by Gilliam Ness
CHAPTER 15
“Gabriel!” came the distressed call. “Get out of there and get dressed immediately. There is no time to waste!”
Gabriel shut off the water and poked his head out of the shower. Through the steam he could see Fra Bartolomeo standing at the door of the bathroom. In one hand he held a two-way radio, in the other, the battered old duffel bag that Gabriel had left lying on the bed.
“What’s going on?”
The old Brother held out a hand to silence him, bringing the radio to his mouth.
“It is true, your Excellency. There are men outside.”
“Are the telephones still down?” came the Bishop’s voice on the other end.
“Yes, and there is no mobile coverage either.”
“Collect Gabriel, Natasha, and Suora Angelica. Meet me in my quarters immediately. I want all of you prepared to move. Bring some warm clothes and any food supplies you can find. Make haste!”
“What’s going on, Fra?” asked Gabriel, donning a bathrobe.
“There is no time to explain,” said the old Brother, turning to leave. “I will wake Suora and get some supplies. Meet us at the Bishop’s study.”
The old Brother handed Gabriel his pack.
“E per tutti i santi, Gabriel,” he said. “Do not take your eyes off this. It is the Cube they have come for!”
Gabriel stayed looking at the door after Fra had gone.
What the hell is going on?
It did not take him long to get dressed. Begrudgingly he packed away his razor, rubbing at the three day growth on his face.
“I’ll get that shave if it kills me.”
Making his way through the old, familiar corridors, Gabriel found it very difficult to believe that there was an enemy lurking outside. It was just the storm. It had to be. Even still, he was glad that Fra had left all the lights off. If there truly were men waiting for the right time to invade the monastery, it would be best to keep them thinking that everyone was asleep.
“They could never have got on to me so fast,” he muttered to himself. “It’s impossible.”
He made his way briskly toward the Bishop’s apartments, a thought occurring to him suddenly.
“Amir,” he gasped aloud, his brow furrowing.
Had they captured him? Was that how they were able to locate him here in Rome? Could they at this very moment be torturing his friend? Gabriel stopped abruptly despite his urgency, an anger alighting in him.
If they’ve got him...
He shook it off and started walking. He was just being paranoid. He had seen Amir installed in his Gibraltar flat not thirty-six hours before, safely out of Morocco and in one of the securest ports in the Mediterranean. He brought his thoughts back to the matter at hand and just then arrived at the Bishop’s quarters. He burst into the room, forgetting to knock.
Natasha was sitting on the corner of the Bishop’s desk, and Gabriel felt his heart skip a beat despite himself. She was dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans, a cream-coloured cotton blouse, and a dark knit jacket that had an eclectic, military edge to it. Her boots were soft black leather; low healed and laced, and matched her little leather backpack perfectly. It sat next to her on the desk, a lit up iPad sitting on top of it. Oddly enough, there was a chocolate-brown hunting dog lying at Natasha’s feet. Behind the desk sat the Bishop, smiling happily, as though there were no danger at hand.
“Well, well,” said the Bishop. “It would appear that the long awaited reunion has at last come to pass. I would introduce you if I had not already been informed of your accidental meeting earlier this morning.”
The Bishop gave Gabriel a stern look.
“You could have read my note a little more carefully, my son.”
Gabriel nodded and shrugged. He looked over at Natasha but said nothing. The Bishop stood up and walked around the desk toward Gabriel.
“Do you have the Cube?” he asked in earnest, his untrimmed eyebrows gathering into a single, silvery mass.
Gabriel nodded.
“Would you like to see it?”
“No, no. Now is not the time, my son. I must pack a few things.”
With that the old Bishop turned, instantly shaking off his seriousness. His eyes were alight with an almost youthful glow. In all the excitement, his eighty-five years of life seemed to have dissolved away. Even the old man’s posture had changed, and as he walked across the room, his gait seemed like that of a man twenty years younger.
He arrived at an antique armoire and removed a small pack from one of its shelves, whistling quietly as he filled it with some things. Gabriel looked over at Natasha only to find that she was looking directly at him, her eyes suspicious.
“I didn’t see him in your room,” he said, acting like he had not noticed her glaring eyes.
He nodded towards the dog.
“That is because he was not there when you came in,” said Natasha, sliding off the desk gracefully.
She knelt down next to the animal and began scratching its proud neck affectionately.
“It is a strange story,” she said to the dog. “We met in my workshop in Florence about two weeks ago, and I was sure he was going to attack me. Instead he ran away, and I thought I would never see him again. A few hours ago he came to my door. I still cannot believe it.”
Gabriel frowned and then moved around the desk to sit in the Bishop’s chair. His body still ached from his ordeal in the sewage tunnel.
Why does her accent have to be so damn sexy?
He closed his eyes, opening them a minute later to find that she had taken up her place on the Bishop’s desk again. Gabriel frowned. She was looking directly at him; scrutinizing him again. He tilted the chair onto its back legs and closed his eyes.
“Shackleton is the reason why we are all up in the middle of the night,” he heard her say.
Gabriel kept his eyes shut.
“Shackleton?”
