Pandora's Closet

SEAMLESS by Michael Stackpole

“Oh, Connor! This is nothing like the way I left ‘it.”

The genuine surprise on Daniella Granger’s face matched the tone of her voice. Slender, but not short enough to be considered petite, Dani wore her dark hair to her shoulders and had light gray eyes that probably should have been called dove gray-soft and a bit timid.

“When you moved out from your boyfriend’s place, you weren’t so neat.”

She slowly shook her head. “No. The break-up came just after my grandfather’s death. I was a mess, and that’s what I left the locker in.”

I took another quick glance into the storage unit, looking for anything truly weird. Nothing except, maybe the way things were organized. All the stuff, from boxes crammed with papers to an old TV and some ragged suitcases, had been very neatly stacked against three walls, leaving a bare concrete slab directly below the single, unshaded light bulb.

Right there, in the spotlight, sat a small wooden box, roughly a foot and a half long, a foot in the other two dimensions. It looked old, had a rusty latch on it, and most of the black and gold paint had been worn away. The gold once had been decoration, but I couldn’t make out what the designs were meant to be.

I entered the locker and dropped to a knee beside the box. “You ever see this before?”

“No.” Dani rested her hands on my shoulders and peeked around me. “No, wait, yes. I think so.”

“Which is it?”

“I saw it once in my grandfather’s attic. He told me never to touch it and never to tell anyone I’d seen it. He moved it somewhere, so I’d not seen it since.”

“You’re sure this is the same box?”

She squeezed my shoulders. “I think so, but how could it get here? I mean, his estate was tiny, and my aunt said there was nothing for me. I never got anything, and I’d not have put it in storage if I did. I loved my grandfather.”

I stood and took her hands in mine, squeezing them gently. “It’s okay. It’s no big deal. It’s weird, like the rest of the stuff, but not a crisis.”

She glanced down, but squeezed my hands back. “I know I’m acting silly, but ever since he died I’ve been rudderless. I thought I was holding it to together, but…”

“Not a problem. We’ll figure this out.” I picked up the box. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for all of this.”

“And if there isn’t?”

I smiled. “Then my boss will find something else that will work.”

Daniella didn’t say much as we headed back to Casa Chaos, where my employer lives and, nominally speaking, works. Merlin Bloodstone bills himself as an occultist, but the IRS doesn’t have a code for that, so I’m not sure it’s a real occupation. Practically speaking, he provides spiritual advice for a bunch of very rich clients who could save themselves a lot of money if they’d just buy a gross of fortune cookies and read one every day.

That’s unfair, but I didn’t feel like being fair. I’d tried to brief him on Dani’s situation, but he wanted none of it. Nor did he come down to meet her when she’d come to the house earlier. He remained hidden in his sanctum and sent me a note instructing me to do whatever I thought best.

That was inhospitable and rude-par for the course when he was in a mood. In his defense he’d note that we were under no obligation to help her. I disagreed, but then I’d heard her voice on the phone and had checked her out on Myspace. On a scale of one to Salma Hayek, Dani hit 7.5, and got a bonus point for being a damsel in distress.

We got back to Paradise Valley easily, parked and went straight to the office. Dani trailed in my wake, and the office won a big gasp from her. I rate guests on their reaction, and she scored solidly.

The office is impressive and extends up through the second floor. The west wall is made up of tall windows that provide a stunning view of Camelback Mountain ’s north face. Opposite it and all along the north wall are built-in bookshelves, with a catwalk about ten feet up to allow access to the top half of the shelves. A spiral, wrought-iron staircase in the southeast corner is the quick way to get up there, and there’s a door for access from the second floor as well. The south wall is where Bloodstone hangs all the photographs of himself taken with lots of different clients, as well as plaques and awards, some of which are inscribed in languages I don’t think even exist anymore. The doorway through which we entered splits that wall in half.

I carried the box in and plunked it down on Bloodstone’s desk. The desk is this massive thing-only slightly smaller than the new US Embassy in Iraq. Save for a lamp, a blotter, a phone, a penholder and sometimes a book, he keeps it completely empty. I centered the box neatly and considered turning the lock away from where he would stand, but that would just be petty.

