Tomb of Faith (A Gabriel De Sade Thriller)

By Eric Meyer

In the fourth novel of the Gabriel de Sade series, the tough New York homicide detective is up against his greatest challenge. A gruesome discovery close to Opus Dei headquarters in New York City points the finger at a religious maniac. A new serial killer is on the loose. Yet a chance discovery at the crime scene points in a new and different direction – Seville, Spain. Home of one of the largest cathedrals in Christendom, burial site of Christopher Columbus, discoverer of America, and the stalking ground of the most inventive and dangerous serial killer de Sade and his partner have ever faced.

A real thrill-a-minute rollercoaster, where the action crosses the Atlantic to Spain, up into the frozen snows of the Sierra Nevada, and back to New York. And de Sade finds that he has only his closest friend to trust when the police forces of two great nations are set to stop him pursuing his quarry to the very end. An end that is dramatic and unexpected as the plot twists and turned to its gory and violent conclusion.

Tomb of Faith is a rich and fast-moving tale weaving brutality and religious mysticism into a riveting tale of suspense. Violent and exciting, both harsh and compassionate, the novel is packed with intrigue and mystery. Hugely enjoyable for lovers of the detective thriller genre.

The thrilling Gabriel De Sade series consists of:

Killing Faith
Loss of Faith
Death of Faith
Tomb of Faith

• Language: English
• Publisher: Swordworks Books
• Release date: Apr 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476462646

Eric Meyer

An internationally recognized expert on the subjects of HTML, CSS, and Web standards, Eric has been working on the web since late 1993. He is the founder of Complex Spiral Consulting, a co-founder of the microformats movement, and co-founder (with Jeffrey Zeldman) of An Event Apart, the design conference series for people who make web sites. Beginning in early 1994, Eric was the campus Web coordinator for Case Western Reserve University, where he authored a widely acclaimed series of three HTML tutorials and was project lead for the online version of the Encyclopedia of Cleveland History combined with the Dictionary of Cleveland Biography, the first example of an encyclopedia of urban history being fully and freely published on the Web.

Book preview

TOMB OF FAITH

By Eric Meyer

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright © 2012 by Eric Meyer

Published by Swordworks Books

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

Prologue

She stared at the window. A man was there, backlit by the streetlamps outside. He raised a gun, and her muscles tensed ready to roll away from the bullet. Before she could move, there was a shot, and then another. But incredibly, she wasn’t hit. The man started to pitch backwards into the street. And then there was someone else there, standing on her balcony. Galina! Her long-term friend, a former member of the Russian Spetsnaz who’d joined the Orthodox Church. Yet she was anything but orthodox, and when the church discovered her martial talents, she became a troubleshooter, able to deal with frequent threats to the security of the Church. As now, her solutions often involved the application of deadly force.

Galina? What are you doing?

This guy was sent to kill you. We need to hide the body quickly before anyone sees it. Otherwise they'll just send someone else if they know what we've done. Hurry!

But the cops will be here soon. And Gabriel is in the next room. He must have heard.

Never mind, we must hide the body. I believe this is the last one. If we can make him disappear, you should be safe, but we need to get him away from here.

She looked outside the window. The body was on the fire escape, lying at an unnatural angle. A small pool of blood had seeped out, and Galina ripped off the man's coat to wipe it away.

What do you want me to do? I’m not even dressed. I can't go like this. I’m only wearing my PJs.

No time! Come and help me. It’s essential that no one sees the body, not even Gabriel.

She didn’t ask any more questions. Faith climbed out of the window onto the fire escape, and between them they manhandled the body down to the next floor. The window was open, and the apartment empty. Galina indicated they should take the body into the apartment. They carried the dead man through to the hallway.

What if the occupants come home? Faith objected.

They won’t, they’re away for a few days.

How did you know that?

Your father checked out everyone who lives in the apartment block. He keeps an eye on things. You know Jonas, my partner, works for him. Well, Jonas looks at the daily logs to see who’s coming and going. We’re just trying to protect you.

She nodded, her father, of course. The Director of CIA, he made an irritating habit of discreetly watching over his daughter. She hated it but couldn’t stop it. And maybe it had saved her life on this occasion.

Okay, and then what?

We dump him, Galina replied. It would be best if he was disposed of a long way away. The Appalachians would be a good bet. You could lose a hundred corpses in that place.

Galina, I still don’t understand why. Who sent him?

That business down in Mexico, the Church never forgave you for what they thought you did to them.

You mean the Vatican? Surely not.

Not the Vatican as such, but some rogue elements inside the Vatican, yes. I hope that when this one disappears they’ll give it up, just in case he’s been caught, maybe turned State’s evidence. They’ll think twice before they do anything more.

