Reed scanned his dimly lit surroundings: a cell about six feet by eight feet, furnished only with an iron bed and a somewhat grubby mattress. The walls glistened with condensation, and the stone floor was … well, stone cold. Shithole was about right. He would have laughed at the thought, but Rocca’s menacing stare demanded an answer. ‘I understand, Cardinal. So perhaps you can tell me why I’m here, wherever here is.’
Rocca eyed him scornfully. ‘That’s a question you should be asking yourself since, after all, you were following me. Who sent you?’
‘No one sent me. I’m new to the Vatican, and I just wanted to see the academy for myself, simple as that.’
Rocca nodded sarcastically. ‘Right, simple as that.’ He reached inside his robe and pulled out a doubled-up sheet of A4 paper which he gracefully unfolded. ‘Whilst you were taking a nap, I did a little research into your background.’ He ran his finger across the words typed on the page. ‘It seems you led a somewhat exotic, if not questionable, lifestyle before entering the Church, Father.’
Reed said nothing. He had made ample amends for his ‘questionable lifestyle’ many years ago.
‘It says here that a great part of your early youth was spent in and out of juvenile detention. You were quite the little hellraiser. But what really caught my attention was your enlistment in the marines at age eighteen and a year later in to the special forces.’ He raised his eyebrows sarcastically. ‘Semper Fi, indeed!’
Reed ignored the dig at his past. He wasn’t about to take personally a taunt from the man who had just kidnapped him.
‘Almost two decades of secretive black ops, then – quite extraordinary – you gave it all up to join the priesthood. I wonder why.’
Reed remained silent, continuing to rub his aching head.
‘Well, that’s OK,’ the cardinal continued. ‘I’m not interested in the whys and whats of your chequered past, but I am going to insist that you tell me why a man of your background is spying on me and for whom.’
Father Reed gave one final rub of his temple before answering. ‘That’s one heck of an intelligence dossier you seem to have on me – pretty accurate, too. The truth is there are a lot of people in the Vatican who’ve been troubled recently by your running of the academy and administrating finances. So I was asked to look into it on behalf of the Church. And, since waking up in this place, I’d say their reasons for concern were spot on.’
Cardinal Rocca stood po-faced and silent, allowing his captive to continue.
‘But here’s the real question. Why would a cardinal of the Vatican, head of the Academy of Sciences, abduct a fellow member of the clergy and imprison him in a cell? I’d say, therefore, you’ve more to hide than just a few black holes in your finances.’
Rocca wagged a finger dismissively. ‘Well, you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out. No, the reason you’re here is because of your unwelcome curiosity – or the curiosity of Cardinal Vincenzo, should I say?’
‘I’m not at liberty to reveal, but even if I were … I’d tell you to go screw yourself, my son.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes then. Good, good.’ Rocca clasped his hands together. ‘So all I need to do now is take care of good old frail Vincenzo, and no one’s the wiser.’ He sounded almost joyful at the prospect. The manic glint in his eye was back. ‘Well, I’ve enjoyed our chat, Father, and I must say you have been extremely helpful, but I’m afraid I must leave you and go and attend to some important matters of the Church.’
He had taken only a step when Reed called out after him. ‘Damn it, Rocca, you’re a cardinal at the heart of the Vatican, an institution representing a billion Catholics. What the hell are you doing?’
Rocca’s smile disappeared and was replaced with an unnervingly, prophetic stare. ‘The reason you have been detained, my Christian brother, is an unfortunate but necessary evil, I’m afraid. It’s rather difficult to explain.’
‘Then please, Cardinal, try to enlighten me.’
Rocca crossed his arms and pursed his lips as he assumed a deep frown. ‘In just under twelve hours’ time, something special is going to happen – something wonderful, something world-changing.’ He paced slowly back and forth in front of the cell door. ‘It will change the entire face of Catholicism and usher the Christian world into a new golden era we could not even dare dream of. And with it will come a new order: light will finally once and for all triumph over darkness, good will dominate evil, and the earth will become a utopia, second only to the kingdom of heaven.’ Rocca pulled open the outer exit door, pausing as Reed called after him yet again.