The middle of the room has a tan leather couch facing the desk but canted at some angle that has to do with the dictates of feng shui. Three rust-colored leather chairs-those big wing-back things that ought to be in a Victorian Gentlemans’ club-face the couch. They have side tables between them, and a coffee table fronts the couch. I waved Dani to the couch, then retreated to my desk back by the wet bar.

I was going to ask her what kind of tea she wanted, but my boss decided to make his entrance, cutting me off. Bloodstone-more properly Doctor Merlin Bloodstone-is small enough to be considered petite-save for his head, his ego and this intensity he radiates. He wears his black hair slicked back, emphasizing his widow’s peak. Compared to his body, his head is huge, and his violet eyes are large as well. Some folks built that way appear innocent, but Bloodstone looks on the verge of changing into some kind of monster.

He paused in the doorway and nodded to me. “Ti Kwan Yin for the both of us, Connor. You may have what you want.”

Without giving me another glance, he turned and crossed to where Daniella was rising from the couch. Bloodstone had chosen to wear a gray suit with a blue shirt and a blue-green tie, the like of which I’d never seen him wear before. This worried me. His moods determine how he chooses to dress. We were off into the land of the lost, and I didn’t like that.

“I’m so sorry I could not join you this morning, but I see you and Connor had some success. Please, sit.” He waited for her to sit, then took the centermost chair. “Connor briefed me earlier, but I should like to hear it in your own words.”

I shot Bloodstone a glare he ignored. The rat. He’d not wanted to listen to one word of anything I wanted to report, and now he made it sound as if he’d been engrossed in every little detail.

Dani didn’t notice any duplicity. “It is about as simple as it is strange. I work as a server at Chelsea ’s Kitchen, over on Fortieth Street, north of Camelback.”

Bloodstone nodded. “I know it. A very pleasant place.”

“Thanks.” Dani smiled up at me as I brought her the tea. “Two days ago I had a couple of four-tops, an eight, and a single. The single was a saint, just sitting quietly, not hurried at all. He knew what he wanted, liked what he got, lingered over coffee for a bit, but never hit on me or anything, the way some guys do.”

I brought Bloodstone his tea, then joined Dani on the couch. She sipped for a moment, her smile widened, then she continued her tale. “The guy paid promptly in cash and left me twenty on a fifty-dollar tab. He also left me this.”

She dug into her jeans and produced a small padlock key. “I thought he’d just forgotten it. I tried to find him in the parking lot, but he was long since gone. I pocketed it, assuming he’d call. Then, the next day, I get a package at work. It’s got a cell phone in it. One number is programmed in. Yours.”

Bloodstone glanced at me. “Possible?”

“Easy.” I could have explained, but it would have been a waste of breath. Bloodstone makes the average Luddite look like Stephen Hawking.

“Please, Miss Granger, continue.”

“The phone has a scheduler. An alert came up about my storage locker. Today, the lock I’d used was gone, and this key fit the new one. Everything had been moved, and that box-my grandfather’s box-was in there.”

Bloodstone set his tea down and walked around to the far side of his desk. “You said it was your grandfather’s. When did you last see it?”

“Nineteen years ago. He raised me after my parents were killed in a car accident. He died four months ago, but no one ever sent this to me.”

“Interesting trick, leaving it there after burgling your storage locker.” Bloodstone bent down and peered at the lock. “Tell me about your grandfather.”

She shrugged. “His name was Jack Granger. He was loving but low key. He used to say he’d gotten enough excitement in World War II, so he was content with a quiet life.”

Bloodstone glanced at the return address. “What did he do in the war?”

“He was with the OSS. He was in Italy before our troops were.”

My boss slid open a drawer and brought out a cigar-box that rattled as he set it down. He opened it, displaying a tangle of old-fashioned keys. “Do you have any objection to my opening the box?”

“I guess not.” She hesitated for a moment. “I guess it’s okay.”

I glanced at him. “Her grandfather made her promise never to touch it.”

“I see.” Bloodstone nodded. “Miss Granger, you would agree that this prohibition may have expired. The box’s presence in your locker and the delivery of the phone are indicative of someone’s desire for you to bring this here.”

“Yes, true, but I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“I suspect, if you ever had, the box never would have been entrusted to you.” Bloodstone brushed his long fingers over the wooden lid. “This would have been beautiful when new.”

