Harker had heard of this condition before; years earlier, a young boy in his parish had been diagnosed with Waardenburg syndrome. But the effects had been nothing like the ones he was staring at now.
‘Now you understand what I am, allow me to explain who I am and the situation you currently find yourself in.’
Harker finally snapped out of his trance-like state. ‘An explanation? Yes, that would be a good start, Mr Brulet.’
‘Then allow me to begin.’
Harker gave Brulet his personal space again back by stepping further away and nodded for him to go ahead.
‘You believe you are working for a company – my company, Maptrel Associates. Well, Maptrel certainly exists, but if you looked it up, you’d not find my name mentioned anywhere. Maptrel is just one branch of many apparently independent businesses that are, in fact, all linked to a single organisation. It’s an organisation that is never mentioned, and whose existence is known only to a select few. Almost all the employees of those companies have no idea of their connection to this central organisation. They’ve no idea that they provide financial stability to it, just as they’ve no idea that without this same organisation, they would not have a job to go to.’
Brulet motioned for Harker to walk beside him as he made his way towards the other end of the vast library. ‘Professor, what I am about to tell you must never be repeated to another living soul as long as you live. If you do, then consider your life forfeit, for there are no half ways with a truth such as this.’ Brulet’s eyes glazed over as he waited for a reply.
‘That’s a difficult promise to make, Mr Brulet, especially when I don’t know what you’re intending to reveal.’
‘Isn’t it just.’ Brulet smiled. ‘Yet there it is.’
The next few seconds of silent internal deliberation by Harker were wholly unnecessary. Even before Brulet had finished his stipulation, he had known what his decision would be. Every fibre in his being was completely blocking out any thoughts of danger and screaming out loud:
Do it! Do it! Do it!
Nevertheless, he kept calmly silent for a few moments longer, not wanting to seem overly eager. ‘OK, you have my solemn word.’
Brulet gently prodded his forefinger into Harker’s chest. ‘I’ll hold you to that, Professor. Mr Caster, would you please allow us some space?’
John Caster offered him a polite nod and disappeared through one of the library’s numerous side doors.
‘Now walk with me, Professor, and allow me to explain exactly who we are.’
Brulet took Harker by the arm and began to lead him across the thick red carpet extending the entire length of the room. ‘This library is a culmination of over two thousand years’ worth of collecting knowledge, a collection that extends back to the first known origins of my family. We came from Egypt originally and a region bordering the Sudanese wastelands to the south. Ours was a nomadic tribe that lived a solitary existence, and for centuries, none ventured to the outside world. By choice, they stayed completely isolated.’ He flicked away a strand of pure white hair that had fallen across his face before continuing.
‘The Egyptians were the ultimate superpowers of the time, of course, and as they got stronger, they forced tribe after tribe into slavery so as to create an ever-growing workforce that could build ever larger monuments to their leaders and their gods. We know some of these today as the pyramids.’ Brulet stretched out a finger towards an intricate scale model of the pyramids at Giza covered by a perspex dome and perching securely on a stout wooden table between two book racks. ‘My own tribe was ravaged by the Egyptian conquests, but they managed to resist and survive as free men and women simply because of their nomadic lifestyle which was ingrained at birth into every member of the tribe. Over time, the Egyptians’ empire bourgeoned as did the number of slaves subjugated into lifelong bondage.
Brulet gently pulled Harker away from the model and continued, leading him deeper into the massive library.
‘You must understand that hundreds of thousands were thus born into slavery – an unfair, twisted birthright passed from one generation to the next. But it was not the only thing that was passed on, for the slaves too evolved their own religion, which eventually became the roots of …’
Harker couldn’t resist jumping into this exposition. ‘Judaism.’
