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  His thoughts pushed his legs to move with more urgency. He couldn’t decipher how long he ran in sheer panic so he stopped. Calm down. I won’t get there any faster by falling apart. Maybe Elizabeth had a reason why she wanted to visit Leah. Michael shook his head. No. The reasons she gave didn’t make sense. There’s something terribly wrong with her. He bent down to catch his breath for a brief moment. When he straightened up, he noticed Leah’s town in the distance.

  Initially he wanted to complete the journey by finding the apostle, hiding the relic and getting Elizabeth back to Northport. That all changed when she left. Selfish as it seemed, he wanted no part of the journey asked of him.

  Lord, please help us get home. My daughter’s been through so much. I want to see her graduate from high school. I want to take pictures of her on Prom Day. See her off to college. Hold my grandchildren. I’ve had enough of this running around in the First Century.

  He sprinted, pushing himself so hard he staggered to the front of the courtyard. He took a quick, desperate sip of water from the well. He threw the bucket back down and ran inside Leah’s house.

  Shattered pieces of clay littered the kitchen floor, and a wooden table lay broken against the wall. A smoldering fire clung to its last spark in the stove.

  He raced from room to room, his weapon drawn at shoulder level. He climbed to the second floor, stepping on the dinner mats and crushing a plate.

  Furious, he yelled out as if his daughter were standing in front of him. “You make me so crazy, Elizabeth. This time you’ve really done it. This time we both may not get out alive. Are you happy about that? How many times must I battle these Romans? How many?”

  He scurried to the room at the far end of the second floor, shouting out the window. “Lord,” he screamed. “Where are you? I’m trying to help you. Why aren’t you helping me?”

  He slid down the wall, his head pressed against the lower part of the window. “I want to go home, Lord. I want to take my daughter home too. Now. Right now. No more delays. No more instructions. No more chasing people. Is that too much to ask? I’ve done everything you’ve asked. Is this how my faith is rewarded?”

  He took a deep breath, waiting for an answer. He heard absolute silence. He stood, leaned out the window and saw the vacant courtyard. He looked out to the horizon and turned his head to the right and left. He saw nothing.

  Where are they, Lord? Tell me. Point me in the right direction. I’m a desperate man. I need your help right now. He climbed the last step to the roof, hand clenched on his weapon and looked around.

  Empty.

  He circled around the steep and short elevated parts. What’s this? He leaned down and picked up a shoe he had made not long ago. Elizabeth. This was the one I gave her. There was blood on it.

  He bent over and squeezed his head with both hands. “No!” He raged around the roof and looked skyward, shouting, “Elizabeth!”

  Michael fell to his knees but then got up immediately. He grabbed his chest and threw up. He gagged and staggered around the roof a few more times before tucking the shoe inside his pocket.

  He raced down the stairs, leaped and fell, never touching the last three rungs. He cursed under his breath and got up, swatting a piece of broken wood from the table. He looked around for other weapons and found a spear buried under a bedroll. He searched in a small box and grabbed several pieces of silver.

  Michael heard two men approaching the house, sounding like they were engaged in an argument. He remained quiet and listened, taking a quick peek out the window.

  Michael recognized Leah’s husband from when he observed them at Elizabeth’s gravesite. He looks upset. Oh, I hope it’s not bad. He has to know where Leah and Elizabeth went. We can find them together.

  He heaved a deep sigh, got control of his emotions and ran outside, yelling to the two men. “Please help me.” He put his hand out in a gesture of friendship. “My daughter is in trouble.”

  Leah’s husband glared at him. “Who are you? What are you doing in my home?”

  “I have come looking for my daughter,” Michael said.

  “Are you the man from the burial site Leah has spoken about?”

  “I am.”

  “Go on your way.”

  Michael shook his head. “I cannot leave until I find out what happened to my daughter. Her name is Elizabeth. She has hair like mine,” he said, pointing to his head. “The same color eyes.”

  “Elizabeth? The woman Leah and I visited at the burial site?”

  Michael thought fast on how to spin this without having this man think he was insane. “No. A different daughter. I renamed her Elizabeth after my first daughter died.”

  “I cannot help you.” Leah’s husband walked past him.

  “Something terrible has happened,” said Michael, following him.

  “It was the Romans,” Leah’s husband said, turning around. His face was pale. “The soldiers have come for us.”

  “What soldiers?”

  “The ones looking to avenge us for killing another one some sunsets ago.”

  “My God, Aharon,” his friend yelled. “Is this so?”

  Aharon jolted the man with a thrust to his shoulder. “Stay silent. Do you know how many hands around here would love to fetch a reward? Go home. Protect yourself.”

  The man ran out of the house as Michael took a few steps toward Aharon. “It was Marcus. Right?” he asked.

  Aharon nodded.

  “Where would they take Leah and Elizabeth?”

  Aharon went to the bedroom and came back with a spear. “The fortress.”

  “The one by the wall?”

  “Near the big temple,” Aharon said.

  Michael smothered a loud sigh of intense fear. “There have to be hundreds of soldiers there.”

