The 4th Secret

by R D Shah

‘I know but he is not answering. Can you buzz me in so I can leave it in the reception? And if you would be good enough to let him know it’s there, I’d appreciate it?’

  There was a slight hesitation and then the door buzzed open.

  ‘Leave it next to the post boxes. I’ll inform him.’

  ‘Many thanks.’ Shroder replied. He pushed open the glass door and headed into the reception lobby, then past a row of silver-coloured post boxes, towards the stairwell in the corner. Speedily he made his way up the steps to the first-floor landing and then on down an empty hallway to the corner apartment. Once satisfied there were no obvious sounds of movement coming from the other two apartments on the same floor, Shroder stepped to one side so as to avoid being seen through the spyhole. He then pulled out his Glock and carefully lowered his head against the surface of the door. Hearing no sound from within he pulled back to the side again, extending his arm to administer three firm knocks. He waited for a response before knocking again, but still nothing.

  The agent readied himself, took a step back and, with one powerful kick, slammed the sole of his foot against the door, sending it flying open in a puff of splinters. He then rushed inside with his handgun aimed in front of him.

  The apartment was small and, even though it was dark, he could make out a kitchen to his left which opened into a main sitting room. He carefully pushed the door shut behind him before continuing. There was still no sign of anyone being alerted to his forced entry and he now skirted the nearby wall and quietly moved deeper into the residence with only the glow of the street lights outside shining through the windows to light the way.

  Off to the right he found an empty bedroom and adjoining bathroom, and it was not until he peered into the sitting room that he caught sight of a shadowy figure in the middle it. With his gun aimed, Shroder felt along the side of the wall with his free hand. Upon encountering a switch, he pressed it and the single bulb in the ceiling lit up the room.

  Lusic Bekhit sat right in the centre of the room, the sofa and a wooden coffee table having been pushed up against the far wall. Tied to a chair, he bore all the hallmarks of a broken man: figuratively and literally. His chin drooped against his chest and bubbles of spittle had formed between his split lips before dribbling down on to his green polo shirt, as he struggled to breath against the tight strands of rope securing him. Dark bruises and bloody cut marks ran across both his cheeks where he had been punched repeatedly, and his nose had been broken at its base, leaving a deep, painful-looking gash.

  Shroder set about checking that the rest of the apartment was clear before he returned to the living room and knelt down beside the Templar turncoat.

  ‘Lusic?’ Shroder said loudly, tapping the man’s cheek lightly as one would to awaken a sleeping drunk. ‘Can you hear me?’

  Bekhit’s head bobbed up slightly in recognition of his name. ‘Who are you?’ he croaked, emitting fresh droplets of blood on to his shirt.

  ‘My name is not important but we share a friend in common.’ Shroder leant forward and whispered into Bekhit’s ear: ‘Sebastian Brulet.’

  Bekhit’s eyes widened in dismay and he let out an incredulous grunt. ‘So it was your man they saw outside there in the Corsa.’

  Shroder gave a slow nod and then pulled away from Bekhit’s bloodied face. ‘Who are they?’ he asked, gesturing back towards the front door. ‘And are they coming back?’

  ‘They are … they were my Magi contacts, and I don’t know if they are coming back,’ Bekhit gasped and winced at the pain he was in. ‘They did this to me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, after all I’ve done for them, they still don’t trust me.’

  ‘Not trust you?’ Shroder replied sarcastically. ‘I can’t imagine why not.’

  ‘Maybe because they are a paranoid lot,’ Bekhit said with a forced smile, ‘and when they saw there was someone outside keeping an eye on this place, I’m guessing that clinched it.’

  ‘Did they realise it was us?’ Shroder demanded.

  ‘No,’ Bekhit mumbled, shaking his head. ‘But they saw that someone was after me and that was enough to make up their minds … You must find this amusing?’

  The suggestion had Shroder shaking his head. ‘No Lusic, believe it or not, I’ve never enjoyed seeing anyone in pain.’ He then lifted Bekhit’s chin up to face him. ‘Even a nasty little shit like you.’

  Bekhit managed a short pathetic snort of laughter and Shroder let go of his chin. ‘So, apart from that whole betrayal thing, why are you after me?’

  ‘We’re looking for the child,’ Shroder replied seriously, ‘and an explanation as to why the Magi want him.’