Dani crossed her arms. “How old do you think it is?”

“At least a thousand years.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that it took me a couple seconds to figure out what he was really saying. “You mean ‘Before Columbus discovered America ’ old?”

“Without question.” He rapped a knuckle against it, and it thumped solidly. “Cedar, probably from Lebanon. I believe it comes from Outremer.”

Bloodstone pronounced it the right way, as French for “Beyond the Ocean.”

I raised an eyebrow. “As in the Crusader Kingdoms?”

“The same.” He fished through the keys. He inserted one into the lock. He twisted and the latch clicked up.

“Boxes like this are not unusual. In its day it would have been painted with images and symbols appropriate to the contents. Many such boxes arrived in Europe from Outremer. Sometimes the contents were genuine, sometimes fakery, but they were always treasured by those who possessed them.”

Dani shook her head. “I kind of figured he got it during the war and brought it home. Looting, I guess, though I can’t imagine him doing that.”

“He would not have been unique in bringing back a treasure.” Bloodstone’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt this was a war relic, however.”

Relic? Something clicked in my head. “Is that a reliquary? Are we going to find bones in there?”

“Unlikely. It didn’t rattle.” Bloodstone opened the box slowly, even reverently. He clearly had a clue as to what he would find, but the contents of the box blew past his preconceptions. Bloodstone’s eyes widened almost as Dani’s had, and there was no hiding his surprise.

We both came forward, and I was bracing myself for some skull-thing crawling with bugs or snakes or something. The look on Dani’s face suggested she was dreading the same. We both took our first gander at it, then exchanged glances.

She put it into words. “I don’t get it. It’s a rag.”

Bloodstone’s voice shrank to a whisper. “Not a rag. It is a fine piece of weaving, definitely homespun. It is probably twice as old as the box.”

I frowned at him. “You’re telling me this came from the time of Jesus?”

He nodded solemnly. “I have little doubt it came from that time.”

Dani reached out to touch the yellowed cloth, yet never quite did. “But if it’s that old, why isn’t in a museum?”

“That, young lady, is a very good question.” Bloodstone slowly closed the box again. “With your permission, I shall do my best to find an answer.”

That having been said, anyone else in the world would have hopped on his computer and done a Google search. Not Bloodstone. He doesn’t have a computer. He only uses a phone because it was invented in the Nineteenth Century. And cell phones? Not a chance. For him, the very idea of mobile communications died with the last passenger pigeon.

He headed out of the office with the box tucked under his arm, then stopped and looked back at the two of us. “Miss Granger, because your place of employment seems to be the primary contact point, I will have Connor watch over you there. Under no circumstances should you return to your locker. If anything suspicious happens at your home, call the police, and do not use that cellular phone to do so.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Bloodstone.”

“And, Connor, see what you can learn about the source of the phone. I shall call the owner of the restaurant, and we will arrange a cover for you.”

“Got it. How often do you want reports?”

He considered for a moment, balancing his desire to be left alone with his concern for what was going on. “Every two hours unless something peculiar is going on. Use the ring code.”

“Done.”

Dani looked at me as the man headed up the stairs to his sanctum. “He’s a bit of an odd duck.”

“He’s a whole damned flock.” I got up. “Let me see your phone.”

Despite having a computer, a T1 line, a bunch of friends to call, and favors to burn, I didn’t learn much about the phone. It and the service had been bought for cash two days before she got it. It might have been possible to get the security tapes from the store where the purchase was made, but even seeing an image of the purchaser wouldn’t mean much. If he wanted to remain hidden, he’d just pick someone off the street to make the buy for him. And even having his image wouldn’t give us his name.

No sense in reporting a dead-end to Bloodstone, so we proceeded with the next part of his plan-my making sure Dani was not harmed. I’m not that big a guy, so it’s not often I get to play bodyguard. I am licensed to carry a concealed weapon, but so far nothing warranted my packing a gun.

By the time Dani showed up for her shift that evening, Bloodstone had indeed called the owner of Chelsea’s Kitchen, and they’d found something for me to do. I’d been thinking maybe I’d get to hang at the bar, which would give me an easy view of the interior and the patio, but they found something that would allow me to circulate and check everyone out.

