The Revelation Relic

by Rob Jones

  “Uh-oh,” Quinn said. “There was nothing about this in the Rough Guide.”

  Hovering above the River Tiber with its rotor downwash beating the surface of the river into a wild spitting froth, the Wolves opened fire with the heavy machine gun. Bullets streaked across the surface of the water on their way to the cruiser, forcing Blanco to steer from side to side. Up on the bank, Hunter saw at least twenty police cars racing alongside them trying to keep up with the cruiser. Behind them, above the Orange Garden, the police helicopter flew into view.

  “Oh my God!” he said.

  Amy turned. “What is it?”

  “Look!”

  The Sikorsky rotated in the air and fired on the police chopper, blasting it to pieces and sending it plummeting to earth in a giant fireball. Mayhem exploded all over the place. Hunter watched with some relief as most of the police cars peeled away and headed back toward the wreckage of the police helicopter.

  “What’s the Sikorsky doing now?” Jodie asked.

  “Making me very unhappy,” Hunter said.

  Amy leaned forward and looked behind her at the threat. With a sense of dread, she watched the chopper’s tail boom swing around to the west as the pilot brought the aircraft’s nose around to face them.

  Then it started spitting fire.

  “They’re firing again!”

  Blanco pushed the throttle levers forward and spun the wheel hard to the right, sending the cruiser racing between the stone piers of the Ponte Sublicio. They raced under the ancient bridge and turned to the left as the river meandered around the Ripa Grande. The heavy duty rounds from the airborne machinegun ripped into the boats around them, blasting out windows and obliterating chunks of wood in their wake.

  “They nearly got us!”

  “Holy crap,” Quinn said. “If I had a home, I’d want to go there right now.”

  Hunter lowered the bag down to the deck and walked to the stern. Raising the Steyr into the aim, he fired on the chopper; specifically aiming for the tail boom. His rounds snaked along the boom and eventually hit the rudder. Swaying with the motion of the speeding cruiser, and flecked with foamy water from the boat’s wake, the former army officer kept up a sustained fusillade until his rounds drilled into the tail rotor.

  With the job done, he turned to Amy with a smile. “For Colonel Neverov, it’s all downhill from this point.”

  Without the tail rotor, the chopper was uncontrollable. Medinsky struggled to bring the crippled aircraft down safely but it was impossible; all he could do was delay the inevitable. Then, the Sikorsky smashed down into the Tiber and lurched forward until its main rotors hit the surface. The speeding rotors whipped arcs of water up into the air for a few seconds and were then overcome, snapping into fragments and spinning off onto the banks at high speed as the chopper bobbed about on the surface for a few seconds.

  Then it started to sink.

  Amy watched the wreckage of the crumpled helicopter slowly sinking into the middle of the Tiber. It was hard to see in the darkness, but in the soft amber glow of the streetlights, she could just make out movement as Neverov and his men climbed out of the stricken chopper and began to make their way slowly back to the bank.

  “I kind of expected that thing to blow up,” she said quietly, her hands wrapped tightly around the bag containing the lion statue. “To go up in a big fireball like in the movies.”

  “Sometimes they do,” Hunter said. “Sometimes they do not. I’ve seen it happen both ways.”

  Blanco pushed the throttles forward and steered the sightseeing boat around another bend out of sight of both the Russians and the Italian authorities. “They were lucky. When Max shot out their tail rotor he ended any hopes they had of stable flight, but a skilled pilot, like this guy obviously is, can bring a wounded bird like that down to earth if he knows what he’s doing. Plus this guy had a water landing. Like I said, they were lucky.”

  “And that means we were unlucky.” Hunter leaned against the port gunwale, crossed his arms and sighed. “Because they’re still alive, we have what they want and now they’re even angrier – and that’s the good news.”

  Amy was opposite him, leaning against the starboard gunwale, arms also crossed over her chest. “I hesitate to ask, but what’s the bad news, Max?”

