The 4th Secret

by R D Shah

  ‘What incident?’ Harker spat out and now wishing he had remained silent until the end of Strasser’s story.

  ‘Two weeks ago, we received word of an attack on a priest … one father Danilo Baziak.’

  ‘An attack?’

  ‘Yes, an animal attack.’ Strasser replied, already loosening the straps secured by a shiny brass buckle on the black leather satchel next to him. He pulled out three colour photos and passed them over to Harker. ‘The poor soul was found simply dumped somewhere near Kiev, barely alive and bleeding to death from bite marks that couldn’t be identified.’

  The first photo offered showed a man lying on a hospital gurney in the emergency room. The patient was wearing only jeans and the left trouser leg had been cut away to reveal an horrific pear-shaped bite mark that had shredded most of the man’s thigh down to the bone. A second bite mark visible on his shoulder was of the same shape, but there was no tearing this time, only puncture marks similar to those made by a dog, but far too big for any canine Harker knew of.

  ‘There was saliva still in the wounds, which we had tested,’ Strasser continued, ‘but the results failed to identify the animal responsible. Stranger still, when the DNA was mapped further, it was determined to come from an animal of unknown origin. The scientists had never encountered the genetic make-up before … not from anywhere within the animal kingdom.’

  Harker said nothing but resumed his examination of the second and third photos, showing each of the wounds in close up. He felt the onset of nausea as he passed them back to Strasser, who carefully slipped them back into his satchel. ‘Those are nasty wounds, and a no doubt a mystery worthy of Bigfoot but, without sounding heartless, so what?’

  Strasser secured the satchel’s buckle and leaned closer once more. ‘So what, Professor, is that the priest was still rambling in and out of consciousness while asserting that he had been attacked by demons and, what’s more, that they gave him a message to relay to his masters, as they put it.’ Strasser licked his lips nervously. ‘The message consisted of only a few words: The three Secrets are upon you. Prepare for the end.’ The rodent-faced little priest clasped his hands together and squeezed them. ‘Are you aware of the three Secrets of Fatima?’

  To Harker the remark appeared more of an insult than a question. ‘Father, it was my faith in the church I lost, not my memory.’

  The priest raised his eyebrows apologetically but said nothing, allowing Harker a chance to demonstrate his knowledge of the subject.

  ‘The three Secrets are a prophecy from the early 1900’s,’ he began. ‘The story goes that three Portuguese shepherds, merely children, were visited by an angel who related to them three truths concerning the future of the world. The first two disclosures were related to a vision of hell predicting the two world wars that would follow …’

  ‘And the third?’ Strasser interrupted.

  ‘The third was supposed to be released in 1960, but instead it remained in its sealed envelope until a few years ago, when Pope John Paul II finally approved its release. It apparently referred to the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul himself, back in the eighties.’

  ‘Why do you say apparently?’ Strasser questioned, his gaze unblinking.

  ‘Because, beside the Pope and a select few, no one else has actually laid eyes on these three Secrets. Not the originals, at any rate.’

  ‘Exactly.’ An uneasy smile crossed Strasser’s lips. ‘You are correct in saying that only a select few have ever viewed the Secrets, but it is the contents of them that is the troubling part. Despite what the Catholic world has been led to believe the third was actually opened in 1960 by Pope John XXIII, and he was so troubled by the text that he had it and the other two locked away in the depths of the Vatican archive, under the papal mandate that only a reigning pope should have access to them. It was here that the Secrets of Fatima remained under close protection for another fifteen years, until Pope Paul XI saw fit to break the papal mandate by forming a council of three church scholars to revise and fully interpret these Secrets once and for all. After almost a year, the council of three reported their finding to the pontiff, and within days he determined that the Secrets were too dangerous to be kept in one place, and it was just as dangerous to reveal them to the public. Pope Paul entrusted a close confidant to distribute just two of them throughout the Catholic world so that no one would ever have access to all three at the same time.’