This was how I learned that the term “busboy” is short for “bust-your-ass-boy.” I don’t know how folks in food service do it. My night was full of “More water,” and “Less ice,” or Goldilocks’ complaints of things being too hot or too cold. Nothing was ever “just right.” Folks were cadging for free this or to have something taken off the bill; and then servers like Dani, who did everything but bear a man’s child or donate a kidney, would get stiffed on the tip.

The worst offenders were a party of four who’d just come from Wednesday night church services. After slamming some shots and wolfing down food as if it was their last supper, they put the bill on a credit card. Their tip was a small brochure. It invited Dani to join their church. They’d added a handwritten note-“Don’t worry, dear, the Lord Jesus will provide.”

Me, personally, I figure that Jesus would have tipped better than 25%, and I made a comment to that effect.

Dani’s eyes sharpened. “Servers are required to tip-out the bussing, bar and kitchen staff based on the charges rung up, not the amount of tip collected. When these folks stiff us for a tip, we end up paying for the privilege of having served them.”

I fingered the brochure. “You mean the bartenders won’t take their cut out of this?”

“Nope, and my landlord won’t accept it for rent, either. Since the Federal Minimum Wage for servers is $2.13 an hour, I’ll be screwed if I get much more Christian kindness. Once I figure out what the heck I’m doing with my life, it’s adios food service and people like that.”

Despite her remarks, she accepted the indignities with a smile and really did a great job making people happy. She might complain on break, but even when she was having a bad day, she turned on the charm. Between the great food and service, she didn’t get stiffed all that often. Chelsea ’s Kitchen draws better-than-average customers who seemed to appreciate Dani’s efforts. Still, after watching for only three days, I could begin to pick out the folks who would be high maintenance.

It wasn’t until the following Saturday that I spotted anyone out of the ordinary. For a moment I thought it might be Dani’s mysterious stranger returned to the scene of the crime, but this man was younger and so cadaverously slender that he’d bulge like a well-fed python if he tried to eat the rib-eye he’d ordered. I noticed him because he was seated in Dani’s section, didn’t order a drink, and watched her very carefully.

I didn’t like it, so I eclipsed his vision of her. “I can get you a box so you can take that home with you.”

Skullface looked up at me, and his smile shrank, which set my hair on edge. Piercing blue eyes raked me up and down, then he nodded to the seat opposite to him. “Please, join me.”

“The help isn’t allowed, sir.”

“But you’re not help, are you, Mr. Moran?”

I still didn’t sit. “What’s on your mind?”

“Your little friend over there has something which does not belong to her. I require it. I am willing to pay her for it.”

“I don’t know what…”

“Spare me, Moran.” He slowly opened his jacket and pulled out a card case. The card he gave me had been printed in black over ivory, with a circle and cross device worked in red in the upper right corner. “Reverend Joseph Bernhard? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the Church of Jesus Christ Martyr before.”

“Your employer will have. My cell number is on the back. You will have him call me.” He regarded me as a vulture might regard road kill. “Not to be melodramatic, but this can work one of two ways. Either the girl can be enriched by this experience, or it will become a character-building exercise. I know that decision will be made above your pay grade. Pass on the message like a good boy.”

I was tempted to hit him, and I probably would have, but he was expecting it. So, I just returned his smile. “As you wish, sir. Now, do you want a box for this?”

“Not necessary.” He draped his napkin over the bloody steak, then dropped a pair of one hundred dollar bills on top of the growing red stain. “I look forward to the call.”

I let him go, then retreated to the back and called Bloodstone. I let the phone ring twice, then hung up and called back. It rang four more times, then went to voice mail. I almost didn’t leave a message because I knew Bloodstone would never find it-but maybe the CSI guys would. I read the information from the card, including the cell phone number, then repeated my cell number and asked for a quick callback.

I returned to the floor and looked for Dani, but she was gone. I asked another busboy, Luis, where she was and he pointed toward the parking lot. “Table five forgot their dinner. She took it out to them.”

Table five. I closed my eyes for a moment. A pair of young men, well dressed, college or early career. Nothing unusual about them, really.

The squeal of tires from the parking lot snapped my eyes open. I ran for the door just in time to see a white Escalade bouncing onto 40th, heading south. They caught the light at the corner and headed west on Camelback.

