Sanctus s-1

by Simon Toyne

  Then there was Cornelius Webster. Thirty-four. Grew up in an orphanage and went straight into the British Army as soon as he was old enough. Invalided out after watching his platoon burn alive in front of him when their armoured vehicle was hit by a rocket-propelled grenade. The scars on his face, like drops of pale wax that made his beard grow in patches, were the badges of this tragedy. The day he left the army he’d swapped the institutionalized life of a soldier for the institutionalized life of a monk. The Citadel was his family now, as it was to all of them.

  The Abbot also matched their various skills to the mission he was about to give them: Cornelius with his age and authority; Johann with his distracting looks and perfect English, bait to catch a female fish; Rodriguez with his US passport and knowledge of the streets. Each had violence in their past and a sharp and zealous desire to prove themselves to God. He waited until they’d finished eating before speaking again.

  ‘Please forgive the unorthodox nature of this meeting,’ he said, the fire now framing him in a hazy red glow. ‘But when I explain the reason, you will understand the need for such caution and secrecy.’

  He tapped a finger against his pursed lips.

  ‘This section of the mountain once housed a garrison of warrior monks, the Carmina, the red knights of the Citadel, the illustrious forebears of the guild you serve. They rode forth to root out false religions, crush false gods, destroy heretical churches, and purge misguided worshippers of their sins in the purifying fires of the Inquisition. These crusades were known as the Tabula Rasa — the Clean Slate — for no trace of heresy was ever left in their wake.’

  He lowered his voice and leaned forward against the table, making it creak like the timbers of an ancient ship.

  ‘The Carmina were not bound by the ordinary laws of man.’ He regarded each of them individually. ‘Nor by the laws of whatever land they found themselves in; for those were but the laws of kings and emperors, and the Carmina answered only to God. I bring you here now to resume their sacred mantle. We may no longer find ourselves besieged by armies, but we still have enemies. And we still have need of soldiers.’

  He slid an envelope across the table to Cornelius.

  ‘Here are details of what you must do and instructions as to how you can leave the mountain. I have chosen you because you each have within you the character and past experience to do God’s work. Be guided by Him and not by earthly laws. Like your predecessors you must be single-minded in the performance of your duty. The threat is real. You must eliminate it.’

  He pointed to the far side of the room where three identical canvas bags were propped against the wall.

  ‘Inside those you will find currency, identification documents and civilian clothing. You will be met outside the walls of the old town two hours after midnight by two men who will provide transport, weapons and whatever else you need. Just as your fore-bears used mercenaries to assist them in their missions, you must use these men to help you in yours. But never forget that what you are doing for the love of God, they are doing for the love of money. So use them — but do not trust them.’

  He paused.

  ‘It is not lightly that I send you on this mission. Should you fall in your duty, as some of you might, then know you will be embraced by God as a blessed warrior, as those who fell before you. Those who do return will be welcomed back, not as members of the guild of guards you currently serve, but as the highest of our kind — a green cloak, a Sanctus. You may be aware,’ he added, ‘that there are already two vacancies. But I would expand our number to accommodate all of you who prove so worthy. And in rising to the highest level of our brotherhood you would, of course, be blessed with the sacred knowledge of that which I now ask you to protect.’

  He rose from his seat and removed his Crux from his rope belt. ‘You have a few hours in which to change and prepare for your return to the world. I will bless you now in the tradition of the order we revive here tonight.’

  He raised the Tau above his head and began uttering the ancient blessing of war, in words as ancient as the mountain they now prayed in, and behind him the fire crackled and hissed, and threw his huge shadow across the ceiling of the cave.

  Some hours later, a light tremor shook the ground by the old city wall, an echo of the storm flickering its way over the mountain peaks to the north. At the end of an alley between two multi-storey car parks, a heavy steel shutter rumbled upwards to reveal a gap just wide enough for a man to pass through. Three shadows peeled themselves away from the darkness, pieces of night dispersed by the wind. They headed down the alley towards a parked van with its rear doors unlocked.

  The first fat spots of rain pinged down on the thin steel roof of the van and cracked against the bone-coloured flagstones as the three figures slipped inside. The doors clanged shut and the engine growled into life. The headlights flicked on, sweeping the dusty road as rain erupted across it like a contagion.

  The van moved off, heading for the inner ring-road and the great eastern boulevard that would take them all the way to the airport. The rain intensified as they circled the old town, black tears weeping for all that had happened and all that might, running down the sides of the Citadel, down to the chalky earth where a moat once flowed and a man once swam, down narrow cobbled streets where red knights had ridden, to wash away the flowers and cards marking the spot where the monk had so recently fallen.

  Chapter 45

  The Lockheed Tri-Star yawed and rolled as it slipped through the storm clouds guarding the descent into Gaziantep Airport. Lightning flared in the dimmed interior and the engines moaned as they struggled to grab hold of the slippery air. Liv clutched her guidebook as if it was a bible and looked around at the forty-or-so other passengers. None of them were sleeping either. Some appeared to be praying.

