Dead Bishops Don't Lie, page 12
The variety of ages surprised her. Women outnumbered men about two to one. Sarah introduced Karen and seated her between herself and a gaunt, bespectacled man, who introduced himself as Domenico, an ex-Catholic priest.
“How did you hear about Pistis Sophia?” he asked Karen.
“I’m a mythologist. I’ll be studying in the library for a few days.”
“Oh?” replied Domenico. “Then you are interested in the rites of the tradition?”
“Mainly, yes.”
“Are you Catholic?”
Karen paused, surprised at the intrusion. “Sometimes.” She looked away, inferring the subject was closed.
After dinner, Lady Sarah welcomed all and introduced the next morning’s speaker, a tall blond woman in her mid-forties, who, apart from her pointed head, looked Germanic.
“Mary Koeller will go over with you the historical origins of Pistis Sophia. After that, please feel free to enjoy the grounds and activities at Chateau d’Or. Monsieur L’Espérance will direct you to the appropriate instructors. Oh, yes, remember the service is at 5:30 p.m. at the amphitheater.” Sarah got up to leave. Looking at Karen, then Anna, she said, “Will you join me for a digestif?”
“Sure,” answered Anna.
Karen nodded and they followed Lady Sarah outside.
The night breeze filled in and slowly cooled the terrace, as the women settled into the lounge chairs, overlooking the moon’s reflection on an ocean of silver.
After ordering her drink, Anna broke the growing silence. “Can you recommend some reading material for me tonight, for my course?” she asked Sarah.
“I think I have a copy of Pistis Sophia, Early Beginnings. Let me ask the butler to fetch it.”
“I’d like a copy also, if you have another,” chimed in Karen.
“I’ll see what I can do,” answered Lady Sarah.
They sipped their drinks and the discomfort grew, the small talk clearly masking deeper issues, inappropriate to bring up.
Moments later, the butler reappeared, carrying a book which he handed to Lady Sarah. “I’m afraid there is only one copy left, your ladyship.”
“I see. Who shall it be, then?” said Sarah, eyeing Anna, then Karen.
Seizing the occasion, Karen said, “Actually, I’m feeling a bit tired. Let Anna read it. I think I’ll turn in.”
Anna took the book, and the threesome retired to their rooms.
* * *
Karen entered her bedroom and thought, do I lock the door? Clear message to anyone that I don’t want to be disturbed. Maybe too clear. If I leave it unlocked, is it an invitation to enter? She locked the door. She felt her pulse quicken, her body adapting to its new surroundings, and she turned off the light. Half an hour later, not yet asleep, she thought she could hear, yes, definitely, she heard the sound of muffled footsteps and the rustling of silk approaching. Then, nothing. She tensed, sat upright, motionless. The door handle, almost imperceptibly, turned clockwise. She could almost feel the pressure on the reluctant door. She waited, breathless, as the pressure ebbed and the door handle turned slowly back. The footsteps and rustling resumed, then faded. She crumpled up her duvet pillow, turned onto her side and fell asleep.
Chapter 32
After breakfast, Karen walked briskly to the library and started poring over the voluminous indexes of the world-renowned collection, cross-referenced and computerized.
At the side, a dust-free room, vaulted and with humidity control, protected the priceless manuscripts from the ravages of time. Nag Hammadi originals of the Gospel of Thomas sheltered under bulletproof glass. Crisscrossing lasers warned any would-be intruders of the futility of any theft attempt. She marveled at the documents’ state of preservation, which continued to endure through centuries due to the dryness of the desert and the monks’ initial sealing of the Coptic jars.
She focused her research on the role of animals in Gnostic traditions. Specifically, what were the meanings of the bull, lion, eagle, and serpent in the Pistis Sophia tradition, and how had they become inscribed in its motif? Was there a link between the early developing Orthodox Catholic Church and its choice of these animals to symbolize the evangelists, and the Pistis Sophia motif? Which had preceded the other?