Brulet gave a brief nod. ‘Yes, the beginnings of it anyway. And, after many years, the belief in a certain prophecy came to pass. This prophecy told of a man who would deliver all those enslaved into a free and just world where a person’s worth was linked to his ability instead of the rank inherited or bestowed upon them! Eventually, it was the Romans’ turn to take power, but, in truth, they were far more interested in dominating the Egyptians themselves than the surrounding tribes, which they saw as lesser peoples with little to offer. This allowed a basic peace to reign on the fringes, and, for a few hundred years, nothing really changed – including the prophecy, which had continued to grow in strength and whose staunch believers included my own clan.’
Brulet stopped at a beautifully crafted African tribal table with two chairs alongside. He unhooked his arm from Harker’s and sat down, encouraging his guest to do the same. ‘Then, one day, word reached them that a man had been identified possessing all the hallmarks of the prophecy, which was by this point over five thousand years old. He had been born far from the heights of power and had not only preached the worth of every man, woman, and child but also possessed incredible powers of control over the natural world around him. A select few from my tribe were tasked with the journey to seek out this individual to find out if he truly was the one the prophecy foretold. Those selected few included my direct ancestors, and their pilgrimage constituted the origins of our organisation. They did the unthinkable and made their way out of the desert and into civilisation. They travelled through Memphis and Alexandria, the two greatest cities of the Egyptians, and on through Gaza until finally they reached the town of Bethsaida where they became witness to the power and might of this extraordinary mortal. You may be familiar with the story as the Feeding of the Five Thousand.’
Harker struggled to take in what he was being told, his desire to believe conflicting with his academic sense of logic. If it had not been for the day’s extraordinary events, and being surrounded here by so many ancient and significant texts, then he might have been less willing to succumb, but he felt himself being drawn inexorably into the fantastical story that Brulet was unfolding, the tone of conviction in the man’s voice absolute.
‘You’re talking about Jesus Christ?’
A thin smile crossed Brulet’s face, and he nodded gently.
‘Yes, my family were traditionally amongst the first to acknowledge the man who was to become the son of God and bring true humanity to the world.’ Brulet’s voice was becoming hypnotic, and Harker found it increasingly difficult to summon up any of the questions that had previously occupied his thoughts. Before he could focus the will to do so, Brulet raised a hand towards him.
‘Allow me to finish, Professor, and I will answer any questions you may have for me, but first a drink.’
He pushed a small button concealed underneath the table, and within seconds, Lusic appeared, the same man Harker had met back at Bletchley Park.
‘Two coffees, please, and …’ Brulet paused. ‘Sorry, is coffee OK for you, or maybe a cup of tea?’
Harker, still giddy from his host’s revelations, gave a weak thumbs up. ‘Coffee is good.’
Brulet gave a contented smile at his guest’s state of shock before returning his attention to the muscular German. ‘Two coffees quick as you can please.’ He waited until they were alone again before leaning in and whispering. ‘Don’t expect too much, however, Lusic is a top-notch fixer but an awful cook. His coffee-making skills leave much to be desired, I’m afraid.’
Harker’s stunned look pressed Brulet to continue.
‘I know it’s hard to believe, how can anyone mess up a cup of coffee? I fear he’s ac
tually got quite a talent for it.’
Harker almost choked. ‘That’s not what’s on my mind, Mr Brulet. Please continue with your story.’
He couldn’t tell if the laugh Brulet emitted was one of sarcasm, but the strange-looking man in front of him ploughed back into his account with the same zeal and enthusiasm with which he had begun it.
‘Oh, yes, as I was saying, after seeing the Christ perform that miracle, they were captivated, believing that after so many years, the treasured prophecy had finally come to pass. So they joined his followers, slowly gaining trust amongst his apostles and disciples until they too were considered part of his flock. Unfortunately, during this time, there were storm clouds gathering over their native community in Egypt. Unbeknownst to them, a Roman legion had stumbled across their remote village, apparently by chance, and a fight had ensued. I’m afraid there are no records detailing anything except the bloody outcome. Men, women, and children were ritually slaughtered: all crucified as a warning to other tribes not to show disrespect to the might of the Roman Empire. When they later learnt of this disaster, and with no home to return to, the few remaining members of my people dedicated their lives to following Jesus. Thus, they were there when Jesus was arrested by the Romans, they were there when he was crucified, and they were there when he rose from the dead. They even say that this hereditary affliction first occurred around that time.’ Brulet indicated his unusual cross-shaped pupils with a flick of his finger.
