Relics

by Relics (retail) (epub)

  ‘I’m afraid we’re closed for the evening.’

  Barbosa stopped brushing himself off and glared at the blonde-haired man making the objection.

  ‘You’ll have to come back tomorrow when we’re open.’

  The detective pulled out his Polizia di Stato ID card and brandished it in front of him. ‘For me, you’ll make an exception.’

  Lupis examined the card thoroughly. ‘Detective Barbosa. Yes, of course. I’m the manager here. What can we do for you at this late hour?’

  Angelo slipped the ID back into his pocket, never taking his gaze off the now fawning custodian. ‘There was an incident about ten miles from here earlier this evening, and I’m checking it out.’

  Lupis eyed him innocently. ‘And what, may I ask, has that got to do with us?’

  The question sounded reasonable, and Angelo thought nothing of it, apart from that the manager was a bit of a wise ass, but, in his experience, most wannabe scholars were. ‘CCTV cameras caught them leaving and heading in this direction, so we’re checking all the nearby locations.’ He passed over the same grainy picture of the black transit vans he had shown Perone earlier that evening.

  ‘No, sorry, Detective, can’t say I’ve seen it. Or anything else out of the ordinary tonight, for that matter. It’s been pretty quiet here.’

  Angelo flicked the photograph between his fingers, obviously frustrated. ‘OK. Mind if I have a look around?’

  ‘Of course not, Detective.’ Lupis smiled agreeably, ‘if those people you’re looking for are dangerous, then we’re certainly safer with you around. Please, feel free to have a proper look.’

  Detective Barbosa nodded graciously and began inspecting the main room, which, to him, looked more like a library than a base for the province’s primary observation telescope. The large, round chamber was lined with rows of shelves filled with astrological charts and books, allowing a circular space at the centre of the room, laid out with eight workstations. Angelo scowled at the heaps of printed works, which were beginning to produce a strong sensation of claustrophobia in him. As a child, some fellow pupils had locked him into the school library one night for a joke. His parents, thank God, had the whole village out, looking for him within hours of his missing supper. When a search party finally located the young Angelo, he was curled up under one of the reading desks, crying like a baby – not his fondest memory and the reason he still detested libraries to this very day.

  As the detective continued his tour of the room, Lupis could not help but marvel at how a person could become so focused on the objects immediately surrounding him that they missed spotting the most obvious things. Namely the black transit van parked out at the back and just visible from one of the side windows, not to mention the semi-automatic black Glock handgun lying on a leather seat next to one of the bookshelves. More importantly, the Magi warrior lurking in the shadows behind it, dressed head to toe in bulletproof armour with an automatic MP5 aimed directly at the police officer’s head through a gap in the bookcase.

  ‘What’s in there?’ Angelo pointed at a metal door over to one side of the room.

  ‘It’s where we keep our stock for the gift shop: postcards, pens … All the usual stuff.’

  The detective gently rapped his knuckle against the door inquisitively. ‘Can I have a look?’

  Lupis shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have a key myself, but if you’d like to come back tomorrow, I could …’

  Angelo cut him off mid-sentence. ‘You don’t have a key? So what happens if you suddenly need more stock!’

  For the first time since the detective’s arrival at the observatory, Lupis looked rattled.

  ‘Um, well, we’d have to wait until the manager arrives in the morning.’

  ‘But I thought you were the manager?’

  From the corner of his eye, Angelo caught a glint of something metallic, and he spun around to find himself facing the hollow-chambered barrel of an MP5 machine gun.

  ‘Thank you, Detective, but I don’t think we’ll be needing your services any more.’

  The assault rifle came crashing down on Angelo’s temple, knocking him to the ground. As he slipped into unconsciousness, he felt someone tug his magnum revolver from its holster.

  A voice continued above him. ‘Tie him up and bring him with us. We’ll dispose of his body on the way. Now get everything packed up. We need to be gone within the hour.’

  Chapter 27

  ‘Gonna see the T. rex, are ya, guv’nor? Hell of a sight. Almost filled me kecks when I saw that creature.’

