‘Holy shit,’ Doggie gasped, pulling out a white handkerchief from his top pocket and pressing it to his mouth as the nauseating, coppery smell of John Caster’s blood assaulted the back of his throat. ‘Lusic, you sick bastard.’
Harker reached over to the lawyer’s limp body, and gently closed each of his eyes with one stroke of his palm. ‘Rest in peace, John.’ It wasn’t much to offer, but it was the best Caster was going to get, given the circumstances.
‘What are we going to do?’
The dean’s voice was shrill, and Harker could tell Doggie was a few moments away from total panic. After all, the sight of blood was one of his friend’s phobias.
A chill ran through Harker’s body, knowing the murderous German was stronger than both of them put together, and, within the jet’s compact interior, their options seemed limited. He tried to steady himself, his heart skipping a beat, gripped by another rush of adrenalin. ‘OK, we’re both going to play dumb,’ he decided. Harker closed the toilet door and grasped his friend firmly by the shoulders. ‘As long as we play along, Lusic’s got no reason to do anything crazy. So we’re going to sit back down and pretend everything’s normal. Then, once we’ve landed, we’ll alert the police, understood?’
Doggie stared back at him blankly, his left cheek twitching wildly.
‘That’s going to be a difficult one to pull off, my friend,’ a voice intruded.
Harker felt the solid tip of a gun barrel jab into his upper back, and he turned his head to see the stern and unyielding face of the murderous Templar directly behind him.
‘No games now, Professor.’ Lusic gestured with the gun towards the front of the cabin. ‘Take a seat, both of you.’ He then reached over and retrieved both relics from the table, placing them one by one into a dark brown leather satchel. ‘I must thank you both.’ He patted the bag. ‘You’ve made my job exceedingly easy.’ The German tipped an imaginary hat politely and smiled. ‘But don’t beat yourself up. Considering tonight’s events, there was no way you could have known who to trust.’
‘What did it take for you to sell out your own brotherhood to the Magi?’ Snarled Harker, his voice shaking with anger.
Lusic scowled at the remark. ‘Brotherhood! The Templars aren’t a brotherhood, they’re nothing more than a self-serving organisation that’s had its day. And with these two relics, I’m helping to land the fatal blow.’
Behind him, Doggie mumbled in surprise on hearing mention of the word Templar.
‘So you sold out your own people to a bunch of zealot murderers and assassins?’ Harker continued, barely managing to contain the fury he was feeling.
‘You speak like a man of conviction, Professor Harker, but you’re nothing more than a failed priest who stumbled into today’s events by chance, simply because you were a friend of Archie Dwyer. You don’t even have the faintest idea what these relics are intended for, do you?’
‘So why don’t you illuminate me?’
Lusic let out a sarcastic laugh. ‘I don’t think so professor, but, I will tell you this much: these relics will provide the stepping stone for the rebirth of the Catholic Church.’ His eyes widened into an ecstatic gaze as only a true believer can achieve. ‘And then a new religious order will emerge with the Magi positioned at its side.’ A broad grin spread across the German’s features. ‘And our first order of business will be to put the Knights Templars out of their misery once and for all.’
To Harker, the look consuming the disloyal Templar’s face could easily be mistaken for one of insanity, but he had seen that expression many times before. It was the look of a fanatic, which meant that trying reason or logic would prove a total waste of time. ‘So what now? You shoot us here and risk depressurising the cabin. That way, you’ll kill us all.’
Lusic shook his head. ‘No, nothing quite like that.’ He unzipped his thick leather jacket to reveal a parachute harness underneath and then, with one hand, stuffed the handgun into his trouser pocket before grabbing the emergency-exit handle with his other.
‘Thank you for the help, gentlemen, but your journey ends here.’ He shot a wink in Dean Lercher’s direction. ‘Next time I’m in Cambridge, I’ll stop by and send them your regards, you arrogant prick.’ With that, he twisted the handle around ninety degrees, and, with a deafening bang, it disappeared off into the cold, black night air, along with Lusic still attached to it. In an instant, the entire cabin became a freezing whirlwind of chaos, and both Harker and Doggie found themselves clinging to their seats as the cabin pressure was mercilessly sucked outside with a high-pitched whine.