  Bekhit took a moment before letting out a pained sigh. ‘Why the hell do you think? Take a look outside. It’s a fucking mess out there.’ He nodded towards the window. ‘The Magi believe unequivocally in the three Secrets of Fatima and in the prophecy … and, judging by what’s happening around the world, I’d say they are absolutely correct in that assumption, wouldn’t you?’

  Shroder said nothing as he continued to stare in silence.

  ‘As far as I know, only Wilcox has the whole picture and, without knowing what that is, the other Magi are likely to be just as much in the dark as I am.’

  ‘Wilcox is dead,’ Shroder informed him bluntly.

  News of the Magi leader’s death had Bekhit shaking his head in despair. ‘Then I don’t know what to tell you except that the child holds the answer and has them all fighting amongst themselves.’

  ‘You better have something more for me than that,’ Shroder growled, and Bekhit immediately began licking his lips nervously, obviously wanting to appease this would-be saviour.

  ‘They offered me a safe passage to join the others, but instead of a pick-up all I got was a brutal interrogation.’

  ‘Passage to where?’ Shroder yelled impatiently.

  ‘I don’t know, but they were supposed to have made all the travel arrangements, and the only thing I do know is that I was to be on the last flight out.’ Bekhit suddenly broke down into tears at the futility of what he was disclosing, as Shroder looked on with little sympathy as the fellow wallowed in his own self-pity.

  ‘All right, Lusic, we’ll take care of you.’ Shroder said finally in a comforting voice. ‘You may have forgotten but we’re not murderers, and neither do we condemn people to death unless it remains the only choice. We’re nothing like your new friends.’ He reached over and began to loosen Bekhit’s bonds. ‘Besides, you may still be of some help to us.’

  Shroder undid the last of the knots, allowing the broken wretch an opportunity to rub at the rope marks discolouring his chest, then he made his way over to the balcony window and peeped outside for any sign that they were being watched. Behind him, Bekhit sucked in a deep stabilising breath and then shakily got to his feet. But no sooner had he done so a beeping sound began emitting from the chair. Shroder spun around to see a green light flashing from underneath the seat and, without a second thought, he grabbed the large wooden coffee table resting against the wall next to him and raised it in front of his face and body just as an explosion ripped through the apartment. The table took the force of the blast and propelled Shroder backwards, crashing through the glass window, over the balcony’s steel railings and out into the night air. He tumbled down on to the grass embankment below with a heavy wallop and then rolled on to a nearby pavement as the charred table top landed with a thud just metres away from him.

  Shroder managed to catch a glimpse of a fireball, as it swelled up into the air like a flaming balloon, and he instinctively tried to get back up on to his feet, but his muscles wouldn’t allow it. He knew he was hurt but how badly was anyone’s guess, and he instead lay there and looked back up at the fiery inferno that had been Lusic’s apartment while he tried to catch his breath. He wasn’t sure how long had passed but eventually a woman appeared, standing above him. She took off her jacket and placed it over him. Shroder’s first thought was that he was dead and th
at he was being covered up, but he then realised the helpful passer-by was only trying to keep him warm and, safe in that knowledge, he allowed his mind to drift.

  ‘Are you all right,’ she mouthed. Shroder couldn’t hear a thing because his ears were ringing from the deafening blast of the explosion, but as he caught his breath he muttered a single word – one that he could feel his lips uttering but couldn’t hear his voice saying it. It was a single pointless and futile word but he spoke it nonetheless.

  ‘Shit.’

  Chapter 34

  The fluorescent strip-lights flickered alarmingly overhead as Harker followed Officer Holcroft down the white-walled corridor towards the high-security unit within Wakefield prison. ‘They’ve been doing that all day. Problems with the power grid, I think,’ Holcroft commented, pointing towards the malfunctioning bulbs. ‘No reason to worry, though. The prison has back-up generators so that we can maintain our security-checkpoint integrity at all times.’

  Holcroft’s assurance went a small way to allaying Harker’s unease after his near trouser-ruining experience at Blackwater insane asylum. Visiting two high-security facilities within forty-eight hours was not an excursion he ever planned to repeat, although at least this time a guard would accompany him throughout. Officer Holcroft had flatly insisted upon remaining at his side during the visit, and it was not a demand that Harker had any problem complying with. Holcroft had also requested that Chloe remain in the waiting room because, as the officer had put it, the presence of an attractive woman was only likely to excite some of the other residents in the specialist unit.