  ‘That seems a bit drastic.’ Harker remarked, his response sounding a tad more sarcastic than he had intended to. ‘If they were considered that dangerous, why not simply destroy them?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ Strasser replied. ‘But what we do know is that a note was written by Pope Paul which was placed along with the first secret in a safe in his holiness’s private quarters, for all future pope’s eyes only. On the death of a reigning pope, the safe key is retrieved from around the pontiff’s neck and held secure by a designated member of the pontifical guard before being passed on to his successor. So when John Wilcox did his vanishing act, along with the key, the safe had to be broken into and both the note and the first secret were retrieved.’ Strasser stopped and took another sip of his coffee, taking his time about it as if to heighten the anticipation for his coming revelation.

  ‘Well?’ Harker grunted as he became increasingly annoyed at what seemed like the older man’s deliberate stalling for effect. ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Well, the note said the three Secrets would lead to a change so massive, so all-consuming, that the world would cease to be as we know it – and that this ‘process’ would begin with a single happening.’

  ‘A happening?’

  ‘Yes, a happening such as was described in the first Secret – the one discovered along with the note.’

  ‘OK then,’ Harker dropped his gaze, and was now looking highly curious, ‘what did the first secret say would start this whole thing off?’

  ‘It said the happening would be the second coming of Jesus Christ,’ Strasser shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, ‘reborn and returned to us in the twenty-first century.’

  Harker shook his head in astonishment as the statement sank in. ‘Then, in that case, I’m not surprised Pope John Paul and his predecessors kept it quiet … Not surprised at all.’

  Strasser nodded agreeably. ‘Yes, can you imagine the chaos it would cause if the pontiff announced to the world a specific timetable for the second coming?’

  Harker let out an ironic laugh. ‘More to the point, can you imagine if he announced it and it never occurred? Talk about a loss of credibility to the Church at large.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Strasser agreed. ‘That’s why details of the happenings predicted in the other two Secrets were never made public. The damage would be potentially appalling, since the Church is meant to be the authentic voice of truth and authority. But that’s not all, for the note also declared that the only way to impede this oncoming cataclysm is to know all three secrets.’

  ‘Know all three? What does that mean?’ Harker was genuinely puzzled.

  ‘That we don’t know.’ Strasser murmured through gritted teeth, his frustration showing through. ‘With a foreknowledge of the Christ child’s rebirth, the content of the other two Secrets would become extremely important to millions of the faithful. Now more than ever.’

  Harker took a moment to eye Strasser carefully. The priest was the picture of sincerity, but still he shook his head dismissively. ‘Father, I want to know where the child is more than anything but for the record, and as I already said, that child is a clone: it was a man-made event. It has, therefore, no relevance to whatever these Secrets are referring to.’

  The older man let out a deep sigh. ‘Maybe … maybe not. But many of the cardinals now believe that the child, along with those two other secrets, are the key to stopping this cataclysmic event. And whether this happening is man-made or not, it has forced them to take the Secrets of Fatima all the more seriously. Some are even saying that the discovery of a
ll three will prove to be mankind’s salvation, and so they must be retrieved at all costs.’

  Harker slumped in his chair and took a few seconds to absorb this information. Human history was saturated with prophecies and spiritual messages of impending doom which never amounted to anything, yet the very existence of a Christ child gave an unsettling and real dimension to what he was now hearing. ‘Didn’t the note indicate where the other two Secrets had been hidden?’

  Strasser was already shaking his head. ‘The note they found had been torn in half, and the best guess is that missing portion was taken by the previous pope.’

  ‘Wilcox?’ Harker moaned.

  ‘Yes, since he was the only one with access to the safe. And with his whereabouts unknown, it seems unlikely we will find out any time soon.’

  ‘Does anyone in the Church have a clue where these Secrets are hidden – even a rough idea?’ Harker pressed, and becoming ever more aggressive in his tone.

  ‘No.’ Strasser replied, pausing to chew thoughtfully on his bottom lip. ‘With the exception of perhaps one man. Does the name Marcus Eckard mean anything to you?’