As the aisle lights flickered and debris swirled around the jet’s interior, only one thought popped into Harker’s mind, and it wasn’t for himself or Doggie or even the fear of death itself. It was just a single reflection that squeezed out any other thoughts from his mind.
‘I’m sorry, Claire. I’m so sorry.’
Chapter 33
A burning ice-cold wind seared Harker’s face as the air continued to escape from the jet’s cabin, and his tear-filled eyes struggled to make out his surroundings. Just to his left, he caught snapshot images of Doggie also clinging to his seat for dear life, his tweed jacket flapping uncontrollably as the cabin floor lights continued to flicker erratically.
Within seconds, the roaring of the wind subsided as the cabin air pressure equalised, and it was replaced with a high-pitched whine from the aircraft’s engines, struggling to counterbalance the drag from the open exit hatch.
Harker’s heart beat heavily in his ears as he mustered all his strength to overcome the sheer dread he was now feeling, attempting to focus on his next move. Overhead, the oxygen masks, with their telltale yellow plastic mouth pieces, were whipping back and forth, slapping painfully against his head and then the cabin ceiling. The good news was that he hadn’t passed out yet due to lack of oxygen, which meant the plane must be at a low altitude, but it also meant they were closer to hitting the ground. He had to reach the cockpit.
Harker grabbed the safety belt and began to drag himself from one seat to the next, each passing second seeming like a lifetime as a suffocating sense of urgency tugged at his lungs. He heaved himself forward until he was opposite the cabin exit, which looked like some swirling black vortex mercilessly consuming anything not bolted down, out into the night air. The terror Harker was feeling came close to paralysing his muscles as he imagined the horrendous sensation of disappearing through it and falling thousands of feet through the pitch-darkness to his death.
Ignore it, Harker. Just focus. You must focus.
He finally forced his arm towards the next seat belt and continued to pull himself forward, each step painfully testing his ever-stiffing muscles as he fought the fear vying for control of his body.
After a few more such efforts, he reached the cockpit door and searched for the handle, his eyes aching from the wind. Seconds later, he had a hand clasped around it and, with one forceful twist, pushed it open. A pocket of turbulence caused the jet to drop suddenly, the force almost knocking him backwards towards the open exit, but he clung on to the handle, pulling himself inside and up to one of the pilot’s seats only to find himself staring into the dead lifeless eyes of the aircraft’s captain. The flashing green lights of the dashboard grotesquely illuminated the deep dark knife wound that ran from ear to ear, and Harker imagined Lusic catching the young pilot unaware with the same brutality he had shown to John Caster.
He was still flinching from the gruesome sight when the plane hit another pocket of turbulence, which, this time, threw him sideways into the adjoining seat. He instinctively grabbed the yoke with both hands before trying to level the plane out. The resistance he felt in the wings confirmed what he already knew. The jet was struggling to stay aloft, and the open exit was pulling them into a stall.
Harker scanned the glowing instruments in front of him in search of the altimeter, finally finding it just beneath the artificial horizon. It read: Four thousand feet.
Below it, the
automatic pilot glowed brightly. It seemed that treacherous Templar had not been prepared to take a chance on the aircraft making a sudden dive before he could parachute himself to safety. Harker gritted his teeth in anger at the thought of the back-stabbing bastard, swearing silently that, if he survived this, he’d be paying the German a visit.
From behind, a hand firmly clamped down on to his shoulder, and he spun around to see the deathly white face of Tom Lercher staring at him through squinting eyes.
‘Jesus fucking Christ.’ The dean’s voice was barely audible over the whirring of the jet engines.
