Where the hell was Angelo? He’d been trying to get hold of the detective for the past half hour with no joy, and it was unlike the young policeman to remain out of contact for long, especially considering the night’s events.
Perone had sent his young subordinate to check out the observatory whilst he himself searched an old farmhouse further down the road. The building turned out to be empty except for a rather rambunctious family of porcupines that hadn’t appreciated him poking around and had forced him into making a hasty retreat to the safety of his car. Satisfied there were no humans about, he’d then called Angelo for an update. But, after getting the engaged tone for over ten minutes, he had called the office and arranged for his team to meet him at the observatory itself.
It wasn’t regular procedure to send out an armed response unit just because he couldn’t establish contact with one of his boys, but every member of his team knew to keep their lines open and always be ready to receive his calls. Furthermore, he had developed a gut feeling about this one.
The tech team had traced the van to this particular area through a network of roadside CCTV cameras, and all the likely buildings had been empty, with the exception of those ill-tempered mammals. The observatory was the last place on their list, so if they weren’t there, then it was likely they had switched vehicles somewhere and were long gone by now. He made sure the Romeo’s inside light was turned off before he opened the door and stealthily made his way towards the building’s main window.
Somewhere in the field beyond, an animal howled suddenly, catching him off guard and causing him to drop to his knees. ‘Shit,’ he whispered, annoyed at this overreaction because now was not the time to develop a case of the willies. Perone raised himself up quietly and cautiously made his way over to the window and peered inside.
The main reception lobby was empty, and the inner doors beyond were closed. He’d been here a few years before with his wife – or ex-wife as she was now – but he couldn’t remember the basic layout. Ducking down again, he slunk his way around to the rear pathway, keeping low and hugging the stonewall, deliberately avoiding the low-set windows.
A narrow path followed the circular contour of the observatory building, gently descending downwards to a small car park at the back, surrounded by clumps of heavy-set pine trees, creating a private courtyard free from prying eyes. At first glance, it looked empty, but, as the superintendent moved in for a closer look, a glint of metal caught his eye. There in the corner of the yard, hidden in the shadow of an overhanging pine tree, was a black transit van similar to the one they had been looking for. Perone drew his revolver from its holster and moved over to the side of the vehicle so as to peer in through the passenger window.
The van was empty except for a PC and monitor snugly secured by an elastic tether and, much more interestingly, two pairs of black Kevlar combat jackets of the kind usually worn by security forces.
‘Bingo.’
The superintendent turned his attention to the wide-access drain, which tunnelled into the building’s lower level, but the grating that covered it was firmly locked from the inside. Frustrated, he made his way back to the observatory’s front door, re-holstered his gun, and gently turned the door handle. It too was locked, so Perone pulled out a small zipped leather case from his inside jacket pocket and quietly slid it open to reveal a set of thin metal picks. He took out two of them and began working the lock ever so carefully until, within seconds, the bolt clicked open. If Angelo was in trouble, then the next few minutes could make all the difference between life and death; therefore, Perone couldn’t risk waiting for his team to arrive. Gun drawn, the lawman headed inside.
The lobby seemed empty, but, not the one to take a chance, the veteran officer steadily made his way around the corners of all the bookcases. Satisfied he was alone, Perone proceeded past the reception desk towards a metal door behind it. He paused and quietly pressed his ear to the door, holding his breath and listening out for any sign of movement inside.
There was nothing to be heard except for the constant ticking of the wall clock above him. He slowly opened the door, checked the coast was clear, and headed inside.
Perone found himself in a large circular main room with shiny cedarwood panels covering the walls, all beneath an exquisite gold-coloured tray ceiling from which hung four green-shaded lights that gave the place the feeling of a war bunker.
The great room was totally empty, but on the thick blue carpet, he could make out deep indentations in the fibres where desks and chairs had stood, suggesting that place had until recently been a hive of activity.
