“How does that even happen?” Torres said
Gapinski shrugged. “Most of the time with this gig we’re running on a buck and a prayer.” He fist-bumped the SUV ceiling. “So thank the Big Guy Upstairs.”
“That’s a mighty big answer to prayer. I mean, what are the odds?”
He smiled. “God works in mysterious ways, as they say. Seriously, though, I’ve seen him lend a helping hand more times than my toes and fingers can count. I'll take whatever way he wants to offer up. In this line of work, you learn to take whatever lead you can get. Like a big, fat black panel van falling out of Heaven itself in KFC's drive-thru.”
Torres chuckled, wondering what she had gotten herself into when she signed up for the new gig. Papa had said it would be like her old job, only more spiritual. More worthwhile.
Not that there was anything wrong with the secular. Studying extinct Mesoamerican and pre-Columbian cultures was worthwhile in its own right. There was still so much to learn about how they lived and why they died off. And it was just as worthy of study as the sacred work uncovering the archaeological truth behind the Bible and the history of the Christian Church.
Yet there was something special about putting her talents to work in service of the Church and her faith. After all, it was a fascination with the ancient world of the Bible that got her interested in ancient history and ancient cultures in the first place.
When she was a kid, she had been entranced by a VHS, animated series, called “The Greatest Adventure: Stories from the Bible.” Two protagonists, young archaeologists, and their sidekick, stumbled across an ancient door into Bibleland, where they met famous Bible heroes like Noah, Moses, and David. As a little girl, she had play-acted going on the same adventures as the girl in the video.
One of her favorite episodes was the epic story about Joshua and the battle of Jericho. The one where an army of Israel marched around the walled city, blowing trumpets and giving a loud shout, eventually bringing the walls crumbling down. Noah and his Ark filled with animals made for another spectacular story, especially when she watched a documentary from a ‘90s network show, called “Unsolved Mysteries,” investigating the possibility that the story may not just be a legend, but that the gigantic ship may have been real, resting somewhere on a mountaintop in Turkey.
She had intended to devote her life to finding such biblical relics and proving the Bible’s history, but her stint in the IDF had soured her to religion. After experiencing up close and personal the plot of land known for all that Bible history, religion, and the faith springing from that land seemed to offer nothing more than violence and discord. Whether Christian or Jewish or Muslim. She still had her faith, but it was more private and separate from the rest of her life. Certainly not something that would ever mingle with her work as a historian and cultural anthropologist.
But when Rowan Radcliffe had contacted her, she jumped at the chance. Why not return to her first love, the history and culture of the Bible? But she wasn’t going to lie either: the money was pretty good, and she missed some of the action she’d had while serving in the IDF. And when things started going sour with her uncle’s operation, she thought why not put her services to good use for the Church? Besides, she could use the fresh start.
Dodging bullets and tracking down religious terrorists, however, wasn't in the job description. So she was beginning to seriously second-guess her vocational switch. Those dues had been paid long past with the IDF. And she had left that life behind when she joined her uncle. What she hadn't told Gapinski, or Radcliffe for that matter, was that leaving his salvage company hadn't been entirely voluntary.
It had started innocently enough. A few small pieces here and there from the collections she had discovered. The coins and figurines and pottery were worth hardly anything to anybody anyway. And with all the business she had been providing her uncle with her reputation and expertise, she figured he owed her.
But when she had made a return trip to the Urca de Lima and had taken some of the more elaborate gold pieces from the cache, that's when things went south.
Her first mistake had been taking them in the first place. Especially since it had been a government-sponsored salvage. The uncovering of the sizable Spanish fleet had been a boon for the Cuban culture, not to mention the economy and political climate. And their attention to the site was more than she had expected.
Her second mistake was trying to sell the items on the black market. She still couldn't say why she went that route. Other than bald-faced greed, she couldn't say why she had betrayed her cultural heritage by trying to sell to the highest bidder. But the INTERPOL sting had done what they had set out to do. Too bad they thought they'd caught a whale-shark dealer when in reality they'd caught a minnow-of-a-researcher who had made a terrible choice.
Her final mistake was the familial betrayal. It was nearly too much for her uncle to bear. The Cuban government fined him and his company, given that they were the custodians of the excavation. They severed their relationship with him and his company, which had a rippling effect across his other business relationships. Thankfully, he had been able to hold onto and maintain those contracts, but not before the damage had been done to his reputation.
Her act had especially stung because he had taken her in as a teenager when her parents had been tragically killed by a drunk driver. She was family, which made the betrayal all the worse.
Torres realized a tear had rolled down her cheek without her sensing it. She wiped it away and glanced at Gapinski. It looked like he hadn’t noticed. She returned to staring out the window.
A fresh start was just what Naomi Torres needed, and she hoped the Church could provide the reset. In more ways than one.
“Crapola!”
She startled back to the present moment. “What happened?”
“I lost the van.”
She sat up straighter and looked out the front windshield. “You lost the van?” She looked out her window and around out Gapinski’s window before glancing out the rear. “How could you lose the van? It was right there!”
“I don’t know, alright? I was following it a few cars back, and that big, fat truck got in the way. I thought I was following it a few blocks later when the thing turned, but then it vanished.”
She dialed Zoe. Unbelievable.
“Zoe, we lost the van. Have you been following us with a drone or CCTV?”
“Negatory, Naomi. It’s been all you. I can try and tap into area surveillance packages and backtrack the footage. But there’s no guarantee.”
Gapinski turned suddenly down a side road. “What’d she say? Do we have a read?”
“Sorry, pal.”
“Double crapola,” he growled.
“Zoe’s going to try and tap into CCTV footage and maybe some government surveillance vehicles, but don’t hold your breath.”
He turned right again, seemingly getting himself further lost by her account.
“I feel like we should stop and wait for Zoe,” she said. “I’m sure something will turn up if we let her work. I doubt winding our way farther through Rome is going to get us anywhere.”
He jerked the wheel again, this time left. “No, we gotta keep going and find that bastard. I’ve got a good feeling about where we’re heading.”
What have I gotten myself—
The window to her right shattered, spilling glass all over her as the world toppled upside down with a deafening crash.
They'd been hit. They were no longer on all fours but sprawled on the side.
Her head lanced with pain. She raised a trembling hand to her temple; it was bleeding.
She looked over to her left at Gapinski. He was unconscious, resting against the pavement through his own shattered window.
The world was dimming, going in and out of focus.
More shooting pain, mostly her right side. Where the van had hit them.
Van. Black van. Vesta. Creepy lady holding the bowl of fire.
Nous.
An arm reached into her window, the glint of a blade catching her attention as her eyes lifted and closed, lifted and closed. She watched it lazily as it sliced through her belt.
She tried pushing it away, but the hands were too powerful, and her resolve had been short-circuited by the concussive crash.
She felt a small pinprick at the base of her neck. Hands grabbed her. She was rising out of her seat.
Then her world went dark.