Read CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy for Free Online Page B

times had she said her name and mentioned SNN? It wouldn't take a genius to connect the tape to her, and her to the box.

    Maybe the Arab worked alone, just an antiquities thief. Maybe
with the chaos of the military activity in the region, no one went
looking for him or Archer. Maybe no one had found the tape because
the dig site was abandoned.
    Maybe.
    She sat on the edge of the bed, head in her hands. If someone else
wanted that box, they'd go looking for Archer's excavation, realize the
artifact wasn't there-and know someone had taken it. Guess who?
The girl on the videotape. She might as well have spray painted her
name and address in big fat letters on the wall of the chamber.
    The phone rang, and Cotten jumped. "Hello," she said. "Yes, that's
right. I was trying to get in touch with Dr. John Tyler."
    She listened for a moment, then reached in the nightstand and
took out a pencil and pad. "I really appreciate you getting back to
me." She wrote St. Thomas College. White Plains, NY. "Thanks," she
said, and hung up.
    White Plains was only about an hour north of the city. She'd find
Tyler and see what he knew about Archer and his latest excavation.
    Cotten went to the kitchen and moved the kettle and frying pan
off the stove, lifted the range top, and stared at the box. Did it hold
the Cup from the Last Supper-the Holy Grail? And why had Archer
told her she was the only one who could stop the sun, the dawn?
    Geh el crip. Geh el crip. You are the only one.
    The words tolled inside her head as loud as any steeple bells. She
had to find out everything about this Gabriel Archer.

    The classic Greek architecture of St. Thomas College nestled snugly
among oaks and sycamores. The day was cold and crisp, sunlight
glaring off swatches of snow on the brown ground. A handful of students moved across the bare winter campus.
    Cotten climbed the worn marble steps to the large wooden double doors. A bronze plaque read Established, January 1922. Inside, the
room had narrow, paned windows that rose from six inches above the
floor to the high ceiling. The dark oak planks creaked as she
approached the receptionist.
    "Can I help you?" the woman asked.
    "I'm looking for Dr. John Tyler."
    "I don't know if he's here today. It's Founders' Day, and there
aren't any classes."
    "Would you mind checking?"
    "Sure." The woman ran her finger down a laminated list before
picking up the phone. "I'll ring his office."
    Cotten looked around. Shadows huddled in the corners of the
room. The place smelled old and musty. She rubbed her nose thinking she might sneeze. The cushions of the Queen Anne chairs sagged
from generations of student bodies. A picture of the pope hung over
a faded fabric couch. In the center of the room, behind the receptionist's desk, stood a statue of the Virgin Mary, the winter sun
streaming in from the eastern window highlighting her head. Dust
motes swirled in the beam as if they had life. Cotten wondered if the
statue had been placed there because of the light or if it was a coincidence. Whether by accident or not, the pale glow made the sculpture
ethereal.
    "There's no answer," the woman said. "I'm sorry."
    Cotten took a business card from her purse. "Could you-"
    "Oh," the receptionist said, standing. "I completely forgot about
the student-faculty football game." She checked the time on her watch. "I believe Dr. Tyler is playing. If you hurry, you might catch
him."

    She led Cotten outside and pointed in the direction of the athletic
field.
    Cotten followed the receptionist's directions, crossing the Commons, passing the chapel, and finally winding down a path between
the dorms and the gym. She heard the shouts of a small crowd as she
approached the football field.
    A bleacher, peppered with fifty or so people, bordered a section
on the south side of the field. The wooden uprights were old, in the
shape of an H instead of the squared-off Y.
    Cotten climbed into the stands and sat next to a man with