Faith nodded. It made sense. They rolled the body into a rug from the living room. Faith managed a smile when she saw it was a handmade Kurdish antique, probably worth thousands of dollars. They carried the heavy bundle to the elevator and pressed the button for the basement. Galina’s car was parked out back, so they carried the corpse outside and lifted the weighty load into the trunk and drove off into the night.

They dumped the body in an abandoned mineshaft. Galina pulled out the supports so that the sides collapsed inwards, covering the body for eternity so that it would never be found. Galina watched the dirt and dust settle, and then turned to Faith.

It’s time to get you home.

No, I can’t go back, not yet. I don’t know why, but I need some time on my own.

The Russian girl looked at her sharply. Are you okay?

She shook her head. I just don’t know. All I do know is that I need some time.

Where will you go?

There’s an Orthodox retreat just outside Bridgewater. They’ll take me in for a while.

Galina nodded. Yes, of course they will. How long do you plan to stay away?

I don’t know, Galina, really. But listen, this is important. There is something I need to think through, and I don’t even know what it is yet. I just know.

Some kind of a vision? Something that is going to happen in the future?

Yes, it is. And it is something that involves Gabriel. He is not to know where I am, it is important. I wish I knew more, but I don’t.

The Russian girl gave her a tight smile. I don’t like it.

No, I suppose not, but it is important. If I don’t resolve this, something will happen to Gabriel.

Like what?

He’ll be killed.

Chapter One

She tossed and turned, trapped in the throes of the nightmare that haunted her dreams for night after night. She was in a complex and dark labyrinth, a maze of tunnels. The walls pressed in on her, causing a claustrophobic sensation as if they were trying to suffocate her. Behind her, she heard footsteps as her pursuer drew near. She ran, but the footsteps ran too, nearer and nearer. A shot cracked out, splinters of stone hissed around her head, and she looked around. He was near, much nearer. She had to get away. Where were the others? Why didn’t they come down here to save her? She ran faster, knowing that she was even further away from aid. Suddenly, the lights went out, and she was plunged into darkness. She could hear breathing, hers? Or his? She crept forward, feeling her way along the tunnel, touching the stones to find an opening, a way out, anything. Her hand touched something different, wood, iron. A door. She felt around the surface until she found the handle. It opened, and she slipped through, closing it behind her. Would he know she was in here? Except that she didn’t know where she was, only that it was a dark chamber. She felt the fear, a terror that leeched all of her courage away and left her weak and helpless. There was only one way she could help herself. She prayed. It was a silent prayer for help and deliverance. She closed her eyes, even though it was dark, and said the familiar, comforting words. When she opened her eyes, she felt calm, at peace, her mind clear, and even more important, she knew what she should do. Why she should do it she had no idea, only that it must be done. She looked around and saw a faint gleam of light on the far side of the dark chamber. She walked towards it. The light came from small hole in the stonework, as if someone had constructed a peephole. She peered through and stifled a gasp. Directly in front of her was the man who had tried to kill her. He was facing away from her, looking towards the brightly lit stone steps that led down into the labyrinth. As she watched, a man emerged from the dark of the stairwell. Her stomach flipped over. Gabriel, her lover, had come to save her. He was holding a gun, yet because he was backlit against the steps, he couldn’t see the man who waited to kill him. He started forward, and the man raised his gun to kill him. She tried to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. Her vision blurred, and a mist started to obscure the terror that was unfolding in front of her. There was the sound of a shot, but the flash of the explosion left her even more blinded. She closed her eyes and re-opened them. They were gone, the men, the stone steps, and instead, there was nothing, just a black emptiness. She twisted her neck to look sideways at Gabriel de Sade, her lover, who slept peacefully beside her in the bedroom of their New York apartment. Thank God, he was safe. But what did it mean? She felt her fear beginning to surface again. She knew that it more important than anything in her life. It had a meaning that would become clear at some time in the future; it was a portent of an event that had yet to happen. She would have to work out what it meant, and what was even more important, to answer terrible question. Could she save him from being murdered? She pictured that terrible nightmare and suddenly realized there was something else, or rather, someone else. Behind Gabriel was yet another dark form, another man. She couldn’t make out what he was doing, only that his intent was to hurt, to maim, and to kill.

* * *

It was a fall evening, and that time of the year when dark shadows mingle with the faded rays of the sun to make it difficult to see across the city. Carlo Estevez, Gabriel de Sade’s partner, strapped on his vest, took out his piece, and checked the load on the Police-issue Glock 17.

Damn, this place is dark. It’ll be difficult to see anything when we go in, let alone the perp.