There were no windows in the room, just six beautifully crafted Royal Cuesta doors, each with a thick strip of mahogany running down the centre. The doors were set into the curvature of the wall and spaced evenly from left to right, not unlike the hours on a clock face. They were all closed except one, which was ajar just a few inches.
Perone warily made his way across the carpet towards it, pulling out his black revolver. He raised it up to his chest as he peeked through the crack.
The room beyond looked empty except for a stout oval table at one end, a couple of leather armchairs, and an aquarium containing two rather chubby-looking fish. Piranhas? This on its own wasn’t cause for concern, but what sent a shiver through him was the gold pinkie ring lying at the bottom of the tank, nestling amongst the multicoloured gravel.
The sight made him gag as a feeling of revulsion spread from the pit of his stomach. ‘Gun battles, flesh-eating piranhas … who the hell were these people?’
Such thoughts evaporated instantly at the sight of Detective Barbosa lying face down on the floor, gagged and hog-tied directly in front of the aquarium. Perone cautiously gave the door a nudge with the muzzle of his gun, and it swung open with a creak, bringing Angelo’s head whipping around, his eyes sagging in relief at the sight of his boss.
The superintendent made one last visual scan of the room and had only taken a few steps inside when he caught a flicker of movement to his right. He spun round just in time to see Marko Lupis swinging a combat knife towards him, but instead of burying itself in his back, it ended up impaling his biceps. Perone let out a deep growl as the pain shot up his arm. The knife quivered wildly as Lupis began pulling at the six-inch blade, but, before he could retrieve it and have another go, Perone swiped the barrel of his revolver across the Magi’s temple with a sharp thud, sending him to the floor like a lead weight. Perone toppled back against the wall and sank on to his haunches, lowering his revolver to one side as he inspected the serrated metal blade now protruding from the thick dense muscle of his biceps. Bile gathered in his throat as shock began to take hold, but Angelo’s muffled yells pulled him out of it, and, squinting through teary eyes, he grabbed hold of the handle and, in one brisk movement, slid the knife out.
The wound spat out a stream of blood as the blade exited but, despite a quivering lip, not a sound left his throat. He dropped the slim blade to the floor with a clunk, the sound encouraging the semi-conscious Magi guard to lurch upwards on all fours in a wobbly attempt to stand up. But another swift swipe of Perone’s revolver sent the attacker crashing back to the floor, this time knocking him out cold.
‘Bastardo,’ the superintendent hissed at the unconscious man, spittle dribbling down his chin. ‘The only person allowed to treat one of my boys like shit is me.’
He drew a white cotton handkerchief from his top pocket, slipped it under his armpit, and wrapped it around the haemorrhaging cut using his teeth to tighten the knot. Satisfied it was pulled as tight as the pain would allow, he turned his attention to the young detective and used the jagged blade to cut off the ropes with a few swipes.
Angelo staggered to his feet, rubbing at the deep indentations left on his wrists by the tight nylon rope. ‘What took you so long, boss?’
The cheeky smile on his subordinate’s face was the only thing that stopped him getting smacked around the head with Perone’s revolver too. The superintendent ignored
the comment and nodded towards the unconscious man sprawled on the floor. ‘Use those ropes to tie him up.’
Angelo bound Lupis’s hands and feet together roughly and then slapped his erstwhile captor hard across the head, producing a semi-conscious groan. ‘We should call for back-up, sir. Can I use your radio?’
‘They’re already on their way,’ Perone snarled. ‘How many others are there?’
‘I’m not sure. I only saw two.’
The superintendent managed a smile. ‘Only two of them? You’re getting sloppy, Angelo. Is that how you broke the Mafia?’ He wearily patted his young subordinate on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, kid. We can’t all be superheroes.’
Angelo said nothing and simply shrugged his shoulders in defeat. What could he say that would make any difference?
‘Now you get sleeping beauty there, and let’s go outside and secure this guy properly. We’ll check the rest of this little den once the back-up team arrives.’
