‘Go on.’
‘And so, a group of Europol agents, pissed off about the way Usberti got off the hook, took it upon ourselves to reopen the case privately.’
‘How big a group?’
‘Me, and four other guys. I was elected to be the undercover person, first because I can speak Italian fluently, second because I’m supposedly on medical leave, so I was free not to go into the office every day like the others.’
‘The back thing? I thought you were faking it. Like the glasses.’
‘Exaggerating it, as part of my cover. I damaged my spine in a motorcycle crash last year. But it’s a lot better now than it was. Thank you for asking.’
‘If you’re looking for sympathy, you can look somewhere else,’ Ben said.
‘Says the guy whose ass I just saved.’
‘Keep talking, Janssens.’
‘It took a long time to work my way inside his organisation and gain his trust, but I played my role well and it worked. Slowly, I began to understand what the devious scumbag was up to. He was planning to fake his own death, using a body double, a man called Gennaro Tucci who he found by chance in some small village in Umbria. They grabbed Tucci one night from his home, brought him back, imprisoned him and then slaughtered him.’
‘The body in the lake.’
‘These people are monsters. And now I really thought we had them. An open-and-shut murder case that my guys and I could simply hand over to the correct authorities.’ Janssens shook his head bitterly. ‘How wrong I was. That was when it all started falling apart. It seems Usberti still has one or two sympathisers in high places. The moment we filed our report, certain agency chiefs – we believe in collusion with certain EU ministers, although we can’t prove anything – came down on it like a ton of merde, buried the whole investigation and my team with it.’
‘Fired?’
‘Suspended indefinitely without pay pending an internal inquiry, which amounts to the same career death, whichever way you look at it. At least they could go home and be with their families, go fishing, find something else to do, or whatever. Not me. I was suddenly left hanging. I couldn’t depend on my colleagues’ backup any longer, and I couldn’t trust the department. It was like being stranded on a desert island, except this particular island was full of predators who’d torture me to death and put my head on a spike for the seagulls to peck if they suspected the slightest thing. I was desperate.’
‘So you decided to call in outside help,’ Ben said.
Janssens shrugged. ‘I didn’t know what else to do. I looked you up, found your training centre’s website and your address in France. Except how could I contact you directly? What if you didn’t believe me? It could have backfired on me, and I’d be dead. I had to find another way.’
‘By working Severini.’
‘It was all I could think of. When Usberti sent me on an errand to Brescia I managed to slip away long enough to drive to Milan and pay a visit to Bollati prison. Severini hadn’t had a visitor in years. He was glad to talk to someone. Even gladder when I told him we were this close to nailing his former employer once and for all. Nobody, and I mean nobody, hates Usberti as much as he does.’
‘I doubt that very much,’ Ben said.
‘He agreed to help me in whatever way he could. We composed the letter together, and it went into the prison’s outgoing mailbag the same day.’
Now it was clear why Janssens had looked so uneasy back in Turkey, when Ben had mentioned to Usberti that Severini had contacted him.
‘I was out of the country when the letter turned up at Le Val,’ Ben said. ‘If I’d received it a few days sooner—’
‘I assumed it was either that, or you’d just torn it up. Either way, it looked as though my plan had failed. My only consolation was that there was no possibility of it coming back on me.’
‘And my friends paid the price instead.’
Janssens was silent for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly and staring at the desert. Then he nodded and turned to look at Ben.
‘It’s true,’ Janssens said. ‘How can I tell you enough times that I’m sorry for all that’s happened? And what good are words, anyway? There’s only one thing to do now. We have to set things right. For them.’
Chapter 61
Groppione had driven quite some way through the dark desert by the time Usberti happened to glance back and realise that the second truck was no longer there.
‘Maybe they broke down,’ Groppione suggested.
‘You should have been paying attention.’
‘I’m sorry, boss. What do you want to do? You want me to double back and go look for ’m?’
Usberti thought about it, then shook his head. ‘No, we must keep moving. Ugo is equipped with a satellite tracker device linked to mine; he knows my exact location at all times. He will find us. The mission must come first.’
