THE HISTORY OF THINGS TO COME: A Supernatural Thriller (The Dark Horizon Trilogy Book 1)

by Duncan Simpson

  The man kissed Sabatini enthusiastically on the cheek and then extended a hand to the clergyman. It felt cold and clammy in Brother Nathan’s grip, like a fish hooked from a winter stream. Sabatini had first met Dr Jenkins while collecting research material for her book, The Divine Prism: Seeing God in Science and Religion. An expert in the history of European Enlightenment science, he and his expansive mind had proved an invaluable resource for her academic research. His physical appearance, however, was less impressive than his scholarly knowledge. He was tall and thin, and his chest seemed to cave in underneath his well-worn shirt; unruly tufts of greying hair sprang from his head. Sabatini had long suspected that he had taken to cutting his hair himself.

  ‘I took the liberty of ordering some sparkling wine to celebrate. Will you join me in a glass?’ Jenkins strolled over to the small wooden side table standing next to the door on which sat an ice bucket. Their host rescued a drowning bottle of wine from the pool of melting ice, and, as he poured three glasses of fizzy liquid, Brother Nathan took in the wonder of his surroundings.

  They were standing at one end of the library, a large hall with rows of tall windows running along its entire length. Below each classically proportioned window stood a number of wooden bookcases, each holding shelves of antique books. At the end of each bookcase was an elaborate lime wood carving: a number were shaped into intricate coats of arms, while others were busts of classical characters and several more looked like the profiles of animals.

  Jenkins handed each of his visitors an overfilled glass of sparkling wine and proposed a toast to birthdays and to friends, old and new. Brother Nathan raised his glass and stared at the bubbles dancing above the rim.

  ‘So, I understand from Carla that you share our passion for Mr Newton.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said the priest, ‘You see, in a small way, I share Newton’s vision.’

  ‘Sounds interesting,’ said Jenkins, ‘Go on.’

  ‘I mean to uncover the works of God in the world.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Jenkins, taking a sip of wine.

  ‘I do not know of any other individual who has journeyed further and more deeply into the mysteries of God’s purposes than Mr Newton.’

  Jenkins nodded, thinking about the priest’s statement. Sabatini smiled at his side.

  Brother Nathan then raised his glass and proposed a toast. ‘The true God is a living, intelligent and powerful being. His duration reaches from eternity to eternity; his presence from infinity to infinity. He governs all things.’

  ‘Excellent quote my friend. I’ll drink to that.’ Jenkins recognised the lines from Newton’s first masterwork, the Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica, the book that formed the centre point of the exhibit.

  ‘Let’s finish our wine, and then I will take you over to see the Principia. For obvious reasons, we can’t take liquids close to the exhibition case, just in case there’s an accident.’ Jenkins playfully swayed his glass from side to side and then took a long draft, downing its remaining contents. ‘Carla tells me that this is your first visit to Cambridge?’

  ‘Yes, it is. What I have seen so far through the car window looks very pleasant.’

  ‘It can be,’ sighed Jenkins, ‘but when Newton came to study at this college in 1661, Cambridge was an altogether different place. In fact, it was a very dangerous place to be. The town was squashed into an area of less than half a square mile and had a population of some 8,000 people, about 3,000 of whom were affiliated in some way to the University. The streets were narrow and filthy, and at night they were almost completely dark except for the lanterns of people who dared to walk them.’

  Jenkins continued, ‘A new student would need to keep close to the walled safety of the college grounds so as not to fall victim to the thieves and vagabonds that stalked the town. There was real animosity between the local population and the perceived wealth of the academic population, and tensions often spilled over into violence.’ He paused, looking at the remaining bubbles coalescing at the bottom of the glass. ‘Fortunately, today, relationships between the locals and the University are much more cordial. Do you like the wine, by the way?’

  Sabatini and Brother Nathan nodded their approval. They drained their glasses and returned them to the side table. Jenkins handed each of his guests a pair of white cotton gloves. They walked over to the wooden display case at the foot of the bookcases and watched their host remove the cloth covering that protected the exhibit from light-induced fading.