  “Back in the Colosseum I took a quick look at the lion.”

  On hearing the word, everyone in the team turned to face him, each waiting for him to deliver the rest of the sentence.”

  “And?” Amy asked.

  “And it’s inscribed with letters I’ve never seen before.”

  Amy raised her hands to her temples in a show of despair. “What sort of letters?”

  “I just can’t tell you. They’re sort of Koine Greek, but not. I have no idea what they mean but they could be some kind of code. Sorry, but it looks like we’re back to square one. I can’t translate the third line of John’s verse.”

  “You know anyone who might be able to help?” Blanco asked.

  Hunter shook his head. “Not off the top of my head.”

  “Ben?” Quinn asked.

  “Don’t look at me,” said the former marine. “I’m strictly history and theology and a smattering of Latin and Greek. No symbols and codes.”

  Then, with moonlight lighting her face, they all saw an expression of hope appear on Amy’s face.

  “You have an idea, Amy?” Jodie asked.

  “I sure do,” she said. “Anyone want to come with me to Greece?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Thirty-six thousand feet in the air, Lewis took another quick look at the picture of his wife and newborn baby and slipped his wallet back in his jacket. Below, the rolling hills of Umbria stretched out like a velvet quilt. Pencil-pines, tobacco fields, olive groves and vineyards colored an ancient landscape once walked by Etruscans.

  Behind them, a burning, shattered Rome was still reeling from the effects of what local news stations were describing as a terrorist act. He knew they were lucky to be alive, and was grateful Max Hunter was such a good shot. After taking the Sikorsky down, they had sailed the cruiser to a quiet stretch of the river and moored up at Portuense. There, Jodie stole an Iveco Dual Cab work truck and they drove in silence across the city to the airport.

  He checked his watch and then looked up at the flight display on the bulkhead wall at the front of the aircraft. The little screen to the left of the galley was showing a picture of the Mediterranean. The thin yellow line between Rome and Athens was where he would spend the next hour and a quarter, much of it high above the Adriatic Sea.

  He glanced around the cabin; the rest of the team were getting some sleep. Jodie and Quinn at the back and Blanco stretched out on the couch. In the seat opposite his, just across the aisle, Amy’s head was slumped forward against her chest. The new guy had crashed out with an academic paper over his face.

  He liked the new guy. Maybe he was a bit cocky but he seemed to know his stuff. Thing was, he didn’t mind everyone else knowing it. Not one little bit. Dr Ben Lewis was the opposite. An officer in the US Marines for many years, he had left the Corps when two forces came together in his life and pushed him right back into civilian life.

  Those two forces were the news of Meg’s pregnancy and one hell of a tough tour in Afghanistan’s Helmand River Valley. He got through it. He never talked about it. He tried not to think about it, but he knew he’d had enough. He didn’t want his kid growing up without a father, so he moved on, returning to college as a postgrad and writing his doctorate in history. The rest was… well, history.

  He wasn’t quite sure how he ended up working for James Gates in the HARPA team alongside these crazy people, but he never wanted it to end. Not that he had ever said that to anyone; he tried to keep his thoughts to himself. Hearing Amy mumbling something, he turned and saw her jerking awake. She had drifted off after their departure from Rome Urbe Airport but was wide awake again.

  “Have a nice trip?” he asked with a smile.

  “No
t really,” she said. “I just dreamed I was falling off a cliff.”

  “You think that was some kind of omen?” he asked mischievously.

  “Well, now I do, Ben. Thanks.”

  “I’m just kidding. Happens to me all the time.”

  “What about you? You get any sleep?”

  “I’m not tired. I can stay awake for unnervingly long periods of time. You know that.”

  “I always forget.”

  “I was just thinking about the verses on the…” he glanced over at Hunter. “On the ágalmas.”

  She smiled. “Don’t you think that sounds somewhat crass, Dr Lewis? I’d stick to the proper Greek plural if I were you. Agálmata. Say it after me.”

