Relics

by Relics (retail) (epub)

  Everything Harker had ever been told or taught urged him to dismiss the story instantly as a childish fantasy, yet his gut instinct was pushing him in a different direction altogether. There was a dark truth in what he was hearing, and the deeper Brulet drew him into this rewriting of history, the more intense that feeling became.

  ‘It is to these ends that the Templars have striven to pursue for almost a millennium, namely trying to drag the Church back on to its original course.’ Brulet settled into his seat, a look of triumph lighting up his features. ‘And we have succeeded in doing just that.’

  ‘But the Catholic Church still exists, and it doesn’t seem to have changed that much.’

  The Templar steepled his fingers. ‘Hasn’t it? It was Templar influence that encouraged Protestantism, fostering a departure from the strict tenets of Catholicism to a new and more liberal branch of Christianity that has now spread around the world. In fact, the Catholic Church seems only able to make headway today in those Third World countries where people are at their most desperate. This Protestant branch of Christianity is much closer to Jesus’s ideology than any other before. In fact, it is so engrained in western life that people no longer see it as a religious belief but rather simply as their way of life, one’s own cultural identity, encompassing almost all the same morals and principles, but …’ Brulet leant forward aggressively. ‘… the Magi have always believed in the Catholic Church as it was and that they must use it to control mankind. And that is the ground on which our secret war is fought, each generation attempting to turn the tide.’ He pointed to Harker’s suit pocket. ‘And, with that relic and others, they think they can do just that, although how is not yet clear to us. But one thing is certain – they believe it, and they will stop at nothing to get their hands on what you have there.’

  The tingling in Harker’s stomach was quickly turning to a sickly feeling of apprehension. ‘I need a drink,’ he croaked.

  Brulet nodded sternly and pushed a plain brass button on the wall next to him. ‘Lusic, two vodkas and Red Bull, hold the ice. Quick as you can, please, as I’m not sure how long our guest can wait.’

  So many questions were running through Harker’s mind that he was finding it hard to concentrate on any single one. He picked up the leather-backed gospel and began to translate the first page again to himself as Brulet sat quietly and watched his new associate fully absorb what he’d just been told. Harker had barely made it to the end of the fourth sentence when the silence was shattered as Lusic briskly entered with their two drinks in half-pint Slim Jims. The large German rolled his eyes as Harker deliberately covered his lap with both hands as the tray was placed on the table. He then nodded silently and left as quickly as he had come. Harker took a deep swig of his vodka, allowing the fiery liquid to slowly trickle down his throat, leaving a comforting warmth in its wake. He then slowly inhaled a deep breath and let the soothing effect of the alcohol vapour settle in his lungs as he attempted once more to gather his thoughts.

  ‘OK, for argument’s sake, let’s say I believe everything you’re telling me – about the Templars, the Magi, this Gospel of Jesus, all of it. What the hell has any of that got to do with the suicide of Archie Dwyer?’

  A serious frown appeared on Sebastian Brulet’s face, and he clasped both hands together, vicar-style.

  ‘When we two met back in Britain, I told you that vast sums of money had been siphoned off the Vatican funds for some unknown project?’

  Harker nodded and took another slug of his drink.

  ‘Well, this project is and has been run by the Magi since the 1970s but, despite many tries, we have never been able to penetrate the high level of security around it. What we have known since the ’80s is that Christian relics are somehow involved. We know this because one of our underground security vaults was broken into by a known Magi associate, and the thorn crown was stolen from us. It was an item that had been in the hands of my forebears since Jesus’s death and was then passed on to the Templars. We were able to trace the thief, but by the time we got to him, he was already dead – his reward for helping the Magi. In our world, Alex, secrecy is everything, but when it comes to protecting that secrecy …’ Brulet shaped his hand into the form of a gun and pointed it directly at Harker’s chest. ‘The Magi use murder as their first line of defence.’ He dropped his hand to the table. ‘For the Knights Templars, it is the last.’

  Most of the uneasiness Harker had felt was beginning to subside, although that may have had something to do with vodka he was still gulping and with every passing moment he began to eye his new acquaintance with less scepticism.

  ‘About six months ago, one of our contacts intercepted a transmission from the Magi hierarchy. It revealed that the entire project had been moved to the Vatican, more accurately to the Academy of Sciences. And that’s where Father Dwyer enters the picture, since he was asked by a Cardinal called Rocca to work as part of a small team on a project charged with finding solutions in the fight against world hunger.’

  ‘World hunger?’

  ‘Yes. From what Father Dwyer told us, it was aimed specifically at increasing the natural size of fruit, vegetables, and even animals that could then be farmed in poorer countries.’

  ‘You mean like the Frankenfish?’

  For the first time during the conversation, it was Brulet who looked confused. ‘I’m not sure I know what a Frankenfish is.’

  Harker himself had read about the Frankenfish in a news week article only a few months earlier. ‘It’s a type of Atlantic trout that an American company has genetically modified to grow faster and bigger than the natural variety. Twice as big in half the time. The papers have been calling it the Frankenfish. It’s not been approved by the FDA, yet, but, if it is, they hope it will provide a step towards solving world hunger.’ Harker suppressed the excitement building on top of his words. ‘And, like battery chickens, it will also line their pockets through the domestic sales.’