  The solid oak display case had a thick glass viewing panel forming its surface. Set within the front panel was a large brass lock, which Jenkins opened with a key that he then returned to the back pocket of his trousers with a reassuring pat. On being released from its locking mechanism, the glass viewing panel raised itself effortlessly on well-oiled hinges to expose the objects beneath. Jenkins ushered his guests to move closer to the exhibit. He cleared his throat and pulled his cotton gloves tight against his hands. ‘First published on 5 July 1687, this is Isaac Newton’s personal copy of the original edition of the Principia.’ Brother Nathan nodded his confirmation, but his attention was quickly drawn to the silver pocket watch positioned at one end of the display case.

  The Cambridge academic carefully lifted the open volume from its cradle and offered it to the priest. The book was bound in dark brown leather and measured approximately eight inches by twelve inches. Sabatini looked at Brother Nathan, his eyes now fixed on the Principia. His gloved hands trembled slightly, like a convert taking Holy Communion for the first time.

  ‘Throughout the volume, you can see Newton’s handwritten notes in the margins,’ said Jenkins.

  In his capacity as Chief Librarian at the Vatican Observatory Library, Nathan had spent the last seven years surrounded by important rare books. Some had almost become surrogate children to him. The trustees of the library had often joked that the old man spent more time speaking to the books on the shelves than he did talking to his staff. But to Brother Nathan, they were more than mere collections of parchment and paper gathering dust; they were tangible connections to the great men and women of history. As he touched the old texts, he would in some small way summon a trace of the author’s spirit into his mind, touching human greatness through the pages.

  ‘Is the condition of the book suitable for me to turn the pages?’ Brother Nathan enquired with a hushed reverence.

  ‘It’s in excellent condition. The spine is completely undamaged. Please, feel free.’

  As he turned the pages, Brother Nathan could clearly see the small neat lettering written by the great scientist. The radical ideas expressed in these pages had changed the world. As he tried to decipher Newton’s handwritten notes—some composed in classical Latin and others in strange coded English—, Brother Nathan could almost feel the presence of the author transcending the centuries. He closed his eyes and asked God to reveal His purposes to him.

  After several minutes of discussion about Newton and his great work, the priest returned the priceless book to his host, who carefully replaced it in its cradle. Noticing that the priest’s gaze had returned to the other contents of the display case, Jenkins cleared his throat.

  ‘We have a truly exceptional collection of Newton’s objects for you to see.’

  Stationed around the Principia like the numbers of a clock face were an assortment of other exhibits.

  ‘First, we have Newton’s very own walking stick,’ said Jenkins.

  The walking stick lay at twelve o’clock position and was fixed by a series of pins that zigzagged down its length. The stick’s bone handle was carved into the shape of a face and attached to a long wooden cane. The facial features of the handle had been worn down through use and had the effect of freezing the face into a disfigured scream.

  ‘Then, we have Newton’s pocket watch, a lock of his hair from the Earl of Portsmouth’s collection; his Latin exercise book fro
m his time at school in Grantham; and his famous letter to Robert Hook, which—’

  ‘Forgive me, Dr Jenkins, would it be possible to see the pocket watch?’ said Brother Nathan.

  ‘The pocket watch? Yes, of course,’ replied Jenkins with a slightly puzzled expression across his face.

  Jenkins complied with the priest’s request and carefully handed the timepiece to the priest. A thrill of excitement shot down Brother Nathan’s backbone. The watch felt heavy in his hand, like a large metal pebble. Slowly rotating the timepiece in his palm, he studied its exterior. His distorted reflection reared up on the surface of the metal casing as his fingertips turned the object. Brother Nathan flicked open the silver casing that protected the glass front and examined the simple white watch face.

  It must be here. It must be here. Lord God show me.

  Bringing the object closer to his face, the priest’s eyes darted around the circle of Roman numerals that formed the perimeter of the face, looking for a sign that would reveal its secret. Suddenly, he became aware that both Sabatini and Jenkins were staring quizzically at him.

