When Lance spoke to Maria, she agreed to deliver his wife in a public place to prevent her from being singled out in a deserted place she did not know.
“What did he say?” Sylvia dared ask. “Where are we meeting him?”
“We aren't. I will be a safe distance away while you will wait for your husband across the road from the basilica,” Maria said. “The second payment just came through. Maybe you were right, Mrs. Beach. Maybe he needs you more than I thought.” She gave Sylvia a suggestive look. “You must be good at something. You know?”
“You're disgusting,” Sylvia mumbled.
“Such hypocrites, you little faithful housewifeys,” Maria sneered. “Like you never get on your knees outside of church…” she scoffed and smiled wickedly, “…or perhaps you do, in church too.”
Ignoring, with great moral toil, the onslaught of her kidnapper, Sylvia bit her tongue for the rest of the journey. She put her thoughts into a positive light, thinking only of Lance and her children and seeing them again.
An hour later they had arrived in Oban, but Maria kept her leverage until the third transfer had transpired. She started the car on the top of the hill where she could look over the coastal town. From there she could see the roads leading up to her location. If she saw one single police unit approach, Sylvia would be done for. When the transaction was complete, Maria was a different person.
“Okay, Sylvia. Off you go, honey. Nice doing business with you,” she smiled. “Go!”
Sylvia did not take another second to ponder the possibility of deception. Without a goodbye or a final word of disdain she flew out of the car and ran down to the park where Lance was to pick her up twenty minutes later.
Apprehensive, she waited under the lamp post where she was supposed to be. She was told not to speak to anyone, or engage acquaintances and friends. Sylvia was a rule-keeper. She always found that it was better to comply and be done with it. Across the road, two blocks up the hill at St. Columbanus' Church, Maria Winslet was climbing up the bell tower with her Remington 700 rifle, adamant to make sure Sylvia Beach would never remember her face and her name — ever.
From the top of the tower she could see the pale sun dip its face into the sea and she hoped to drop Sylvia while the light was still right for an accurate shot. From a block to the left of her scope she noticed Dr. Beach's car slow down. That was her cue to change lives.
Two black markers lined Sylvia's face, her unsuspecting, holier-than-thou goodness. It made for a pleasurable target as Maria placed her index finger on the trigger, careful not to fire off too soon on the sensitive rifle.
Without warning a pair of large hands swept the long barrel upwards, claiming the rifle before Maria realized what was going on. In a split second she saw a tall, dark figure in front of her. He promptly shoved the butt of the rifle hard into her face, knocking her senseless. Maria fell at Father Harper's feet as he looked down at her and said gently, “Thou shalt not kill.”
Dr. Beach picked up his shaken wife after a heartwarming reunion. She sobbed like a baby in his arms and all he did was to kiss her crown and rock her from side to side. When she’d calmed somewhat Lance took a call that just came through on his cell. “Excuse me, darling.”
Sylvia stayed close against him, not interested in his conversation, but craving the security of his protective presence. “Father Harper? Yes? I have her, mostly unscathed, thank the Lord. Of course. No, problem. The children are staying with my sister. Alright, we're on our way.”
“What was that about?” she asked. “Father Harper?”
“You are not going to believe this,” Dr. Beach smiled, amused. “He knocked the bejeezus out of Maria! He says we must meet him to find out where Dr. Gould is.”
“Dr. Gould is fine. She is in Canada, relic hunting, which is why I was mistaken for her,” Sylvia explained, before gasping, “Oh my God, Lance! The man that took me, his name is Jonathan Beck. They kidnapped Dr. Gould's friend and were going to ransom him to someone who wants to kill him!”
“Wait, what?” Lance asked.
“True!” she shrieked in panic. “We have to save Nina's friend… I don't recall his name now…”
“Easy! Easy, Sylla,” her husband calmed her. “Think. Okay? Slowly. Where did they take him?”
“I have no idea,” she shrugged, looking distraught. “They did not discuss that loudly enough. But I know this guy was going to bring them millions because he was some famous explorer these client's of Beck's were looking for, specifically.”
“Famous explorer friend of Nina Gould?” Lance asked. Being a long time resident of Oban and a medical professional, he knew much more about Oban's famous Dr. Gould than his wife did. “Sweetheart, is his name David Purdue, perhaps?”
“That’s it! Purdue!” she exclaimed. “But Beck was supposed to come back days ago already, and Maria thinks he may be dead because, well, that’s how nefarious those clients of his are. That’s why she resorted to selling me for ransom.”
Ten minutes later Father Harper was being enlightened with the same news as the three of them sat in his office at St. Columbanus. Sylvia was dying to know what he had done with Maria, but the absence of police units at the church told her that the authorities were not supposed to know about Maria Winslet. Sylvia smelled a cover-up and she was remarkably comfortable with it.
Father Harper pressed his lips together, his hands in a steeple in front of him on his desk as he rolled around the information in his head. “So Dr. Gould is unharmed? She is where?”
“I heard them talk, Father. They said that when they’d collected the money for Purdue they would chase after Dr. Gould to kill her and seize everything she discovers on her expedition! Maria overheard a phone tap conversation, and Nina is on the trail of a treasure,” she trailed off.
“As always,” Father Harper smiled.
“The one hidden treasure of Alexander the Great,” Sylvia said.
“Jesus!” Father Harper exclaimed at hearing the name. “Excuse me,” he flushed awkwardly. “The one buried treasure of Alexander III of Macedon?”
“That's what Maria told her boyfriend, yes,” Sylvia nodded.
“By the saints! Do you have any idea what value that hoard holds?” Father Harper asked, still astonished. His two guests were quite oblivious to ancient history and legend, so he filled them in. “Alexander the Great flaunted his power, believing himself to the son of Zeus; a god in the flesh, if you will.”
Lance looked up at the wall-mounted crucifix in the office, depicting Christ's suffering on the cross. “I see a pattern here.”
“Lance!” Sylvia nudged him to shut up, but Father Harper chuckled at the doctor's honesty.
“I wasn't always a priest, you know,” he smiled. “There is no doubt there are some very suspicious parallels in the Bible to various pagan practices and gods. Keen observation, doctor.”
“Carry on about Alexander, please, Father,” Sylvia requested.
“It was said that Alexander never bothered to bury the treasures he seized from the empires he conquered, because in essence entire kingdoms belonged to him. He adorned everything in his name, and gold was to him like wine or weapons,” Father Harper recounted as he paced along his book shelf. “But there is a story that has been prevalent along clandestine orders and secret scholars through the centuries, that Alexander's greatest treasure was an incantation from his mother, Olympias, chiseled on three tablets of malachite. Upon the invocation of this mantra the holder would attain godlike dominion over his enemies — over empires — and would be undefeated and become the world conqueror.”