‘Cardinal Rocca, you’ve left a slimy trail everywhere. Vincenzo already suspects you, and, with me missing, he’ll have you in his grasp within hours.’ It was a lie, of course, but Reed hoped it might just discourage this madman from going after the head of the Governorate.
‘Slimy trail? Why, Father Reed, are you likening me in some way to a slug?’
Reed shook his head gravely. ‘Not at all, Cardinal Rocca. I’m likening you to a skid mark and a nasty one at that.’
Chapter 23
The Cessnar’s twin engines sent a steady ripple of tremors through the cabin, causing Harker to experience a fleeting sense of panic. He had flown many times in this kind of weather, but when that was coupled with the day’s events, he was feeling altogether sick to his stomach.
‘It’s only turbulence, my boy.’ John Caster was sitting in the seat opposite, his eyes now brimming with concern. ‘You were trained as a pilot. Surely you must have experienced this before.’
The lawyer’s comment drew a sheepish smile from Harker; indeed, he had flown in much worse weather than this as a pilot but not so often as a passenger. The truth was that he had only ever started taking lessons in an attempt to conquer his fear of flying. The real problem had emerged in his late twenties after a particularly stormy flight from Rome to Belfast, when he had experienced what the stewardesses had referred to as a total freak out. A combination of turbulence and sporadic bolts of lightning had resulted in a minor electrical problem causing the cabin lighting to flicker on and off. This in itself had rattled Harker’s nerves, but when a yellow oxygen mask dropped down in front of him, courtesy of the same electrical fault, he’d snapped. Two minutes of shameful panic later, followed by three minutes of pacification by two burly stewards, he had managed to regain his composure much to the relief of everyone else on board. The embarrassment of facing all those accusing eyes for the rest of the flight had convinced him it was time to sort out his fear once and for all.
Six months later, he had acquired his private pilot’s licence and, soon after that, his instrument rating, enabling him to fly at night and in bad weather. Harker had taken to flying like a duck to water, so his instructors told him, and he was even convinced to attempt his jet licence. Unfortunately, the lessons had only just begun when the opportunity to dig in Jerusalem dropped into his lap, and his spare time had fallen to zero. Becoming a pilot had certainly cured him of his phobia, but when not at the helm, it still brought out a nervousness in him that courted odd stares from surrounding passengers, similar to the one he was getting now. ‘I’m more of a pilot than a passenger.’ Harker said in a strained voice, attempting to sound confident.
‘Ah, control freak,’ the lawyer said, patting Harker’s forearm. ‘A man after my own heart. I’m a terrible passenger myself.’ He sported a sly grin. ‘I even fake car sickness so I always get to drive.’
Though Harker managed a reassuring smile for Caster, he was finding it difficult to think of anything but the close shave they had just experienced at the hands of the Magi hit squad. The whizz of bullets zipping past him had been truly terrifying, and Harker’s muscles were still going into occasional spasm as if an unconscious instinct was still prompting him to dodge them.
‘Here, drink this.’ Lusic pushed an opened can of Coke into his hand. ‘Sugar and caffeine is a good antidote for shock.’
Harker gulped down a few mouthf
uls. ‘Is it that obvious?’
The German answered with a smirk. ‘People are so used to seeing murder on TV that they think they know it all. But seeing it in the flesh has much more of an impact than most would like to admit.’
Caster nodded. ‘The first few times are the worst, but I’m rather sad to say you do get used to it.’
Harker found his brave smile failing miserably. ‘I don’t know if I could ever get used to seeing people get killed in front of me.’
‘I served two tours of military duty in Korea and three in Northern Ireland,’ the lawyer remarked with a grimace. ‘Trust me, a person can get used to pretty much anything, given time.’
Lusic nodded in agreement. ‘You see enough blood, and, yes, over time, the colour does fade, if you know what I mean.’
The German’s remark was chilling, leaving Harker feeling completely out of his depth.