Without warning, the door behind them flung wide open with such a force that the metal knob hit the inner wall, snapped off, and sent it hurtling through the air just missing Angelo’s head. Lord Balthasar thundered towards them, seemingly punching the air, and, instantaneously, a foot-long sword zipped out from underneath his sleeve and clicked into place like a giant switchblade. With a bloodthirsty glare, he raised both arms upwards as if ready to strike, his teeth gritted so firmly that both jaw muscles looked close to popping.
Two shots rang out, the first slicing through Balthasar’s right cheek in a puff of red mist, which the man simply ignored as he continued lunging forward, his eyes glazed over in a ferocious rage. The second shot penetrated squarely through his Adam’s apple, leaving a gaping, bloody star-shaped hole just above the neckline of his body armour.
Balthasar dropped to his knees with a deep thick gurgling sound, a spurt of dark crimson blood oozing from his mouth, before falling face first on to the floor, his arm-sword still extended towards the two police officers.
Angelo turned around to see Perone holding the smoking revolver still aimed at the motionless body of Lord Balthasar.
‘To get caught off guard once is unfortunate,’ Perone growled. ‘Twice would be un-fucking-forgivable. Now grab that bastard, and let’s go.’
Angelo gave a nod and hoisted the unconscious Lupis over his shoulder. He followed the shaky superintendent who stayed a few feet ahead of him, gun drawn all the way, back to the front lobby.
Entering the room, he came face-to-face with four policemen wearing navy-blue balaclavas and heavily armed with semi-automatics and M4 machine guns.
‘It’s about fucking time, boys. Have to wait for the bus, did you?’
The armed-response team began lowering their weapons as the shortest member of the unit offered a response. ‘We brought the weapons van, boss.’
Perone snorted with laughter through gritted teeth, the wound in his arm throbbing mercilessly. ‘You fucking slow coaches, all the action’s over. Now how about giving us a hand?’
Angelo swiftly deposited his unconscious prisoner onto the waiting shoulder of the nearest team member, in exchange for an M4 machine gun, whilst Perone holstered his weapon and tenderly massaged his wound. He had only taken one step further towards his team, when Angelo raised the M4 directly towards him and pulled the trigger, the weapon spewing out a series of shots that whizzed past Perone’s ear by mere inches. The stunned superintendent dropped to his knees and let out a yelp of pain as his pierced biceps instinctively attempted to support his weight as he keeled over to one side. He hugged his arm protectively and glanced behind him, grimacing at the sharp pain that burst through the ruptured tissue.
There, motionless in the doorway to the corridor, lay the twisted body of the Magi henchman Toledo, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling and a double bullet wound to the forehead. On the floor next to him lay an MP5 machine gun, cocked and loaded. Angelo lowered the smoking barrel of his M4 and threw Perone a cocky grin.
‘Superheroes, aren’t we all?’
Chapter 30
‘Professor, can you hear me?’
Harker awoke with a searing pain in his head and, through bleary eyes, gazed upwards at Lusic hovering over him with an uncharacteristic look of concern in those big blues of his.
‘You’re safe, Professor – as is also your assistant. We’re on-board the jet heading to Vatican City.’
Opposite him sat a pale-faced Doggie, struggling to gulp down some pills with the aid of a can of Tango. Lusic picked up a silver pack of Solpadeine Plus from the side table and tapped a couple of them into Harker’s palm. ‘Take these. They should help with your headache.’
He happily obliged, washing them down with a can of diet Coke. Damn, his head hurt.
‘I’m sorry, but there’s no water left on-board. It’s either soft drinks or champagne.’
Harker nodded thankfully, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his right shoulder where it had collided with either one of the whale’s rib bones or the steel wrench. ‘Where’s the relic?’
The German reached down and pulled out the brown-paper package from under a seat. ‘Your assistant took good care of it until you woke up.’
Harker let out a hefty sigh of relief at the sight of it, allowing himself to take another sip of his drink as Lusic continued, ‘When you arrived, I had to spend five minutes searching the taxicab for any sign of this package, since your assistant took it upon himself to keep it from me.’