‘It is declared that my family were thus blessed with the sign of the cross, and it has been passed down ever since from generation to generation.’
Brulet gave a humorous wink. ‘But, of course, this claim is just an embellishment of the real truth. This condition of mine is – and always was – purely genetic, but, nonetheless, it did imbed them deeply within the framework of the early Church. In fact, when St Peter founded the first church of Christianity, my forebearers were part of his original flock. As the decades and centuries progressed, my family tree grew and then it shrank. Persecution of the early Christians was rife, but still my family line survived until eventually the Roman Emperor Constantine declared on his deathbed in AD 336 that Christianity was to be the only religion of the empire. As you know, Professor, over the next 700 years, the Christian church and its diverse elements were moulded and sculpted by the most powerful into what became the Holy Roman Catholic Church. My forefathers, along with many others, thus helped to bring about the dark ages, a period when the entire western world was subjugated to conformity in the name of Catholicism, and anyone who resisted was burnt at the stake for heresy or drowned as a witch.’
Brulet took a moment to gaze thoughtfully at the library towering all around them, both his eyes suddenly looking weary. ‘They say it takes only one generation to change the beliefs of men, but in truth, it takes longer than that, and with it comes many deaths. In theory, it works, but, in the practice, it does not. Much like communism has shown.’
For a few seconds, they both sat quietly, not in an awkward silence but rather in a mutual understanding of the difficult history mankind had created for itself.
‘By the eleventh century, the Church encompassed the hearts and minds of the known world, and, in that, my family were no different. During the dark ages, my ancestors were responsible for the trial and death of thousands of non-believers, becoming crusaders for Christianity and defenders of the faith. It was around this time that our organisation truly came into existence. It was originally constituted by a French nobleman called Hugues de Payens around AD 1121, but it wasn’t until AD 1129, when recognised and blessed by the Catholic Church at the council of Troyes, that my family assumed a leading role in what was known as the Poor Knights of the Temple of King Solomon before changing the name some years later.’
Harker instantly recognised those dates. ‘You mean the Knights Templars?’
Sebastian Brulet shot him a smile. ‘Yes, the very same group that was brutally disbanded during the thirteenth century.’
Harker shook his head in disbelief. He’d managed to keep quiet throughout Brulet’s monologue, but this was getting too much. ‘Mr Brulet, I’m aware of the stories – or should I say legends – but you don’t honestly expect me to believe you are the head of an organisation of almost mystical status that’s had more books written about it than the Queen of England.’
Brulet held out his arms in a welcoming gesture. ‘At your service.’
Harker stood up from his chair and rubbed at the lines of frustration developing across his forehead. ‘I’ll admit this collection of books and texts is extraordinary.’ He gazed around at the wealth of historical knowledge that sat neatly ordered on the shelves. ‘And truth is they would compete with any museum in the world,’ Harker slid back into his seat, ‘but you’d better have something more than this to convince me that you’re the head of an organisation that the history books declare hasn’t existed for over seven hundred years.’
Brulet’s glistening malformed pupils stared deeply into Harker’s eyes with all the intensity of a predator eyeing its prey.
‘I certainly do, my friend, and by the time I’m finished here, I’ll be accepting your apology.’
Chapter 18
Prince Genges twisted his fingers in quick succession, each one releasing a loud and satisfying crack. He wasn’t a natural knuckle-cracker, but it was a habit he had acquired during the past few months whilst holed up here in the basement of the Monte Mario observatory. It may have been Rome’s primary astrological telescope steeped in history, but for the Magi Prince, it was turning into a jail cell, and he was going stir-crazy.
