“Stunning,” he said.
“What are these rings in the middle?” I asked. There were sixteen wooden rings surrounding the cylinder. Each with a series of numbers carved into it.
“Ah,” Quintas said. “The best part. There are sixteen wooden rings. Essentially the container is a series of cylinders within cylinders that rotate inside. When they are moved in the right sequence they will open a series of locks. They must be rotated properly in sequence. Then your hands must apply the right amount of pressure. Turn your left hand to the right and your right hand to the left and the cylinder will open. It requires both the correct combination and the pressure. And it is made for your hands alone. Once the Grail is sealed inside only you will be able to open it, young Borneo,” he said.
“What if someone tries to break it open? With an axe or by burning the wood?” I asked.
Quintas shrugged. “I can only do what I can do. We must keep it hidden, but it cannot be opened by anyone but young Borneo unless they know the combination and have hands exactly the same size as his. Pistachio wood is extremely hard, difficult to burn. I suppose someone could smash it open. But it is obviously holding something valuable. Would anyone take the chance on breaking it open and perhaps also destroying what is inside? I cannot answer that question. I will carve a message in the side with a stern warning that opening it by force will damage what it holds.”
“And you have done more than I could have imagined, Quintas,” Sir Hughes said.
Every night, before we went to sleep, Quintas would drill me on the use of the container. I practiced and practiced until the combination and feel of the container was seared into my brain. Quintas’s design worked perfectly.
As it turns out, he completed it just in time. Two weeks later a large force of Saracens besieged Jerusalem. It was time to move it to safety.
But the Grail held still more secrets. Because before the siege we also learned the Grail had the power to heal. And it is most likely because of that power that I am sitting here today.
The Miracle
Before the city was besieged, Sir Hughes and I rode out on patrol. I had taken to leaving Croc behind at the Temple to safeguard the hidden room. Even before he lived a thousand years he was an uncommonly smart dog. If anyone showed interest in the chamber he would blink to us right away and we would return to make sure nothing was disturbed.
Not far outside the city, we found a group of raiders harassing a small band of pilgrims. As they rode down upon us, we disappeared and reappeared behind, around, and in front of them, steadily reducing their number. Still they held firm, waiting patiently for us to reappear; then they would attack.
It was our first indication that the blink had limits. All that week we had been fighting as the numbers of our enemies grew. We had used the power a great deal within a short period of time. The longer the distance traveled, the more frequent the use of the power, the longer it took us to blink again. I discovered it first. I reappeared in front of one of the raiders and his scimitar whistled through the air, slicing through my tunic. Luckily the chain mail beneath it protected me from injury. He swung again and I parried with my blade and tried to blink away. But I stayed where I was.
“Sir Hughes!” I shouted. “Something . . . is wrong!” I could barely speak as this raider closed on me, swinging his giant weapon back and forth, nearly taking my head off a half dozen times.
“Steady now, young Borneo,” he shouted. Sir Hughes fought his way toward me, striking down two men with his sword. We were caught in a morass of bodies, horses, and shouting, grunting men. Our one tactical advantage was lost, and we were outnumbered and about to die. Had the power of the Grail deserted us?
Somehow he finally fought his way to my side. The next thing I remember is Sir Hughes grabbing me by the arm and we blinked away. Not far, but close enough to where we had left our horses that we could stagger to them and mount up. We turned and rode toward the city with the remaining raiders hot on our heels.
At first, I could scarcely hold on to the reins. I was worried I would tumble from the saddle. Sir Hughes must have noticed.
“Hold on, young Borneo,” he shouted over the thundering hooves. “Hold on.”
The raiders were closing fast. Try as I might, I could not blink. Sir Hughes maneuvered his horse next to mine, only inches separating us. He reached out, grasping my arm.
I did not know it was possible for Sir Hughes to “carry” me when he blinked. But I came to on the floor of the chamber where the Grail was hidden, and Croc was licking my face. Sir Hughes lay next to me, groaning in pain. I clambered to my hands and knees.
“Sir . . . Hughes,” I stammered. “Are you . . .”
Blood soaked through his tunic. He gasped for air.
“Young . . . Borneo,” he croaked.
“How did you . . . You brought us here?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
He tried to sit up, but he was too weak.
“I have learned its powers, young Borneo. At first, I thought we uncovered the power God granted to St. Ignatius.”
“St. Ignatius?” I couldn’t think. As I’ve said, I was not devout and I struggled to recall the miracle of St. Ignatius.
Sir Hughes chuckled and coughed, making a horrible wheezing sound. “You should have paid more attention at church, lad. Bi-location. St. Ignatius had the power to appear in two places at once.” He put his hand to his side. When he lifted it away, it was covered in blood. “I believe I grew too bold in our last engagement, young Borneo. It would appear a raider’s arrow found its mark before I could blink us away.”
His body shuddered and shook with spasms there on the floor. I sensed he was near the end. Croc was whimpering and continued licking my face. I felt something warm and wet on my forehead. Touching it, I found I was bleeding from a scalp wound. Sir Hughes wheezed.
