‘23 by 45 by 64.’
His fingertips met near the northern edge of the map in a square that was empty of any additional marks except for a tiny hole where the map had been lightly punctured with a pin.
‘What is it?’ There was a tremble in her voice that he pretended not to notice as she bent down closer to the little map.
‘St Benedicts,’ he explained. ‘It’s an old monastery about forty-five minutes’ drive from here in the town of Subiaco.’ Harker stood back, allowing Claire to get a closer look.
‘So that’s where this Maddocks person is, right?’ She turned to face him, her expression full of questions, and, for an instant, he imagined himself staring into the eyes of his old friend Archie Dwyer. The two siblings physically had so much in common that now any attraction Harker had felt earlier that day instantly evaporated.
She noticed his discomfort, and a frown appeared on her forehead. ‘Are you OK? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’
Harker gave a small shake of his head. ‘I’m fine. It’s just … It’s just quite a trail Archie’s left for us.’
Claire eyed him disbelievingly. ‘I know, so I guess we go and track down Maddocks.’
Just then Benito Giuseppe bustled into the room, rubbing his hands. ‘I’m sorry about all this business, but the Gustavo situation is proving more time-consuming than I’d first expected. I see I’m going to have to spend some more time with the little pervert, teaching him the finer points of common decency. I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this visit short.’ He stretched a hand out towards the open doorway. ‘Is there anything else you wanted to know?’
Harker passed him back the framed photograph. ‘Just a couple of things before we leave. Firstly, is Father Maddocks here today by any chance?’
Benito slid the photo back in the desk drawer and locked it securely. ‘No, I haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks. He was meant to be here last weekend, but he didn’t make it. I assumed he might be helping out with Father Dwyer’s funeral arrangements, but he’ll drop by soon, no doubt.’ By now, the director was already ushering them back into the corridor.
‘Just one other thing. Would it be possible to meet the children in that photo? The ones they call the Angels?’
Benito Giuseppe stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned to face them, his eyes suddenly filling with sadness. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. You see, they were the ones that died in the fire.’
Chapter 11
Father John Reed marched across the oval inner court of the Academy of Sciences with the brooding resolve of a bulldog. His meeting with Cardinal Vincenzo earlier that morning had left him with a great sense of unease. Being asked to spy on another cardinal was to his knowledge unheard of, and it made him extremely anxious. Vincenzo had labelled it a fact-finding exercise, but when Reed had asked the reason for such a drastic measure, the reply had been somewhat vague.
‘John, the Lord God sees all and knows all, but, unfortunately, I do not.’
This answer had halted any further questions from Reed. After all, he trusted Vincenzo, and if the head of the Governorate requested that he dig deeper into Cardinal Rocca’s affairs and the academy’s accounts, then that was fine by him.
Reed calmly made his way up the steps and past the impressive stone columns of the academy’s portico, after pausing a moment to enjoy the building’s stunning architecture and sculptures. Originally built as a summer residence for Pope Pius IV in the fourteenth century, the villa resembled an ancient nymphaeum or grotto, its walls decorated with a multitude of intricate statues and reliefs. Reed had wanted to investigate this building further ever since his arrival at the Vatican, but he would have preferred to do so under different circumstances. The Academy of Science had existed in one form or another since the 1600s when the Roman Prince Federico Cesi, a keen botanist and naturalist, had set up what was named the Academia dei Lincei with the famous astronomer Galileo as its first president. This appointment was later considered an unfortunate choice after Galileo was charged by the Church with heresy for expressing his belief that the earth revolved around the sun, thus suggesting that our world was not the centre of the universe.
In the 1930s, it was rebranded as the Academy of Sciences, and its resources extended in six main areas of research devoted to continuing advancements in science and technology.
To be standing here made him almost feel giddy, for the academy had been home to some of the world’s top scientists, an astonishing mixture of cultures, religions, and creeds all bound to one purpose. Its members included such notables as Niles Bohr, who had worked on the Manhattan project in developing the world’s first atomic bomb, and Professor Stephen Hawking, who was arguably the greatest mind of the twentieth century, to name just a couple.
