All in the name of peace, Islam and their Prophet.
No, the bullet that had nicked the rotor blade had been meant for him.
The thought wasn't exactly self-flattery. Or comforting.
A glance forward showed splatters of red congealing into mud brown. That could just as easily have been his blood, his brains. Although this wasn't the first time such a thing had happened, he felt the sourness rising in his throat. Because the bullet had been meant for him or because it had found someone else, he could not have said.
In what seemed like seconds, the helicopter was dropping onto a pad on top of what Lang assumed was a hospital, an impression enforced by the crew of white-clad men surrounding a gurney. They removed the lieutenant under the cocked and ready weapons of the remaining crew. While everyone else was attending to the mortally wounded officer, Lang took Gurt's arm, leading her away from the group.
"What?"
"Get your bag. We're leaving."
"Leaving?"
"There're always taxis around hospitals. One can drive us to Ankara."
"Why did we not do that before?"
"Because the police were watching us. There was good chance they would have followed a cab, stopped us before we got far. I doubt they've had time to figure out where we are now."
"Once the inspector finds we have left the city, the police will question cab drivers until they find the one who has driven us to Ankara."
"By that time, we'll be halfway home."
Chapter Six
I.
Over the North Atlantic
That Night
For once, Lang's flight-induced insomnia was a benefit. He had left Gurt snoring gently in the Gulfstream's stateroom. As is so often the case, proximity to sudden and violent death had stirred a passion that had resulted in wild and noisy lovemaking shortly after the stewardess cleared the dinner dishes. In fact, it had taken some restraint to wait until the woman had discreetly retreated to the galley before both made a dash for the plane's bedroom as they undressed en route. Now Lang looked around in case some of Gurt's more intimate garments might, yet be decorating the seating area.
Occasionally Lang wondered if he and Gurt were the
subject of gossip among the crews of the world's biz jets. He didn't necessarily care, he just wondered. But not tonight.
He was far too engrossed in the translation he held in his lap. He was surprised at its length, only a few pages. It seemed very little to have cost the lives lost since its discovery. He reread the first lines. It seemed to be a letter.
Since you asked me to send thee a secret book which was revealed unto me and Peter by the Lord, I could not refuse thee. I send this with wishes. Peace be with thee, Love from love, Grace from grace, Faith from faith, life from Holy Life. But inasmuch as thou art a minister of the Salvation of Saints, endeavor earnestly and take care not to recount this book to many-this which the Savior did not desire to recount to all of us.
Us? Who was "Us," Lang wondered. The disciples? No, hadn't Francis suggested James, this James, Jesus's brother, had not been a disciple, that he had probably stayed at home to run the family business?
The ever-annoying indefinite antecedent. But he read on.
This book was revealed only to Peter and me, James, brother of Our Lord.
Now we were sitting altogether at the same time, and remembering what the Savior had said to each of them, whether secretly or openly, they were setting it down in books. And I was writing what was in my book-lo the Savior appeared after he had departed from us and five hundred and fifty days after He arose from the dead. And we said unto Him, "Have you gone and departed from us?"
And Jesus said, "No, but I shall go to the place from which I have come. If thou desirest to come with me, come."
They all answered and said, "If Thou biddest us we will come" He said, "Truly I say to you, no one will ever enter the Kingdom of Heaven if I bid him but rather because you yourselves desire it. Let me have James and Peter that I might speak with them privately."
"Coffee?"
Lang was jolted back into the present. The stewardess was standing in front of him, holding a tray with a pot and a cup and saucer with the foundation's logo on it.
Coffee would ensure he didn't get even a few minutes sleep but the woman had clearly made fresh brew just for him.
"It's decaf," she chirped.
Tell my nerves that. They can't distinguish. And how can anyone be that perky at this hour of the night? But no sense being churlish.
"Sure. Thanks for going to the trouble." He had hoped she would pour a cup he could leave ignored on the coffee table before him. Instead, she hovered like a sommelier uncertain of his wine selection.
He took a sip. "Thanks. I really appreciate your going to the trouble."
She flashed him a megawatt smile. "That's what you pay me for."
True, he mused as he watched her retreat to the galley, but how many employees ever gave it a thought? Setting the steaming cup down once she was out of view, he resumed reading.
And when He called us two, He took us aside and commanded the rest of them to busy themselves with that with which they had been endeavoring.
When we were alone, the Savior said,…
Lang noted the next twelve lines were highlighted in yellow, the missing lines, he assumed.
"It is time that James lead my church."
And Peter protested, saying, "Lord, didst thou not say, 'Upon this rock I shall build my church,' meaning me? Hast thou not called my name as Cephus, the rock?"
And the Savior answered unto him, "Didst thou not thrice deny me as was prophesied? Would a master have a servant that denied him?"
And Peter grew wroth, saying, "Lord, who would serve you better?"
And the Savior answered, "James," whereupon Peter became even more angry, demeaning James as a coward and one who had not forsaken his family to follow the Savior as had Peter.
Lang reread the lines before continuing. The rest contained homilies on reaching heaven, the duty to spread the word and assurances the unknown "they" would reach heaven. Nothing to really distinguish it from the known quotes attributed to Jesus.
On the last page, the patriarch had also highlighted several lines with a note in the margin:
Shifting in his seat, Lang read the final paragraph and jerked up straight with surprise.
And after the Savior departed, Peter considered these words and his anger increased so that by the second day his anger could no longer be contained. And he went forth, seeking James. And when he had found him in the temple in Jerusalem at prayer, he threw him from the temple to the ground below. And Peter accused James of stealing the Savior's affection from him, saying to those who had gathered, "Look upon the face of a man who has betrayed our Savior." Whereupon they stoned the Lord's brother.
Lang reread the paragraph to make sure there was no mistake. Peter, the supposed anointed leader of the early church as usurper and murderer? He recalled the expression of rage on the saint's face as depicted by the mysterious fresco. No wonder the spectators had been ordered into silence. That an early gospel had noted James, not Peter, had been chosen, let alone what amounted to a theological coup…