Tony, the guy working valet, was sitting on the ground rubbing a hand over his jaw. “They kidnapped Dani. They just shoved her into the Escalade and took off. I tried to stop them but…”

“I know, they were big.” I helped him up. “Did you see the other guy, tall, slender, young, blond hair trimmed short.”

“Mercedes 500SL. Tipped me ten bucks.”

“Which way did he go?”

Tony shrugged. “Out on 40th, same as everyone else. Do I call the cops?”

“Yeah. You have the plate numbers logged?”

“I’ll give them to them. The Mercedes, too?”

“Give me an hour. If I don’t call you, report it.” I headed for the Cougar. “Some decisions need to be made above my pay grade, then I’m going to find Dani and get her back safely.”

Bloodstone wasn’t in the office when I arrived. That was good. It gave me a chance hit the net and Google Reverend Bernhard. I learned quite a bit about him and the weird crap he was into.

When I heard Bloodstone trotting down the stairs I turned my monitor to face the doorway and pointed to it. “This clown is Joseph Bernhard. He kidnapped Dani. He’s seriously looney-tunes. He’s the leader of a Christian Identity sect. His hobbies are loading his own ammunition, reading Mein Kampf in the original German, rescuing Nazi memorabilia from Soviet archives, and denying the Holocaust ever happened. And that’s just what he says about himself on the Sean Hannity-fan dating-site.”

Bloodstone nodded. “Christian Identity is a vile perversion of Christianity. They believe Aryans are the true chosen people, the Jews murdered Jesus and so forth. Racism cum religion.”

“He wants the box. You’re to call him.”

His nostrils flared. “Dial him.”

I did. The line rang twice, then Bernhard answered. “I’ll hold for Bloodstone.”

Bloodstone punched the speaker button on my desk phone. “The girl is safe?”

“You have something of mine, and I want it.”

“Don’t be coy. It was never yours.”

“It was meant to be mine. I have searched long enough. You will bring it to me. An innocent life hangs in the balance.” Bernhard hissed coldly. “Twenty-fourth and Camelback, near the bookstore.

You have twenty-five minutes.” He cut the connection.

I hit the speaker button again. “No cops?”

“Contra-indicated.” He shook his head slowly. “Don’t bother to bring your pistol.”

“Bernhard is a kidnapper, and he likes to play with guns.”

Bloodstone shook his head. “This time he is playing with something far more powerful, and it will consume him. No gun, no violence.”

Our stares met, but it would be easier to win a stare-down with the Lincoln Memorial than with Bloodstone. I raised my hands in surrender. “No gun. No violence.”

“Good.” His eyes became violet slits. “I will get the box. We will take the Jaguar.”

We loaded the box in the trunk, Bloodstone piled into the rear seat, and I slid behind the wheel. We made it to the parking lot with five minutes to spare. Once I found a space, a van pulled up blocking us in. A man emerged from the back, opened our passenger door and dropped into the seat beside me.

I looked at him. “Box is in the trunk. Where’s the girl?”

“Shut up and drive.”

“If you think…”

Bloodstone squeezed my shoulder. “Bernhard suspects trickery. And he wants witnesses.” Bloodstone settled back into the shadows. “Where are we going?”

My guide, who looked a bit rougher than the guys who took Dani, jerked a thumb toward the van. “Follow it.”

I did as ordered, but I didn’t like any of it. A quick swap would have worked well, but Bernhard wanting us there while he inspected the cloth was not a good sign. We were being kidnapped. We could identify our kidnappers. The easiest way to escape prosecution was to put a bullet in each one of us. After reading about Bernhard, I had no doubt he’d do that and likely declare he was giving us a sacrament.

Blessed is he who is anointed with 119 grains of lead.

We didn’t have to travel far, just southwest to Thomas and 16th, to a mortuary. We drove around back to the receiving area. I pulled the Jaguar into an empty hearse bay, and the van blocked us in again. I popped the trunk, and Bloodstone retrieved the box.

Four men led us into the mortuary and to the first viewing room. The rectangular room had a dozen rows of seats, and I found them disturbingly full. It looked like a costume party and the theme was Nuremburg, 1936. Most of the men wore snappy Nazi uniforms, complete with the ceremonial daggers and an Iron Cross or two. The women wore stockings with seams running up the back.