  God damn you, Sam, she thought as the plane lurched again. Eight years without a word and now you put me through this.

  She looked out of her rain-lashed window in time to see another bolt of lightning actually strike the wing. The engines roared in pain. She hoped to God the two incidents weren’t connected and glanced yet again at the ashtray in her armrest, wondering what the penalty was for smoking on a commercial airliner. She was seriously considering it, whatever it was.

  She peered once more into the turbulent night, hoping for some respite. As if by divine instruction, the clouds parted to reveal a dark, jagged landscape that twitched restlessly with the near constant flashes of lightning. In the distance she could make out the glow of a large town held in the natural cup of the mountain range like a shallow pool of gold. The rain running off the window made it shimmer like it wasn’t quite solid. In its centre was a spot of darkness with four straight lines of light radiating out from it. It was Ruin, and the darkness at its centre, the Citadel. From her lofty vantage point it looked like a black gemstone set in the centre of a bright cross. Liv fixed on it, remembering everything she’d read about the place and all the blood that had been shed for the sake of the secret it contained.

  Then the Lockheed banked unsteadily away, continuing its descent into Gaziantep Airport, and the Citadel slipped back into the night.

  Kathryn Mann stood watching the flood of people pour through into the arrivals hall. Following the revelations in the stolen police file she’d figured the girl would come to Ruin as soon as possible to take possession of her brother’s body. She’d felt the same way twelve years ago when her husband had been killed. She still remembered the urgent need to be with him, even though she knew he was dead.

  Given the time of the phone interview recorded in the file, a travel agent’s website had indicated that this was the first connecting flight the girl could have caught.

  Freed from the customs hall, passengers raced for taxis or waiting relatives, or to be first in the queue to pay for their parking. Two flights had arrived at once, making it difficult to see anyone clearly as they emerged. Kathryn had memorized the girl’s face from the printout but also had a name card as back up
. She was about to hold it up when she spotted a man behind the opposite rail, holding up an identical sign. LIV ADAMSEN was printed on it in magic marker.

  Kathryn felt her scalp prickle.

  She slipped her hand into her coat pocket and curled it round the grip of her pistol, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He could be police. It was possible there had been further contact that she did not yet know about.

  He was fairly tall and bulky. A sandy beard covered what looked like scarring on his cheeks. There was something unsettling about the way he surveyed the crowd, like a bear eyeing salmon in a stream. He had an air of authority, and it was this above all that made Kathryn fearful. They wouldn’t send a ranking officer just to pick up a witness, especially not this late at night. He wasn’t police.

  A woman emerged from the customs hall and was moving with the crush of people. She had dirty blonde hair that fell forward over her face. She was looking down at a holdall, searching for something. She looked the right height, the right age.

  Kathryn glanced across at the man with the sign. He’d seen her too. The girl fished a mobile phone out of her bag and looked up. It wasn’t her. Kathryn’s fingers relaxed and emerged from her pocket. The man continued to stare intently at the girl, watching her drift closer. When she was just a few feet from him he held up his sign, his face breaking into a quizzical grin. She just looked straight through him and carried on past.

  The grin vanished and he returned to his surveillance. Kathryn did the same. By the time the last passenger drifted out into the concourse it was clear the girl had not been on this particular flight and Kathryn had learned two other things. Her instincts had been correct; the Sancti had indeed sent people to intercept the girl. And for whatever reason, they had no idea what she looked like.

  Chapter 46

  It was not yet two in the morning when Liv cleared customs and emerged into the high-ceilinged and airy arrivals hall. Expressionist murals and hanging sculptures filled its cavernous space. She recognized some of the more dramatic moments of Ruin’s long and bloody past from her in-flight reading.

  The energetic historical figures contrasted starkly with the real people shuffling about below them. There were a few sharp-suited business types, scrutinizing their laptops and BlackBerrys, but not many. Small herds of dead-eyed visitors trundled aimlessly across the marble floors while a couple of bored cops looked on, each with an automatic weapon slung over their shoulder.

  Most of the tourist traffic heading to Ruin flew into the larger airport north of Gaziantep as it was closer to the ancient stronghold. Liv hadn’t considered any of this when booking her ticket; she’d just bought the first flight she thought she could catch. According to the guidebook there were still plenty of buses to the ancient city from the old airport, but at this time of the morning she figured she’d probably have to splash out on a cab just as soon as she’d got hold of some local cash.

  As she scanned the place for a bureau de change she saw the tall, good-looking guy staring straight at her. She glanced past him at first, flustered by his direct gaze, then looked back. He was smiling at her now. She smiled back. Then he held up a card with her name written across it in magic marker.

  ‘Miss Adamsen?’ he asked, drifting closer.

  She nodded, not quite sure what to make of him.

  ‘Arkadian sent me,’ he explained. His voice was deep. It sounded like it belonged to someone older. There was no trace of an accent in it.

  ‘American?’ Liv asked.

  ‘I studied there,’ he said, the smile remaining cool and steady. ‘But don’t be impressed. This is a tourist town, everyone speaks English here.’

  She nodded as one mystery was solved, then frowned again as another presented itself.