Reed allowed himself to enjoy such thoughts a few moments longer before stiffening his resolve and heading inside.
In the corner of the lobby, a heater unit rumbled away, churning out a constant breeze of hot air that caused Reed to shudder as his body adjusted from the chill outside.
‘Good afternoon, Father. What may I do for you on this glorious day?’ The smiling priest manning the reception desk was clearly happy to be warm and inside.
Reed pulled out his ID card and passed it over. ‘I’m hoping to speak with the academy’s accountant, Father Roberto Sanchez. Could you point me in the right direction?’
The receptionist took note of the ID and then passed it back, his smile unwavering. ‘I’m afraid he’s not in the country right now. He’s on leave, but he’ll be back next week. Dr Heinz Marques is here, though, and he’s one of the section heads. Could he be of help?’
It was Reed’s turn to smile. ‘Yes, thank you. Where can I find him?’
The receptionist pointed to a set of double doors on the far side of the room. ‘There are four main departments in the academy, and those doors will take you into the first, which is the Social Sciences. To your left, you’ll find a side corridor, so follow the signs for BIOETHICS, and Dr Marques is in the third section along. Listen out for his voice, as you’ll doubtlessly hear him before you see him.’
Reed nodded politely and made his way towards the beckoning double doors, unsure what he was now walking into. It wasn’t to be long before he found out. He became aware of the high-pitched shouts and curses from halfway down the corridor. They provided an oddly unnerving combination of sounds which then went eerily quiet just as he approached the door marked DR MARQUES. He quietly twisted the handle and pushed the door open to reveal a corridor lined on either side by shelves housing display jars containing a variety of small creatures floating in clear liquid.
The smell of formaldehyde was permeated by a strong whiff of body odour, causing Reed’s nostrils to flare. What was it about scientists that tended to emit the oddest personal smells? Choice of diet? The chemicals they used? Or were they merely so fanatical about their work that occasional showering became more of an option than a necessity?
The passage opened up into a square working area also surrounded by exhibits, in the middle of which stood a sturdy wooden table, supporting an open crate, measuring a couple of metres in length. The container shook violently as a middle-aged man wearing tan corduroy trousers and Hush Puppies struggled with something inside it. It looked like a tug of war was in process and the man was slowly being dragged into its depths, at one point coming close to being hauled off his feet entirely.
Reed cleared his throat a few times in an effort to gain attention before saying loudly, ‘Excuse me. I’m looking for Dr Marques.’
Obviously surprised, the man swung around, glaring ferociously, and, in an upper-class English accent, replied, ‘That’s me. Who are you?’
He was wearing a white shirt, sleeveless plaid jumper, and a red bow tie that would have aroused the envy of many a university professor; but what made Reed step back nervously was the oversized pair of green rubber gloves he wore and possibly the largest pair of bottle-cap spectacles he had e
ver seen.
‘Dr Marques, I’m Father Reed from the Governorate offices, and I was hoping to have a word with you.’
Marques raised his thick spectacles with one finger and squinted out from under them, tilting his head to the left as he measured up this unexpected visitor. ‘I’m a little busy today, my friend. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?’
‘I’m afraid not, it won’t wait that long.’
The scientist glanced around the room as if looking for any more uninvited guests and then beckoned him over with a grunt of resignation. ‘Well, then, give me a hand, and I’m all yours.’
Reed made his way over to the wooden container and cautiously peered inside. Its edges were lined with a thick layer of polystyrene, enabling it to contain some twenty litres of frothy green water. At the bottom sat motionless a dark-coloured creature, about a metre in length, its long slim body twisted in the shape of an S.
‘Say hello to Electrophorus Electricus, more commonly known as the electric eel.’
Reed automatically jerked his head back to a safe distance.
‘Don’t worry, he can’t get out, Father,’ Marques said with a dry smile. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind …’ He produced a pair of oversized black rubber gloves and handed them over. ‘You’d better put these on. That’s good chap. It won’t take us long.’
Reed nodded reluctantly and slipped on the cumbersome mitts. ‘OK, what’s the problem?’