  “Many,” said Aharon with a frown as he walked away.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the fortress to get my Leah back. She was not responsible for killing that soldier. I am. I will give myself up to save her life.”

  Michael ran after him and grabbed his arm. “No. There has to be a better way. We can think of a plan, find a way that can save everyone.”

  Aharon turned toward Michael and knocked him to the ground. “Get your hand off me or my sword will take it.”

  Michael backed away on his knees.

  “There are many Romans with better weapons than we have,” said Aharon. “How are two people going to take on the most powerful army?”

  Michael stood and thought about what Aharon had said for a few moments. “I do not have the answer for that question. I do know two of us are better than one.”

  Aharon walked several paces out of the courtyard. “Well, I know I have to go there and defend my Leah. I am prepared to give up my life. You should do the same for your daughter.”

  “I cannot disagree with you, my friend.”

  Aharon took several steps back to him, facing Michael nose-to-nose, and glared. “You are no friend of mine. We can help each other. Whatever happens, I will go my way with Leah or not. You will go your way with your daughter or not. Do you understand?”

  “I do. But you understand as well. I will save and protect my daughter at all costs. We can either help each other or not. That is your choice. Are we clear?”

  Aharon didn’t respond and kept walking, picking up the pace with each step. Michael stayed behind a good distance for fear of antagonizing him more. I am going to need him to help me get Elizabeth out safely. His thoughts percolated, ideas swarmed in his mind. Yet, none seemed reasonable and rational against the odds he faced.

  I’ll make this journey alone if I have to.

  Michael looked skyward, fighting off his peaceful instincts. “I don’t give a damn about any commandment. I’ll kill any man who lays a hand on my daughter.”

  Chapter 16

  Modern-Day Long Island

  Hewitt stared at the ceiling, looking at more white p
aper boards with case information on them. He read and stared, never blinking.

  Michael Stewart – middle-aged man. Devoted to his wife. Changes and becomes a recluse with his daughter after his wife dies. Closest friend is the pastor. Pastor is friends with him for suspicious reasons. Pastor has motivation to silence Michael. What is Michael’s motivation? Churchgoers saw him upset about daughter’s boyfriend. Motivation there. Michael is a Type-A control freak.

  Hewitt sat up and pulled out the side drawer. He grabbed the black book he had taken from the pastor’s office, flipped it open and began to read. Let me find the reference to the old man the pastor spoke about. Farmer. Where are you, Mr. Farmer?

  He flipped through the pages and found it near the back of the book. Hewitt put his finger on the lines and read them over and over again. The passage described how George Farmer appeared from the basement one afternoon, bloodied. “My God, this can’t be real.”

  Hewitt turned the pages in disbelief. “No. This can’t be true.” He put the book down at his side, his index finger holding his place, and took a deep breath. It’s time I suspend reality and think like these fanatics do. I wonder if this Pastor Vincent is still alive. He read another page.

  I heard the terror in the mothers’ screams. I felt powerless, as I had no weapons. I finally got up enough courage to find a rock and throw it at a soldier. It hit him in the head. I raced and picked up the baby. A woman chased me.

  I kept running. I stopped until I came upon this small town, unlike any I had seen before. They lived like the Amish. No cars. No electricity. Just candles. The woman who was chasing me caught up and started talking in a language I had never heard before. She yanked the baby out of my arms and left.

  I ran back to the field and tried to help as many mothers as I could. One soldier speared me. That’s why I have this wound. I know you’re thinking otherwise, but I would never hurt myself. I swear this is what happened.

  Hewitt closed the book and put it back in the side drawer, went downstairs and grabbed his coat and keys. His phone buzzed, but he didn’t glance at it. Instead, he walked into the dark living room where his wife had spent her last days with him, sleeping alone. He touched the pillow before going outside to his car.

  As he walked toward the car, he read the text and then replied with, thanks. Hewitt tucked his gun inside his holster and then flipped a switch on a small tape recorder and slid it in his front shirt pocket. After pulling on his coat, he buttoned it up to the top.

  He heard the beep as the car door unlocked when he pressed the button on his key fob. He climbed in, buckled his seatbelt, turned the key in the ignition and backed out of his driveway. He arrived at the psych ward in no time.

  “Good evening, miss,” he said, flashing his FBI identification. “I’m here to see a Pastor Vincent Hornichek.”

  “This is outside our visiting hours, sir,” the nurse behind the desk said.

  “It’s official business.” He walked past her.

  “Don’t you need the room number?”

  “I already have it.”

  Hewitt strode by several doors. He came upon an open door at the end of the hallway and tapped on it. “Pastor Vincent? Pastor Vincent?”

  The old man was talking.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Pastor. I didn’t realize you have company, but this should only take a few min … ” Hewitt stopped as he walked in. The pastor was talking to an empty chair. He looked at him.

  “Are you Pastor Vincent?”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  Hewitt pulled a chair beside the pastor’s bed and sat. “Vincent, I’m Special Agent Hewitt Paul from the FBI.”

  “Hello, Hewitt Paul from the FBI. I’m Pastor Vincent from the CBI.”

  “CBI?”

  “Yes. Haven’t you heard of us?”

