The Spear of Destiny

by Julian Noyce

  He listened for a moment to his guards breathing which was getting deeper. The man was falling asleep. The scarred man moved his wrist with the broken skin to ease it and the cuff dragged the arm of the gurney and woke the policeman again. The policeman leaned closer to his prisoner to check the bonds and saw they were still locked. He looked ahead out of the windscreen. In the light from the headlights he could see the road they were travelling was long and straight with hills ahead. In the far distance a glow on the horizon. Lights from the prison. Not much longer. Maybe five more kilometres.

  He detected a strange sound which wasn’t part of the ambulance. As he listened it got closer and closer, then was suddenly very loud. He saw the ambulance crew leaning forward and looking into and up in a door mirror each. The policeman was about to rush into the cab when he realised what the sound was, as a Russian Kamov Ka-50 ’Black shark’ attack helicopter flew low over the convoy. It kept pace with the ambulance for a few moments and then accelerated ahead over the lead police car, gained five hundred feet and flew over the approaching hills.

  In the lead jeep the officer in charge was telephoning through to the barracks they’d not long left. There had been no mention of air support on his itinery. It would be typical of General Ben Rashid Al-Din to do this without telling anyone and for a moment he dreaded questioning the General.

  The girl on the end of the telephone said.

  “Hold please while I put you through to the General.”

  The officer swallowed hard and then replied.

  “No. Forget it. I don’t want the General disturbed.”

  He rang off.

  ‘It must be above board‘ he said to himself but also out loud.

  “That helicopter must also be heading for the prison sir,” his driver said.

  “Yes,” the officer replied, “It might not necessarily be for us but it must be for the prison. There’s not much else out here. Just nomads and ruins.”

  He glanced back at his chained prisoner who just stared at the floor.

  The convoy entered the hills. The road winding and twisting as it climbed. The lead police car pulling away from the much heavier ambulance. The road became a double bend as the hills closed in on both sides. As the lead police car moved further ahead while maintaining its original speed a searchlight suddenly beamed on dazzling the driver as it picked up the police car. The Kamov helicopter was hovering twenty feet above the road in the narrow pass. The noise from its engine deafening. The driver of the police car put his arm up in front of his eyes, blinded by the intense light as the twin 23MM cannons on the Kamov spluttered into life. The bullets tore up the road as they raced towards their target. The cars headlights disappeared first in a shower of glass as both front tyres burst and bullets slammed into the two policemen inside the car killing them both instantly. Flames were pouring out from the bonnet and front wheel arches of the car as it exploded. The explosion throwing it twenty feet into the air. The helicopter some distance away jinked as the police car crashed down onto the road completely ablaze.

  The ambulance rounded the bend and the whole convoy screeched to a stop. The helicopter flew over the vehicles and turned side on to the tail police car and destroyed it with a single anti-tank missile. Now the narrow pass was completely blocked.

  The soldiers in the jeeps jumped out and took cover behind the ambulance the one vehicle they guessed would not be attacked. Inside the lead jeep the political prisoner was frantically pulling on his chains anchored to the floor. Not sure if this attack was to free him.

  Another anti-tank missile hit the last jeep and it exploded into the air and came down on its roof.

  The soldiers opened fire at the helicopter and it lifted and moved out of range.

  “Cease fire,” the officer shouted, “They’re not going to attack the ambulance.”

  There was a burst of gunfire from the surrounding hillside and the man next to him dropped dead. The officer swung around. He saw dark shapes descending on them.

  “They’re on the hillside!”

  His men opened fire on the hillsides as the men descending took cover behind scrub and rocks.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire!”

  The guns fell silent.

  “You have attacked Tunisian national forces. This is a deliberate act of terrorism. Throw down your weapons and give yourselves up.”

  The hillside waited in total silence. The whirring of the rotor blades near. Then a voice from the hill.

  “It is you who is surrounded. Throw down your weapons. No one else will be harmed.”

  One of the Tunisians opened fire on the voice. A single shot from a Dragunov sniper rifle took him in the throat, blasting his blood against the side of the ambulance. He dropped to the road dead.

  “Hold your fire!” the Tunisian officer shouted.

  “This is your last chance to throw down your weapons.”

  Another shot from the Dragunov and another soldier dead.

  “You will not get away with this!”

  “You are being covered from an elevated position. You are compromised. There is no escape!”

  The Tunisian officer opened fire. The hillside lit up with return fire and only stopped when the last soldier fell down dead. The only sounds other than the Kamov helicopter were the men on the hillside reloading their weapons. Slowly they came down to the road.

  Inside the ambulance the policeman guarding the prisoner had his face pressed against the small square window. He could see the burning police cars. The ambulance crew were cowering in their seats. A wicked sound of machine gun fire came through to them as a Tunisian national guardsman was put out of his misery.

  The policeman inside the ambulance backed away from the double doors at the rear of the vehicle as he heard footsteps stop outside.

  “Stay as you are and you won’t get hurt,” the scarred man ordered.

  Suddenly the doors were yanked open and he went for his gun. A single shot took him in the head and his brains splattered the interior.