Bernhard, however, took the cake. I was raised Catholic, so I’m used to priests being swathed in layers of cloth. Over a black cassock that had been belted with a Sam Browne belt, Bernhard wore a chasuble of red, with a big white circle in the middle of his chest. That featured a swastika in black, and what looked to be a holstered Luger sat at his right hip. He even wore a red miter fixed with the swastika, so he was all decked out for a High Unholy Mass.

We were directed to the front, toward the dais that had a massive Nazi flag as the backdrop. Three chairs had been placed over to my left, and Dani sat in one closest to the wall. I sat next to her and took her hands in mine.

“You okay?”

“Just scared.” Dani gave me a hopeful smile. “Is this really happening?”

“It’ll be okay.” I tried to force confidence through my voice, but I was feeling as if I were trapped in some B-grade rip-off of an Indiana Jones movie. And me without a whip or anything.

Bloodstone delivered the box to Bernhard. The High Priest handled it reverently-as if the reliquary contained Hitler’s bones-and placed it on a table opposite us. He centered it between two censers, scattering the thick ropes of sweet white smoke rising from them. Bernard brushed his fingers over the lid as if caressing a lover and then turned around and motioned for the congregation to be seated.

Between him and the audience lay a low bier, which wasn’t too hard to imagine in a funeral home. On it lay something shrouded with a red cloth. It had that unique outline that suggested it was a body, but there were clearly parts missing. At least one foot was gone, and probably an arm. The chest wasn’t that round and there definitely was a hunk of the skull missing.

Bernhard waited for Bloodstone to sit in the third chair, then raised his hand. “It is time, my friends, long past time. Bow your heads.”

I didn’t. I studied the crowd. A bunch of them looked the way I’d expect white supremists to look, with prison tattoos or shaved heads, but the others really sent a chill through me. They looked normal, even those of an age to have been fighting against the Germans in World War II. Out of the uniforms, they’d have been unremarkable, and they looked affluent, too. Hatred isn’t cheap, and they could finance a lot of it.

Bernhard solemnly intoned a prayer. “Lord Jesus, by Your words, in Your name, great miracles have been wrought. Men have been raised from the dead. We ask You to look upon our brother, Adolf, and through Your love, restore him to the life so cruelly cut short, so he may continue the work of avenging Your murder.”

As the others murmured “Amen,” Bernhard whipped the red cloth off the thing in front of him. Desiccated, dried up, burned in places, with plenty of pieces missing and ivory bone visible through torn flesh, there was no mistaking it for a body. Somewhere in college I remembered reading that Hitler had shot himself, and loyal minions tried to burn his body. The Russians had interrupted them and had dragged the remains back for Stalin, never to be seen again. And, yet, I recalled hearing rumors that the body was still preserved in some KGB archive somewhere.

That can’t be Hitler’s body, can it?

Bernhard turned and opened the reliquary. From it he drew the homespun cloth and unfolded it. It looked like a man’s cloak, all woven of one piece, which he draped over the corpse from toes to crown. He smoothed out the wrinkles, and Dani grabbed my left arm, burying her face against my shoulder. I gave her a squeeze, then dragged her to her feet as Bernhard gestured and the congregation rose.

“Lord Jesus, in Your name we ask that life again flow into our brother Adolf. The mere touch of the hem of Your cloak was enough to cure the blind, the leper, the ill and the dead. This perfect raiment, which could not be sundered and, therefore, was diced-for in fulfillment of prophecy, graced You as You raised Lazarus. Bring us back our brother, for Your glory, and the glory of Your chosen people.”

Bernhard modulated his voice, starting low and building higher. The intensity increased with each sentence. Enthusiasm filled the final words. It brought them to a peak. Everyone listening got caught in the cadence, leaning forward as his voice rose, settling back as it subsided.

As each sentence built the anticipation, Bernhard’s hands clawed down through the air. They grazed bare millimeters above the cloak. His hooked fingers plucked at invisible strings. I could almost hear them thrum, and feel them vibrate through my chest.

And into the corpse.

Dani squeezed my arm hard. “Oh my God, Connor, it’s moving!”