  Brulet gave a nod of interest. ‘I’d not heard that, but, yes, that’s exactly the kind of project Father Dwyer ended up working on – or so he thought. But it turned out that world hunger research was just a cover for a secretive restoration project involving ancient relics, including the crown of thorns. However, I’m afraid that’s all we know about it.’

  ‘So why did Archie end up getting into contact with you?’

  Sebastian Brulet pinched his lips thoughtfully. ‘Well, I don’t suppose it matters now, but one of our associates, a cardinal priest called Vito Malpuso, made contact and told us all about Archie Dwyer and the thorn crown – the same item which eventually ended up in the possession of someone you met today. I refer to Father Maddocks.

  Harker felt himself cringe as a fresh image of John Maddocks’s limp body dangling from a sword flashed through his mind. ‘Rings a bell, yeah,’ he replied noncommittally.

  Seeing the painful memory in Harker’s eyes, Brulet gave a respectful nod before continuing. ‘Vito spoke to Archie Dwyer privately and explained his connection to us, and, much to my surprise, he promptly got in touch and agreed to pass over the artefacts. He seemed most desperate to rid himself of the objects. Why, I’m honestly not sure, but, before he could, he disappeared, and that’s when Maddocks went into hiding with the thorn crown. Vito refused to come to us for protection, choosing instead to wait for Maddocks to contact him so he could then take possession of the crown and place it safely back in our hands. But someone got to him first.’

  Only one person surfaced in Harker’s mind. ‘Heldon, the Magi’s assassin?’

  Brulet tapped the top of the table with a finger, his frustration and anger obvious. ‘Yes, we believe so. They call him the butcher of Racak, a nickname he picked up whilst participating in the ethnic cleansing of Yugoslavia during the late ’90s before being recruited into the Magi. A Serbian national born in Croatia, Heldon was responsible for the murder of hundreds of civilians, and his weapon of choice during this period was a large wooden sledgehammer – need I say m
ore? He’s powerful, merciless, and completely void of conscience.’ The Grand Master wore a look of disgust. ‘The majority of associates within the Magi ranks are most often morally corrupt. Their only true allegiance is to one thing and one thing only – power and those that wield it.’ He swigged down the last mouthful of his vodka. ‘Luckily for us, Father Dwyer mentioned your name, and we contacted you first via our associate Mr Caster. And here we are.’

  As Brulet wrapped up his account of events, Harker found himself not just being convinced but also, weirdly enough, he wanted to believe it. The story itself, the relics, it was all becoming intoxicating. ‘So why go to all this trouble just to get hold of that crown? I mean, its value as a religious artefact is priceless, but what more is there to it than that?’

  Brulet shook his head. ‘What they intend using the relics for is unclear, but we have intercepted phone calls between Magi members, talking about a pivotal event in human history – an event that will occur when these items are brought together.’

  Harker polished off the last sip of his own drink, the vodka having provided him with a newly restored focus. ‘You said relics in the plural? That’s what Father Maddocks said too.’

  Brulet gave a nod, some of his white hair slipping over his shoulder. ‘Yes, Professor, you see Father Dwyer took more than just the thorn crown. He also made off with a second object – another unidentified relic.’

  The Templar brushed the lock of hair away from his cheek and curled it up neatly behind his ear. ‘And once you’ve returned the crown to me, and the note that came with it, I will send an escort of our Knights to pick the second item up and then secure them both so that the Magi can no longer pursue whatever wickedness they have planned.’

  He reached out an open palm. ‘So, if I may have it now, I will then get in touch with our contacts within the echelons of power and have the murder charges dropped against you. With your reputation restored we will find Ms Dwyer and if need be barter for her life. We already have a solid lead on her whereabouts. Is that plan OK with you?’

  Harker relinquished himself to a soothing sense of relief at the thought, though things were by no means guaranteed. Throughout this brief history lesson, he’d felt worry and guilt over Claire’s absence hanging over him like an invisible weight. ‘Mr Brulet, you know these people, the Magi, and you know what they’re capable of. If they don’t get what they want, she’s dead.’

  Brulet snapped his fingers to summon Lusic, who came in holding a wooden case identical to the one containing the crown. Even the engraved symbol of Caesar looked as genuinely ancient as the original. The German carefully lifted the lid to reveal two separate strips of intertwined thorns identical to the ones in Harker’s pocket, even down to the transparent hermetically airtight case that housed them.

  ‘We will barter for Claire Dwyer’s life with this, and by the time they manage an analysis, she … we, will be long gone.’ His confident smile was back. ‘You see, we have everything under control.’

  Harker dug deep into his pocket and retrieved the sealed plastic case containing the crown and gently placed it into Brulet’s waiting palm. ‘Really? Try telling that to Father Maddocks and Father Valente to name but a few!’