  ‘Are these prisoners kept on suicide watch?’ Harker asked, as they reached the final security door with its sign stipulating to ‘Cardboard Furniture Only’.

  ‘Either suicide watch or death threats from other prisoners,’ Holcroft replied as he guided his master key into the door lock. ‘But in your man’s case it’s for the protection of the other prisoners. He’s got a bit of a temper, this one.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘Ahh, so you’ve had dealings with him before?’ Holcroft concluded, with a hint of concern in his voice.

  ‘A few times in fact,’ Harker admitted, ‘but I’m glad to have some bars between us this time around.’

  Holcroft offered an understanding nod before unlocking the sturdy-looking door mechanism and then turning his full attention back to Harker. ‘Then I should warn you straight away we don’t have bars in these cells.’

  ‘What!’ Harker barked.

  ‘All the cells have thick Perspex walls.’

  Holcroft’s statement had numerous and unsettling images bombarding Harker’s mind. ‘Like something out of The Silence of the Lambs.’ Harker replied tersely and he felt his pulse begin to quicken at the thought.

  ‘Similar,’ Holcroft concurred, ‘but we had them installed years before that movie came out. Interesting footnote though: the first one was built for the murderer Robert Maudsley who bashed his cellmate’s skull in and ate pieces of his brain with a plastic fork. I heard that the character of Hannibal Lector was in part based on our own infamous resident. Art imitating life. Funny really.’

  ‘Hilarious,’ Harker replied.

  ‘Don’t worry, Professor.’ Holcroft offered him with a calming smile. ‘You would need a wrecking ball to get through the Perspex, and your man might be big but he’s not that big.’

  Holcroft turned the key and pulled open the door to reveal a corridor running the length of the short wing, fitted with a shiny grey lino flooring leading to a dead end, and with a row of eight cells on the left-hand side. The entire front of each cell was made up of two thick Perspex panels firmly held in place by a metal frame, with a door cut into the Perspex, and a black metal access box embedded in its centre, evidently used for handcuffing the occupants before the door was opened.

  ‘The prisoner in the first cell is heavily medicated at the moment, so you won’t get any distraction from him,’ Holcroft murmured before motioning to the cell next to it. ‘Your man’s in the second cell and he already knows you’re coming.’

  Holcroft closed the door and then locked it behind them both with a clunk. ‘I’ll stay right here,’ he said, gesturing for Harker to make his way over to the cell indicated.

  So this was the ‘monster mansion’ wherein the most depraved and dangerous ended up, Harker reflected and all of them under one roof. But worst of the lot were those in the same corridor he was now standing in. He felt an uncomfortable twinge of nerves pass through him and he realised that his earlier jaunt to Blackwater had made more of an impact upon his psyche than he cared to admit. Harker took a measured breath and took his first steps towards the second cell and, inside it, the man who had been so hell-bent on trying to kill him during their last encounter.

  The patient occupying the first cell was, as Holcroft had assured him, sound asleep on a safety-concrete slab bed and snoring away, and Harker continued on past the inmate towards the dividing wall.

  As the next cell came into view, Harker was met by a pair of familiar, piercing amber eyes that aroused in him an unpleasant feeling of alarm despite the Perspex wall between them.

  Drazia Heldon, the Magi hitman, sat motionless on his concrete slab, the killer’s massive seven-foot frame rigid while he watched Harker halt a couple of feet short of the panel. The hulking giant’s oversized hands gripped his muscular thighs as he stared at Harker with those hauntingly predatory eyes.

  ‘Professor Harker,’ Heldon rasped in his thick Serbian accent, ‘what an unpleasant surprise.’

  Harker had forgotten how intimidating the mere size of this man was and he found himself struggling to force any words at all from his lips. ‘Hello, Heldon, it’s been a while.’

  ‘Not long enough,’ Drazia replied through gritted teeth as he eyed his visitor up and down. ‘And looking in such good shape, too.’ He shook his oversized head slowly from side to side, then stood up and approached to within mere inches of the Perspex, moving with all the grace of a fairy-tale ogre. ‘How disappointing that is,’ he added gruffly as his hot breath fogged the glass. ‘But I am glad at least you’re still alive.’