  ‘How did you know which plane — ?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he cut in. ‘I’ve met the last few international flights on the off chance you’d be on one of them.’ He sounded pretty cheerful for a guy who’d been up half the night staking out an airport.

  ‘First one I could get. .’ she said, feeling bad he’d been landed such a crappy detail.

  ‘It’s not a problem.’ He pointed at the crumpled holdall dangling from her hand. ‘That your luggage?’

  ‘Yeah; but don’t worry, I got it.’ She hoisted it on to her shoulder and began following him across the shiny marble floor.

  You sure don’t get this kind of service in Jersey City, Liv thought as she fixed her eyes on the broad back cutting a swathe through the bovine knots of tourists. His long black trench coat billowed out behind him as he breezed along, giving him an air of dashing chivalry very much in keeping with the murals.

  She slipped into a slowly moving revolving door. In the confined space she found herself standing close enough to be enveloped by his scent. Clean, astringent, with hints of leather and citrus and something ancient and comforting — incense maybe. Most of the cops she knew generally considered Old Spice the height of sophistication. She glanced up. He was taller than she’d thought, and handsome in a traditional, tall, dark kind of way — his eyes blue and icy, though his hair wasn’t black, as she had first thought, but very dark brown. He was exactly the sort of man mothers warned their daughters about and fortune-tellers found lurking in crystal balls if you paid them enough.

  The revolving door spun them gently into the night and the smell of rain on concrete rinsed through her travel-numbed senses. It was the freshest thing she’d encountered in more than twelve hours, but in the twisted world of the nicotine addict all it did was remind her how much she needed a cigarette. She stopped just outside and opened her bag. ‘Where’re you parked?’

  The man turned and watched her fishing through the jumbled contents of her holdall. ‘Right there.’ He nodded towards the short-stay car park across the road.

  Liv glanced out into the rain-whipped night. ‘I packed in kind of a hurry,’ she said. ‘Don’t. . think. . I’ve got a coat in here.’

  The man held up his umbrella but Liv ignored it. She only had eyes for the crumpled pack of Luckies she’d finally managed to find. She tapped one out and plucked it from the packet with her mouth.

  ‘Bit windy,’ she said, hunching up her shoulders against the cold. ‘Don’t want you to bust your umbrella on my account. Tell you what. . why don’t you go get the car? I’ll stay here and have one of these, then I won’t get drenched and you won’t have to sue me for passive smoking.’

  The man hesitated, looked out at the sheets of rain gusting across the drop-off zone. ‘OK. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.’

  She watched him stride away, the wind grabbing the tails of his coat. She cupped her hand around the end of her cigarette, lit up and pulled nicotine and night air deep into her lungs. She breathed out, feeling the tension of the flight begin to melt and float away with the smoke. She stuffed the pack back into her bag, dug around until she found her cell phone and powered it up.

  A van swished by in the rain, passing a bus shelter across the way where a security guard appeared to be rousting three young people who’d tried to bed down for the night. They looked like students who’d been partying too hard, or just regular vagrants who spent their life being moved on from one place to the next.

  Welcome to Ruin. .

  The phone buzzed in Liv’s hand as it caught a signal. There were three missed calls and two new messages. She was shifting her thumb across the keypad to dial her voicemail when a nondescript Renault saloon pulled up in front of her. The window slid down and the well-dressed cop smiled at her from behind the wheel. He leaned across and popped open the back door.

  Liv took a final hungry drag on her cigarette, buried it in the sand-filled ashtray by the revolving door, then grabbed her bag and dashed across the wet sidewalk into the warm, dry comfort of the car.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she said, pulling the door closed and reaching for the safety belt.

  He put the car in gear and fell in line behind the cars and taxis pressing slowly towards th
e exit signs. ‘Gabriel,’ he said.

  ‘Like the angel?’

  She saw his eyes crinkle in the rear-view mirror. ‘Like the angel.’

  She leaned against the door and felt the weariness settle on her like a blanket. She was about to close her eyes when she remembered her messages. She dialled her voicemail and lifted the cell to her ear.

  ‘Who are you calling?’ the driver asked.

  ‘Just getting my messages.’ She stifled a yawn. ‘Where we headed exactly?’

  ‘Ruin,’ he said, steering away from the traffic and down a service road. ‘Where else?’

  Then, through the crackle of storm static, her first message started to play.

  Chapter 47

  ‘Hello. . er. . Miss Adamsen. This is Inspector Arkadian. I just wanted to say again how sorry. . for your loss. . e-mailed some photos to a Detective Berringer. . Newark PD. .’

  Liv pressed the phone hard against her ear as the static rose, swamping parts of the message.

  ‘He’ll call you in the. . formally ID the. . He can deal with everything his end. . don’t hesitate. . call me if you have an. .’

  The message ended and her eyes jerked to the man sitting behind the wheel. If Arkadian had sent pictures for her to ID, it meant he didn’t think she was coming. So why would he send someone to collect her? The second message started to play.

  ‘Hi, my name is Detective Berringer with the Newark City Police Department. .’