Anna was shaking inside, but she wouldn’t let them see it. Swallowing her fear, she laughed. ‘Now I know what you’ve been doing with yourself all these years. Watching bad movies full of lines like “the mission must come first” and dreaming of yourself as the big hero.’
‘I would not be so brazen, if I were you, Professor. Your very survival depends on my continued goodwill.’
‘You know what’s happening, don’t you, Usberti?’ she said. ‘You made a big mistake, turning your back on Ben Hope. Now your little flunkies are both dead and he’s coming after you and this other idiota here.’
‘Shut your filthy mouth, slut,’ Groppione growled at her.
‘You know it’s true. And there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop him. He took you down the last time, and this time he’s going to take you down for good.’
‘We shall see about that,’ Usberti said. The anxiety in his voice made Anna smile to herself, despite her own terror of what might soon happen to her. In the darkness he reached inside his jacket and took out a small pill bottle. She watched as he unscrewed it, shook two pills into the palm of his hand and swallowed them. Was that a slight tremor she noticed in his hands? If it was, she was glad.
Soon afterwards, they came to the edge of a plateau where clusters of strange rock formations and clumps of vegetation offered a break from the freezing wind. Usberti ordered Groppione to halt the truck.
‘Unpack the equipment, Aldo,’ Usberti said as they stopped. ‘This place will serve as a rest point while our guest makes herself useful.’
Groppione got out and dragged the bags from the back of the truck. Inside one of them was a portable paraffin stove that he set up in the lee of an overhanging rock and busied himself lighting. As it hissed and ticked and popped fiercely, he went back to the bag and took out an Italian stovetop coffee percolator that he set on top. The aroma of good espresso soon began to steam out of it. ‘All the comforts of home,’ Anna said acidly. She kept glancing at the horizon. Expecting, praying, for Ben to appear at any moment, but the seconds kept passing and there was no sign of him. Where was he?
By the light of two rechargeable lanterns, Usberti directed Anna to a sheltered spot close to the warmth of the fire, told her to sit and tossed the camera in her lap. ‘I am going to enjoy a cup of hot coffee. By the time I have finished, I expect results from you. And I hope for your sake that they are all I could wish for.’
‘Are you crazy?’ she retorted. ‘This isn’t something you can work out in five minutes. Cuneiform script is more than just some simple code, it’s a whole system of different languages from all kinds of different cultures across thousands of years. These inscriptions could take a team of experts weeks, even months, to decipher.’
‘I am not an idiot, Professor. This is the very same variety of Akkadian as was used in ancient Babylon, as I know perfectly well. I also happen to have it on good authority, that is to say the late Signor Kavur, that you have studied it in some depth during the course of your considerable research. That said, I do not expect an eloquent translation. Only the essence of what is there. Aldo, h
ow is that coffee coming along?’
Groppione poured the bubbling espresso into a pair of tin mugs, for himself and his boss. Usberti paced and sipped, then paced some more as Anna studied the various images Ben had taken of the clifftop carvings. The camera allowed her to enlarge the pictures to examine detail more closely. Groppione perched on the edge of a nearby rock and watched her with a glinting leer as she worked. He was nursing a big black Walther pistol in his lap in case she tried to run. And just in case a pistol wasn’t enough hardware to shoot down an unarmed woman, a submachine gun stood propped within easy reach against the rock.
‘Your time is up,’ Usberti said when he’d drained the last of his coffee.
She glared at him. ‘I have no idea what any of this says. None. It’s totally illegible to me.’
‘Then it appears I have employed the wrong translator. Aldo, you have my permission to dispatch the professor in whatever manner pleases you.’
It was just the order Groppione had been waiting for. He eagerly jumped down from his rock and stepped towards her, grinning. Anna backed away.
‘Unless’, Usberti said, holding up a hand, ‘she has changed her mind. Have you changed your mind, my dear?’
‘All right, all right,’ she said, relenting. ‘I can’t be totally sure, but I think this first line translates something like “Where Nimrod sleeps”.’