“I have studied our gift. It is the gift of speed. We simply move faster than it is possible for human eyes to see. I don’t know if this is what God intended when he granted us this power. And as you saw today—” He was racked by a coughing fit.
“Sir Hughes, you must let me take you to the physician,” I said. “Please.”
“No! No, young Borneo. You . . .”
He lost consciousness. Croc whimpered and nudged his body with his snout. My eyes filled with blood from the wound on my forehead. I wiped it away and shook him.
“Sir Hughes! Sir Hughes,” I shouted. But he did not wake up.
Then the strange noise we’d heard the first night we discovered the Grail started up again. Croc barked and went to the wall, rising on his hind legs and pawing at the lead panel. I stood and rushed to it, quickly using my dagger to pry it loose. The light burst out of the small alcove, its blue glow filling the chamber.
I took the Grail in my hands and held it. The weakness and pain I felt were instantly gone. I touched my head wound to find the skin smooth and unbroken. But when I held out the Grail and bathed Sir Hughes in its light, it did not cure his wounds or restore him to life. Like all things in this world, it apparently had its limits.
Not knowing what else to do, I hurried to my quarters and retrieved the container Quintas had so brilliantly designed. Returning to the chamber I put the Grail inside it. I prayed over Sir Hughes’s body, then sealed him up inside the chamber. In some way I felt he would have been pleased to rest there for eternity.
That night, I gathered up my equipment and I rode out of Jerusalem. The Saracen forces were gathering in the hills. I did not wish to be trapped there with something so valuable. I could not risk it falling into the wrong hands.
In time I learned to master the blink. As did Croc. It had the power to heal, but it did not grant immortality. I’m aging, but at a very slow rate. Sir Hughes died and the Grail could not bring him back. I did not get a chance to study it, to find out what other powers it can or cannot grant us.
For not long after I left Jerusalem it was taken from me.
&
nbsp; And I’ve been looking for it ever since. For nearly a thousand years I have never stopped looking for it. Now I finally know who has it. It is all clear to me. I understand now what needs to be done. We must find it.
We must end this.
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15
2:30 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. PST
Lost and Found
Angela turned off the recorder.
“You lost it?” Angela said. “How?”
We’d been listening to Boone and I had found it hard to breathe. The Holy Grail? Was that even possible? Boone stared out at the water, saying nothing. It was as if some big burden had been lifted off of his shoulders. I couldn’t imagine it.
“Uh. Boone,” I said. “You realize that ever since Kitty Hawk we’ve known you can poof! or blink or whatever you call it, and it’s been driving us both nuts. Could you finish the story?” I said.
“Sorry. It’s just so strange. The two of you are the first people I’ve talked about this with in . . . centuries.”
“You lost it,” Angela prodded him.
Boone still sat quietly.
“Boone, I know this must be hard,” Angela said. “But you have to tell us. You need to trust us. My mom is still pretending to be the Leopard. Number One is still out there. We are still in danger. If something happens, we need to know what to do.”
“I know. You’re right, as usual, Angela. But both of you need to promise me that you will never tell another soul what I’m about to tell you. Not even your parents. You can’t reveal this knowledge to anyone,” Boone said.
“Boone,” I said, trying and failing to keep the incredulity out of my voice. “I think that’s the least of your worries. Can’t you see how that conversation would go? ‘Mom, Roger, please sit down. Angela and I have something to tell you about Boone. Apparently he’s been alive for almost a thousand years, and he can blink around all over the place at the speed of light. Also, he was a Knight Templar and found the Holy Grail, and there’s some other weird stuff, too, that we’ll get to later. Just wanted you to know. Please pass the kale.’
“Forget about sending us to Haversham Boarding Academy. They’d be sending us to a completely different kind of school. A special school where people walk around in funny jackets. So I don’t think you need to worry about Angela and me keeping your secret.”
Boone laughed. “Point taken. You’re quite the comedian, Q.”
“I didn’t used to be. Not until I tripped over you outside the coach in the desert. I used to keep my thoughts to myself. Maybe a quirky observation once in a while. But now my nerves are shot, and I can’t shut up.”
Boone smiled. “I know. You’ve been through a lot, and most of it has been my fault. I want you both to know I’m sorry for that.”
He took a deep breath.
“I rode out of Jerusalem. Part of me felt like a deserter. I’d left my fellow knights in the city, facing a large enemy force. But I had a greater duty. I had my horse and Croc and I had the Grail. My goal was to find someplace to keep it safe. Where no one would ever find it. But where would that be?
“I rode north toward Acre. I thought perhaps I could return to Italy and hide it somewhere on my father’s estate. Maybe I would take it to Rome and let the pope deal with it, though my instinct warned me against that.
“Halfway to Acre, I needed supplies. I stopped at a small village to buy provisions and to rest my horse. The next night, I camped in the hills a day’s ride from the village. Ten bandits ambushed me. One of them clubbed me in the face with a mace. I was seriously wounded.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “How come you just didn’t blink away?”
“Because ever since that day in the desert, when Hughes and I were unable to blink, I had refrained from using the power. I was scared of it. I didn’t understand yet how long it took me to regenerate. They came at us from downwind. Croc did not smell them in time to warn me. They got lucky. Though I was wounded, I realized if I didn’t use the power I would die. So I used it again. My life was at stake. I fought them off. They took my horse, a few of my weapons, but I was hurt and bleeding. Even Croc had been injured.”