  Harker mulled it over for a few seconds before replying, ‘No. Who is he?’

  ‘You know that council of three I mentioned earlier, to whom were charged the task of reviewing the three Secrets in full.’

  ‘Yes,’ Harker replied.

  ‘The three men selected were highly respected scholars and deemed trustworthy by the then pope. The first, Father Yohansen, who was vice-head at the Vatican’s archives, sadly passed away some years ago due to natural causes. The second was Cardinal Winchowser, who worked for the Vatican’s Governorate dealing with security issues, but unfortunately he has also since passed on, leaving just one man left.’

  ‘Marcus Eckard?’

  ‘Yes. Eckard was never a man of the cloth, although he was the president of the Vatican’s Academy of sciences for some years. He’s a mathematical genius and physicist with an extremely trustworthy character, and also a cunning linguist. When I say ‘genius’ I’m not exaggerating; he was the youngest person ever to graduate MIT and has enough accolades and awards to fill a warehouse – and he gained them all before he was eighteen!’

  The man’s résumé was indeed impressive and Harker let out a gasp of respect. ‘I get it, he’s a very smart man.’

  Strasser nodded unemotionally. ‘It was he that Pope John asked to hide the Secrets, and it is for that same reason that those worried cardinals I spoke of would like you to talk with him and discover what he knows … as a personal favour to the Church.’

  The request was an odd one and Harker’s expression said it all. ‘So why don’t one of those same cardinals pay him a visit? Why are you asking me?’

  Strasser cleared his throat and lent closer even though the coffee shop was otherwise empty of customers. ‘Because firstly you already have knowledge of the Christ child’s existence but, just as importantly, the council feels it prudent to keep the Church at a distance from this one. You see, he’s at Blackwater.’

  The name meant nothing to Harker and he raised his shoulders in defeat. ‘Blackwater. I’ve never heard of it. What is it? A government research facility? A private university for the gifted?’

  This answer drew a solemn look from Strasser, who gave a slow shake of his head. ‘A university? No, nothing of the sort. It’s an asylum.’ He licked his lips distastefully. ‘For the criminally insane.’

  Chapter 4

  ‘Marcus Eckard – or Doctor Dread as he’s known amongst the staff – has been here since ’76, therefore well before my time. They say he was a child prodigy and genius but you would be hard pushed to tell as much these days. As a member of the nursing staff here, I have not been apprised of all the gory details, but what I do know is that one day he left his place of work and just vanished. He was gone for over two weeks, then out of the blue he arrived back home with no recollection of where he had been. The following day a police officer went round to his house to put the missing-persons report to bed, where he encountered Eckard who very pleasantly offered him breakfast. The policeman was halfway through the meal when he noticed part of a cooked human eyeball concealed under a piece of bacon, and the Doctor was arrested on the spot. The other remains of his wife and child were never found, but by then it didn’t matter. There was enough evidence to convict him and he ended up here by reason of his insanity. I must confess we rarely get visitors to Blackwater, as this facility, I am sorry to say, is the end of the line for these patients. It’s true that we do receive release orders from time to time, but for the majority this institution means never again seeing the light of day. As for Eckard, I can’t remember the last time he had a visitor.’

  Ward Nurse David Decker halted in front of an imposing-looking green metal door, before pressing a buzzer to the side of it and glancing briefly up at the security camera scrutinising them both overhead. ‘You didn’t mention the nature of your visit … Professor Harker is it?’

  Harker offered a thin yet polite smile. ‘No … No I didn’t, did I?’

  It had taken him over an hour of driving around the neighbourhood to locate the obscure Blackwater facility, tucked away amid the Yorkshire hills. Concealed behind a high security wall, it was as foreboding as it was strangely reassuring. Add to that a thunderstorm, which had been hurling down rain mercilessly, and the trip here had been something of a nightmare. Strasser had given him the asylum’s address and some directions, and had then made an abrupt and annoyingly swift exit. Harker’s gripes were exacerbated further when he was next collared by Dean Lercher, who had managed to track him down, as always, and had caught up to Harker just as he was leaving the Meridian Cafe. Doggie had been most inquisitive to see where Harker had disappeared to in such a rush, but his curiosity evaporated in a flash on the mention of a trip north to an asylum for the criminally insane.