  The scarred man looked into the dead eyes.

  “Stupid fool.”

  The front doors were now ripped open and machine guns covered the ambulance crew as they raised their hands.

  Former KGB agent Anatoly Petrov holstered his Glock 19 handgun.

  “He has the handcuff keys,” the scarred man gestured towards the policeman Petrov had just killed. Petrov searched the body, found the keys and unlocked the restraints. The scarred man rubbed his wrists, the broken skin sticky with fluid. Petrov stepped down into the road and made way for the scarred man.

  Count Otto Brest von Werner stepped carefully down onto the road. His private army of men saluted him.

  “Welcome back sir,” the Russian spoke.

  “Thank you Petrov. Any casualties?”

  “No sir. My team is all accounted for. Your ship is ten miles off the coast.”

  Two black hawk helicopters flew in low over the hills and landed in the road. Petrov gestured to Von Werner.

  “If you’re ready sir.”

  “Yes Mr Petrov. Take care of the vehicles.”

  “Yes Sir. And them?” Petrov asked, nodding towards the ambulance crew. Von Werner looked at them both. They were on their knees in the road, their hands on top of their heads, guns still trained on them. They were clearly petrified. Von Werner considered killing them.

  “They were only doing their job. Let them go.”

  “Yes sir,” Petrov made a motion with his hand and the guns were withdrawn. The two ambulance men got to their feet, mumbled their thanks and fled into the night.

  Von Werner watched as his men set explosives on the remaining jeep and the ambulance.

  “There’s another prisoner here sir. Shall I let him go?”

  “Why hasn’t he escaped already?” Petrov asked.

  “He’s chained to the floor.”

  Petrov looked at Von Werner who shrugged and headed for the first Black hawk. The prisoner began screaming and frantically pull
ing at his chains as the last of the men got into the helicopters and they lifted off and headed North for the Meditterranean. Von Werner looked back at the huge fireball that lit up the night sky when the vehicles exploded.

  Major Al-assad surveyed the carnage on the mountain road. His special forces team were scouring the debris for clues. Of the police cars and ambulance there was nothing left. They were completely burned out. Just skeletons and ash remained. The jeeps, one on its roof, were twisted hunks of metal. In the lead one were the charred remains of a human still chained to the floor. A forensics expert examining the remains. The teeth on the corpse were completely bared.

  “As quickly as you can with those results,” Al-assad said to the forensics team working on the corpse. They were scanning their samples into a laptop.

  “Yes sir. Do you want DNA scans on all casualties?”

  “No. Not necessary. Our man was heavily scarred on the face and hands. None of the other dead match those injuries.”

  A lieutenant approached Al-assad.

  “Sir we’ve got another body. This one was in the back of the ambulance.“

  “The condition of the body?”

  “Beyond recognition sir. He’s also been shot in the head. We did find a standard issue police handgun.”

  “And the ambulance crew?”

  “Unnaccounted for.”

  “Is it possible they were completely incinerated?”

  “Possible but unlikely. My guess is they escaped or were taken hostage.”

  “Why take the ambulance crew hostage and not the policeman. He would be worth more as a ransom.”

  “Because he was armed. Maybe he pulled his gun on them. That was probably the reason for killing him.”

  “Maybe. Well whatever happened here we need to find the ambulance crew and where the ambulance came from. I want names, addresses. Find them.”

  “Yes sir.”

  A forensics expert got Al-assad’s attention. Al-assad looked at the laptop screen.

  “None of the DNA samples match Von Werner.”

  Al-assad looked at the neatly lined up dead. A team nearby examining bullet casings.

  “How sure are you?”

  “One hundred per cent.”

  Al-assad’s lieutenant came running up holding a field telephone. Al-assad frowned.

  “It’s the General sir.”

  Al-assad reluctantly took the handheld.

  “General Al-din. It’s bad news sir. We’ve lost him. You might want to tell

  the Americans.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  LONDON, ENGLAND

  Peter Dennis poured himself another cocktail while trying not to spill any. He was leaning forward in the limousine to make sure he didn’t splash any of the red liquid onto his white shirt.

  “Would you like one?” he asked the girl opposite.

  Marine archaeologist Natalie Feltham shook her head while holding her flute up.

  “No thanks. I’ve still got most of my champagne left and you’d better not have too many of those in quick succession. I don’t want you slurring your speech all night.”

  “Hey that’s what Limo’s are about. Drinking in the back of them. It was good of Jim to put it on for us.”

  “He wanted us to arrive in style.”

  “That we’ll do. You look sensational tonight.”

  “Oh thanks and I don’t usually. Is that what you mean.”

  “What! Of course you do. You always do,” Dennis replied eyeing up a shapely ankle, “That dress was a good idea. It is stunning.”

  Natalie was wearing a long, ankle length, sleeveless, black dress, with a long split down each thigh. The neck of the dress was gold. She was also wearing gold, strap heels. Her long blonde hair was held high on her head with pins. Two long strands of hair hung down, prettily, either side of her face.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself but your bow tie is a little crooked.”

  He leaned in to her.

  “Straighten it for me.”