‘Close it, Doggie,’ he yelled, gesturing to the flapping grey cockpit door, but his old friend now seemed frozen to the spot. After a few more seconds of pointing and swearing, Doggie finally let go of Harker’s shoulder and slammed the door shut with his foot. Both men felt their ears pop as the closing of the door produced some stability in pressure. All around them sheets of paperwork torn from the captain’s flight bag began floating down to the floor, and once again, the drone of the jets became bearable.
Harker reached over to the seat next to him, undid the safety belt, and pulled the dead captain to the cockpits’ walkway with a thud. ‘Doggie, sit down and get yourself strapped in,’ he instructed, surprised at how controlled his voice was sounding. As the dean fastened his belt, Harker felt a renewed sense of confidence flow through his body. He reached down to his side and pulled a map off the captain’s thigh pad, and then passed it to Doggie who merely nodded in a daze whilst clutching it to his chest.
‘We need to find a suitable place to touch down!’
Doggie’s head bobbed back and forth, his face getting ever paler. ‘Can you do that?’ he croaked.
Harker nodded back at him without hesitation. ‘Yes I can, we just need to find a place to land.’ He felt his heart skip a beat. He wasn’t even sure it was possible, but what other choice did they have?
‘Keep an eye on this.’ He pressed his finger to the altimeter. ‘This indicates our altitude in feet. As we get lower, I want you to shout out our height.’ Harker raised three fingers and counted down, ‘Three thousand, two thousand, one thousand – and then every two hundred feet. Got it?’
Doggie nodded as a solitary teardrop trickled from the corner of his eye. ‘I don’t want to die, Alex.’
The remark provoked a powerful surge of anger deep down in Harker’s chest, fuelling his determination further. ‘Neither do I.’ He snarled and gripped his friend’s arm firmly. ‘We’re not going to fucking die, Doggie. Do you understand? Now concentrate on our height.’
With a shaky nod, Doggie returned his attention to the white dial which continued to fall rapidly. It was something that Harker was all too aware of, even though they seemed to be flying straight and level.
The drag created by the blown emergency hatch was slowing their air speed. The plane itself was slowing down, and if they stayed at this angle of flight any longer, they would eventually stall and drop like a stone, and there was nothing he could do to prevent that. They were only going to get one chance at landing, so every move had to flow perfectly.
Harker glanced over at the large, well-lit GPS display and noted their current position. He then pulled the map from the dean’s hands and laid it across his lap before tracing these two coordinates to their exact location.
‘Three thousand feet,’ Doggie hollered, the fear in his voice barely contained.
Harker didn’t reply, keeping his attention fixed solely on the flight map. Rome Airport was only eighteen miles away, but, at their current trajectory, they would hit the ground within five. Lusic had timed his departure well, that was for sure, because down below them was nothing but dense forest in all directions. Harker scrutinised the map but he couldn’t locate anywhere that would suffice as a landing strip. He was close to just giving up when he noticed a large blue circular area labelled with the name Bracciano, just four miles from their present position. The sight of it inspired an unnerving mixture of fear and relief in Harker’s chest as he recalled the name. Bracciano was a vast lake occupying the crater of a volcano that had ceased erupting over forty thousand years ago. Situated in the province of Lazio, it had become a major tourist attraction in recent years. The massive crater had long since filled with rain water, creating the second largest lake in the country with a surface area of about fifty miles and a maximum depth of well over a hundred metres. It now provided most of Rome’s drinking water ever since a filtration plant had been constructed during the early ’70s to counteract the use of it by people as a dumping zone for their raw sewage. The only reason Harker knew so much about this lake was because he had once taken a tour here whilst still studying at the Vatican years earlier.
A warm glow began to spread inside his stomach. It was still a long shot, but at least now they had an option. Landing on water had maybe a 30 per cent chance of success, but, compared to a forest which was certain death, those odds suddenly looked pretty damn attractive.
‘Two thousand feet.’ Doggie’s voice was getting even jumpier, and he was visibly shaking. ‘Alex, what are we doing?’
‘There’s a lake down below. It’s our best chance. We’re going to slow down close to stalling speed, keep our landing gear up, and skip across the surface like a seaplane.’ This idea didn’t get the response he had hoped for as the dean’s face turned an even paler shade of white.