  The black hackney cab bounced its way over another sleeping policeman, lifting Harker a couple of inches into the air, then setting him back down on the plastic-covered seat with a bump. He’d asked for a quick ride, and that’s exactly what he was getting.

  The flight to Heathrow had taken a little over an hour, and fortunately, they’d been met by an extremely accommodating customs officer, who had recognised the archaeologist immediately. A few handshakes later, and he was in a taxi on his way to the Museum of Natural History. Unfortunately, both Caster and Lusic had realised mid-flight that neither of them had passports with them. It seemed that being a Knights Templar carried a number of perks, including a sort of diplomatic immunity due to the organisation’s many well-placed associates within every level of government. So at every level, that is, except Heathrow Airport customs and excise, and both men had been forced to wait behind in the jet.

  The taxi bounced alarmingly once more as the cabbie continued setting the world to rights.

  ‘Shame, though, that most of the stuffed animals ’ave been replaced with pictures – something to do with political correctness or some such rubbish.’ The middle-aged Londoner scratched his shiny bald head as he guided his taxi between two narrowly separated road bollards, causing Harker’s heart to skip a beat. ‘I mean, I’m all for equality, me, but political correctness is just a load of old bollocks, ain’t it? I mean, take a gander at me.’ He glanced back towards his passenger before giving his shiny scalp a good slap. ‘I ain’t follicly challenged. I’m bloody bald, son. I call’s a spade a spade, and that way you always know where’s you stand, eh?’

  Harker nodded enthusiastically in the hope his new friend would give up delivering his take on the world at large and concentrate on the road instead. Not a chance, he realised, because after all there are three things a London cabbie does better than anyone else: drive expertly, give top directions, and, most of all, talk for Britain.

  ‘Gotta say, it’s been a while since I picked up anyone off a private jet. Is it yours?’

  Harker shook his head. ‘I wish. It’s a friend’s.’

  ‘Nice bit of kit that, the kinda one the Arabs use, I reckon.’

  The black Hackney cab did a final lurch forward before coming to an abrupt halt.

  ‘Here we go. Quick as I promised.’

  Harker jumped out on to the pavement adjoining Cromwell Road and slung on his overcoat.

  ‘That’ll be spot on thirty pounds, sir.’

  Harker passed over two twenty-pound notes and gave him a thumbs up. ‘Keep the change.’

  The burly cabbie grinned wildly and pointed a pudgy finger in Harker’s direction. ‘Good man, much appreciated and happy holidays.’

  At this time of night, the streets were empty with the exception of a few midnight wanderers, and, within minutes, Harker had made his way through the still open gates and was heading for the imposing entrance of the museum. As he drew nearer, the unusual sight of two policemen in yellow reflective jackets guarding it suggested that something wasn’t right, but before he could get close enough to enquire, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and he spun round to see the brilliant white teeth of Tom Lercher smiling at him.

  ‘Well, fancy meeting you.’ The dean let go of Harker’s shoulder and motioned him to one side.

  ‘Doggie, what are you doing here?’

  Wearing a tweed jacket and light corduroy suit trousers, his old friend looked a
s if he had walked straight out of a lesson.

  ‘Are you joking?’

  It was hard for Harker to tell whether his friend’s question was merely rhetorical. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You disappear off to Rome at a moment’s notice only to call me from a private jet, shortly after being charged with murder and asking for my help. So how could I not be curious about what’s not going on?’

  Dragging Doggie into this whole affair could result in the Cambridge dean getting hurt. All the same, Harker was glad to see him. ‘Well, I’m really pleased you’re here.’ He gestured back towards the two policemen. ‘But what’s going on?’

  ‘There’s just been a bomb threat. That’s what they told me anyway.’

  ‘Bomb threat from whom?’

  ‘Not sure.’ Doggie shrugged his shoulders. ‘This is London, so maybe its terrorists. You know, the usual stuff. But they’re not letting anybody in.’

  ‘Did you manage to speak with David Blix yet?’ Harker asked impatiently.

