Keohane, G. - Solomon's Grave

Chapter Fifty-Five

Quinn’s words hit Nathan more powerfully than any blow: the risk of Elizabeth being killed now, in a time of her life where she had denied God completely, let alone forsaken whatever superficial Christian beliefs she might have had. To die without God in one’s heart was to die for eternity. It wasn’t a lesson he often liked to preach. The threat of damnation was both a glue holding many to their faith and a deterrent to so many others. In this moment, he realized that her life, both in this world and beyond, was in his hands. It had always been, and until now, he’d failed miserably.

He let go of Elizabeth. Quinn smiled, the smug expression of a victor. “Thank you, Reverend.” He moved a couple of steps closer. “Miss... Elizabeth was it? Please come over here to stand beside this handsome man.”

She looked at Nathan for a moment, with no sign of worry or fear. During the confrontation at the men’s club, he’d felt the power of this man’s voice. He’d been able to resist it, barely and perhaps only through God’s own power in his life.

But Josh and Elizabeth hadn’t had the same shield. This... man... had been able to make Josh kill someone in cold blood. This thought, the despair it offered, was an ache in his chest. He needed to regain some control in the conversation, buy himself some time. He said to Quinn, “You killed Reverend Hayden, didn’t you?”

“So, there is something going on in your head aside from abject terror!” Quinn’s joy at winning was becoming barely contained hysteria. A school boy discovering everything he ever wanted under the Christmas tree.

No one spoke. Manny Paulson had ascended the ladder again, probably acting as lookout. Elizabeth and Josh stood quietly, barely moving. Peter Quinn had one hand to his chin, deep in thought while he looked at the Ark from various angles. At one point, he had stepped over Vincent’s body, giving it no more attention than a piece of trash. He stared, brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, then smoothing out. Satisfied with what he saw, Nathan supposed.

In the glare of the lantern, the Ark looked different. Nathan couldn’t place what it was at first; then, as if a magician’s veil was lifted away, he saw. He looked down, not wanting to let surprise show on his face. He looked back, just in case. He hadn’t imagined it. What had Tarretti said just before he’d been killed? He couldn’t remember. Those last moments were a blur.

At last Quinn looked up, down at the caretaker’s unmoving body, then over to Nathan.

“All right. Here’s what we’ll do, my young Padawan. I am certain that I, being a priest in my own right, could carry this out of here myself. It’s much smaller than I’d expected, but I can feel its power. Do you feel it, too, Reverend?”

Nathan did not answer. He did feel it, but now that whatever power of illusion this thing had held over him was no longer at work, he realized that the energy seemed not to come from in front of him... but rather from behind.

Quinn was nonplussed at the silence. He continued, “However, just to be safe, and to keep my hands free to kill your girlfriend if you try anything stupid, I’ll let you do the honors.”

He bowed dramatically, waving one arm toward the relic. To Josh he added, “Mister Everson, Miss Elizabeth, I would like you two to climb the ladder and stand by Mister Paulson. He is waiting for you.

“And, Mister Dinneck, please come over here and lift my little treasure chest, hmm? Best we gauge how heavy this thing is.” He smiled wider. “Not to mention how dangerous.”

Nathan reminded himself that there was still hope. Bad things had happened, were happening, but there were other layers here that he was now beginning to sense. Quinn was seeing, atop the concrete altar, what they’d all seen. If that was the case, there might be a chance. Not at the moment, but soon. Maybe. All he could think to do was play this psychopath’s game until an opportunity presented itself.

And if he died, well, it would be God’s will. Everything else had been that way up to this point. Though this current wrinkle might not have been in the playbook.

He took a breath, let it out slowly. Quinn watched him with obvious impatience. Nathan took two steps forward and raised his hands to either side of the Ark. This close, he saw its true nature. This was not the Ark of the Covenant, couldn’t be. It wasn’t even a good replica. What had been gold a moment ago was long-faded paint. But he needed to play along. He put his hands against the wooden box’s cool and dusty sides, and lifted.

“Don’t forget to use the knees, young man.” Quinn spoke without humor, too intently waiting for something terrible to happen.

If Quinn saw a gold-laden chest, Nathan needed to struggle. In fact, though the box was a bit heavy, it didn’t weigh nearly as much as it should.

It must be heavy , he told himself. Slowly, bending his knees, though he was certain he could carry this thing with one arm if it wasn’t so bulky, he laid it back down, giving it a slight push onto the concrete to mimic a sense of weight.

“It’s heavy,” he said, trying to sound out of breath.

Quinn smiled gleefully. “As well it should be. I apologize for not giving you enough notice, time to join a gym or something, but time is of the essence.” He nodded to Vincent’s body. “Wouldn’t do for us to be found in here with a dead man. Time to go topside and give Mister Tarretti that decent burial I promised.”

He walked around the room, always facing Nathan, and stopped at the ladder. “After you, Pastor. I’d offer to help, but I’d prefer you carry it until it can be properly consecrated on my own altar.”

In his relief, Nathan thought of a few retorts, but he held his tongue. He couldn’t show too much confidence. Quinn was smart enough to see through most deceptions. The question was, how long before he saw through this one?

He turned back to the box, took a deep breath, and prayed to God that he wouldn’t overact. He lifted it, turned, and took half-steps toward the ladder. As he did, a rope uncurled itself from outside. It was long enough for Nathan to tie securely to his burden and, he assumed, pull it to the surface himself.

“You didn’t think I’d make you carry it up the ladder? You may be young and strapping, but that might be asking a bit much. Lay it down here and tie it off.”

Quinn backed up until he was standing with his back to the wall, allowing Nathan room to put down the box and begin tying the rope in loops around it. Dust drifted up from the floor and the box’s lid as he worked. He had to stop more than once to cough. A taste like old, forgotten books lingered in his mouth. He worked the knots, silently thankful for his four years as a Cub Scout. When he was done, he stood and wiped dust onto his pants.

Quinn waved him up the ladder. “Up you go, please. And, Reverend? Don’t drop it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Nathan said, unable to resist.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Again, Peter Quinn chided himself for being too celebratory, too soon.

But he had it!

Sand, gripped too tightly in one’s hand, spilled. Caution, slow and steady progress was his only option. He checked that Paulson was waiting at the lip of the opening as the minister ascended the ladder. Dinneck kept one hand on the rope as if never quite wanting to leave the treasure completely alone. Something the two of them had in common. There was more than enough rope, and he assumed Paulson had already secured the other end up top, maybe to the statue of the pathetic angels. He would see if the preacher could lift the vessel on his own. If not, he’d have Josh Everson help him. Though he might still serve a purpose—there was already blood on his hands as it was, and with the same gun used on the old minister—he was also the most expendable. Peter assumed the woman would serve as the best inspiration for Dinneck to play along.