Marques gave the crate a vigorous slap, his bottle-cap lenses catching the light and illuminating his eyes so as to give him the unnerving look of a mad professor. ‘We regularly receive cadavers of species from all around the world, whether from land or sea, and then store them in display jars containing various chemicals to stop them decomposing. I was trying to make a point of assuring my assistants that even the boss is not afraid of getting his hands dirty, but the problem is this one’s still alive.’
Reed peered down at the furious eel, which still lay coiled up, its mouth sensors flaring in anticipation of its next move. ‘Is that usual?’
‘No, it is not,’ huffed Dr Marques. ‘But it does happen from time to time. So, if I get hold of it by the head, could you grab the tail?’ The doctor steadied himself and prepared to pounce.
‘Hey, wait a minute. What then?’ Reed almost shouted the question as a surge of panic ran through his body.
Marques reached down to one side of the crate and produced a small wooden rod. ‘And then, I’m going to bop him on the head with this.’
Reed smiled unbelievingly. ‘That’s not very scientific.’
Marques raised the rod upwards and gave it a practice swing. ‘No, you’re right, it’s not, but it will work. The real key is to do as little damage as possible. Otherwise, it won’t provide much of a specimen, will it? Right, let’s go. I’ll get hold of the head first.’
Reed made sure his gloves were on tightly as Dr Marques hovered above the open crate, swaying ever so slightly from left to right like some manic angler. Without a word of warning, he plunged his gloves into the froth and grabbed for the eel. Water flew everywhere, firstly dousing Marques himself, and then the eel sent a slimy offering right across Reed’s chest, making him stumble back in disgust. Meanwhile, Marques jerked back from the crate, both gloves firmly clasped around the snout of the eel as it writhed wildly, spattering more of its ectoplasm over them both. ‘Now grab the tail,’ he yelled.
Reed paused momentarily as he tried to identify the tail amid the thrashing water. And, on seeing it flipping about, he moved forward, gloves extended at the ready. At exactly the same moment, the eel flicked its tail upwards only to tap Marques on the neck.
Reed watched aghast as the creature made contact with bare skin and unleashed its natural weapon of defence. A short fizzing sound could be heard as a few hundred volts of electricity surged through the now rigid Dr Marques. He flew back on to the floor with a thump, the eel dropping back into its crate with a splash.
Peeling off his gloves, Reed helped pull the wet and shaken scientist to his feet. ‘Are you OK? I tried for the tail, but it got you first.’
Marques said nothing. He casually took off his now cracked glasses, revealing a pair of small beady eyes, and wiped the lenses with a dry corner of his jumper. He calmly popped his bottle-cap specs back on and then closed the lid of the crate with a bang, leaving the victorious eel thrashing around inside. The doctor sighed deeply and tapped the top of the container thoughtfully before returning Reed’s concerned gaze. ‘Now, exactly what do you want, Father Reed?’ He growled, struggling to maintain his composure.
‘I was hoping to speak with Father Roberto Sanchez, but I’m informed that he’s on vacation.’
Marques nodded grimly, wiping some more of the eel’s slime from his jumper. ‘Yes, he seems to be on holiday nearly all the time lately, not that Cardinal Rocca notices.’ He peered over the top of his glasses, raised an eyebrow, and smirked sarcastically. ‘Not that I like to gossip, you understand.’
Reed nodded automatically, still feeling guilty for his lack of useful help in dealing with the electric eel. ‘I understand completely, Dr Marques. There’s not an area of the Vatican that hasn’t received a new posting of some sort in recent weeks. It will take some adjusting for all of us.’
‘True, true, but I dare say most of them don’t keep themselves locked away out of sight most of the time’.
Reed had been given strict instructions not to impose on Cardinal Rocca at any time, but, seeing as the good doctor was so desperate to scratch an itch, he thought why not listen. After all, he wasn’t actually interrogating the man. ‘You’re talking about Cardinal Rocca?’
‘Well, now you mention him, yes. I mean he spends most of his time locked away in the northern corridor, demanding not to be disturbed, usually for hours at a time. Most irregular.’
The northern corridor that linked the third and fourth sections had been gutted by a fire three months earlier, leaving just a burnt-out husk. The fire department had blamed a faulty electrical socket, but luckily no one had been hurt, and nothing of any great interest had been lost, so the mainstream media had shown little interest at the time.