  ‘No, when I arrived, the police were already on the door.’ He gently took Harker by the arm and pulled him further away from the two policemen, who were now beginning to take an interest. ‘Alex, what the bloody hell’s going on and why were you in the custody of the Italian police? More importantly, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be awaiting trial or something?’ Dean Lercher’s face sagged as a worrying thought came to mind. ‘Oh, bloody hell, tell me you’re not a fugitive, will you? Because Interpol will track you down. They’re like bloodhounds!’

  Harker didn’t feel he had time to give him the whole rundown and, more importantly, telling the dean everything could make him a target also. But the look on his friend’s face persuaded him otherwise. When Doggie’s curiosity was piqued and he got his teeth into something, he rarely let go. Harker would have to tell him something eventually, but for now, attempting a fob off was worth a shot.

  ‘No, I’m not a fugitive.’

  The dean released a deep sigh. ‘Thank God, because I could be charged with helping a criminal, and I wouldn’t last long in jail. I’m not the type.’

  Harker grasped Doggie’s shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. ‘Look, I’ll tell you everything, but right now I need to get inside the museum, and I’m short on time. Really short.’

  Dean Lercher’s curious smile was back with a vengeance as he eyed his associate. ‘How big is this, Alex? I mean are we talking BIG?’

  Harker placed both hands on his friend’s shoulders and went eyeball to eyeball, his expression as serious as he could muster. ‘Tom, they don’t get much bigger than this. What I’m on to makes the Dead Sea Scrolls seem like an old Beano annual.’

  The dean’s eyes widened, and he instinctively licked his lips in anticipation.

  ‘And I’ll let you in on everything eventually, but time is of the essence now, and I need to see David Blix right away.’

  Doggie was already nodding in agreement before the words came out of his mouth. ‘OK, OK. But I’m coming with you.’

  It was pretty obvious the dean wasn’t going to miss out on whatever was going on, and Harker knew it.

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘And once we’ve found him, you’ll tell me everything?’

  ‘Yes, everything. But whatever I tell you could get you hurt – maybe even killed.’

  The mention of death really lit a fire in Doggie’s eyes.

  ‘My God, you’re serious, aren’t you?’

  Harker’s grave nod in response wiped none of the intrigue and excitement from his friend’s eyes.

  ‘OK, then, follow me. There’s an old service chute near the west side, and we should be able to sneak in through there. Dr Blix and a few others use it to pop out for a cigarette, so it’s always left unlocked in the evening.’ The university dean let out a knowing laugh. ‘And they say smoking is a bad thing!’

  Chapter 28

  ‘Who on earth would want to blow up the Natural History Museum? It’s not exactly what I’d call a high-priority target. Not unless you’re one of those madcap creationists!’

  Dean Lercher had been waffling on in such a fashion ever since getting inside the building, and Harker was doing his level best to remain pleasant. His old friend could be a talkative handful at the best of times, but, after the day’s events and with his head still aching, it was starting to sound like verbal diarrhoea.

  Doggie had been right about the fire exit, and, after easily gaining access to the main halls, they had navigated their way down to the lower levels within a few minutes. Harker had visited the museum on numerous occasions for exhibits and galas, amongst other events, but he had never seen it looking so empty, and, in truth, it was a little creepy. The dean, on the other hand, was understandably far more concerned about the terrorist threat and had been talking non-stop in an effort to quell his nerves; an endeavour that seemed to be working successfully even if he wasn’t making a lot of sense.

  ‘It’s much more likely to be fundamentalists hell-bent on destroying one of our great institutions. My God, think of the exhibits that would be lost, the specimens destroyed. Now, I know that many at Cambridge see me more as a fund-raiser than an academic, and a few still question my appointment as head of archaeology, but I ask you this. Without funding, there can be no digs, and no digs mean no finds, and no finds mean no archaeological evidence, so you tell me, who’s the real professional in all this? I’ll tell you who.’ Doggie raised his finger rigidly and confidently towards the ceiling. ‘Dean Thomas Lercher, that’s who. And you can bet your sweet arse I will be successful in that mission.’