It couldn’t be, but the cloak rippled. A corner slipped back from the blackened left foot. I searched the corpse for a sign of breath. I looked for any movement at all, to see a hand rising or the head turning.

Bernhard reacted with a triumphant hiss. “Behold the miracle!”

His words came faster now, and more power filled them. Members of the congregation gasped. They whispered. Some pointed, others hugged, and it was not out of fear. They were as exultant as Bernhard as the monster that had been Hitler began to regain life.

Dani’s grip on my arm tightened. My fingers began to tingle. I stared, wanting to completely disbelieve. Then I thought I saw something. The flesh on the forehead, the edges around the hole turned pink. They were beginning to close.

Bloodstone’s disdain shattered the trance woven by Bernhard’s words and the swirling incense. “Nothing is moving, Bernhard. You were swindled.”

The contempt in Bloodstone’s words pierced the collective hallucination. Gasps became moans. Those who had hugged, broke apart. One ancient gentleman fainted. Others cursed. The incense became nothing more than cloying smoke. It swirled lazily, poisonously sweet, as if it rising from the burned corpse.

The wild fire in Bernhard’s eyes dulled. His expression slackened, as if he could see himself as the rest of us did. He looked ridiculous standing over a carbonized mummy, wishing it to rise from the dead. Any credibility he’d had with his audience evaporated, and their ire was rising.

“No! This will work!” His eyes sharpened again. “We just need blood. A sacrifice.”

Without missing a beat, Bernhard drew the Luger. I pulled Dani to me, twisting so my body shielded her. Bloodstone took a step forward, his right hand rising, palm forward. Bernhard, with hatred sparking anew in his eyes, thrust the pistol at Bloodstone’s hand and stroked the trigger.

The gun went off. A single cartridge ejected. The brass spun up, glittering in the light. Gunsmoke from the chamber mixed with the incense. The pistol’s extractor arm snapped back down, jamming a new bullet into the chamber.

“Don’t.” Bloodstone’s voice sounded small compared to the mechanical click of the gun’s mechanism. From others that single word would have been a plea for mercy. Bloodstone offered a warning.

And even before I wondered why the first bullet had not blown through Bloodstone’s hand, Bernhard stroked the trigger again.

The pistol exploded. Fire and metal jetted back from the chamber, shredding Bernhard’s face. He screamed horribly as the mangled pistol and two fingers fell toward the ground. Bernhard whirled away and slammed into the wall. The Nazi fell, dragging the flag down, draping himself and muting his screams.

Bloodstone turned to face the congregation, his unblemished hand toward them. He closed it into a fist, then pointed toward the door. His voice dropped into a rime-edged whisper that drilled into skulls.

“Leave now, lest your folly become your doom.”

It really didn’t surprise me as the crowd bolted. They’d all been locked into a trance. He’d broken it. He was shot twice at pointblank range and was unhurt. The gun exploded, maiming their champion. Though the audience may have been dumb enough to believe they’d been invited to Adolf Hitler’s resurrection, they weren’t completely stupid. With two strokes of the finger twitching on the floor, Bernhard transformed the Church of Jesus Christ Martyr from a “fringe Christian group” into a “murderous cult.” There wasn’t a single person rushing out that door who saw an upside to being associated with it.

“Connor!” Dani drew tight against me and pointed.

Bernhard had crawled from the cocoon of the Nazi flag and had extended his ruined hand. He caught at corner of the cloak, dragging it from the body. His head came up, his face expectant, his sightless eyes filled with blood. He began to tremble, then his head lolled, and his body went slack.

Bloodstone untangled the cloak’s hem from the man’s grip, then folded it and returned it to the reliquary.

Before sirens began to rise, we sped away in the Jaguar. Dani was shaking to pieces, and I couldn’t blame her. I was trembling, too, but I held it together long enough to get us home. Only Bloodstone didn’t seem to be reacting, and he did offer to drive, but the chances of our making it home in one piece with him behind the wheel were slightly worse than his surviving two pointblank pistol shots.

I ensconced Dani in a guest room and told her everything would be okay. I told her to get some sleep, then went to visit Bloodstone in the office. He stood by my desk listening to the 10 o’clock news. The radio squawked about a murderous Nazi cult whose leader had been found with a burned corpse. They said he’d survive his wounds but would lose his sight. He’d been arrested and was under guard at St. Joseph ’s Hospital.