“That is what I have named him,” said Natasha. “He is quite the traveller.”
“So it would seem.”
Natasha examined Gabriel from head to toe.
“He led me to a little window in the washroom.”
She nudged his balanced chair with her foot.
“I am sure you know the window I am talking about?”
Gabriel opened an eye and then closed it again. Natasha kept talking.
“Shackleton got up on his hind legs and looked through the panes,” she said, biting her lip as she remembered. “He was grumbling. When I went to see what he was looking at, I saw two dark figures squatting beside the fountain outside. Some of them were armed with rifles, so I woke up Fra. He says that they are surrounding the monastery.”
Gabriel opened his eyes and leaned forward.
“You’re being serious.”
Natasha nodded, and Gabriel could finally see the fear in her eyes. He rose to his feet, and just then Fra Bartolomeo entered the room. He was accompanied by a tiny old nun dressed in a pale blue skirt with a matching blouse and cardigan. She appeared to be laughing and crying simultaneously.
“Suora!” exclaimed Natasha, rushing to her and falling into her arms. “Do not be frightened. Bishop Marcus knows what to do.”
Gabriel nodded in agreement. It felt odd that Natasha should be so familiar with Suora, and he felt a kind of childish jealousy at seeing the two embrace.
“Ciao, Bellissima,” he said, giving the little nun a hug. “Don’t cry. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Ah, my child,” she said quietly, her accent as thick as Fra’s. “I am an old woman awaiting death. What could I be frightened of? I am not crying for fear. I am crying because I am happier now than I have ever been. I never thought I would live to see the two of you united. It seemed to me it would never happen. Thanks be to our blessed Virgin Mary!”
Gabriel and Natasha looked at each other suspiciously. They stood on either side of the nun, each of them holding on to one of her hands. Suora Angelica had been like a mother to them bo
th; the only mother they had ever known. Crying with delight, the old nun brought Gabriel and Natasha’s hands together, intertwining their fingers as she spoke.
“The love between you will see no bounds,” she said.
Natasha exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Gabriel before pulling her hand away. In the meantime, the Bishop had finished packing, and was in the process of throwing a dark cloak over his black vestments.
“The time has come, my dear family,” he said, slinging his pack over a boney shoulder. “We must flee this place immediately. Follow me!”
CHAPTER 16
By the time the Bishop had led them to the church’s sacristy, Nasrallah’s men were already making their move. With great stealth they gained entry into the monastery and fanned out in every direction, their dark forms moving without a sound. Their orders were simple. Retrieve the Cube and kill everyone in the building. There could be no survivors; nobody to relate what they had seen. For this reason, every square inch of the monastery would have to be searched.
* * * * * *
In the shadows of the chapel’s sacristy, the Bishop used an old iron key to open the gate that stood before them, revealing a narrow flight of steps leading down into the darkness.
“We will be taking a secret underground passage that leads to what was once a convent, a very long time ago,” said the Bishop, his voice barely audible. “The tunnel travels for approximately one kilometer. I cannot be sure if the way is still passable. I have never personally explored it, but it is our only chance of escaping this place undetected. If nothing else, it will offer us a place to hide.”
Natasha looked perplexed. A tunnel connecting a monastery to a nunnery defeated the purpose of each institution entirely. She looked at Gabriel. He was in the act of digging through his duffel bag.
“We’ll be needing these,” he whispered, handing both Natasha and the Bishop a flashlight.
He continued to dig around, quickly producing a compass and yet another flashlight which he kept for himself. Suddenly Fra Bartolomeo approached, gathering the group together with his arms.
“They are inside the building,” he whispered urgently.
All heads scanned the surrounding shadows. Even Shackleton was looking.
“Follow me,” mouthed the old Bishop. “Now!”
He led them down into a chamber that was located directly beneath the sacristy. Gabriel locked the gate behind them, working the key as silently as possible. He was the last to arrive below, and saw them standing in the middle of a round room. Its shallow domed ceiling was so low that he was forced to bend over as he descended into it. Gabriel knew that this was a burial place; a grotto containing the tombs of Christian martyrs from the second century.
The old Bishop approached a round marble altar in the middle of the chamber. Around them, within evenly spaced niches, lay seven sarcophagi. The Bishop embraced the dais and strained against it.
“We must slide this aside,” he whispered. “The entrance to the tunnel lies beneath it.”
Gabriel and Natasha jumped to his aid, and within moments the stone altar began to move. Fra Bartolomeo crossed himself, thanking God that the ancient hinges had somehow remained silent. Only a damp gust of wind had escaped from the tunnel mouth, the thick air smelling of musty earth. It seemed terribly cold. Suddenly from above, filtering down the marble steps, came the soft patter of dozens of feet. All looked up. Nasrallah’s men were just outside.
“We have no time to lose,” whispered the Bishop. “I will go first.”
The Bishop descended a short ladder into the tunnel. Its walls were of raw earth, with the only support coming from crude timbers erected at odd intervals. The others followed immediately, including Shackleton, who surprised everyone by descending the ladder as adeptly as a circus animal. Gabriel came last in order to struggle with the closing of the altar above. Much to his surprise, it swung into its closed position almost effortlessly.