“You used the Grail,” Angela said. “To heal yourself.”
Boone nodded. “I didn’t know what else to do. If I died there, someone would find it. They might not know what they had, they might not be able to open it, but I could not risk it. As I had rehearsed it so many times, I moved the numbers in sequence and applied the pressure. The container clicked open and as I removed the Grail, the light washed over Croc and me. But . . .”
“But there was someone else there,” Angela said.
Boone nodded.
“How do you know all this stuff, brainiac?” I asked.
“Because he said he lost it. Simple deduction—he was wounded, healing but not fully healed, and someone came along and took it before he was strong enough to stop them,” she said. Angela was never happier than when she was solving a puzzle, doing extra homework, or helping bring down an international terrorist organization. Figuring out what happened to a sacred relic was making her positively giddy.
“Angela is right,” Boone said. “As the light glowed from the Grail, a young boy, perhaps ten or twelve years old, appeared from the underbrush and was bathed in the light of the Grail as well. His sudden appearance startled me. I had only a moment to close the container. I got it closed, but he grabbed it and ran off. The only thing I know about him is that he was a native of the region and he carried a kithara over his shoulder. We tried to follow him; Croc tracked him for miles, but eventually he lost the scent.”
“Speed,” Angela said. Now she was just showing off.
“What’s a kithara?” I asked. “Isn’t that a country?”
“No, that’s Qatar,” Boone said. “A kithara is an early version of the guitar. A popular instrument in those days.”
“And you think that kid was my . . . was Speed?” I said.
“Yes,” Boone said. “Once you found the feather, a couple of things clicked into place for me. When you saw him on the highway on the way to Kitty Hawk, he was driving. My guess is he blinked all the way across the country and he was too low on juice to blink anywhere else, so he had to use a car. Then I started thinking about it. His rock-star persona is the perfect cover. His background—his money and access—it all fits the profile of the other ghost cell members. Add in the fact that X-Ray discovered his birth records are so sketchy. He’s an orphan all right, only his real parents died centuries ago. Just like mine.”
“And he’s been using his musical persona as a cover, just like you did as a roadie,” I said.
“Yes,” Boone said.
“And you never died?” Angela said.
“No. I didn’t die. I’ve aged. So has Speed. He was a young boy, now he’s in his forties. I was in my twenties and now I’m in my . . . I’m older,” Boone said. “Speed was exposed to the light of the Grail. Just enough to give him the power. But what he saw . . . he knows how valuable it is. But he can’t figure out how to open it. Even after all these years he can’t be sure exactly what is inside the container. He’s too smart to try and pry it open or cut it open or use some other method for fear he might damage it.”
We were all quiet a minute, trying to let it all sink in.
“But I have a question,” I said. “Why did I blink in Chicago? On the roof?”
Boone shrugged. “I don’t know, Q. The easy answer is, you’re Speed’s son so it was passed down to you. Maybe not the full power but some of it. I never married or had children, so I don’t know if a child of mine would do the same thing you did under the same conditions. But my guess is that somehow, this light . . . it’s like some form of radiation or something. I’m not a scientist, but it has to have altered our DNA or something. If it did fundamentally change us at the cellular level, then it only makes sense there’s a chance we’d pass it on to our children, just like you could pass on any genetic trait such as red hair or blue eyes.”
I thought about that. I guess Speed did give me something besides headaches and bad memories. He probably never intended to do it, but he passed it on to me nonetheless.
“Something else that bothers me,” Angela said. “If there were other people, like priests, protecting it, why didn’t they get the same ability? Why didn’t they live forever like you and blink and all the rest?”
Boone shrugged. “I don’t know that they didn’t. Maybe there are others out there like us. My guess, though, is that somehow, if the Grail gave them the power, they either died, like Sir Hughes, or . . . I’ve been thinking about it for a thousand years and I just don’t have all the answers.”
“So what do we do now?” I asked.
“We wait. And hope Buddy finds what I’ve been looking for the last one thousand years.”
Discovery
“There is enough intelligence in this single safe-deposit box to destroy half the terrorist cells in the entire world,” Eben said. He had found a small plastic box full of flash drives. All of them were encrypted, but X-Ray had provided him with a small tablet device that ran decryption software, allowing him to quickly review the contents of each device.
“You remember what I gave you, and tell Boone I cooperated when this is all over,” Buddy said.
“After this is over, Mr. T., you will be fortunate if I do not shoot you myself,” Eben said.
“But . . . you can’t . . . you . . . there are laws,” Buddy stammered. The later it became, the more of a mess Buddy was becoming.
Eben shrugged. “I am not an American citizen. I am a citizen of Israel who also happens to have diplomatic immunity. When this is over, and if I so choose, I can shoot you. And return to Israel and the bosom of my family without any interference from the U.S. government.”
Buddy’s face grew white, and beads of perspiration formed on his forehead.
“No . . . no . . . you can’t. Diplomatic immunity doesn’t cover murder,” Buddy mumbled.