Solomon's Grave

He drove street to street, heading for Interstate 190. As he neared the on-ramp he flipped on the directional. What was he doing? He wasn’t going to work, not at this hour. He drove past the ramp and continued across town. He needed to get to the club. It would be the last time, though, for a long time. Maybe ever. Beverly needed him home. He would swing by and talk to Quinn. This was important, and had to be discussed tonight. Then he’d come home and stay home. Maybe this weekend he’d go with her to church, watch Nate.

The thought filled him with immeasurable pride.

The strip mall loomed ahead. The lights of the convenience store shone two doors down from the ethereal glow of the HMC’s whitewashed windows. The rest of the storefronts were dark. He tried to remember what it was he wanted to tell Quinn. No matter. It was important and it’d come back to him, in time.

Chapter Forty-Five

Nathan kept his face calm, but inside he was screaming. His mind reeled with so many facts, Tarretti’s fantastic story among them. It fit too neatly. He’d prayed for God to show him what the dreams meant, what was happening with his father. The visit to the HMC this morning revealed a shocking association between them.

Now, Vincent’s intense interest in his father and the cult was like a physical blow. Tarretti and his predecessors, if his story was to be believed, had been hiding the Ark of the Covenant from a group of Old Testament Ammonites—a name which Peter Quinn made a point of dropping in their earlier conversation.

To the apparent disgust of Elizabeth, he told the caretaker about his visit with Quinn. When he was done, Tarretti was pale. The man stood so abruptly, Nathan leaned reflexively back in his chair. Johnson rose and moved to his master’s side, assuming something was about to happen.

“The flowers in the graveyard,” Vincent said, turning in a half circle toward the front room then, as if remembering something, turning back. He picked out the topmost notebook from the stack in the box. “Entry 818,” he mumbled. “Here, see?” He held it out. Nathan caught a quick glimpse of messy hand-scratch in blue pen before Vincent pulled it away to look at it himself again, running his fingers along the edge of the page. “They know. They know where it is. Reverend Hayden. Oh God, I’d suspected it myself but I checked...” He pinched the bridge of his nose, sounding and looking as if his tether had finally come loose.

Nathan got up from his chair, slowly, and stood beside Elizabeth. She gave him a look that said, See? What’d I tell you?

“Quinn,” Vincent continued. “He or someone working with him. They killed Pastor Hayden.”

Nathan’s heart skipped a beat. All he could think to say in reply was, “What?”

Again, Vincent turned the notebook toward him. “See? Here. I wrote that Quinn made a point to mention Hayden was leaving. That’s how I knew to stop by the church that morning. I wondered how the guy knew... he knew because he thought Ralph was leaving with the Ark. Only a priest can move it. Don’t you see?”

Elizabeth lashed out with her right arm and knocked the notebook away. Pages flapped as the book tumbled against the wall beside the back door. “That... is... enough!” Using the same hand, she backslapped Vincent’s face. He stumbled back. Johnson, already cowed by Elizabeth’s earlier assertiveness, simply watched and whimpered.

Tarretti put a hand to his face and glared. Nathan steeled himself, knowing he was going to have to fight to protect her, now.

“I don’t expect you to believe what I’m saying, Miss. You were not the one to whom God has given the signs.”

Elizabeth was breathing hard, trying not to cry—but in rage rather than sorrow. His last statement had unwittingly struck a nerve with her.

Nathan stood between them. He had to balance what Elizabeth stood for—worldly rationale, logic—and what Tarretti was saying, which in anyone else’s mind, including Elizabeth’s, would sound like madness.

It was time, right now, to take a stand one way or the other. He hoped Elizabeth would understand.

He faced Tarretti. “Those people you told us about, the ones you say have been hunting this thing for thousands of years. You’re telling me they’re the Hillcrest Men’s Club? The group my dad belongs to?”

Still holding his cheek, Tarretti nodded. “It’s the only answer. And no, they are not the whole organization. I can’t imagine they’re a very large group. Maybe a couple of hundred people around the world, all told. For the most part, they’re nothing more than common thugs. Well-connected, but petty criminals when it comes down to it. More organized crime than any sort of established religion. But that’s the crazy part.” When he said this, Elizabeth offered an exasperated laugh. “After all this time, neither side knows very much about the other. Knowing anything would mean getting too close. They may number a dozen, or a thousand. But for our side, as far as I know, there’s only been one at a time.”

Looking for a moment at Nathan and Elizabeth, he added, “Three, now.”

 “Don’t you dare count me or Nate in your little delusion.”

“My father is not a demon worshipper.”

“Perhaps not.” Vincent lowered his hand to reveal a fading red blemish on his face. “He might only be part of the camouflage Quinn has laid around himself. It’s been done before.” He gestured to the box. “It’s all in there.”

“Nate...”

“Wait. Vincent, you want me to drop everything I’m doing, turn my back on my calling, my church, and... do what?”

Vincent stepped forward. When Elizabeth moved to intercept, he stopped her with a look filled with such loathing she stopped. She was temperamental and protective, but Nathan knew she wasn’t stupid. Tarretti was not going to let her get in his way again.

“Reverend Dinneck, I believe God wants you to take the Ark of the Covenant and its contents and leave this town. Forever. You must disappear, trust in the Spirit to guide you to a new location. Of the three of us, only you can even touch the relic. This has been the case throughout history. Many men have died testing it.”

Nathan looked at the strongbox. “You’re saying Quinn went after Pastor Hayden because he thought an eighty-year-old man was running away with a gold-laden chest the size of a hatchback car?”

Vincent began to speak, caught himself, then only said, “It’s not that big.”

The kitchen was quiet. All three of them stood facing each other. Johnson hunkered warily between them. Nathan took in a deep breath and said, “Take me to the gravesite and show me what’s inside. I’m not agreeing to do anything you say, but if what you’re saying is true, then this would be the next natural step.”

“Agreed.” At that Tarretti became more animated, bending down to pick up his notebook from the floor. He straightened a bend in the cover then placed it reverently into the box.

If what Tarretti said was true, Nathan would never see Elizabeth again.

No. She could always go with you.

He shook his head reflexively. What was he thinking? Elizabeth was probably right. The man was crazy and Nathan’s own problems were clouding his judgment.

“Nate, you can’t go with him. Think about what you’re going to do. Go into a graveyard in the middle of the night with someone who thinks he’s Indiana Jones.” Her hands were on his shoulder. Tarretti stood in the kitchen doorway with the box in his hand, waiting. “Nate,” she continued, “listen to what I’m saying. A graveyard… in the middle of the night.” She lowered her voice even further. “He’s nuts. You have to know that. He killed Hayden and now he’s going to kill you.”

“Maybe,” he whispered back. “But you have to remember you haven’t seen what I’ve seen. You didn’t have those dreams or experience what happened this morning.”

She turned away and said, loudly, “Oh, just forget it. You two are going to run off and play Hardy Boys no matter what I say. And you!” She walked up to Tarretti and jabbed a finger into his chest. He did not flinch. “I’m coming, too, and if you try anything—anything!—I’m going to kill you with my bare hands. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She jabbed him again. “I’m serious!”

He reached up and bent her hand back so quickly the pain didn’t reach her brain until he said, “And if you jab that finger at my chest one more time, I’ll break your wrist. Do you understand me?”

He didn’t wait for her reply. He released her and said to Nathan, “Sorry, Pastor. Please follow me so I can