Relics

by Relics (retail) (epub)

  Cardinal Rocca’s jaw muscle suddenly relaxed, and all concern disappeared from his face as he tapped the sheets of paper next to him. ‘You’re absolutely correct, Salvatore, there are things going on here that you have been left out of. Plans that are going to reshape the Catholic Church as we know it. Plans I wish you to be a part of.’

  ‘Plans you wish me to be a part of?’ The older man was fuming now. ‘Whatever plans you may have, you are not head of the Catholic Church and you have no right to attempt at any reorganising …’

  Rocca cut him off mid-sentence. ‘No, you’re right, I cannot, but our highest authority can and will.’ He picked up the typed sheets from the stone bench and handed them to Vincenzo, who pulled out a pair of bifocal reading glasses from inside his robe and placed them on the bridge of his nose. ‘This is the speech Pope Adrian will deliver to world leaders shortly, and it will mark an end to the old Church and the dawn of a new one.’

  As Cardinal Vincenzo scanned the two printed pages, his chest grew tighter and tighter with every sentence he read. ‘I don’t believe it. This is pure fantasy.’ He glanced up to find Cardinal Rocca eyeing him coldly, his pupils alight with the forbidding glint of a man unsure of his next move.

  ‘Not fantasy, Salvatore, but reality.’

  Vincenzo struggled to comprehend what he had just read, the implications churning his stomach and pushing a single thought to the forefront of his mind, above all others. ‘You’re insane, Rocca.’ He shook the piece of paper in front of him. ‘This is blasphemy of the highest order. You’ll not see it happen as long as I live and breathe.’

  In an instant, Rocca was swiftly upon him, clamping a palm across the old man’s mouth before he could sound off a cry for help.

  ‘Well, then, we’ll have to remedy that fact, won’t we, old man?’

  Chapter 45

  It only took a few moments for Harker’s eyes to adjust to the darkness and until then, he clung to the door handle, half expecting to topple into some deep pit. Luckily, such fears were unjustified.

  The room was large and bathed in a dim orange glow from a lamp hanging over a conference table surrounded by chairs, which stretched the entire length of the room. He stepped over to one of the bookcases lining the walls and attempted to scan the contents through scrunched-up eyes, but nothing in particular stood out.

  ‘Anything interesting?’ Pope Adrian whispered as he bumped into one of the shelves, making Harker jerk backwards in alarm. ‘Sorry, it’s very dark.’

  ‘I’ll see if I can find a light,’ Harker decided. He ran his hand across the wall until his fingertips found a switch protruding from underneath one of the shelves. ‘Here we go.’

  All around the room up-lighters flared into life, illuminating not only a table, chairs, and bookcases but also numerous items of what looked like scientific equipment, neatly piled up in the far corner.

  ‘What on earth is that?’ The Pope frowned as he tried to make sense of the scene in front of him, understandably rattled by the existence of this mysterious subterranean chamber they now found themselves in.

  Harker, on the other hand, immediately recognised most of the assembled equipment. On the left stood a dialysis machine as used for patients suffering from kidney failures. Next to it was a material splicer used for taking cross section cuttings of flesh and bone. He’d seen both in operation whilst attending a charity event at St Olmand’s children’s hospital. Cambridge University had generously provided the neonatal intensive care unit with new incubators, and a group of alumni, including himself, had been given a grand tour of the research department which contained similar apparatus. Whatever was going on down here it certainly had nothing to do with religion.

  ‘It’s medical equipment at least, I think it is.’ Harker turned to the increasingly pale-faced pontiff. ‘I believe now would be a good time for you to contact the pontifical guard.’ He gently nudged the Pope, who was looking increasingly glassy-eyed with each passing second. ‘Your Eminence, I think it’s safe to say the Magi are up to something rather …’ The moment the word left his mouth, he cursed himself for the slip.

  ‘The Magi! That’s who this is about!’ The pontiff recoiled in disbelief. ‘But the Magi aren’t real. They’re just made-up stories … false legends. Those old tales have been around since I first entered the Church.’