‘I thought it had already been refurbished?’
Marques nodded fervently. ‘It has, but it’s not furnished, yet still the good cardinal spends most of his days locked away in there.’
Father Reed heard the creak of a door behind him, and he spun around to come face-to-face with a startled-looking Italian boy in his early teens.
‘I’m not finished yet, Elmo. Come back in ten minutes.’
The boy said nothing, simply offering a gracious nod before turning away and closing the door behind him with a clink.
‘That’s just one of the academy’s assistants. He’s meant to be picking up the eel for putting into storage.’ Marques tapped the lid of the case again. ‘Once it’s dead, of course.’ He shot Reed a resentful look.
‘I really am sorry it was able to give you a shock, Doctor.’
The scientist grunted as he rubbed at the reddened sting mark on his neck. ‘Not a problem. You’re either a capable research assistant or you’re not, and you, Father, are definitely not. Besides, it’s my third shock of the morning. So I’m getting used to it.’ He gave his neck one last gentle stroke before continuing. ‘As I was saying, if the cardinal spent half as much time in the main academy as he does in the northern corridor, then we wouldn’t be so far behind with our work schedule. Some of my colleagues even have a sweepstake going as to why he’s closeted in there so much.’ Dr Marques leant in towards Reed and tapped his nose. ‘Personally, I have my own theory that he’s on the verge of a mental breakdown.’
Reed couldn’t help but smile. Regardless of the gossiping and erratic behaviour, he liked Dr Marques. ‘Is Cardinal Rocca in the corridor right now?’
The other man eyed him coyly. ‘Ah, perked your interest, have I?’
‘Not at all, Doctor, but I heard the fire was fierce, and I’m curious to see what sta
te the place is now in.’
Marques studied him incredulously, and a big grin spread from ear to ear. ‘Then, my dear Father, you’re in luck because I believe the cardinal is off the premises, so follow me.’
He took Reed gently by the arm and ushered him out of the room, running in to a bored-looking Elmo, who immediately snapped to attention on seeing them both. ‘Are you ready, signor?’
Marques dumped his rubber gloves into the hands of the teenager with a slap. ‘You’re always asking me to give you more responsibility, Elmo. Well, here’s your chance.’ He began leading Father Reed towards the northern corridor, stopping only to impart a few words of wisdom to his underling. ‘Remember two things, and you’ll be fine. Firstly, never take your gloves off, and secondly, make it a swift bop on the noggin.’
The two older men disappeared around the corner, leaving the young assistant alone with a pair of oversized rubber gloves. He headed into the research lab and over to the crate, which was already starting to wobble violently again, the eel no doubt preparing itself for round two, and, as Elmo slipped on the enormous black gloves, only one question was running through his mind, What on earth was a bop on the noggin?
Chapter 12
Harker slammed his fist against the solid oak door with a thud for the sixth time. After five minutes of waiting, he was beginning to think their journey here had been in vain.
‘I thought churches were never supposed to lock their doors,’ said Claire, tapping her fingers together impatiently.
‘Well, that’s the general rule, but times have changed, what with all the art thieves about, and anyway this is a monastery, not a church.’
Claire raised both eyebrows at him. ‘I feel I should know this. What’s the difference?’
Harker stepped back from the entrance and surveyed the imposing stone complex built into the side of a cliff-face that constituted the monastery of St Benedict. The monastery was the first of its kind. Built by the Order’s founder St Benedict, whose own brand of Catholic ideology would eventually result in other Benedictine communes being located across the entire Western world. ‘Churches are places of worship for the masses, but monasteries are communities for monks seeking religious enlightenment to strengthen their faith and better themselves.’ He could tell from her vacant expression that she still didn’t fully understand. ‘Same faith but slightly different viewpoint. The monasteries of the Order extended all over Europe until the Reformation and founding of the Church of England, which largely destroyed it. Some monasteries survived, though they have hardly changed in hundreds of years. They take vows of silence to prove their faith, things like that.’ He smiled at her. ‘You’d hate it.’
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