  ‘A nuthouse!’ Doggie had stammered, in his usual politically incorrect way. ‘Well, be careful and if you do get into any trouble, don’t call me, just call the police.’ Harker was already pulling away in his dark blue BMW 325i before his old friend even had a chance to ask exactly why he was taking this trip. After all, what business did he have visiting an asylum for the criminally insane?

  On arriving over four and a half hours later at the facility’s secure-entrance checkpoint Harker had been relieved to find his name on the visitor’s list, just as Strasser had assured him, and after parking he had swiftly made his way into an elegant building which looked like a country retreat, with intricate stonework and a long lush green lawn at the front. Harker had quickly headed through the main double doors and into the waiting-room. Sadly, that was where the elegance ended and the interior soon revealed the building’s true purpose. The rear of the asylum was divided into separate modern wings connected by long corridors and secured by a series of hefty steel doors, each equipped with security cameras and access buzzers giving it the disconcerting feel of a prison. At the reception area, which was protected by a Perspex safety barrier adding to his continuing feeling of unease, Harker had been met by the night nurse David Decker, who had promptly led him on the tour he now found himself on. At six feet tall and with cropped ginger hair over an abnormally high forehead, the nurse resembled Lurch from the Addams family, and upon meeting him Harker had observed him with the same curious stare that now graced the orderly’s own face.

  ‘Very well, Professor, I won’t pry further,’ The nurse replied, and then waited for the next door to buzz open before leading Harker further into the hidden depths of the asylum. ‘We have three categories of patients here at Blackwater: types A, B and C. Type A are what we consider to be low risk, with minimal security needed. Type B are considered medium risk; these patients are mainly here for GBH and various degrees of assault although, with regular medication, we have few problems from them.’ Nurse Decker paused at another large, yellow steel security door containing a thick Perspex viewing panel in the middle. He pulled out a key from his p
ocket and slid it into the hole. ‘And then there’s type C.’

  He pushed open the door and ushered Harker into a long grey corridor, with suspension lights cocooned in a steel mesh hanging from the ceiling and running the entire length of the corridor, before closing and locking the door behind them with a clink. Lining either side of the walkway was a series of solid cell doors with sliding observation hatches kept open with nothing but pitch darkness visible behind them. It was clear that bedtime was still in effect, but the scratching noises fused with a few light groans suggested that not all the guests were taking full advantage of their opportunity to sleep.

  ‘Patients assigned to C category are our most challenging residents,’ Decker explained quietly, as he led Harker further down the long corridor. ‘Most are here for the worst criminal acts imaginable: rape, murder, necrophilia and everything in between. Such colourful characters make up the most violent and deranged criminals Great Britain has to offer.’ Decker paused briefly at a door labelled C8 then tapped his finger on it lightly. ‘You ever heard of John Dervish – or, as the papers dubbed him, ‘Mr Sweetbread.’

  The very name caused a feeling of cold panic to rise in Harker’s chest. ‘The child killer?’

  Decker gave a slow, ominous nod, obviously taking great relish in Harker’s visibly edgy demeanour. ‘Mr Sweetbread, the one and only. He cooked and ate most of his victims … Although I’m glad to say that these days he gets to dine mainly on vegetables and pasta.’

  This response was voiced with such eeriness that Harker could feel a thin bead of nervous sweat beginning to develop across his forehead, and he glared at Decker with annoyance. ‘Look, I get it, OK’ he growled in a low tone, more annoyed at his own instinctive reaction than anything his tour guide had actually said, ‘you obviously don’t like me because of I wouldn’t tell you why I’m here. But that really has to remain a private issue.’