Doggie glared up from his can of Tango. ‘I keep telling you, whoever you are, I’m not his assistant.’
Lusic gave a courteous nod in the dean’s direction. ‘I apologise, Mr Lercher.’
The comment once again stirred Doggie’s anger by omitting his academic rank.
‘Alex is the only one here I trust, and once we got airborne …’ The dean let the sentence trail off as his friend shot him a sympathetic look. ‘Well, it’s not like anyone’s going anywhere, is it?’
Harker might have laughed had his head not hurt so much. It had taken one hell of a wallop back at the museum, but still that was far more preferable than a bullet to the brain. He now noticed the big bruise that had fully developed on Doggie’s cheek. ‘Are you OK?’
The dean offered a wry smile. ‘Oh, fine considering we’ve just been chased by the mother of all psychopaths and taken a ride inside a whale, Jonah-style.’
Lusic nodded gravely. ‘I’ve since heard on the radio that your giant psychopath was arrested coming out of the museum. You’re obviously lucky to be alive. The report said it took a whole troop of officers to take him into custody.’
Harker took another swig of Coke, the sugar providing him with a much-needed boost of energy.
‘Where are we right now?’
‘Somewhere over the English Channel. We’ve been airborne for about fifteen minutes. Professor, I …’ The change of tone in Lusic’s voice sent an unpleasant tingle down Harker’s spine, and he readied himself for some bad news. ‘I have some unsettling news regarding Mr Caster.’
‘Caster?’ For the first time, it dawned on Harker that the other man was missing. ‘Where is he?’
The German rubbed the back of his own neck gingerly. ‘A few minutes after you left us for the museum, Caster came up behind and knocked me out. When I woke, he was gone. Apparently, he did have a passport, after all.’
Harker slumped back in his seat, his mind rushing to connect the dots as Lusic continued furiously. ‘That bald-headed little shit must have contacted this ogre of yours and advised him of your destination.’
‘So Caster is the Magi infiltrator Brulet spoke of? It’s hard to believe, though. He seemed OK.’
‘I know.’ The Templar nodded sombrely. ‘I was pretty shocked myself as I’ve been working with John Caster for years. But by keeping hold of this item, his betrayal will have all been for nothing.’ He gestured to the brown-paper package sitting in Harker’s lap. ‘So shall we see what all this effort has been for?’
Harker placed the packet on the table in front of him, pulled loose the coarse string securing it, and slipped off the paper bag to reveal an old and scratched wooden box identical to the one that had contained the crown of thorns. The same image of Emperor Tiberius Augustus Caesar was etched on the lid, and Harker instantly found himself experiencing the same tense anticipation he had felt back at the monastery.
Next to him, Doggie was already kneeling to examine the metal engraving more closely, rubbing the grime of ages from the symbol with his thumb. ‘It’s Roman. I know that much.’
Harker nodded. ‘It’s the seal of Emperor Tiberius, exactly the same as on the other box.’
The dean shot his friend a confused look. ‘You’ve already shown me the thorn crown, so isn’t it about time you told me everything?’
Under the increasingly unhappy glare of Lusic, Harker proceeded to give the Cambridge dean a rundown of the last few days’ events but omitting any reference to Brulet, the Templars, or the Magi. Instead, he blamed the murderous actions of Drazia Heldon on a consortium of thieves hell-bent on stealing the relic from its lawful private owner. Harker wasn’t sure if the dean would actually buy that, but, as he described the dark affair, Doggie sat listening attentively like an obedient schoolboy.
Harker told him about the secret room found in Archie Dwyer’s house, the fire at the orphanage, the monastery, his first encounter with Heldon, and, finally, the shootout at the villa. By the end of it all, the dean was close to salivating.
‘Christ alive, Alex, are you telling me that right there in that box there might be another relic associated with Jesus of Nazareth?’
Relics Page 21