As the bell rang for lunch, Karen saw the marchioness about to sit down with the ex-priest again and joined them. “Would it be possible for Anna and me to see the Eastland?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” said Lady Sarah. “Why don’t we go down to the dock after lunch. I’m sure we can pry the captain away from his duties for a few moments.”
* * *
“Welcome aboard,” said Captain Kostas Stephanopoulos, a stout, mustachioed man with a sweaty complexion. He extended his grizzly, hair-covered hand to each of the women as they stepped off the gangplank onto the afterdeck of the Eastland. “We start below,” he said, leading them across the afterdeck, through a watertight door, and down a steep ladder into the bowels of the rusted vessel, musty with the smell of diesel. “Watch your step”, he said. Then, pointing to the shoes of his visitors, he added, “Don’t catch heels in the grating.”
The engine room was vast, impressive, and complicated, to the uneducated eyes of the women. Two huge 970 HP MAN diesels stood ominously silent, side-by-side, like hunched metal mammoths, ready to be unleashed at the captain’s command.
“What’s its top speed?” asked Karen, vying for safety in her questions.
“Thirty-five knots with the hydrofoils,” answered the captain, as he pointed to large, boxlike metal housings in each side of the hull.
Why does an archaeological vessel need so much speed? Karen thought of asking, but bit her tongue.
“Motors and pumps for the hoses,” said the captain, pointing to two cone-shaped pumps.
“How does it work?” asked Karen.
“Pumps mix air and water here and send into the hoses,” answered Kostas, as if all this was self-evident. “We control hose ends with electric motors. Now, we go up to the bridge. Come, I show you.”
On the bridge, Karen was surprised at the simplicity of the controls. She had expected to see a vast array of screens, wheels, levers, similar to what she had witnessed as a child, on the bridge of her father’s sports-fisherman yacht in Florida. Under the angled windows, only two screens; two long, curved levers; and two small stubby levers occupied the otherwise-bare console.
“Where is the wheel?” risked Karen, feeling the question to be stupid but necessary.
“No more wheel,” replied the captain triumphantly, as he fondled the rubber top of one of the small levers. “Joystick controls all moves. No more rudders. Eastland can turn on itself.” He described an unscrewing circular motion with his right hand.
“What are the other two levers?” asked Karen, reassured that her previous question had allowed the captain to explain the mysteries of his ship.
“For the pumps.”
Karen noticed the two small black labels reading “Pressure-Suction” under one of the levers. “Why ‘Suction’?” asked Karen.
The captain took a deep breath, noticeably irritated: “To help flush the hoses.” He pointed out the second screen and the other lever. “These control hoses and underwater cameras.”
“Come, ladies, let’s let Captain Stephanopoulos get on with his work,” said the marchioness, seemingly restless and heading towards the lower deck staircase.
“Where are you looking next?” Karen asked the captain.
“Confidential,” replied Stephanopoulos, smiling at the marchioness under his graying mustache, revealing spaced teeth yellowed by years of neglect or tobacco.
“I’ll join you later, ladies,” said Sarah, “I have to speak with the captain for a moment.”
Karen and Anna glanced once more at the strange-looking funnels on the stern of the Eastland, and made their way back up the road to the Chateau. As they walked, Anna turned to Karen, “We saw what they wanted us to see. I’d like to take a closer look.”
“What do you mean?”
“What about late tonight?”
“You mean go aboard again?” asked Karen, incredulous.
“He didn’t show us any of the storage areas.”
“How would we get aboard?”
“By the stern platform, once the crew has left. What do you think?”
“I think it’s called trespassing.”
* * *
Later at supper, Lady Sarah was absent. The setting at the head of the table was still there, indicating a last-minute change.
“How are the introductory courses going?” asked Karen of her neighbor, a fair-haired young man with an unshaved face.
