The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(15)

Cesar said, “I can still videotape, sir, even if it won’t broadcast. For our use only. Is that all right?”

“No.” He looked Cesar right in the eye. “Right now, record nothing.”

He wanted no word to get out. “It is time to open it up,” he said. “It’s time to know.”

While he waited for Cesar’s team to construct a makeshift scaffolding so he could see the top of the sphere, he ran his hands over the scarred surface. He felt the container vibrate ever so slightly against his palms. Yes, the Grail was inside, speaking to him, and it was powerful and strange, and he knew, knew to his soul that at last he’d found it.





CHAPTER NINE


Broussard climbed the ladder, his hand always on the surface of the sphere, feeling it vibrate, feeling its odd warmth. Was it somehow communicating to him? Or did he want it so badly he was imagining it? He searched for a hatch of some sort and found it at the very top. He shouted, “I’ve found the opening. Bring me a crowbar.”

Cesar scrambled up the ladder with the crowbar.

“Help me wedge it into the crack here.”

“Are you sure there isn’t a latch to let it open without forcing it?”

Jean-Pierre said, “This is the latch. It rusted off and all that’s left is this small indentation in the metal. Maybe the metal isn’t iron, it seems to be softer.” Could it be an asteroid? What a strange thought, but it made sense, some called the Grail the Heaven Stone, after all.

“Cesar, put the crowbar there.”

Jean-Pierre noticed Grant Thornton, the team leader from Blue Mountain, had followed them up the scaffolding. Broussard found him intelligent and focused, worked well with both his team and the crew. He wasn’t watching the latch of the sphere. No, his back was to them and he was looking for any possible trouble. Good, Thornton was doing his job. Jean-Pierre had hired the security team because he knew the moment word got out about his discoveries here in Malacca, with or without an announcement, the waters would be overrun with pirates, with media, with the local governments of Malaysia, India, and the Philippines, all of whom claimed salvage rights to the missing Flor de la Mar. Another reason to say nothing, to keep this private for as long as possible. Jean-Pierre intended to retrieve the Grail, sail away, and fly to Paris.

Cesar was grunting and sweating, trying to force the latch open. Jean-Pierre gave the crowbar a turn, but no go. And then he had an extraordinary thought. He didn’t question it, simply knelt over the sphere and laid his splayed hands on the latch. The words came without thought, his voice a soft whisper. “I mean you no harm. I am a disciple. I’ve sought you for three years to save the life of a human being more important to me than life itself. She is worthy of you and I am her messenger.”

Nothing happened, but Broussard didn’t move, still kept his head bowed, his hands on the latch. Cesar started to speak when a small crack appeared at the missing latch.

Cesar raised the crowbar, but Jean-Pierre grabbed his hand. “No, let it open itself for me. It will. Watch.”

Cesar’s voice shook. “You’re acting like this thing is alive. Sir, it can’t be.”

“You’ll see.”

Cesar started to back away. Thornton grabbed Cesar’s arm before he tripped and fell off the scaffolding. “Easy, mate.”

The crack was widening and Broussard stared into a small opening at the top of the sphere. He and Thornton watched the opening grow wider until Jean-Pierre could fit an arm inside, and then his head and torso.

“Give me a torch.”

Cesar handed over a Maglite.

“Now, hold me.”

Both Cesar and Grant Thornton grabbed hold of Jean-Pierre’s ankles as he leaned downward into the black sphere. Cesar said, “Be careful, sir, you have no idea what’s in there. It could be dangerous.”

Grant didn’t know what to think, but whatever this turned out to be, it was scary. He’d heard Broussard speak to the damned sphere, actually heard him, and he’d seen it open with his own eyes. By itself, as if something magical inside was responding to Broussard’s words. The Holy Grail? He’d heard the men talking about it, knew that was Broussard’s goal. Grant, like most of the crew, doubted its existence, considered it nothing more than a grand legend, but still they all wondered, waited.

Jean-Pierre’s voice echoed back up to him. “The Grail will not hurt me. You can let me go, Cesar, Thornton. There’s a platform inside.”

“What do you see?” Cesar called down. “Is it the Holy Grail?”

Inside the sphere, Jean-Pierre’s Maglite lightened the blackness. It was completely dry. The vibrations were stronger now, a steady hum. He saw six metal lines leading to the center of the sphere, where a one-foot-square box was anchored in midair. When he touched the box, he could swear it sighed.

There was no give in the metal lines. He set down the Maglite. At his touch the tension went out of the wires, they retracted, and the box fell free into his hands.

Broussard realized the interior of the sphere was glowing a dark green and pulsing now, gently, rhythmically. He wasn’t afraid. He was in awe. The warmth, the vibrations were stronger than ever.

He was wondering how to open the box when a soft click echoed inside the sphere, and the box opened for him.

He saw a black stone sitting on a tray of what looked like solid gold, the stone so small it would fit into his palm. He first ran his fingers along the edges, smooth, like glass, then he closed his hand around it. A sudden warmth filled him and he felt light, buoyant, his mind clear and strong. His right knee, which had always nagged him since an injury in the astronaut training program, was gone.