‘Well, that’s the third murder I’ve witnessed today, and it’s not getting any easier.’
Caster offered a sympathetic nod before leaning in and whispering quietly. ‘Now, perhaps you could show us this item that’s causing everyone so much trouble. After all, we’ve heard about it, but we’re more than a little excited about seeing it with our own eyes.’
The comment surprised Harker, since he had assumed all the Templars would be well familiar with the relic. ‘You mean you’ve never seen it?’
Both men shook their heads in unison. ‘When a Templar comes of age, he is inducted into the Order via a ritual involving many of the sacred items originally discovered at the Temple of Solomon, but the crown of thorns is not one of them,’ Lusic replied with an unyielding stare. ‘Only a very select few have ever had access to the crown. So it’s somewhat irritating to the rest of us that you, an outsider, have it in your possession.’
He extended an open palm in Harker’s direction. ‘If you’d be so kind?’
Harker reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the slim plastic case, gently laying it on the table in front of them. ‘This is it,’ he declared.
The Templar was the first to examine it, followed closely by the lawyer, who peered at it over the top of his spectacles as if appraising an antique, which wasn’t so far from the truth. ‘It’s much smaller than I’d imagined.’
Lusic shot Caster a dirty look as if he was actually insulting the relic.
‘Lawyers are so materialistic.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘It’s not just about size.’
Caster ignored his associate’s angry stare and returned his attention back to Harker. ‘Well, Professor, it seems we are now in your hands. Where to next?’
Harker felt a knot tighten in the pit of his stomach, as all eyes focused on him. ‘I’m honestly not sure.’
This reply drew blank expressions from his crew mates till it was Lusic who finally broke the silence.
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘I mean I don’t know. There was nothing else with the crown, no note, no directions … Nothing.’
John Caster gave a disbelieving shake of his head. ‘There must have been something. Maybe somewhere in the packaging.’
‘No, nothing.’ Harker pointed down at the plastic case. ‘There was only this container and a wooden box.’ His words trailed off as a disheartening thought crossed his mind. How could he have been so stupid not to think of it? A strong sense of guilt began to take hold of him. ‘There was the box it came in, and it’s possible a note was hidden inside it. But …’
‘But what?’ The tone of Lusic’s voice indicated curiosity, but the Templars’ dulling gaze confirmed that he already knew the answer.
‘I had to leave it at the monastery as part of creating a diversion. The Magi giant, the one you call the Butcher of Racak, he’s got it.’
The German slammed a clenched fist down on to the table tray, sending Harker’s can of Coke flying. ‘What possessed you to leave anything so precious in the hands of that murderer?’
‘It was the only way to distract him and get away. If I hadn’t done so, I’d be dead, and the crown would be in the hands of your enemies. Would that have made you happier?’
The Templar’s muscles were tensing furiously. ‘Well, getting rid of you might have been a bonus.’
It was Caster who jumped in to act as referee, raising both hands in the air. ‘Shut up, both of you. This won’t solve the problem. If something vital is in the hands of the Magi, then there’s nothing we can do except regroup with the Templar Council and formulate a new plan.’
Lusic tightened both hands into fists and nodded stiffly. ‘OK, I’ll give the pilots new heading instructions.’ He stood up and disappeared into the cockpit, leaving Harker and Caster alone.
‘Ignore him, he’s … Well, he’s an idiot who’s unable to control his emotions. Not something the Templars encourage. Anyway don’t blame yourself, Professor. What occurred could not have happened any other way.’
The statement was a nice gesture, but Harker was still struggling not to feel responsible.
‘Thank you, that’s very philosophical of you. Not sure it’s true though.’
Caster took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with his silk tie, which, to Harker’s mind, was an odd thing to do, given the lawyer’s immaculate appearance. ‘We’ve been dealt a blow, but we’re not out of the game just yet.’
He slid the spectacles back on to his nose and brushed off his tie. ‘Anyway, how could you have known that the box was important as well?’
This last question caught Harker’s attention, and his mind latched on to the connection it created.