  Harker firmly grasped the Pope’s arm and gestured with his other hand to the equipment arranged against the wall. ‘Does this look like some old tale?’

  Pope Adrian didn’t say a thing, his eyes now darting wildly over the room’s contents as he tried to formulate a more rational explanation. ‘The Magi are not real, Professor, and even if they were, what would bring them down here with all this equipment?’

  ‘The Magi are real. I know this for a fact, your Holiness, and this is their doing. I don’t know what they’re up to, but I intend to find out. Now, please, alert the pontifical guard.’ Harker managed to guide the Pope to the passageway, without any resistance, unlocking the metal door and gently pushing him through it. ‘Now please send guards. I’m going to look for Claire Dwyer.’

  The pontiff offered a reluctant nod, his eyes filled with disbelief and confusion. ‘I’ll send security immediately as there is obviously something very wrong going on here. But believe me when I tell you the Magi are nothing more than a myth created to keep the pious alert at all times.’

  Harker almost choked at the Pope’s analysis, his conviction wanting to set him straight but instead settling for a conciliatory nod. What was the point? ‘You may be right, but the sooner you get help, the sooner we’ll know for sure.’

  With that, Pope Adrian disappeared back the way they had come, carefully closing the door behind him.

  Finally, Harker was alone, and with that came an enormous sense of relief. He had no idea who was down here, but his recent experiences with the Magi told him he had every right to worry. He was in enough trouble as it was without adding endangerment of the spiritual leader of over one billion Catholics to his ever-growing list of charges. There wasn’t a chance he was going to take on that responsibility as well.

  He made his way past the medical equipment, heading alongside the unusually large, yet empty, drawing board that spanned the entire length of the wall until he reached a grey door on the far side of the room. Cautiously, he grasped the cold brass handle and turned it slowly until the door began to open. As he poked his head into the dimly lit room, only one thought preoccupied his mind. Claire Dwyer, are you in here? His heart sank when instead he came face-to-face with a tall man dressed in a cardinal’s robe, standing behind the bars of a prison cell.

  ‘So you’re another of Rocca’s lackeys,’ the prisoner growled before staring down at Harker’s tracksuit bottoms and then up at his red Anatoly’s T-shirt. ‘Nice threads. I see you’re going for the hobo look. Either that or Rocca’s not paying you enough.’

  The man stood well over six feet with broad shoulders, and Harker was momentarily thankful there was a cell door standing between them. ‘I don’t work for Cardinal Rocca, and I’m now guessing you don’t either. Who are you?’

  The man instantly looked relieved, and he placed his face closer to the bars. ‘Cardinal Priest John Reed. And I’m very glad to meet you.’ He extended a hand, and Harker shook it warily. Had the cardinal not been wearing his official robes, he might have thought twice about it. He had always found it odd that human beings could be so easily reassured by a uniform. ‘Professor Alex Harker.’

  Reed retrieved his hand and once more grasped the bar till his knuckles whitened. ‘I’m a consulate working for the Vatican Governorate. I was asked to look into Cardinal Rocca’s irregular dealings, and, as you can see, I found something.’ From the exhausted look in Reed’s eyes, he had obviously been stuck here sometime, and it was obvious he didn’t want to stay a second longer.

  ‘I’m looking for a woman called Claire Dwyer,’ he explained. ‘Have you seen any sign of her?’

  ‘No, but there
was something going on in the other room. I don’t know if that’s connected with the person you’re looking for.’

  Harker felt his heart begin to sink. ‘There’s no one next door – only some conference room full of equipment.’

  A smile crossed Father Reed’s face. ‘No, there’s a secret room, too. I’ve seen it. Just get me out of here, and I’ll show you.’

  The fact that Father Reed had been locked up by Cardinal Rocca seemed reason enough to set the man free. And he was a priest, after all, but there was something else. Harker had always prided himself on his ability to assess a person’s character just by looking at them – the way they held themselves and the way they talked. His father had once claimed, ‘The eyes never lie’. As he stared hard into Father Reed’s, he couldn’t detect any malice whatsoever.