  ‘Next, shall we have a look at the lock of Newton’s very own hair?’ said Jenkins. He directed his guest’s attention to a small silver locket, which contained a thin loop of white hair held together by a bow of fine material.

  ‘You know, Mr Newton had quite a reputation with regard to his hair. According to the records, he went completely grey at a very early age. It is said that he often went out in public without a wig, something quite unusual for a gentleman to do at that time.’

  Whilst the academic continued his exposition, Brother Nathan rummaged through the pocket of his overcoat.

  ‘Many people have speculated that the premature whitening of his hair was a result of quicksilver poisoning. Quicksilver, or mercury as it is known today, was a much sought-after alchemic ingredient that, while relatively safe in its liquid form, could cause some very unpleasant physiological effects when inhaled as a vapour. In fact, King Charles II, who himself was a great dabbler in chemical experimentation, was thought to have been poisoned by—’

  Jenkins was cut off in mid-flow by the presence of the two police officers who had just entered the library. Both were wearing motorcycle leathers and full-face helmets, their features obscured by tinted visors. Looking up, Sabatini noticed that one of the police officers was carrying a canvas bag and the other had a long metal tube container slung across his back. Closing the door behind them, the two policemen then approached the group, who were all standing around the display case like doting parents around a baby’s cot.

  ‘Is there something wrong, officer?’ Jenkins asked.

  In unison, the two men raised their Glock 22 semi-automatic pistols, one aiming directly at Jenkin’s head and the other pointing towards his stunned guests.

  ‘Not if you do exactly as we say.’

  Chapter 26

  ‘Step away from the display case!’ commanded one of the policemen, waving the barrel of his pistol as he did so. The three figures obeyed immediately and moved away from the open exhibit.

  ‘This is a robbery. You have a simple choice. Follow every word we tell you and you will live to see the end of the day. Do not, and I will shoot you dead. Do I make myself clear?’

  Without waiting to exhale, both Jenkins and Sabatini slowly nodded their heads in confirmation. Brother Nathan stood perfectly still and started to recite prayers under his breath. Slowly, the fingertips of his right hand began to travel down the lining of his overcoat pocket.

  ‘This is how it’s going to work. You,’ the policeman pointed to Brother Nathan threateningly, ‘are going to take the objects from the case and place them in this bag.’ As he spoke, he removed the canvas bag from his shoulder and threw it in the direction of the priest. The other policeman, his pistol now trained squarely on Brother Nathan, took the long metal tube slung across his back and jabbed one end of it into the clergyman’s shoulder. ‘This is for the walking stick.’ Pointing to Sabatini and Jenkins, he continued. ‘You two, turn around and face the wall. Fuck with me and I swear I will put a bullet in the back of your heads!’

  As Sabatini turned to face the wall, she glanced over to her old mentor. For an instant, he looked much younger than his seventy years, like he did in the photographs on his desk at the Observatory Library. The priest acknowledged her in his eyes and then, instead of following the assailants’ instructions, he turned to face the policeman who was pointing the pistol at his face.

  ‘You have no idea what you are doing. I will not let you take it from this place!’

  Shaking his head, Brother Nathan swung his fist down onto the open lid of the display case. It slammed shut, firmly locking itself in the process. Jenkins gasped in horror.

  ‘You stupid old man. Get out of the way!’ said the policeman closest to the priest. He took a step forwards and cocked his pistol. ‘You fucking idiot! Is this stuff really worth dying for?’

  Brother Nathan placed his hand defiantly on top of the locked display case. From behind the visor of his motorcycle helmet, Crossland felt a bead of sweat run down his forehead. What the hell is this old man doing? The policeman pushed the priest back while driving the barrel of his Glock into his temple. Brother Nathan stumbled backwards, and the back of his head hit the wall.

  ‘I’m warning you, old man.’