‘Oh shit, is that even possible?’
‘Not only is it possible, Doggie, it’s doable, but there’s just one problem.’
The Cambridge dean raised both eyebrows in surprise. ‘Just one?’
Harker mustered the best smile he could. ‘It means we’re going to have to take a swim, and I know how much you hate swimming.’
The beginnings of a grin began to emerge from his old friend, replacing some of the panic.
‘Actually, swimming doesn’t seem so bad, Alex. Just get us down safe, OK?’
‘OK, let’s take a dip.’
Down below, lights were becoming visible as the jet broke through the cloud layer, and Harker almost yelled out in joy as the dark foreboding outline of Lake Bracciano came into view. They had passed below the clouds at just the right moment and were now squarely lined up with the two-mile stretch of water.
‘One thousand feet.’
Harker initiated the first stage of the aircraft’s flaps, causing the entire cabin frame to judder wildly as it continued to lose speed.
‘Eight hundred feet.’
‘Make sure you’re strapped in securely, Doggie.’
The dean gave a hard tug on his belt, his eyes locked on the altimeter. ‘Six hundred feet.’
Harker pulled back on his second stage of flaps, the whole aircraft now shaking more violently still as their air speed dropped further.
‘Four hundred feet.’
The jet hurtled past half a dozen well-lit tourist boats lining the shoreline with such ferocity that he could have sworn he saw someone fall overboard in shock.
‘Two hundred feet.’
Harker remained silent, continuing to wrestle with the yoke, attempting to keep the wings parallel with the water-line. It seemed a battle he was winning when Doggie called out: ‘One hundred feet. Good luck!’
Suddenly everything went into slow motion as Harker’s thought processes disengaged, and his core instincts took over. When landing a plane, such instinct is everything. It involves a feel for the controls, a feel for the speed and the external forces. But, most importantly, a feel for the resistance of air pushing up against the wing, giving the aircraft sufficient lift and allowing the controls to ride that same resistance, allowing you to glide safely to the surface below.
The only problem being that it was near impossible to glide a jet comfortably in to land. They were just too heavy, so you had to keep up the speed, but that meant hitting the water harder. It was a balancing act like walking a tightrope but blindfolded and with only one’s senses to guide you. Couple this with the fact that when an obje
ct impacts with water at more than 60 mph, it’s like hitting concrete and makes for one hell of a rough touchdown.
Harker smiled as he remembered his flight instructor’s parting words of wisdom just before he had attempted his first solo flight at Biggin Hill. ‘And as for luck, Alex, there’s no such thing. In this world, it’s up to us to make our own luck.’
An intensely violent jolt rippled through the entire craft as the jets underbelly connected with the lake’s surface, sending deafening sounds of scraping and twisting metal reverberating throughout the cockpit. For a moment, the g-force was almost unbearable, both men feeling their eyes coming close to literally popping from the sockets. The entire plane rose up on its back, virtually flipping over, before finally crashing downwards on to its underbelly with a backbreaking wallop. The seat harness tightened itself around Harker’s chest to the point of crushing him, and then everything went black.
Chapter 34
‘Damn it!’ Father Reed murmured as the lock clicked back into place with a now all-too-familiar clink. Since his talk three hours earlier with Cardinal Rocca, he had been attempting to pick the lock on his cell door, and he was still getting no closer. Damn, he was rusty!
Reed glanced instinctively down at his wrist, only to find a white band of untanned skin where his watch strap used to be. Apparently, Cardinal Rocca had added petty theft to his ever-increasing list of criminal activities. Reed was finding it hard to accept just how crooked the senior cleric had evidently become. He had never known a man of the cloth go rogue, and the thought made him laugh. He had heard of rogue marines, rogue cops, even rogue politicians, but a rogue priest! The image of a muscle-laden Rambo-type with a lopsided dog collar elicited a deep chuckle. It was totally inappropriate, given the circumstances, but humour was the only thing left to keep him going at this point.
Relics Page 23
