang out in the katholikon. "Mr. Van Cleve!" It echoed in the dome of the church.

The words came from behind them. Two monks with wooden

staffs flanked Constantine. His small body was erect, his voice calm but strong.

Jason instinctively reached for his pistol and drew it.

"A murder weapon, Mr. Van Cleve?" Constantine said, not slackening his pace. "You, a man of peace, a man of culture, dealing with murder weapons?"

Jason put the pistol on the altar next to the lantern. There was something in Constantine's voice that made him obey instantly.

The monks marched toward them relentlessly, like executioners, but then the abbot put out a restraining-hand and they stopped. Constantine's eyes moved from Jason to Krenski and back again.

"We have committed no crime,” Jason said.

Constantine pointed to the scrolls and the treasures.

"Not even sacrilege?" he suggested.

"Nor sacrilege either," said Krenski. "We are not after anything here but the truth!"

"Whose truth?" asked Constantine contemptuously. "Yours or mine?"

"There can only be one truth," Jason said.

"Wrong, Mr. Van Cleve," Constantine replied. 'Truth wears many faces. Some of them are deceiving."

Krenski said, "And you, sir—does it constitute truth to masquerade as a holy man, yet at the same time suppress historical biblical documents?"

"Who is to say whether they are either historical or biblical?"

"Why not get them out in the open, out where experts can examine them, test them, and either accept or denounce them?"

"Ah, you would like that, wouldn't you, Mr. Krenski?"

Paul was startled. "You remember me?"

"Of course," said Constantine. "I also recall how quickly you lost your vocation, your desire to serve God as a monk, when you thought you had found the Ephesus scrolls. How could I forget your determination to tell the world about them, to destroy the faith of millions? You would make a great name for yourself as translator and champion of the scrolls, while destroying the greatest religion the world has ever known."

Jason couldn't help interjecting, "But you have read them. Are they so blasphemous? Just because they tell the same story, the same philosophy in a different way? Do you regard Christians as so unknowing and unbending and unintelligent that they couldn't accept this new version without losing their faith?"

"Regrettably, Mr. Van Cleve, most of the world, Christian or otherwise, is uneducated. What they have believed, what their families have believed for centuries—the Gospel, in all sense of the word—should not, must not, be so casually stripped from them. Perhaps these new revelations, whether they believed them or not, would not shake their faith. But there is a great risk. No one has the right to test the faithful of the world, especially when the Church has so many enemies, both religious and political, who would like nothing better then to come across such a weapon with which to split Christianity.

"You mean to deepen the existing split between the Roman and Orthodox churches?" said Paul. "In other words, you don't want me spilling the beans about the scrolls. You want to hang on to them for your own political use when the time comes to up yourself in the Church!"

Constantine's eyes narrowed into black slits.

"Your remarks are as untrue as they are impertinent. My reasons are strictly moral ones."

"And it is moral to do anything to suppress these scrolls?" Jason asked. "Even to kill?"

Constantine's ivory brow wrinkled above his black eyebrows. "Kill, Mr. Van Cleve? I have killed no one ever— either personally or through an agent.”

"You didn't have Phillips Taylor and Nestor Lascaris killed?"

The old abbot shook his head vehemently. "I do not kill. We do not kill here on Mount Athos. Look to Rome for your killers, not to these blessed monasteries. Now you will leave Simonopetra. We harbor no ill will, but we wish you to leave this sacred peninsula at once and return to your own world."

"And if we tell that world about the scrolls?" asked Jason.

Constantine smiled. "Without proof, your allegations will be dismissed by all but a credulous few."

"Ah, but we have proof!" said Paul, as he grabbed the papers from the box and brandished them. "And the world will judge. The scientists and experts will judge!"

"Put them down, Paul," commanded Constantine in a calm, low voice.

"I have them now," panted Paul, and Jason heard the hysteria in the man's voice. "I have them and you will never get them back until the world knows about them! The entire world!"

"Put them down, Paul," repeated Constantine with a sigh, and he and his monks moved toward him.

Paul snatched up Jason's pistol from the altar and pointed it at the abbot.