  While she did he sneaked a quick kiss.

  “Oi! Cheeky! You’ll smudge my make up.”

  Then she laughed.

  “What?”

  “You’ve got my lipstick on your lips. Come here.”

  She wiped it off then became serious.

  “I love you.”

  “Love you too,” he replied, “And I love this car. Fancy a quickie?”

  “What? No! The driver might see.”

  Dennis shrugged.

  “And besides there’s not enough time. Kinky bugger.”

  Dennis smiled.

  “There’s plenty of room.”

  The car turned a corner and Natalie saw the British museum ahead.

  “Too late. I think we’re here,” she said as the car passed under a huge banner and stopped at the bottom of the steps. The door was opened and Natalie and Peter put their drinks down and she stepped out first, onto the red carpet and into a sea of press photographers and flash photography. Dennis stepped out and the chauffeur wished him a good evening, closed the door, got back into the driver’s seat and moved off slowly past a television camera getting ready to start shooting. In front of the camera a beautiful reporter with Asian features.

  “Three. Two. One. Go,” the cameraman clicked his fingers at the reporter.

  “Good evening and a very warm welcome from the British museum in London on this the opening night of the exhibition of what is perhaps the most important exhibit in the christian world, the ‘Holy lance’ sometimes referred to as the ‘spear of destiny’ the mysterious Roman spear that supposedly pierced the side of Jesus Christ while he lay on the cross. I’m Kim Nguyen reporting from a star studded occasion where the world of archaeology meets those of politics, film and stage as a host of stars pay tribute to this, the first exhibit of it’s kind here at this magnificent building for many years. The museum was founded by Sir Hans Sloane in 1753 who exhibited his own collections, a museum which currently holds the Elgin marbles and the controversial Rosetta stone, requested by Egypt for its return to its rightful country. Never before has an exhibit such as this, the ’holy lance’ graced this the most famous museum in the world. On loan from its home in the Schatzkammer, Vienna, Austria the spear was once in the hands of Holy Roman emperors, Adolf Hitler and the American General George Patton. One of the world’s truly great treasures it will be here on display for the next two months….” she glanced sideways and caught sight of Natalie and Dennis as they made their way along the red carpet towards the foot of the steps. Dennis was admiring the six huge Roman fire baskets on stands blazing, merrily away, twenty feet high across the front of the museum at the top of the steps at the entrance. The excitement in Nguyen’s voice quickened.

  “Here come the renowned journalist Peter Dennis and the very beautiful marine archaeologist Natalie Feltham, hitting the headlines earlier in the summer, for the failed search for Alexander the great’s sarcophagus. Natalie, Peter can I get a word,” Nguyen called as they got to her.

  Dennis smiled into the news camera.

  “Can I ask you about your involvement tonight?”

  “Hi Kim. Yes it’s a truly great turnout tonight for the exhibition.”

  Dennis stopped to put his hand up to a group of journalists he recognised.

  “Now Mr Dennis you wrote an article on the spear,” Nguyen said, holding up a copy of ‘the country’ magazine’s latest issue. A photograph of the Holy lance on its cover, “How convinced are you that this may be the spear which pierced Christ’s side, that it has magical powers?”

  “I think the magic, Kim, is in what people believe. It has brought so many here tonight. The exhibition will be sold out every day and night for two months. That’s the magic it holds.”

  “Some say that the lance doesn’t resemble a Roman spear at all. That’s it’s quite possibly a hoax.”

  “Well if it is a hoax we’ll have enough experts here tonight to prove it, one way or the other.”

  “That wasn�
�t really an answer.”

  “Look Kim. It’s been added to over the millenia. The Roman soldier Maurice lived four hundred years after the crucifixion when he carried it into battle. It contains a Roman nail from Christ’s cross for goodness sake. What more proof do you want.”

  “I have all the proof I need Peter. Here in this beautiful article you’ve written,” Nguyen said holding up the magazine again, “And speaking of beautiful, I must say Natalie you are looking exceptionally stunning tonight. Tell me what’s it like to be with the most handsome, eligible, bachelor in journalism.”

  Natalie leaned in to the microphone.

  “It’s an adventure Kim.”

  Nguyen smiled as the couple moved on down the line of photographers and reporters.

  “There you have it,” she said into the camera, “Hoax or not. It will be hard to convince this couple. Just three months ago they were involved in a kidnap plot when their search for Alexander’s sarcophagus ended also in a hoax. The sarcophagus never found, waiting perhaps to be discovered as the ‘spear of destiny’ once was.”

  “I take it you know her,” Natalie said looking back at Nguyen who was staring after them, microphone held nonchalantly across her chest away from her mouth, one eyebrow raised back at Natalie.

  “Yes.”

  “How well?”

  Dennis too looked back at the television reporter who was smirking at him.

  “I used to date her. Hey look it‘s the Mayor of London and his wife.”

  Natalie stared after him as he continued down the line of extended cameras and microphones.

  Inside the museum waiters dressed as Roman legionaries were moving amongst the milling crowds with trays of champagne and vol-au-vents. Dennis looked up at the impressive tessellated glass roof of the great court.