  Brulet gave a sad but understanding nod before pocketing the relic inside his silk-lined jacket. ‘I’m very sorry to say there is little I can do now for those unfortunate men.’ He stood up, gesturing for Harker to do the same. ‘But believe me when I tell you that Claire Dwyer will survive her ordeal. On that you have my solemn word as Grand Master.’

  As Harker got to his feet, Brulet courteously took his hand and shook it firmly.

  ‘Professor, you are clearly a good man with an untainted soul. From this moment on, you have trusted friends amongst the Knights Templars.’

  Harker had just begun to squeeze his new friend’s hand in return when David Grant and two other men abruptly burst in through a side door.

  ‘Sebastian, the house is being breached. We must leave here immediately.’

  Brulet’s white hair flicked to one side as he swung around to face Grant’s alarmed expression. ‘Breached by whom?’

  It was now the turn of one of the other soldiers to respond, ‘They’re dressed in traditional combat garb, My Lord, but I think it’s a Magi death squad.’

  A venomous scowl spread over Brulet’s face. ‘How the hell did they track us here?’

  ‘I don’t know, My Lord, but there’s about ten of them – and only four of us here now, or five if you count the professor.’ Grant gave a brief nod in Harker’s direction.

  ‘Sir, we are heavily outnumbered, and clearly we’ve been set up. Caster and Lusic are already making their way out to the jet. We need you both to join them immediately.’

  In an instant, Brulet’s hand wrapped itself around Harker’s arm like a vice, the firmness of its grip surprising for such a spindly limbed man. He immediately began marching Harker towards the rear door as the three remaining Templars stood guard, scanning the dimly lit library for any movement. They were only a few steps from the doorway when a Magi henchman clothed in a black Kevlar combat uniform smashed through the main window, landing only a few feet from them both with an MP5 sub-machine gun gripped firmly in his gloved hands.

  Before Harker could react, Brulet had shoved him towards the rear door and in one swift movement, he slapped the barrel of the MP5, spinning it 180 degrees, out of the intruder’s hand and into his own. He then pulled the trigger, and, amid a short series of flashes, the Kevlar-dressed assassin fell back on to broken glass with a crunch, his black leather boots flicking violently in to the air as his muscles went into spasm.

  ‘Sir, we have to go now,’ Grant shouted as he kicked open the door with his boot and pushed Harker through it, followed by Brulet. More gunfire blasted behind them, and Harker turned in time to see the youngest Knight being flipped backwards against the wall under the force of a dozen bullets hitting his chest.

  There followed a few more seconds of frantic running down a long dark corridor before a rough shove in the back pushed Harker through an open doorway into a pantry and on to a hard, terracotta-tiled floor. He was followed closely into the room by Brulet and Grant, who slammed the metal door shut and slid a hefty bolt into place.

  Harker scanned the large, chilly meat pantry for an exit but saw none – they were trapped. Behind him, bullets rattled against the closed door, compelling him to hurl himself to the floor, the cold tiles pressed against his face.

  ‘I can’t see a way out, so any ideas?’ Harker shouted in an effort to be heard above the now continuous thudding of bullets against metal. Bulbous indentations began appearing in the door as each successive bullet struck with such force that the whole thing jerked back and forth on its hinges. Panic began building in Harker’s chest; and then it suddenly evaporated as he felt a wave of calm surge through him. But this wasn’t due to his own self-control but rather the confidence and strength emanating from the star-shaped pupils of Sebastian Brulet, who was staring at him directly as Grant manhandled a large freezer across the doorway.

  The Grand Master’s yellow-tinged eyes widened as he surveyed the walls around them, his attention finally settling on the end wall, whereupon Brulet gave Grant a sharp tap on the shoulder and pointed towards it. Without another word, the younger Templar pulled a small narrow disk from a Velcro-fastened pocket on his shoulder pad and passed it to Brulet, who leant over to the same wall and stuck it against one of the bricks. He secured it in with a click and returned to join Harker, lowering his head in both hands.

  ‘I’d keep your head down if I were you.’ The advice was offered loudly yet calmly, and it took Harker only a moment to comply.

  As the small explosive ripped through the masonry, the pantry was consumed in a shower of dust. Outside the room, the gunfire ceased, and the guttural voice of Genges could be heard from behind the bullet-ridden door. ‘Brulet, have you no honour? Come out and face me like a man, you murdering albino freak. It’s time to
pay for the murder of my father.’

  ‘Not exactly my number-one fan,’ Brulet murmured with a dry smile. ‘It’s time we split up because, as you can see, I have unfinished business.’ He motioned to the gaping hole in the wall and to the cold night air beyond. ‘Now get yourself to the airstrip where Lusic and Caster should be waiting for you.’

  Brulet reached into his pocket and passed back the thin plastic case carrying the crown of thorns. ‘It seems we will be needing your services a little longer, Professor Harker. Go and find Dwyer’s other hiding place and secure the second relic. But, whatever happens, don’t allow them to fall into the hands of the Magi even if it means destroying both artefacts.’

  The very thought of such a sacrilege caused Harker to gulp, but he managed to ask, ‘How about you?’