  Hewitt shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Neither have I.”

  Hewitt grinned. “Pastor, I need your help. Do you remember George Farmer? He attended your church.”

  “Who is George Farmer?”

  “That’s what I’m asking you.”

  “Why would you be asking me about someone I don’t know?”

  “Then you don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  Great. He leaned closer to the pastor. “Let me see if I can help you with your memory.”

  “Fine with me,” he said.

  “George Farmer attended the Lady by the Bay Church. You were the pastor when something strange happened to George. You wrote it in a black book. George told you this story. Do you remember this?”

  “Lady by the Bay. Hmmm. It’s familiar. I believe I officiated at George and his wife’s wedding.”

  “Good. Now could you tell me more about him?”

  “Sure. He married the actress Sandra Bullock. Lovely ceremony. Too many cameras. I hate those flash cameras. She was a lovely person. Drop dead gorgeous but too much makeup. Lucky man that George. Lucky man.”

  Hewitt rubbed his eyes. “I need a new life.”

  “Do you think what I have here is a great life?”

  Hewitt smiled. “No.”

  “Did I help you?” he asked, smiling.

  Hewitt stood. “You did. Is there anything I can do before I go?”

  “Yes. I could use a glass of water.”

  “You got it.”

  Hewitt walked back to the front desk. “Pastor Vincent needs a cold glass of water. Where can I find one?”

  The woman shook her head. “No. If he starts drinking water before he goes to sleep, we’ll be taking him to the bathroom all night.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “No water. It’s the rules.”

  “Whose rules?” Hewitt asked.

  “This is a psychiatric hospital, sir. He can have his water tomorrow morning.”

  “Screw this,” said Hewitt, walking away. He went to a vending machine and put a couple of dollars in. Pressing a button, he scooped up a bottle of water and showed it to the woman. “He’s getting his water.”

  “You can get him up then when he needs to go to the bathroom.”

  Hewitt sped back to the desk. “You can get off your ass and help the man if he needs to go. Or one call to the New York Times and I can give them the inside scoop of what’s going on in here. Capiche?”

  He didn’t give the nurse a chance to respond as he hurried back to the pastor’s room, uncapped the bottle and handed it to him. Pastor Vincent drank it like a man who had found a fresh spring in a dry desert.

  Hewitt gave the pastor his business card. “If anyone gives you a hard time here, call me.” Hewitt pointed to Pastor Vincent’s phone at the side of the bed. “You know how to use it, right?”

  “I sure can. But when I do, they tell me to stop and take it away from me. They tell me I’m bothering people with my calls late at night. But I get lonely.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I know all about loneliness. You call me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Pastor, I’ll put your bottle here if you need it. If you need help with it, call a nurse. Okay?” He looked for space on top of the dresser. He pushed aside a little box, and a coin fell to the floor. He reached down and picked it up. “This is one odd coin you have here, Pastor.”

  “Oh yeah. I’ve had that for a while. It was a gift.”

  Hewitt held it up to the light. “Whoa. This is some coin. Who gave it to you?”

  “Ah, a woman. Cecilia. Always attended church when I was there. She didn’t have much, but she was always a giving woman.”

  “Cecilia?”

  The pastor didn’t answer as he had fallen asleep. Hewitt pulled the sheet and blanket over him and left the room. Cecilia Farmer. Wife of George. His mind formulated questions he intended on asking. Where did you get that coin? Did George talk about the importance of th
e coin? Did he talk about his travels and what he was doing? Did he drink a lot? No. I know I want to believe that, but I need to suspend reality at least for a moment.

  As he approached the front desk, he noticed a man with a long ponytail, wearing a black leather jacket, heading out the front door. He immediately recognized him.

  “What’s Pastor Dennis doing here?” he asked the nurse.

  “He was here to see a friend.”

  “Who was he seeing?”

  “I can’t disclose that information. You should know that. Do you have a warrant?”

  Hewitt laughed. “I don’t need a warrant.” He grabbed the sign-in sheet and walked away.

  Chapter 17

  First-century Jerusalem

  Chained to a wall, Elizabeth struggled to breathe. The stench from the bowels of the Antonia Fortress snaked through her stomach. She recoiled in horror as she saw Leah. Her face was swollen while blood dripped from her nose, and her right eye was barely open from a harsh bruise.

  My God. What do I do now? Get us the hell out of here! This is crazy. Someone help me. Now! Dad? Where are you? Why did you have to go back to this terrible place? I was happy with Mom. I was happy. At peace. I want to scream.

  “Dad, did you read my note?” Elizabeth thrashed about, pulling and yanking on the chains. “Let me out of here,” she screamed. Her voice echoed down the dark corridor and elicited no response. She took several deep breaths and relaxed her arms. Get a grip. I’m so mad at Dad. Why won’t he answer me?

  “Leah, can you hear me?”

  She mumbled a couple of words.

  Elizabeth placed her hands on the ground and inched over to Leah on her backside. Leah held up her hands. Elizabeth swatted them away. “Knock it off. Do you think I want to be here? Yochanan told me how you needed help.”

  Leah shook her head. “Yochanan is dead. You are dead.”