  Taking a step back, Crossland unzipped his leather jacket to reveal a collection of tools clipped to a harness across his chest. He unfastened the large hammer that hung like a cross at the centre of the webbing and slipped his hand through the loop of material attached to its handle. Crossland marched to the display case with the hammer raised above his head. Jenkins managed to turn his face before the full force of the hammer came down onto the glass top, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

  Brother Nathan lurched forwards. His outstretched hands plunged into the sea of glass fragments covering the inside of the case, sending them flying into the air. Exhibits fell off their stands. He grasped at something and then a burst of light flashed from Crossland’s pistol. The back of the priest’s skull exploded in a crimson supernova of blood and bone. The kinetic energy of the 0.40-calibre bullet entering his head spun his body on its axis, sending lines of pulped brain and shards of skull out like a Catherine wheel. His body fell to the ground in a bloody heap.

  For a moment, time stood still. Denic looked over to Crossland, a wisp of smoke still rising from the barrel of his weapon. Sabatini felt her body start to shake uncontrollably. She closed her eyes in the futile hope that it would transport her away from the carnage, but instead it just intensified the sound of glass being crushed underfoot as Denic moved over to Brother Nathan’s body.

  After a quick inspection of Brother Nathan’s shattered skull with the toe of his boot, Denic exploded into action. ‘Move!’ he commanded at the top of his voice.

  Crossland aimed his pistol at Sabatini with one hand, while his other hand swept glass chips from the exposed artefacts. One by one, he quickly placed the exhibits into the canvas bag that was lying on the ground next to Brother Nathan’s lifeless body. Gently, he freed the walking stick from its mounting, loaded it into the long metal tube and secured its end with a metal stopper.

  ‘Down on the ground! Now!’ Denic stabbed the air menacingly with his Glock 22. As Jenkins crouched down, he tried to make out the face of the killer behind the tinted visor.

  ‘Get your face down!’ The handle of Denic’s pistol struck the side of Jenkins’s face. The academic collapsed to the ground, curling up in a protective position to prepare himself for another blow. As he fought to catch his breath, blood flooded into his mouth. Crossland threw the bag and metal tube over to his partner, who slung them quickly over his shoulder and nodded back a signal.

  ‘You get up or call for help, you will die!’ Denic ordered through his helmet. ‘You fuck with me, and I will hunt you both down an
d cut you into pieces! Do you understand?’

  Sabatini was trembling prostrate on the floor, her cheek lying against the cold floor tiles damp with her own tears and saliva. She forced her eyes shut and in her mind cried out to God. Was she to die like this?

  ‘Do you understand?’ the command roared out again, even more terrifying than before.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ whimpered Jenkins, his tongue protruding through the bloody gaps where his teeth used to be. Sabatini nodded her head frantically in acknowledgement. She held her breath and dug her fingernails deep into her clenched palms. To her left, she could hear the sound of footsteps moving quickly across the library floor and then all was silent. She opened her eyes and stared directly into the mutilated face of Brother Nathan.

  Still clutched tight in his hand was Newton’s pocket watch.

  Chapter 27

  Blake stepped over the unopened brown envelopes lying on the doormat of his bedsit and put the carrier bag from the off-licence on the floor. As a pulse returned to his fingertips, he wondered who was phoning him at this time of night? Reluctantly, Blake answered his mobile phone. As soon as the line connected, a torrent of words roared through the speaker.

  ‘Lukas, can you please slow down. The line isn’t very good. Did you say something about Cambridge?’

  ‘Yes, there’s been another robbery … the Wren Library at Cambridge University.’ Milton’s voice abruptly became clear, as if he had stepped from a busy street into a quiet room.

  ‘You were right. It’s the Drakon. His men have struck again: a two-man team dressed as police motorcycle officers.’

  ‘What did they get?’

  ‘They cleared out an exhibition case full of Newton stuff, but not before shooting a tourist in the head. A priest.’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Very dead. Forensics are picking bits of his skull out of the bookshelves as we speak. I’ve just got here. It’s a real mess.’ Milton cleared his throat loudly and then continued. ‘The Commissioner is being summoned to the Home Office. It’s going to be all over the press.’