Free Indisputable Proof by Gary Williams, Vicky Knerly Page B

easy descent. Tolen seemed unconcerned as he straightened out his shirt and his coat.
    The otherwise excitable Spaniard also appeared unbothered by what had just happened. At no time had he shown any fear of death, and was now quite calm; a bastion of tranquility. If tragedy had come, it appeared Pascal Diaz was ready to accept it.
    In many ways, she envied such staunch beliefs, which led to a twinge of remorse on her part. Buried within the recesses of her soul, an ember of hope yearned for days gone by when her own convictions were just as passionate, back to a time when archaeological evidence was secondary to blind faith.

CHAPTER 11

    September 11. Tuesday – 3:01 a.m. Cambridge, Massachusetts
    Tolen, Diaz, and Jade stepped from the Learjet stairs onto the gray tarmac under a crystalline sky. The temperature was warm but not stifling.
    Tolen’s cell phone rang. He dug it from his coat pocket and answered as they walked toward a gate.
    “Tolen, it’s Bar. I’m standing outside the National Geographic Museum on M Street with agent Lattimer. We just came from inside the Explorers’ Hall. Museum officials weren’t exactly thrilled about getting out of bed this early. I’ve thoroughly examined the Costa Rican stone on display. I didn’t find a thing.”
    Tolen thought for a moment. “Is it on a stand?”
    “A short pedestal, yes, and I know where you’re going. The part of the pedestal which cradles the base of the sphere is made of a clear material. I got on the ground and examined the underside from the bottom up. Zilch, nada, nothing. No pictures, designs, or writing. This isn’t the stone you’re looking for.”
    “Okay, Bar. I’ll be in touch.”
    “Call me at the office. I’m going back there to get a cat nap, but I’ll have the phone near my ear in case you need anything.”
    ****
    Jade watched Tolen hang up. “Anything?”
    “There was nothing on the stone sphere at the National Geographic Museum in Washington. My colleague examined it thoroughly.”
    “Then we’re down to one,” Diaz said.
    Jade felt a strange blend of exhilaration and fear. It would either be a home run or a strike out when they examined this last stone.
    Ahead, at the open gate, a man stood by a two-door, black sedan wearing a dark polo shirt, dress shorts, and deck shoes. “Agent Tolen,” he called out, offering his hand as they approached. “I’m from the university, Jason Weedly.” Tolen had arranged for an escort to the campus to save time and clear any hurdles for them to examine the stone. The young man before them was clean cut with perfect teeth. He appeared to be a student, only older, probably pursuing post-graduate studies.
    The American equivalent of an Oxford man, Jade thought.
    Weedly herded them into the vehicle and took the wheel. He was silent for most of the thirty-minute ride through the dark and lifeless streets, until they approached the Harvard University campus. Once they reached Kirkland Street, Weedly turned north between a structure on the left—the Busch Building—and the William James Building on the right. “This is Divinity Avenue,” he said. “The Peabody Museum is just ahead.”
    Divinity Avenue. The coincidence of the street name was not lost on the passengers. Jade half smiled to both Diaz beside her, and to Tolen riding in the front seat next to Weedly. Each returned her look as if to say, “What else would the street that might lead to a cache of Jesus’ personal belongings be called?”
    They passed by a large, sprawling structure on the left: Fairchild Biochemical Laboratory, and then Yenching Library on the right. Just beyond the library stood the Semitic Museum adjacent to a quiet side street.
    “Here we are,” Weedly said.
    They stopped before a multi-story red brick building on the left. A prominent sign announced they had arrived at the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnography .
    Weedly explained as a tour guide would: “This museum, founded in 1866, is one of the