“It’s the most liberating experience I’ve ever had. Pistis Sophia is going to attract the Catholic youth of today,” he said. “How can we Catholics go on droning and repeating that unbelievable Credo, drafted some seventeen hundred years ago by a bunch of cowering bishops under the orders of that murdering tyrant, Constantine? It’s totally irrelevant. I just came back from the Pistis ceremony. Their Credo focuses on hope. I’m into hope, not dogma.”
“What if you think of the Catholic Credo allegorically, instead of literally?” asked Karen.
“I guess that would help,” replied the young man, “but we’ve been taught to take every word of the New Testament as historical fact. It would take a long, long time to rethink in allegorical terms. What about you?”
“I’m a mythologist,” replied Karen, “so it’s easier for me. But I agree that the Church has a credibility problem. Besides, even allegories, or myths as we call them, need some connection with reality. Myths that don’t, have outlived their purpose. The Greeks developed new myths and discarded old ones. The Catholic Church doesn’t want to understand that.”
“I often wonder where the Church will recruit its faithful, in the future, I mean,” replied the young man.
“I guess from Africa and Latin America. The religious divide follows the economic divide between North and South.”
“Have you attended any sessions?”
“No. I’ve been busy working in the library.”
At supper’s end, Karen saw Anna rising to leave, eyeing her, then the hallway entrance. Karen got up.
“Maybe we can continue this conversation later?” asked the young man.
“Yes, some other time.”
* * *
“We’ll go down to the dock at eleven tonight,” said Anna. “By that time, the crew should’ve left and we can take a quiet look. I’ll bring a flashlight. Don’t forget to lock your door.”
“I didn’t think I had agreed to this insanity,” said Karen. “Besides, even if I had, how would we get from our rooms to outside the Chateau without being seen?”
“The fire escape stairs in the back, next to the salon. Do you have soft-soled shoes?”
“My tennis shoes.”
“Wear them.”
Karen thought, if we get caught, all I have to do is outrun her.
Chapter 33
Dulac picked up his ringing cell, “Dulac.”
“Petrov here. Nicola Vasilieva phoned us. She says she has Vasiliev’s confession. Apparently he names the contractor who ordered the killings of the archbishops. We do not know how she got it but she’s carrying fifty thousand dollars of Vasiliev’s money.”
“She’s running around Moscow with fifty thousand in cash?”
“She doesn’t trust the banks. She wants to make exchange. This for seventy-five thousand Canadian dollars and a visa. She wants to go to a Canadian medical school.”
“Bizarre. Why the exchange for Canadian money?” said Dulac, thinking she was right not to trust the banks.
“She says it’s dirty money.”
“I see,” replied Dulac. “Well, if it’s any help, we’ve made such deals before.”
“She wants an answer in three days.”
“As they say in America: go for it.”
“You know the Canadian ambassador in France, yes?”
Dulac hesitated. How could Petrov know this? Through his father, Dulac had contacts in the diplomatic corps. Obviously, the FSB knew more than he thought.
“I’ll contact him. Petrov, you must get that letter. If the mafia hears of this, she’s as good as—”
“Don’t worry. This time, no mistake.”
Dulac believed him. If he screwed up again, Petrov would be lucky to be arresting drunks off the permafrosted streets of Irkutsk.
“We’ll take care of the visa. You take care of the rest,” said Dulac.
“What if she is lying?” said Petrov.
“You’ll know before she gets on the plane.”
“Da, you are right. Plenty of time to stop if she doesn’t have the letter. I will tell Nicola we agree.”
Chapter 34
At 10:45 p.m. Karen heard a soft rap on her door.
“Anna?”
“Yes. Ready?”
“Coming.” Reluctantly, Karen put on her windbreaker. She left her nightclothes on the chair, and rolled back the cover on the bed. If anyone were to come in the room, her story was that she couldn’t sleep, and went for an evening walk. She locked the door.
The two approached the sparsely lit cement dock, and Karen saw that only the small courtesy lights shone from the deck of the Eastland. They were in luck. The gangplank had been left in place, ready for boarding. The women crouched in silence behind a row of rhododendrons, on the other side of the road parallel to the jetty. Karen looked for any signs of activity on the Eastland.