"Stop where you are!"

The abbot held out his hand, pointing his finger at Paul's eyes.

"Come, Paul, we should not be enemies. Put away the gun. Put the papers back in their rightful place.”

So hypnotic, so forceful were his words that Paul hesitated, then turned slightly, mechanically, and put the papers back in the silver chest. But then he whirled and leveled the pistol again at Constantine, his hand shaking.

"We will take the whole box! The scrolls, the photographs, the translations—"

He grabbed at the box, still holding the pistol, and lifted it off the altar. A monk leaped forward and brought his staff down on Krenski's arm. The pistol went off as it dropped from Krenski's hand and clattered to the floor. A second staff arced in a backhand swing, caught Krenski on the side of the head, and slammed him to the foot of the altar.

Jason dropped to one knee.

"Paul!"

His brow was split and blood seeped from it; he was unconscious, but he was not badly hurt.

Then Jason raised his head and saw Constantine. The old man was lying on the floor, and the monks were hovering around him in consternation. Jason went quickly to them. He saw that there was a bullet hole in the abbot's neck, and blood was spurting out. Jason knelt down and pressed his thumb against the carotid artery, stemming the flow of blood.

"Get a doctor! Do you have a doctor here?" Jason asked the monks, who were mumbling prayers. One of them got up and ran out of the church.

"Father Constantine," Jason said, a catch in his voice. "It was an accident! He did not mean to shoot you, Fm sure. We meant no harm, ever!"

Constantine moved his hand feebly, as though he understood and forgave. Jason took the wrist of the old man; his pulse was getting weaker.

"The story of Lael," Constantine gasped hoarsely. "All because of that story..."

Jason stroked his head and asked, "Sir, is it a true story?" * Constantine smiled slightly. "What do you think... my son?"

A monk folded a clean linen cloth from the altar and pressed against the wound. Jason held it in place. The bleeding was subsiding.

"The scrolls," Jason said. "I think Krenski was right they belong to the people. They should know—"

The old abbot narrowed his eyes and gathered his strength.

"No!" he rasped. "Wars! Betrayals of faith! This story... if published... means bloodshed of epidemic proportions!" '

He grabbed for Jason's hand and squeezed it.

"Promise!" he begged. "Promise to forget... forget... promise you will not..."

His eyes closed and he caught his breath with the pain, then let it out a little at a time, testing the pain as he exhaled. Finally he opened his eyes and went on, "Your own safety... people will always..."

"Who are these people, these anonymous people?"

"Guardians! Fanatics! Unofficial... Guardians of the Faith... in Rome."

"The Vatican, then?"

"No, no!" Constantine closed his eyes again for a moment. "A cardinal at the Vatican, yes... Tobin."

'Tobin?" The one Krenski had mentioned!

The old abbot opened his eves and nodded, and the action started the bleeding again from the wound in his neck. He tried to sit up and started coughing. Blood came gurgling out of his mouth.          '

"Sir, do not try to talk anymore," Jason said as he tried to support the man in a more comfortable position.

Constantine went on. "Tobin... a maniac... head of a secret society. Uses it... for personal power. Goes back…to early history of the Church. First victim... was John."

"John?"

"In Ephesus. John."

"The Apostle John? He was murdered."

The old man nodded. "The Guardians."

"And Lael?"

Constantine whispered something.

"What? I don't understand."

He whispered it again. Jason wasn't quite sure of what he said. Three gasps and a shudder and the old man was dead.

The monk who'd been giving Constantine last rites began to weep silently. Then the front doors of the chapel burst open and a dozen monks rushed in most of them brandishing sticks and clubs. At the same time, Andoni appeared from behind the altar.

“Boss! What's goin' on in here?"

Then he saw the oncoming monks. "Let's get out of here, boss!"

Jason got up hurriedly as the monks ran to their fallen abbot. They glanced briefly at the corpse, then started menacingly toward Jason.

'Tell them, Andoni," Jason said out of the corner of his mouth as he backed up. 'Tell them in Greek—I didn't kill him!"

"Who did, boss?"

Jason jerked his head toward Krenski, still unconscious at the foot of the altar. "An accident!"

