11.
Slipping off my bomber, I decide to
leave my shoulder holster strapped to my chest. You never know what might come
through the door when you least expect it. The prize at the end of this journey
isn’t cash. It isn’t jewels. It isn’t some ancient pottery dug up in and around
the Giza pyramids. The prize is nothing other than Jesus of Nazareth whom some
call God. God is within my grasp.
Startling thing is, I may be closer
to the Jesus remains than even Andre, that is my intuition … my gut … is
serving me well. All that stands between the bones and my hands, is the Shroud
of Turin. Getting at the professor and getting him safely back will come too.
But not before I’m certain of where the bones are hidden.
I pour myself another glass of
wine, put my feet up on the bed. I lie b