  He chuckled. “He sure has one hell of a personality, I’ll give him that.”

  “He’s a pain.”

  He looked at her sideways and smirked.

  “What?”

  “You know what.”

  She paused, unsure what to say. “Oh, give me a break.”

  He shrugged. “Just saying, Amy. How long has it been since Matt?”

  Her smile was fading. “I…”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “That’s okay, really. And yeah, it’s been a long time – but Hunter, really?”

  “You’ve gone out together. You already told me that.”

  “Yeah, but as friends.”

  “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “How Meg looks at me sometimes even after all these years.”

  Amy’s smile was returning, but reluctantly. “Yeah, right.”

  “You deserve to be happy, and I think an arrogant asshole like Max Hunter could be the man to give you that happiness.”

  “Thanks a lot, Ben. Maybe you should stick to being a husband, father and historian and get out of the matchmaking business while you still can.”

  “Is that a threat against my person, Agent Fox?”

  “It’s a threat against part of your person, sure.”

  “Ouch.”

  *

  Behind them, Hunter unbuckled his seatbelt and settled into the soft leather chair. Below him, amber streetlights illuminating Italy’s ancient, twisting roads sparkled like newly cut diamonds. He turned away from the private jet’s porthole and closed his eyes, his head still spinning with the chaos of the car chase.

  And where the hell did Jodie Priest learn to drive like that? Her performance in Paris during the Atlantis mission was shocking enough, but this was something else altogether – not that he would ever tell her.

  Eyes closed again, he reached out with his right hand and felt the rim of the ancient ágalma in the canvas bag on the seat beside him. Only moments ago, he reflected, it had been in the possession of Colonel Neverov and the Wolf Pack, and now it belonged to the HARPA team alongside the eagle. That was the good news. The bad news was that he still had no idea what the symbols on its side meant, and without knowing their meaning, the terracotta lion offered no answers.

  That was where Amy’s old friend Kostas Venizelos came in.

  Hunter had never met Amy’s Greek linguistic specialist, and he had never even heard of him. According to HARPA’s deputy director, Venizelos had worked for Jim Gates before on more than one investigation, so he was considered a trusted consultant. But Hunter believed the proof of the pudding was in the tasting, so trust was a long way off. Perhaps he was a member of the secretive Creed? Maybe, when they turned up at his Athens villa they would be met by armed disciples who would take them prisoner and steal the statue? His mind was tortured by the agonies of doubt and suspicion.

  “Hey, you asleep, Hunter?”

  He twisted his head to the right and opened one eye. It was Jodie, but then he already knew that; she was the only one on the team who refused to use his first name. She was holding two cups of coffee, and now she held one out to him. “I got you some coffee.”

  He shuffled up in his seat and took the cup, surprised that of all people, she would take the time out to think of him and get him a hot drink. “Thanks, that’s thoughtful.”

  She shrugged. “It’s just a cup of coffee. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “No,” he mumbled into the cup. “I guess not.”

  “You get anywhere on the statue yet?”

  A simple shake of his head gave the answer, but he added, “We’re doing the right thing going to Venizelos.”

  “Unless he’s Creed.”

  “Yeah, that thought had crossed my mind, too, but I trust Amy’s judgement. She says both she and Jim have worked with him before.”

  He sipped the coffee; she had added just the right amount of milk.

  Without an invitation, she moved the canvas bag to the seat behind them and slumped down next to him with a heavy sigh. “This apocalypse stuff is freaking me out, Hunter. I’m not going to lie to you.”

  He thought about how to reply. To say Jodie was the strong but silent type was an understatement, but lately she had started to say a little more to him, to make occasional small talk. The truth was, he didn’t want to blow it. He liked her.

  “I think we’re all a bit freaked out by it,” he said. “But after what we saw in Atlantis and the way Brodie McCabe and the Creed carried on, it takes a lot less to worry me these days. Now we have a band of insane Russian terrorists chasing after us, too. Happy days, right?”