They were outside a boarded up warehouse close to the Hudson. Carlo had recognized the guy as they drove through a nearby street. They’d followed him when he ran away and disappeared into the building, moving aside a sheet of plywood to gain access. He was wanted for a brutal series of knock-ins, smashing into apartments, and stealing the occupant’s property while he held them at gunpoint. Three women had reported that he raped them during the process of the crime, forcing them to carry out obscene acts. He threatened to shoot them if they refused to obey. So far, he hadn’t killed anyone, but the profile showed he was escalating, and it was only a matter of time before he graduated to murder.

Take it easy in there, Carlo. We know he’s armed, and he’ll be desperate. Assuming it’s our guy. We need to make a positive identification.

It’s him. I saw him, Carlo muttered as he slammed the clip home. It’s time to nail this sucker and haul his ass off to Rikers. You ready?

All set. Do you want me to go first?

It was a sore topic between them. De Sade had a heap of Special Forces experience in Afghanistan. Carlo, the macho, Latino male, was always conscious that he was the junior partner, in age, experience, and military training.

Nah, I’m good, I’ll take this. Watch my back, okay?

I’ve got it.

Carlo moved the wooden board aside, and they climbed into the dark building. A rustling noise above made him jerk his flashlight upwards, and they saw the staircase.

Up there, Carlo whispered. They always go for the high ground, stupid bastards. I’m going up.

Gabriel followed him up the dusty staircase, and a slight noise made them both look down, but it was a rat. They made the second floor landing, a wide, open loft space, and one of the few that hadn’t succumbed to the gentrification of the property developers.

Did you hear that?

No. Gabriel hadn’t heard anything, but his concern was to get a firm identification on the suspect. Play your flashlight around to try and see him.

Yeah, I was about to do that.

Carlo shone the beam into the far corners and recesses of the open space. Almost immediately a pair of eyes were lit up and stared back at them.

Christ, it’s him. Police! Come out with your hands up!

I ain’t done nothing! The place was already open. Don’t hurt me.

The voice was weak, pitiable. Either the suspect was a good actor, or it wasn’t the guy they wanted.

I said come out or I’ll shoot.

Please, no, don’t hurt me.

Carlo fixed the dark shape of the man in his beam and started forward. Put your hands where I can see them, buster. You’re under arrest.

No, no, I didn’t do anything. It wasn’t me.

The man finally got up and lurched forward.

Stop, stay right there or I’ll shoot!

I’ve got ID! I'm a vet, look, I’ll show you.

He put a hand into his shabby raincoat, and the room exploded into noise and a blinding flash as Carlo fired. Two shots. They hit the suspect and threw him to the ground. They both ran up, and Gabriel put his fingers to the man’s neck.

He’s dead.

I got him, Carlo exclaimed. That’ll save the city a few dollars.

If it’s our guy. What was he reaching for? Gabriel felt inside the pocket and drew out a wallet with a veteran’s ID card. Carlo’s face fell.

I told him to stop and put up his hands. The stupid bastard, he kept coming. It could have been a gun.

But it wasn’t, Carlo. I’ll call in the ME, and they can take it from there. We’ll need to fill in a report, and I’d be ready for Internal Affairs. They may want to talk to you about an OIS.

Yeah, I guess they will.

An Officer Involved Shooting meant that there’d be many questions to answer, and the fact that the guy wasn’t armed would raise more than a few eyebrows. The guy should have done as he was ordered, but who knew what his mental state was? A lot of Vets were seriously damaged after involvement in the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. If this proved to be one of them, it could be a major embarrassment for the department. They waited for the ME to arrive and then left to return to the Precinct to fill in the paperwork. As they walked in, Captain Kruger was waiting for them.

I want your reports on my desk ASAP, and that means an hour ago. What were you thinking of, Estevez?

I gave him a fair warning, he defended himself. Besides, he could have been the perp. Have you thought about that?

No, I haven’t, Carlo. While you were shooting that poor guy, he struck again. This time, the woman is on life support in the emergency room. You killed the wrong man.

Carlo went white and turned away, muttering that he’d shouted for the guy to stop and put up his hands. But he knew he was in trouble. The citizens of New York expected their police to protect them, not gun down the innocent. Two suits entered the detectives’ room and walked up to them.

You the detective who killed that guy tonight?

Yeah, what of it?

Internal Affairs Division, we need you to make a statement. Now!

It took the whole night to finish, talking to IAD, writing up the reports and going over the same ground again and again until the men in suits were satisfied. Almost.

Listen, Detective Estevez. You’re off the hook on this one, but you’re on notice. If it happens again, you could find yourself up on manslaughter charges. Do you understand?

Yeah, yeah, I got it, Carlo replied, trying to maintain some of his macho bluster. And failing.

They turned to de Sade. And you, Detective, you’re the senior man. You should have made sure it didn’t happen.