Jason edged back to where Krenski lay, and picked up the pistol as the band of monks, clubs raised, advanced slowly, muttering and growling.

'Tell them!"

"No use, boss, they no believe me! Back way, boss, quick!"

Andoni kicked over the lantern and it crashed into the silver box. Then, with a backhand slap, he knocked down the big candle.

"Run, boss!" shouted Andoni. "Forget Krenski."

Jason froze. He didn't know what to do: leave Paul to the enraged mob of monks and save himself as well as Andoni, or try to rescue the unconscious translator who would do nothing but impede their progress out of the monastery and lead to no one's escaping.

But his mind was made up for him. The blazing kerosene from the lantern ran over the photographs and scrolls in the box and over the altar, creating a barrier of fire. Deciding he'd alert authorities anonymously when he reached town—if he did—and leave it to them to retrieve the translator, he jumped in behind Andoni as the guide cried 'This way!" They passed behind the altar to the little door in the rear, bolted it, and raced down the steps. Krenski would be fine until the authorities arrived. The monks could do no more than imprison him, and with help from the American Embassy in Athens, Krenski's imprisonment wouldn't last long. "Hang on to my belt, boss!"

They went through the black corridors fast and then down some steps, through the last door, and finally they were outside in the fading light of the afternoon.

It was dusk, and the air smelled fresh and clean after the dank corridors and the incense of the musty chapel. Jason took the sandals out of his cassock and put them on quickly. They dashed across the yard and into a short tunnel. When they emerged from the tunnel, they could see the elevator basket and they sprinted for it. They got in and Andoni released the ratchet. He controlled the speed of their descent with a handle that pressed against the rope.

"Faster, Andoni!" said Jason as he looked up and saw the heads of the angry monks appearing over the wall above them.

"Fast as we can without we jus' fall, boss!"

About ten feet from the ground, the basket came to an abrupt halt. Then it started to go back up. Jason looked up and saw the monks winding them back up as though reeling in a big fish.

"Jump, Andoni!"

Andoni looked down as the basket continued to rise. Then he looked up at the monks.

Jason pushed him over the side with his foot, and Andoni fell to the ground, landing awkwardly in a sitting position near the rows of beehives. Then Jason spilled over the side and lit on his feet with a great jolt. He went over to Andoni, who sat moaning on the ground. He helped the big man to his feet, but Andoni cried out, "Boss, I think I got broken foot!"

"Lean on me, Andoni."

He put his arm around Jason's shoulder. "Get me to Mangas. I can ride him." He hobbled to where the donkey was tethered. Jason boosted the man onto the animal's back, then glanced up toward the monastery. The elevator basket was descending with four monks in it.

Andoni saw it too, and said, "Your pistol, boss!”

Jason shook his head. "I can't kill a monk!"

"Then they kill you, boss! Me and Mangas too!"

Jason swatted the donkey on the rump, saying, "Get going, Andoni! Mangas can outrun them! Get going!"

"Boss, wait..." Andoni called, but the little burro had started down the trail as fast as he could go with Andoni clinging to him, and they were soon out of sight in the trees and underbrush.

And then Jason heard a familiar sound, a strangely modern sound in these environs of antiquity. It was the whack-whack-whack of helicopter blades. Jason looked up, shielding his eyes against the setting sun, and saw the aircraft. He waved his arms frantically.

The monks were down now, climbing out of the basket, and heading for Jason at a dead run, clubs raised.

The helicopter swooped down and swung in toward a level patch of ground, its whirring blades kicking up dirt and pebbles.

The monks were closer than he'd expected when he looked back. They were taking a shortcut through the apiary toward him, zigzagging through the skeps, the conical beehives made of straw.

Jason raised his pistol and sent his last bullet into one of the hives. The shot tore into the side of the bees' straw home, and a small swarm came out. The insects flew around the monks, who batted at them as they kept running and running. Jason turned desperately toward the helicopter as it landed.

He froze when he saw who was getting out of the craft. It was Taylor, and she had an automatic shotgun, which she was raising to her shoulder.