‘I wouldn’t, but Archie would have.’
‘Sorry, old boy, but I can’t see where you’re going with this.’
Harker reached down and picked up the plastic case containing the crown of thorns. ‘It’s something that Archie used to say to his parishioners when they brought gifts for the poor at Christmas or during a harvest festival. Some wrapped them up in fancy paper and bows, whilst others just used plastic bags.’
Caster was now looking totally confused.
‘So Archie would always tell them that it didn’t matter what wrapping the presents came in, only what was inside. He also joked that man could not live on bread alone, but he most definitely couldn’t live on the pretty packaging it came in.’
‘Very funny, I’m sure.’
Harker shook his head. ‘I know, Archie was a lightweight when it came to humour, but …’ He ran his fingers around the edge of the transparent case, searching for anything unusual – there was nothing. He was almost giving up when something else caught his eye. The case had been heat-sealed on all four sides, leaving dark lines where the plastic had been melted and so keeping the container airtight, but this was not what caught his attention. On each of the corners was a marking – a very small marking too small to make out. ‘Can I borrow your glasses?’ He reached over and swiftly pulled off the lawyer’s spectacles.
‘Easy on, I’m as blind as a bat without those things,’ Caster complained, his beady eyes struggling to focus.
Harker positioned one of the lenses over a corner of the case and moved it back and forth until the marking became readable. ‘It’s the letter D.’ He moved to the next corner. ‘And a B.’
Harker followed the corners left to right and then flipped the case over to find a further two letters. ‘It reads: DBBMNH.’ He passed the spectacles back to Caster, who couldn’t get them back on his nose quick enough.
‘What the hell does that mean?’
Harker shook his head. ‘Not sure yet.’
The lawyer picked up the plastic case and also examined its corners, his squinting causing his forehead to crease upwards like a Shar Pei dog. ‘Ah, yes, I see the letters. But I don’t recognise them. Maybe it’s an anagram.’
His pondering was interrupted by Lusic, who appeared from the cockpit and stumbled over to his seat just as the jet hit a small pocket of turbulence.
‘I’ve contacted the council, and the p
ilots are adjusting our flight plan even as we speak.’
‘We may not need them to. The professor’s found something else.’ Caster pointed to the tiny black letters on each corner of the case. ‘Apparently, we’re not out of the running just yet.’
‘What does it say?’
Caster shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s what we’re now trying to work out.’
Harker read them out loud once again. ‘They go DBBMNH, and I don’t think it’s an anagram.’
The lawyer tapped the case mindfully. ‘Are you sure you’ve read them in the right order?’
Harker nodded confidently. ‘There are four corners, of course, on each side of the case. On one side, all four corners carry a marking.’ He pointed to them in turn. ‘But on the other side, only two corners have markings, so it stands to reason that this is the last side to be read. Like an unfinished sentence. And anyone brought up in the West reads from left to right, from top to bottom. So …’ He moved his forefinger from the top left to the top right and then bottom left to bottom right. ‘We then flip the thing over and do the same thing, and you get DBBMNH.’
Caster and Lusic sat still, both of them looking clueless, whilst a shiver of excitement ran through Harker’s body as he made the connection. ‘I think I’ve got it.’
He sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying this feeling, much to the irritation of the others.
‘Well, are you going to let us in on your discovery or not?’ Caster finally enquired as calmly as he could.
‘OK. Let’s consider BMNH. It’s a common abbreviation for one of the oldest and most renowned scientific establishments in the world. I refer to the British Museum of Natural History.’
Lusic still looked confused. ‘And the DB?’
Harker gave him a wide grin. That refers to one of the curators, a certain Mr David Blix.’ He laughed out loud. ‘He’s an old work colleague of mine through the Macmillan Archaeology Department at Cambridge, and so Archie knew I’d recognise it – and I alone. Even if someone else cottoned on to the Natural History part, few people would be familiar with the name David Blix. That’s because he freelances and doesn’t even appear on the museum’s list of staff. Archie, you’re a bloody star!’
Relics Page 17