Gabriel nodded. They were right. I got it, was all he said.

That’s it then, you’re free to go and continue on duty.

Gabriel felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Killing a man, an innocent man, was not something they’d ever be free from. He knew they’d both see that guy in their nightmares for a long time to come.

* * *

His mind flashed back to Afghanistan, to a skirmish that cost three marines their lives. During long patrol miles from the American controlled area, a group of Taliban insurgents set an ambush that caught them in crossfire as they walked along a narrow ravine. They were pinned down in an area of broken ground, strewn with loose rock that protected them from the worst of the enemy fire. Gabriel recollected the sweet smell that hung over the whole area, like an invisible cloud. They were next to an opium field, one of the thousands that were increasing in numbers across the countryside. He called in a helicopter gunship that came in with its guns blazing and rockets firing and drove off part of the enemy. However, some of them were entrenched in a village less than four hundred yards away, an inhabited village. They poured fire onto Team Bravo, knowing that the RoRs prevented them from firing back. Technically. One of their men, new to the unit, had protested when shots were fired in the direction of the village.

That’s against orders, Sergeant! There’ll be women and children in there, you know that.

I know it, Gabriel replied. If you want to obey orders and die here, that’s okay with me. I want six of the team to lay down a curtain of small arms fire on those stone huts. No grenades, just bullets. If any of those civilians haven’t had the sense to get their heads down, they deserve what they get. I’ll take four men and go right, Jonas, take another four and go left. Let’s kill those bastards.

They attacked hard and fast as they’d been trained, and the insurgents never had a chance. When they went through the village to search for any enemy hiding in the huts, they found the civilian inhabitants were all dead, killed by the Taliban. The Afghan press blamed the Special Forces, of course. There was no mileage in trumpeting the incessant butchery of the Taliban. It was not the rules of war, more the application of brutality to achieve an objective. Yet always, it was the innocent who suffered, no matter what the justification.

* * *

The early snow had turned to slush, and few people bothered to even look as they hurried home in biting, cold wind and wet, ice-covered sidewalks. Cabs and trucks drove through the pools of melting water, sending sheets of spray soaring into the air to drench cursing commuters trying to make their precarious way home. The water company was repairing old piping by the look of the fenced off section of street with a tent place over the manhole protecting the workers from the elements. As he watched, a man in a yellow hard hat ran out of the tent, talking urgently on his cell. The man was amused at his gestures, the way his face moved, eyebrows raised, and lips stretched as he described what his team had uncovered. From his comfortable office on the eighth floor, he needed no description of what was down there. He already knew. Skeletons, more than twenty of them, the result of a nineteenth century battle between Presbyterians and Mormons. He sighed. Why did these fools still fight when the truth was so obvious? There was only one true faith. And yet even his fellow believers sometimes left the true path, or else there would be no need for his organization; the pilot that steered the ship through stormy waters and put it back on course. He sat and browsed through his work schedule for that day. There was nothing that could not wait, and what was going on outside was much more interesting. He watched the ME’s minivan draw up to the tent. Two people climb out, both wearing dark blue insulated coats with ME stenciled on the back, a middle aged woman and a young man. Would they find more than just the skeletons? He wondered. It would be a shame, for it had been such a useful place to place the bodies. After all, it was already a tomb for unbelievers. But now that they were investigating the site, he’d have to find somewhere else. It was an elementary precaution. They disappeared into the tent, and for almost a half hour there was no further activity. Then the young man with the ME’s coat emerged from the tent and vomited into the gutter. They’d found them, so be it. A few minutes later, an unmarked car drew up. He recognized the type, and without doubt it was the police. Why did the plainclothes detectives always use vehicles that were so obvious? Strange. Two men climbed out, the first, a Hispanic in his late twenties. He had a thin, pencil moustache and was dressed in what the man would regard as ‘gangsta chic’. Cheap suit, cut slightly too small, a thin tie, and a hairstyle that owed more to pomade than it did to a barber’s scissors. The second man was altogether different. He was dressed more for the weather, in a thick leather coat. His hair was black too but cut in a more conservative manner. He walked like a soldier, looking around his immediate environment, moving with a smooth economy of motion that almost hid an inner strength that men would be wise to beware of. Without doubt a powerful man, he could have been a soldier in Special Forces, even an athlete, or maybe an Olympic pentathlete. He was the lead detective. There was no question, and this was about to get interesting. He’d wondered when the bodies may be found, and who he’d have to cross swords with. He knew he was seeing that man now. He sat back from the window. Even eight floors up, he didn’t want his face to be seen watching developments.

* * *

Jesus Christ, Gabriel, it stinks!

De Sade smiled at his partner,