Somebody went to great lengths constructing this hinge mechanism. It was built for stealth.
* * * * * *
The giant Bahadur stood dizzily beside the marble sacristy. In the dim light his countenance was almost horrific; the fleshy scar that bisected his face accentuated by the blood and bruises that covered his entire head. Clinging to his battered throat, the tattooed moth seemed almost alive, changing in shape as he continuously swallowed the blood that was still oozing from his broken sinuses.
Bahadur had been given little rest before being dispatched on his assignment, and his huge body still trembled from its wounds, his head reeling from the painkillers he had been given. Around him he could see his men searching the small church. They had spread out into four lines and were combing the space, methodically checking every pew, every niche.
“My family will soon be safe at home,” he muttered deeply, his elocution at odds with his brutish appearance. “We shall do this quickly. There is no other way.”
Bahadur jerked his massive head to the left. He seemed to have heard or felt something coming from below. It resembled a soft rumbling sound, but he could not be sure. Moving with all the stealth he could muster, he made his way around the sacristy, his pistol at the ready. It was not long before he found the gate and saw the narrow passage leading down into the darkness. Finding it to be locked, he hissed at one of his men, motioning him to come.
“Open this gate,” he mouthed, and within moments the soldier had picked the lock with an expert hand.
The chamber was empty, and Bahadur, weary with fatigue, approached the central dais and leaned on it heavily. He had heard something. He was sure of it. Taking one final look around, he pushed himself off the altar.
“There is nothing here,” he said to his men. “Help the others. Search the rectory.”
* * * * * *
Gabriel stood frozen at the top of the ladder, his left hand outstretched to the others in a plea for absolute silence. Above him he could hear the guards speaking amongst themselves. They seemed to be moving off.
“They’ve gone,” he whispered back, wedging a spare battery into the hinge mechanism to prevent it from being opened from above. “We’re safe for now. Let’s get moving.”
They proceeded into the tunnel, walking silently for some time. It was Natasha who at last broke the silence.
“Why was this tunnel made, Uncle Marcus,” she asked. “I thought that monasteries and nunneries were built to separate men from women.”
“Right you are, my child,” said the Bishop, smiling. “But even under the most severe barriers, Mother Nature has a way of bringing together what was meant to be together.”
“A secret tunnel,” said Natasha, amazed.
“A tunnel of love,” added Gabriel from behind.
The Bishop’s smile vanished suddenly as he shone his flashlight on the earthen walls.
“Yes, a tunnel of love,” he said, “but also one of tragedy.”
Under the roaming beam of light, all were able to see that the walls of the tunnel were lined with burial niches, or loculi, as they were called, and within each were the skeletal remains of infants.
“Behold the products of their love,” said the Bishop sadly. “The pregnancy of a nun could well be hidden under her habit, but once born, the child would be brought here and left to die.”
Natasha cringed in horror. In the distance she could see the tunnel looming in the darkness, rows upon rows of loculi open, and in full view.
“But why not just cover them?” she asked.
“Penitence loves guilt,” said Gabriel. “The corpses must have been a great way to remind them of their sins.”
“Come,” said the Bishop. “Let us not linger here.”
The group moved forward into the gloom, with Shackleton leading the way. Apart from the many burial niches and twisted wooden support structures, the tunnel offered very little to see. It worked its way forward, crudely veering around or beneath boulders, but always keeping to its general heading. Gabriel followed with his compa
ss, imagining what it must have been like for those who had dug the passage, and the decades of repressed sexual urges that had driven them to do it.
Ten minutes into their journey they approached their first major obstacle and both the Bishop and Suora Angelica took the opportunity to rest. They sat down on some large rocks that had caved in from above, and Fra Bartolomeo was soon to follow. Their flight had been exhausting, and in the limited light offered by their flashlights, the obstacle looked impassable.
Gabriel lit a flare and the tunnel burst to life. Within their shadowy loculi, the sepia coloured remains of the infants glowed ominously, the flickering shadows bringing them to life. Whereas the addition of light would have normally made any place seem less oppressive, it was having the opposite effect here. Behind them, at the fringe of the flare’s reach, a curtain of impenetrable blackness loomed oppressively. Natasha concentrated on the obstacle in front of her, trying to forget the fact that they were in an enormous tomb, filled with the remains of hundreds of dead babies.
“We might be able to dig a way through up there,” she said, pointing to an area just below a collapsed wooden support.
Gabriel shook his head.
“It’s no good,” he said. “The dirt’s too loose. It would only cave in on us.”
“So what do we do?”
Gabriel looked into Natasha’s eyes, lost in thought. She held his gaze for a moment and then looked away.
I do not trust this man.
It was only then that she saw motion at the bottom of the caved in section. In all the time that they had been looking for a way over the obstacle, Shackleton had found a way under it. Natasha’s face lit up with delight.
“You are really pulling your weight this morning, Shackleton!”
The dog came out of the shadows and nudged Natasha’s leg, turning around with a wagging tail only to disappear back where he had come from. Natasha followed, shining her flashlight into the gap.