‘Curious, the way a little pressure can suddenly bring focus and clarity,’ Usberti chuckled. ‘Now perhaps we are getting somewhere. Nimrod, son of Cush, himself son of Ham, who in turn was the youngest child of the prophet Noah. The Book of Genesis tells us that Nimrod was the founder of a mighty kingdom in the land called Shinar, whose capital many scholars believe was the city of Babel. Babel being, of course, the name given in the Hebrew Bible to none other than Babylon itself.’
‘Then this line “Where Nimrod sleeps” obviously points back to Babylon,’ Anna said. ‘What does that mean? The idol never left the city?’
Usberti pondered the question for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I believe there is another interpretation. As their revered founder and first great ruler, Nimrod was later deified by the Babylonians as a personification of the sun god. The phrase “where Nimrod sleeps” may be thus taken to signify the position of the setting sun. In other words, a simple instruction pointing us towards due west. Please carry on, Professor. What does the next line say?’
She swallowed, controlled her pounding heart and scrutinised the camera’s screen. ‘It’s mostly worn away. I can only read a few of the markings.’
‘After such a promising start. Aldo?’
‘Okay, okay,’ Anna said quickly. ‘The part that I can make out says something about, “one and one half beru”.’
‘What the fuck is a beru?’ Groppione muttered, annoyed that he’d been cheated of yet another bit of fun.
Usberti silenced him with a hard look, then turned his gaze back on Anna. ‘The professor can explain that, I am sure.’
Anna nodded. It wasn’t a request. She had no choice but to cooperate. ‘In ancient Mesopotamian texts, the beru was a commonly used measure of time,’ she explained, keeping her voice steady. ‘The so-called double hour. So, logically, one and a half beru would make three Babylonian hours. But how long would that be in our time measurement? I have no idea.’
‘I believe you know better than that, my dear. I would be most disappointed to think you were trying to trick me. The beru was also a measure of distance, equating to the amount of ground that a marching army could cover in that time. Correct?’
She looked at him, beginning to realise he was a step ahead of her. ‘All right,’ she conceded. ‘But how far is that? We would just be guessing.’
Usberti clicked his tongue. ‘Wrong once again, and that was your last warning not to try to deceive me. You are playing a dangerous game, Professor. Now, let us backtrack for a moment. Having foreseen that deciphering any sort of treasure map would entail understanding the units of distance involved, I have taken the trouble to research the Babylonian system of weights and measures myself. The smallest unit of distance used by their culture was one she, the size of a barleycorn, approximately one-third of a modern centimetre. Six she was what?’
‘A shu-si,’ Anna said reluctantly.
‘I tried some of that raw fishy shit once,’ Groppione said. ‘I was sick for a week.’
Anna ignored him. ‘It’s about one point eight centimetres in modern measurement.’
‘Wonderful, how your memory returns,’ Usberti said with a smile. ‘If mine serves me right, the length of thirty shu-si was known as a kush.’
‘About half a modern metre,’ Anna admitted.
‘And twelve kush was one mindan, or approximately six metres. Next comes an ush, equating to sixty mindan. Are you with me?’
Anna sighed. ‘One ush would measure about three hundred and sixty metres.’
‘Which brings us full circle to the beru,’ Usberti said. ‘The largest of the ancient Babylonian units of distance. Which you and I both know to be the equivalent of thirty ush, therefore measuring …’
‘A little less than eleven kilometres.’
‘Around ten point eight kilometres, to be more exact. A figure that we can verify with some degree of accuracy, based on a text of the earlier Babylonian ruler Nebuchadnezzar the First, which records the distance from the Sumerian city-state of Der to the Sha’ur River as being some twenty-four beru. Now, having checked this myself, I can confirm the distance to be exactly two hundred and fifty-seven kilometres. Divide that figure by twenty-four, and what do we have?’
Anna quickly crunched the numbers in her head. ‘Ten point seven kilometres.’
‘Your skill at mental arithmetic does you credit, Professor. Close enough confirmation, do you not agree? And now I believe we come to the final part of the inscription. Please translate.’