  The last comment drew a puzzled look from Harker. ‘That’s kind of you,’ he said, fighting the urge to take a step back from the screen.

  ‘Not really,’ Heldon growled. ‘It’s just I would hate to think that someone else had got to you before I did.’

  This menacing remark surprisingly had the opposite effect on Harker who felt oddly bolstered by how genuinely annoyed Heldon seemed to be at having missed the opportunity to kill him.

  Harker scanned the edge of the cell’s transparent panel with his eyes before returning the killer’s icy stare. ‘I don’t think you’re going to get a second chance from in there … do you?’

  The sarcastic comment made Heldon’s eyes blaze with anger and he slammed his bulging fists against the Perspex, causing the whole double pane to shake vigorously. This time Harker cautiously took the step backwards that he had previously denied himself. His retreat was met with an ominous grin from the enormous assassin.

  ‘Maybe,’ Heldon snarled, revealing chipped yellow teeth, ‘but it’s good to see you’ve not lost your fear of me.’

  Harker offered the behemoth a respectful nod and his submissive gesture appeared to pacify the Magi’s ego as well as his temper. ‘I got lucky the last time we met and, if I’m honest, I think somehow you wanted to let me go,’ he declared, continuing to appease the Serbian’s ego. Heldon might possess the physical strength of an elephant but he had not been equally blessed in the intelligence department, and it was this weakness that Harker was now hoping to capitalise on. ‘But now I am in a position to return the favour.’

  ‘Let you go?’ Heldon frowned. ‘Why would I have done that?’

  ‘Because even though you were invited to join the ranks of the Magi, they never treated you as an equal and I think that you were getting tired of them barking orders for you like you were some lapdog.’


  ‘Bullshit,’ Heldon scowled, ‘I was always treated as an equal.’

  ‘Really!’ Harker replied seriously. ‘Then tell me why it is that, after all these months and with all the connections the Magi possess, you are still rotting in a jail cell awaiting trial? This is the second prison you’ve been sent to, and no rescue has even been attempted.’ Harker watched Heldon’s scowl begin to evaporate as he contemplated the notion. ‘I thought that no Magi was ever left behind … dead or alive no matter what the cost. And yet here you are being left to rot even as the Magi begin their preparations for the end of the world, with the Christ child at their side, in a plan that I have no doubt you were aware of from the beginning.’

  Harker knew that he was taking a huge gamble on this dumb brute being entrusted with his master’s grandiose plan, but realised it was one he had to take.

  ‘What would you know about it?’ Heldon growled.

  ‘I know that it’s already happening, right now … out there even as we speak. And they’re not going to let you become part of it.’

  Heldon stared at him intently for a few moments, then his expression of puzzlement began to fade and he turned and lumbered back to his concrete bed. ‘Why you here, Harker?’ he wheezed, sitting down.

  ‘Because I can offer you something you want,’ Harker replied. ‘Something that has been on your mind ever since you realised your old masters aren’t coming to the rescue.’

  Harker’s words piqued the oaf’s curiosity and he tilted his head upwards. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Revenge, Drazia,’ he suggested and took a step closer to the cell. ‘Revenge against the people that let you down when you most needed their help. And in turn I want you now to help me take down the Magi.’

  Drazia Heldon stared up at him with eyes wide at this mention of the one word that held any real currency for him – Revenge – and his fists began to clench tightly.

  As Harker watched the giant struggle to order his thoughts, he thought back to his conversation with Brulet on the flight over. Harker had not known that Heldon had a condition: one that, when not medicated, quickly brought about mind-freeze and confusion. ‘Get him off his medication and he should become more pliable for you, but be warned,’ Brulet had added, ‘it will also make him highly unpredictable, so choose carefully what you say, and when.’ It was pure luck that Heldon had not received his daily meds, due to the prevailing chaos outside, as explained to Harker by Officer Holcroft on their way over. That was just the stroke of luck that Harker needed and, as he watched the murderous brute tussle with his particular sense of reasoning, he pushed further his efforts to confuse the man’s rationale further. ‘I can get you out of this place today, Drazia, and together we can exact revenge. But all I need to know is the location of the Magi gathering point. The place where you are all supposed to meet? The place where we must head next … I have a plane waiting and all I need is for you to tell me where to go.’