I turned the radio off before the local sheriff could offer his thoughts on the matter. “What’s more nuts? You telling me not to bring a gun, or you thinking bullets bounce off?”

He shrugged. “You know that the Righteous and Harmonious Fists, during the Boxer Rebellion, practiced spiritual exercises that made them impervious to Imperialist bullets.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember that working out too well for them.”

“Perhaps the ones who were shot lacked faith.”

“Sure, and your faith saved you?”

“Do you believe otherwise?”

“Can’t answer. Don’t know what you believe in. What I do know is what happened.”

Bloodstone smiled. “And what would that be?”

“Bernhard did his own bullet reloading. He primed a cartridge, but never added gunpowder. The primer kicked the first bullet into the barrel and it got stuck. The next bullet slammed into the plug. The hot gasses blasted back into Bernhard’s face. The gun exploded.”

“If you know what happened, why question my action?”

“My hindsight doesn’t equal your foresight. No one could have predicted what happened.”

He smiled in that annoying, all-knowing way he has. “Why do you think I told you not to bring your pistol?” Before I could reply, he continued. “Bernhard was right. The cloth in the reliquary was the cloak Jesus had worn. Can you imagine the Prince of Peace allowing violence in His presence?”

A chill ran through me. “But you said he was swindled, so that couldn’t have been the true cloak.”

“He was swindled by the Russians.” Bloodstone shrugged easily. “Do you honestly think-no matter the profit-that any Russian would sell Hitler’s corpse to a Nazi?”

“Good point. Putin probably has the corpse in a box he can check just to make sure he’s still dead.” I shivered. “I just can’t believe…”

Bloodstone laughed. “As a skeptic, you can’t believe the cloak had any power, despite the statistical improbability of the gun’s explosion. I, however, have no doubt about the cloak’s authenticity.”

I smiled quickly. “But if it truly is Jesus’ cloak, why wasn’t Bernhard healed when he touched it?”

“Luke, chapter eight, verses forty-three through forty-eight. The only person healed by touching the cloak was a woman who had been hemorrhaging for a dozen years.” Bloodstone opened his hands. “All other healings were a matter of faith. Bernhard believed in the magic, not in the Christ.”

“Is what you’ve said, true?” Dani stood in the office doorway. “Sorry, I couldn’t sleep.”

Bloodstone nodded toward the box on his desk. “I believe it to be true.”

“Then how did my grandfather get it? Did he steal it from Italy during the war?”

“No. It has been with your family for far longer than that.” Bloodstone smiled slowly. “In his history of the Knights Templar, Stephen Howarth suggests the mysterious ‘Templar Treasure’ was the Shroud of Turin. We know, from radiocarbon dating, this cannot be true. Your grandfather’s cloak, however, may well have been that treasure. The Templars were wiped out without ever surrendering their treasure. Jacques DeMolay, the last Grandmaster, had an aide named Jules de Grange, who was never caught.”

Dani hugged her arms around herself. “De Grange became Granger at Ellis Island.”

I tried to lighten things up. “Sounds like you have the sequel to The Da Vinci Code all ready to go.”

He waved that notion away. “Bernhard sought to profit from the cloak, and you saw what happened to him. The teachings of Christ are not friendly to capitalism.”

“Tell that to televangelists.” I glanced Dani. “What will you do with the cloak?”

“I don’t know.” Her face took on a determined expression. “Doctor Bloodstone, do you think my grandfather knew what it was and entrusted it to me after his death?”

“I see no evidence to the contrary.”

Dani crossed to the desk and opened the box. She rubbed her hand over the cloak and smiled. Her head came up and her spine straightened. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

Bloodstone shook his head. “I am quite certain that is not for me to know. I am equally certain, however, that if you did not have the answer within you, the cloak would never have found you.”

“You really believe that?”

“I have great faith in it, Miss Granger.”

She touched the cloak again, then closed the box and snapped the latch shut. “So do I. I don’t know what I will do, but I’ll do something.”

“Of course.” Bloodstone bowed his head to her. “And you will make your grandfather proud.”