“Here goes,” whispered Anna. She crossed the road and approached the gangplank, while Karen waited in the darkness.
Karen saw Anna board the Eastland, crouching low. Suddenly, Karen felt something cold on her left ankle. “Oh!!” she let out uncontrollably. She looked down, and a small lizard scampered into the bush.
Halfway along the gangplank Anna froze. She waited for a reaction on the Eastland. Nothing. Anna signaled Karen to board.
They crept cautiously across the aft deck, and Karen saw bundles of ropes, neatly coiled and pegged along the bulwark, their loops draped loosely onto the deck. She stepped carefully to avoid tripping on the threatening snares. A strong scent of industry-grade soap arose from the freshly scrubbed deck, moist from the evening dew.
“Let’s go below,” said Anna.
“No way,” replied Karen, feeling more and more uncomfortable.
“Something’s definitely wrong here.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know but there’s only one way to find out.” Anna opened the watertight door and started down the metal staircase to the engine room below. She turned to Karen: “Coming?”
“I can’t let you go in there alone.”
The women felt their way down in the semidarkness, when suddenly Karen heard the sound of faraway voices. “Shit, someone’s coming. Let’s get out of here.” They scrambled up the staircase back onto the deck.
Too late. Three men were walking down the jetty, talking as they approached the gangplank. The women ran to the opposite side of the deck, away from the lights of the jetty, and hid behind the port side of the aft cabin.
The men boarded the ship, their voices getting menacingly louder. Karen recognized Stephanopoulos, as he blasted one of the crew for having left the gangplank on deck. Her already jangled nerves tightened a notch.
Karen looked around and saw a small staircase leading from the main deck up to the bridge. Halfway up, off a small platform, a lifeboat hung suspended from davits, its top covered with a canvas cloth. Karen thought that if the men stayed on the starboard side for a moment longer, she and Anna could get to it unseen. It’s now or never. She signaled to Anna, and they tiptoed silently up the staircase.
“Get in,” Karen whispered, unhooking part of the cover. They tumbled into the lifeboat, which creaked upon receiving its clandestine cargo. As they crouched uncomfortably, Karen heard a man’s footsteps starting up the staircase.
I must hook back that cover.
The man neared the small platform, and Karen recognized Stephanopoulos’s voice.
“I start the motor. Check the oil pressure,” he shouted to the crew below.
She fumbled tentatively with the cover, and tried to rehook it to the lifeboat’s gunwale. To no avail. She heard the captain’s breathing getting louder with each footstep. She brought in her hand quickly. Suddenly the footsteps stopped. He hissed heavily.
Shit, he sees it, Karen thought.
After an eternity, the captain’s footsteps resumed, slowly receding as he reached the bridge.
“Just goddamm great,” Karen whispered to Anna. “You got me into this. Now what?”
“Looks like they’re doing some kind of tests.”
The big MAN diesel exploded into life, jolting Karen. She heard Kostas say, “Bringing up to two thousand rpm.” Instantaneously, the engine’s purr became a throaty roar.
“Oil pressure okay, Captain,” yelled a strident voice over the intercom, barely audible over the din of the diesel.
As the motor’s speed slowed again, Karen felt relief. Anna’s right. Just a test. They’re through now.
Then, the second motor started, idled and Kostas shouted, “Prepare to cast off.”
“Jesus, we’re leaving,” whispered Karen, her knees drawn up to her chest, her heart sinking into her tennis shoes.
Fumbling with her flashlight, Anna said, “Shield the light. I’ve got to see the time.” 11:56 p.m. read her bulky watch.
The rumble of the motors increased, sending shards of raw fear into Karen’s heart. Waves were hitting the sides of the Eastland as it started to roll and pitch, heading out to sea. She glanced at Anna, sitting a foot away on the bottom of the lifeboat, fiddling with her watch. “What are you doing?” hissed Karen, irritated at Anna’s tinkering and seeming lack of concern.