Anna knew she couldn’t bluff him any more. ‘The last line says, “There you will find the glory of the king”.’
‘“The glory of the king”,’ Usberti repeated, clasping his hands. ‘No interpretation is needed to understand such an obvious reference to the legacy of Ashar the Babylonian’s revered former monarch, King Nebuchadnezzar the Second. Not only his legacy, but his actual, physical treasure. And at last, we can now put it all together. In summary, the inscription is directing the seeker of this treasure to travel a distance of one and a half beru, or just over sixteen kilometres, due west from Ashar’s base.’ He pulled the GPS device from his pocket. ‘We can easily calculate the precise coordinates using this wonder of modern technology. As we approach our target, I would expect to find there some form of landmark in the shape of a rock or other object, perhaps put there by Ashar himself to denote the exact spot.’
‘You’re a very clever man,’ Anna said. ‘I’ll give you that.’
‘Oh yes, indeed. Furthermore, I possess an unerring sense of when I am being lied to, Professor Manzini. You would not by any chance have attempted to accidentally misread these markings, would you?’
‘You asked me to translate; that’s what I did. If there’s a mistake, it’s not my fault.’
‘Are you perfectly sure of that?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Let us find out how sure you really are. Aldo, be a good fellow and remove the little finger of the professor’s left hand.’
Chapter 62
Even after all these years, Anna still had horrible nightmares about Franco Bozza’s attack on her. The memory had never left her: that sense of dread when she’d realised an intruder was in her villa; the maniac suddenly appearing from the shadows and chasing her up the stairs; the violent blow that had stunned her; the blade of his knife slicing her. She’d never forgotten the terror and the pain.
This was worse. Much worse.
With her back to the rocks, there was no escape as Groppione advanced on her. She struggled frantically to fight him off, but it wasn’t enough. He beat her to the ground, pinned her body down
with his weight. She smelled his foul breath in her face, heard him laugh, felt his iron grip take a hold of her left hand and prise the little finger free from her clenched fist. Then screamed as she felt the sharp steel bite hard and deep into her flesh, sawing through the cartilage of her finger joint. Then the awful, sickening sensation as the finger came away. He climbed off her, still laughing. She clutched her damaged hand to her chest, unable to look at it but feeling the hot blood jetting out of it and soaking into her jacket. The pain was so stunning that she could barely breathe. Tears flooded down her face. She rolled and writhed, wanted to hit her head on the ground and knock herself out to ease the terrible agony.
‘I don’t think she likes me, boss,’ Groppione said, grinning. ‘Gave me the finger. See?’ He waggled the severed digit in the air, then tossed it away. He wiped the bloodied blade of his clasp knife against his trousers, folded it up and slipped it back in his pocket.
Usberti said, ‘Professor, I am still waiting for your assurance that you have been honest with me. You have nine more fingers and thumbs before we start removing pieces elsewhere. And we have all night. So, I repeat: are you sure?’
Anna mustered up every molecule of air in her body and screamed, ‘I’M SURE!’
‘I believe it,’ Usberti said. ‘She is telling the truth. Which means I now have all the information I need. Consequently, like her associate Kavur before her, Professor Manzini has now reached the end of her usefulness to me and it is time to terminate our association. Over to you, Aldo.’
Groppione lit up like a gluttonous child presented with a giant chocolate Easter egg. ‘Can I do her before I kill her?’
‘The terms of your employment’, Usberti replied calmly, ‘are that you do exactly as I command at all times, in return for which you receive financial recompense plus additional bonuses of a more recreational nature. She is yours with which to amuse yourself as you desire. But do it out of my sight. I have no desire to observe the repulsive things you are capable of.’
That was no problem at all for Groppione, who at that moment was bursting with gratitude towards such a generous and benevolent employer. While Usberti walked off to make himself another pot of coffee, Groppione snatched up one of the lanterns, grabbed Anna by the collar of her jacket and started dragging her over the rough ground towards a recess among the rocks where he could privately exercise all the urges that had been eating him up ever since they’d captured her.
The Babylon Idol Page 33