  She stifled a laugh, probably not wanting to let him see he had amused her. Instead, she took a long sip of her coffee and pushed back into the seat. Closing her eyes, she said, “It still beats being out in the world on your own. It’s a big, dark, shitty place without good friends or family.”

  “Maybe, but I was always more of a loner.”

  “Not me,” she said with conviction. “This team is my family.”

  “There’s no one special out there?”

  This time she laughed, but it was a quiet, bitter laugh. “Not any more. He was bad news anyway. Dragging me down.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, except you’re not.”

  He didn’t rise to it. “Just being polite.”

  More coffee and a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

  There was a long pause filled only by the sound of the engines’ hum. Then, she said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Hunter didn’t know what to say, or even if he should say anything. He was saved by Lewis, who broke the silence with an innocent question. “How long till we land?”

  Amy checked her watch. “Less than two hours. We arrive just after dawn but Kostas can’t see us until the evening. He’s usually to be found curating Byzantine glazed pottery at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, but recently he’s been away on a dig in Meteora and isn’t getting in until later. He came back early just to see us.”

  “Meteora’s monastery complex is a UNESCO-listed site. I know it well,” Hunter said. “Sounds like Dr Venizelos is an interesting guy.”

  “You have no idea.”

  No, Hunter had no idea and that’s what was bothering him. He turned back to Jodie but she was gone. Back to her own seat and eyes closed. A good idea, and with enough time for some quality sleep before landing, he settled back in his reclining seat and closed his eyes, too. If today was like going to hell in a handcart, he didn’t even want to think about what tomorrow might bring.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  On the road again. This time, cruising north out of Athens International Airport in a hired Dodge Nitro. Here, olive fields stretched to the horizon either side of the three-lane highway and the Hymettus mountain range loomed to their left, peaking at the craggy summit of Evzonas at nearly three and half thousand feet. On these dusty slopes, the ancients built a sacred sanctuary for their rain god, Zeus, but today tourists hiked its forested slopes. Part of it was even used as a landfill.

  Progress… Hunter thought. After a day spent sitting around in an airport hotel waiting for Venizelos, it
felt good finally to be moving again.

  They skirted around the foothills at the northern reaches of the range and turned west to head into the city. Dense, grinding traffic slowed their progress to a crawl as they hacked their way through the city center to the neighbourhood of Monastiraki. Situated immediately to the north of the Acropolis, the area was expensive, upmarket and relaxed. They parked a road away on Jodie’s advice and when they stepped out into the warm Greek evening sunshine they might have been forgiven for thinking all was right with the world.

  Hunter blipped the locks shut and ran his eyes over the luxurious villa. Shaded by a lemon tree planted in the center of the sidewalk outside the front door, the building was warm and inviting. Salmon-pink stucco plaster and a traditional overlapping clay tile roof were all lit by a low evening sun.

  Directly behind them, a wrought iron fence marked the boundary between the residential area and the Acropolis site. Hunter turned and saw its Doric columns lit orange in the sunlight. Partially obscured by pine trees, the ancient site was as breathtaking as he remembered it from years ago when he had visited with his fiancée, Avril. They had walked all over Athens that week, but a month later they had broken up.

  “Earth to Hunter.”

  Jodie’s voice. He turned to see her beckoning him toward the villa. “You want to stand around staring at that all night or come in and have a good time?”

  He laughed. “Sorry, just got caught up with some old memories.”

  “Avril?” Amy asked.

  He nodded. “But it doesn’t matter now. Tell me, what’s this Venezuela bloke really like?”

  A coy smile spread on Amy’s face. “You’ll find out – and it’s Venizelos. I know you know it’s Venizelos, Max.”

  He returned her smile. “Can’t tell me now?”

  She winked and pushed past him, skipping up the stone steps leading to the front door. “I like to keep a man guessing.”

  Hunter couldn’t think of anything to say. Then, Lewis brushed past him on his way to the steps and slapped him on the back. “True story, man.”