  In the past, Harker had never minded his friend’s periodic nervous rants; in fact, on most occasions, he found them highly amusing. But this was not most occasions. ‘Take it easy, Dean. You are indeed a consummate professional, but no one’s going to blow this building up, as I’m sure the terrorists have much better things to do. Now let’s keep our thoughts to ourselves and go find David.’

  Harker’s stern tone of voice caused his old friend to realise how foolish he must be sounding, and he immediately calmed his outburst.

  ‘Yes, of course, you’re right, I’m sure. Oh and Alex, don’t be sarcastic. You know I don’t like it.’

  ‘Well, stop acting like a tool then! Now, do you want to know what this is all about or not?’

  Any shred of indignation on the dean’s face vanished. ‘OK, tell me what you’ve done?’

  ‘It’s not what I’ve done but what I found.’

  Harker reached into his inside jacket pocket and carefully pulled out the slim plastic case containing the crown of thorns. ‘Allow me to present to you possibly the most significant Christian relic of all time. It’s the crown of thorns that Jesus himself wore on the day of his execution.’

  Doggie’s jaw slumped, and his eyes widened like camera lenses as he moved closer to examine the encased object. ‘Oh, my God, is it genuine?’

  ‘Apparently so.’ Harker slipped the item back into his pocket after allowing his friend just a quick glance. ‘And there’s a second relic here at the museum, and, before you ask, no, I don’t know what it is, but I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that finding it could literally mean the difference between life and death.’

  Doggie was now chewing at the bit, his mouth already open and ready to jump in the moment Harker finished his last syllable.

  ‘And before you bombard me with questions, Tom, be aware that I’m not telling you anything else until we’ve seen David and recovered the second item. After that, I promise I’ll give you the whole story, chapter and verse. So the sooner we find Dr Blix, the sooner that unbearable feeling of curiosity gnawing in the pit of your stomach will be satisfied, OK?’

  At first, he thought the dean’s head was about to explode, the way his whole neck was trembling, but, instead, Doggie leant closer and whispered, ‘Then what the hell are we doing standing around here? Let’s move it.’

  It took them another few minutes of silently navigating the su
bterranean corridors before they reached the research department’s electrically operated glass doors. The lights were on, but the place looked empty, and Doggie was already rapping forcefully on the glass before Harker even had time to raise his fist. Seconds later, a familiar face appeared, rising from behind the computer sitting on one of the large desks.

  David Blix was a man in his mid-forties, but with a boyishly round face, curly red hair, and a youthful complexion, that made him look like he had barely reached his thirties. The image was accentuated by his red bow tie and brown jumper with a black zigzag pattern running around the edges, making him look like a youngster trying to look older than he was. After a moment of squinting, a glimmer of recognition flashed across the academic’s face, and, with a wave, he pressed a red button on the wall next to him, so the glass doors slid apart.

  ‘Alex Harker, but … Tom Lercher? Well, how about that?’ David Blix shook both their hands. ‘I expected you Alex but Archie never mentioned Tom as well!’

  The remark lifted Harker’s spirits immediately. ‘Good to see you, David, and glad to hear you say that. So you know what’s going on then?’

  Blix shook his head. ‘Absolutely no idea, but Archie asked me for a favour, and here I am. I still can’t believe he died just a few days after I last saw him. All feels like a bit of a dream, really.

  Harker managed a nod. ‘Yes, for you and everyone else that knew him, but it seems he’s left me a path to follow from beyond the grave. David, why did he visit you?’

  ‘And why are you still here during a terrorist alert?’ Doggie almost shouted the question, his outburst catching the naturalist by surprise.

  ‘Easy, Tom, I have my reasons. When Archie turned up a couple of weeks ago, he seemed fine. He was a bit more enigmatic than usual, but you know how eccentric he could be, and it wasn’t until he got ready to leave that things got serious.’ Blix pointed to a couple of metal stools, and he waited for both Harker and Doggie to settle on them before continuing. ‘We spoke for about half an hour, talking about Janice and generally catching up on things.’