  ‘OK, Father. Let me see what I can do.’

  He headed back into the main room and searched for something that might help. After just a few minutes, he had found a thick metal rod discarded behind the dialysis machine. He couldn’t tell what its proper use was, but it would serve as a perfect makeshift crowbar. Harker headed back into the cell and jammed the rod in between the lock and the door, slowly edging it in deeper until it could go no further.

  ‘Stand back.’ Harker pulled on the crowbar, shifting his weight more and more until, finally, his whole body was pulling against it with every ounce of his strength until, without warning, the door sprang open, sending him hurtling to the floor with a thump, the iron bar slamming against the bruise on his chest where the Cessenair’s safety belt had dug in during the crash landing. ‘Damn, that hurts!’ He rubbed at the painful swelling on his chest as Father Reed reached down to pull him to his feet.

  ‘You OK?’

  Harker nodded uncertainly: if he got hit in that same place once more, he was likely going to pass out. ‘If we can just find Claire and get out of here, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Good. Then follow me.’

  Harker followed his new ally back into the adjoining room and observed as Reed pulled aside a fuse box located next to a heavy bookcase and pushed the button behind. Overhead, the grinding of rotating gears could be heard from somewhere above, and Harker watched in astonishment as the wall-length drawing board rose into the ceiling, revealing an impressive glass observation deck behind it. His skin was now prickling with anticipation, and he fought to steady his breathing as he surveyed the interior. Inside, it looked like a regular hospital room equipped with everything you would expect, from the oxygen mask linked directly to the wall to the magnolia-painted walls and a vase full of fresh lilies.

  ‘What the hell is this place?’

  It was like looking on to a movie set where everything appeared normal, but you knew it was an illusion – like being in a waking dream.

  ‘I don’t know what all this stuff is for,’ Reed said, aware of the questioning look that was now developing on Harker’s face. ‘But there’s definitely something not right over there.’ He pointed over to the bed in the corner of the room which was now visible.

  It took a few seconds of squinting past the heart monitor and a web of tubes and wires for Harker to see a hand jutting out from beneath the bed covers. Claire?

  ‘How do we get in?’ he demanded, surprised at how erratic his voice sounded.

  ‘Through here.’ Reed pushed a small red button on the adjacent wall and a single glass panel about a metre wide swung open to allow them access.

  The air inside the room was fresh, not stuffy like in the observation area, and it smelt just like any hospital: that curious mixture of chemical concoctions and cleaning products ensuring the required cleanliness.

  Harker rushed over to the bed and gazed down at the occupant. It was undoubtedly a woman, but a large breathing mask covered her entire face, like a diving mask, and he could not see more because the inside of it was steamed up with her breath, so he gently slipped it off, and what he saw made him shudder.

  It was a girl who could not have been more than eighteen years old with thick black curly hair and soft olive-coloured skin. Beads of condensation peppered her silky cheeks, and both eyes flicked back and forth under closed lids. She was beautiful, but she wasn’t Claire Dwyer.

  ‘Is this the woman you’re looking for?’ Reed asked hopefully.

  Harker shook his head despondently. ‘No, it’s not. I’ve never seen her before, but she sure as hell doesn’t belong down here.’

  Harker pulled back the sheets and began to gather the girl into his arms when he noticed something that stopped him dead in his tracks. He felt his legs crumple under him, and he slumped against the wall as Father Reed leant over the women to see what had caused such a reaction. The girl looked normal, healthy even, but one thing did stand out, though he couldn’t see what was so disturbing about it.

  ‘She’s pregnant. What does that mean?’

  Harker managed a deep breath and rubbed his temple intensely. ‘Oh my God, what have they done?’

  ‘Not God, Alex,’ a sudden voice declared behind them.

  Harker and Reed recoiled in shock, and they both turned towards the glass doorway to find Pope Adrian VII grandly flanked by Lusic Bekhit and another man dressed in black holding a silenced berretta, unwaveringly trained upon them.