The Monte Mario observatory sat atop the city’s highest hill and was only two miles north of Vatican City. It made up one unit in a trio of telescopes located around the province, known simply as the Rome observatory and had enabled the Magi high command to track a streaking comet that had been illuminating the night sky for the past seven weeks.
The comet had originally been discovered by a Swiss scientist some years earlier, but before he could announce the discovery, he had been killed in an unfortunate car crash. Of course, in the world of the Magi, there were no such things as accidents.
The secret organisation had been searching for a galactic phenomenon such as this comet for many years, and, on being made aware of the Swiss scientist’s discovery through their network of informants, the high command had leapt upon it immediately. The occurrence of the comet would tie in with their plans nicely, and all written evidence of the Swiss astronomer’s work to date had immediately been transferred to their associates at the Rome observatory, who subsequently took full credit for the exciting find.
When it came time to setting things in motion, the powers that be had arranged for refurbishment of a large disused basement underneath the main complex, creating an HQ for the coming months. This base of operations was complete with all the facilities a five-man team – which included both Genges and his brother – would need to remain self-sufficient for the duration. From this operation’s centre, the last elements of the grand plan had been carefully choreographed, and all had been running smoothly until that idiot Dwyer had screwed everything up. The priest’s intervention had provoked so many unnecessary killings, and, now this Harker fellow had turned up, things were becoming intolerable. It was for this reason that Genges now found himself involved in a heated discussion.
‘I’m only saying’, he was insisting, ‘that we should be ready for a full assault, should the need arise. At the very least, allow me to put a unit on standby. I could gather them together in ten minutes, and then they’d be ready to go at a moment’s notice.’
‘No.’ Lord Balthasar slowly shook his head. ‘We can ill afford the kind of attention such an action would bring. You know this, Brother.’
Genges slammed his fist down hard on the brightly illuminated map table, not in anger but in frustration. ‘And what if this Harker character is already in British custody or, even worse, holed up in the Briti
sh embassy? What then?’
Balthasar got up from his red leather armchair and strode over to the heated aquarium, where two satisfied-looking red-bellied piranhas were contently gnawing on a thick chunk of beef. ‘There’s no reason to presume the UK authorities are involved, and, more importantly, we’ve heard nothing from our British contacts. No, the good professor is in the hands of someone else – someone we’ve not considered.’
‘And what if these “someones” are measured in large numbers? What then?’
The Magi leader stared into the aquarium and then gently tapped his forehead against the glass, causing the two fishes to pause momentarily before continuing with their bloody meal.
‘Then, Brother, we will deal with it silently and subtly. But until we hear back from Lupis, we wait.’
Genges grunted in annoyance as an uneasy silence descended upon the room like a thick fog. He had always been labelled as the less patient, less level-headed of the two brothers, and, though he tried not to show it, deep down, resentment clawed at his innards like an ulcer. If it were up to him, he would have grabbed Harker much earlier, taken him somewhere private, and squeezed the information from him by force. By now, both relics would have been safely in their possession, allowing them simply to count down the clock till crisis hour. As for that idiot Heldon … well, Genges continued to be appalled at how much faith his sibling had in the lumbering fool, regardless of whatever history the two of them shared. That alone was not reason enough to assign the hulking assassin with such a delicate and crucial assignment. Heldon was Magi, sure, but he was a broadsword, not a scalpel, and the events of the past few weeks had proved that fact time and time again.
Genges watched his older brother sink heavily back into his chair with a wince, and he wondered if their father had made the right decision in choosing his successor. Had Balthasar been chosen to lead the Magi because of his patience and cunning, as his father proclaimed, or because there were few other areas of clan activity he would have been any good at? After all, a boss could not be allowed to get his hands dirty, which, in his mind, may have been a saving grace for his brother.
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