God, Jason thought. She's going to kill me herself!

But no, she was pointing the gun toward the onrushing monks. There was a blast from the gun, and one of the beehives exploded from the force of the pellets. Then another and another and still another. Great brown clouds of angry bees swarmed out and attacked the closest things to them—the monks. Screaming, the men slapped at their assailants, rolled on the ground, and ran back in panic toward the monastery.

As Jason started to go to Taylor, he heard a voice calling "Bravo! Bravo!" It was Andoni's voice.

"What are you doing here?" Jason asked.

The old Greek smiled. "Come back to save you, boss. I always do, don' I?" He limped and placed his hands on Jason's shoulders.

"Besides," he said, "I want to make sure you get out of here okay."

“Why?"

"What you mean, why? You still owe me half my money!" He gave a thunderous laugh. "Outrageous!"

Jason pointed to the helicopter.

"You are coming with us?" he said.

Andoni's eyes narrowed as he looked at the chopper.

"Oh, no, boss," he said. "I...I can't."

"What's the matter, Andoni? Are you afraid of the flying machine?"

"Me? Afraid? That's outrageous! The way you speak about, me, boss, the lady will think I am some kind of coward."

He leaned forward and whispered, "Besides, how can I go on flying machine? I have to take care of Mangas!"

They embraced each other and smiled, then Andoni limped back to his donkey.

Jason turned and walked over to where Taylor stood by the helicopter.

"Hello," he said awkwardly.

"Hello," she whispered.

"Thank you, Miss Oakley," he said.

She smiled. "And to think, my mother disapproved of my taking up skeet shooting."

Jason took the shotgun from her and kissed her gently, then harder, and she kissed him back fervently and clung to him.

"Oh, Jason, I've got so much to tell you," she said. "Jonny is okay and I couldn't tell you about the kidnapping—"

Al leaned out of the copter and yelled, "We'd better get goin'! If those monks find out there's a woman on their sacred soil, they'll really be mad!"

Jason smiled down at Taylor and they walked the few yards to the helicopter and he helped her into the cabin.

Even over the whir of the turning blades of the aircraft, Jason could hear the plaintive chapel bells of Simonopetra, spreading their vibrant sounds of grief through the valley.

As the helicopter lifted, he took Taylor's hand in his and thought of the tumultuous days, of the people whose lives he had invaded, and who had changed him in ways he still could not quite appreciate. And all for some scrolls that might now be reduced to mere ashes, to remain only as a memory in his mind. What to do with the wealth of information he'd been exposed to in less than a week.

"Forget them! Forget them!" the dying abbot had begged. Forget Paul Krenski's dream? Forget his own yearning for the truth about them, which by now bordered on obsession? Forget the several lives that had been lost over them? Was he a reporter or not? Quit a story in midstream?

Like Scarlett, he would think about it tomorrow. Right now he was safe, next to the woman he'd grown to love. He could see Andoni, waving happily, on the path down below them. The very last rays of the sun were turning the Aegean into a tranquil white-gold carpet. One by one the magnificent façades of Simonopetra, Gregoriou, Dionysiou, and the other monasteries gradually cloaked themselves shyly in the lavender of the twilight.

Jason said, "God, I'm glad you're safe!"

She squeezed his hand. They were silent for a moment, then she asked, "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"More, much more. The very hand of Lael—I saw it."

"And…and what happened to her? Did you find out?"

Jason swallowed and said, "Constantine said that John the Apostle was the first victim of the Guardians…”

"Yes?"

Lord, why was he moved almost to tears? Was it fatigue? Or had he too begun to swallow the story of the scrolls?

"And the second was...I think he said..."

"Yes?"

"The second was Lael."

Taylor sucked in her breath.

AI swiveled in the cockpit. "Hey, fun-seekers, where to? I mean, the Rozmyslowski Travel Service may be a little hard to pronounce, but we aim to please! So anywhere you want to aim, folks, we aim. Fiji, Katmandu, Moorea, or Fresno, just say the word!"

Jason's mouth widened slightly, but it really wasn't a smile. "Rome," he said flatly. "A little unfinished business in Rome."