  ‘But his son.’

  Chapter 46

  Perone took another drag of his stogy and exhaled a wisp of blue smoke above the crowd waiting in front of him. ‘Take a good look, Angelo.’ The veteran officer pointed down towards the twenty or so news vans lining the edge of St Peter’s Square. ‘That’s what rules the world these days, not the Church. For better or worse.’

  The two officers were standing halfway up the white steps leading into the basilica, from where they could see clearly across the massive tiled expanse of St Peter’s Square.

  ‘It’s the way of the world, boss, and maybe not a bad thing either,’ Angelo declared firmly.

  The superintendent gave his second-in-command a grimace, shaking his head doubtfully. ‘It used to be personal morality and religious beliefs that guided people to their own conclusions, but now we’re all being told by the press what to think and how to act.’

  ‘Sounds just like the Church then,’ Angelo replied sarcastically as he eyed the slim figure of a female CNN reporter rehearsing her lines in front of a cameraman. ‘And it looks better, too.’

  Perone let out an unimpressed sigh and turned his attention back up towards the cathedral entrance, looking out for their guide. He wasn’t about to get involved in a philosophical debate with someone whose hobbies, amongst other things, included collecting porn films with titles such as Butt Buster and that hardcore Roman epic I came, I saw … I came again.

  Back at the station, Perone’s tech team had managed to trace the mobile phone signal to somewhere inside the basilica itself, but their appointed gendarme chaperone, Officer Greco, had refused to let them go inside. Perone had then caused such a scene that some nearby news reporters had begun taking an interest in the sudden disturbance. Faced with half a dozen camera lenses aimed in his direction, the flushed-faced Vatican cop had retreated into the building to seek permission for access, and the two officers had been waiting outside ever since.

  Down below them, scores of well-wishing Catholics mingled with the tourists, all wanting to witness the morning’s events. The summit had generated far more public interest than Perone had imagined it would. He’d read about it in one of the papers but hadn’t paid much attention; he wasn’t particularly interested in the everyday news, most of which was as depressing as anything he regularly encountered at work.

  Up ahead, the huge doors of St Peter’s swung open, flooding the steps outside with bright light. Seconds later, a still flushed-looking Officer Greco reappeared and briskly made his way down towards them.

  ‘Good news, you have been granted temporary access to the cathedral, but we must be gone before the Pope begins his speech. Until then you’re free to carry out your inspection.’ The gendarme l
eant towards Perone, not wanting his words to be overheard. ‘If the man you’re looking for is inside, then his apprehension must be handled discreetly. Is that clear, Superintendent Perone? There are secret service agents from all over the world inside, and to create a disturbance would undoubtedly cause a reaction. And the last thing we want is the attention of over a hundred armed agents, so low-key diplomacy is essential.’

  The superintendent gave him a courteous nod. ‘We’ve no wish to draw any undue attention, but we will remain inside as long as is needed, Officer Greco.’

  The gendarme frowned unhappily. ‘Very well, gentlemen, but may I remind you there are many world-famous faces inside, so please, no ogling.’

  Perone nudged Angelo in front of him as all three men began to climb the steps. ‘They’re politicians, not school kids, so I’m sure they’ll survive a few stares.’

  Greco ignored this last remark and began to make his way through the crowd. He did not want these scruffy feds creating any undue problems over imaginary conspiracies. The last thing security needed tonight was an unseemly ruckus of any kind.

  The young officer courteously pushed his way deeper into the massive interior of St Peter’s, creating a path for his two guests, but had he known what chaos was about to erupt around the two policemen, he would never have let them onto Vatican soil, let alone inside the basilica.

  Chapter 47

  ‘Well, what a relentless pain in the arse you’ve turned out to be, for a man who gave up his faith so easily!’

  Pope Adrian snorted in contempt and strode furiously into the room, stopping just a few metres short of the hospital bed. His anger was directed solely at Harker. ‘If you had shown this much determination back when you were a priest, then maybe you would be Pope now instead of me.’