Ten minutes later Cade was being escorted into the abbot’s office, a Spartan room that contained little in the way of furniture and even less in material comforts. Cade mentally approved and felt bad for the subterfuge he was about to engage in, but it couldn’t be helped.
“What can we do for you, Monsignor?” asked the abbot, a tall, slender fellow with a narrow face, thin lips, and a high forehead. He pointed to a wooden chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Cade shook his head. “Sorry to disturb you unannounced,” he began, knowing he didn’t sound sorry at all; all part of the persona. “His Eminence, Cardinal Bollinger, has ordered that an inventory be taken of all relics currently in the hands of the Church. I have been ordered to view each and every relic personally and to report on their storage and care.”
The abbot seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Quite the task,” he said.
Cade smiled ruefully. “That it is. Ours not to question why and all that.”
“Quite right. I do not have anything on my schedule this morning so why don’t I take you to see the Hand myself?”
Cade nodded in thanks. “That would be fine.”
The abbot tried to make small talk about life in Rome as he led Cade through the complex to the cathedral and Cade fielded his questions as best he could. The cathedral was just what Cade expected for one built in the 1500s – soaring ceilings and buttresses upon buttresses, with an altar decorated in gold and precious gems. The abbot walked through the nave, or center, of the church, skirted the altar and walked along the outer edge of the north transept until he came to a small wooden door half-hidden in the paneling. He removed a key from around his neck and used it to unlock the door.
“This is the Chapel of the Sacred Hand,” the abbot told Cade, as he turned on the lights via a switch to his right. “The reliquary containing the artifact is kept in an alcove inside the chapel and the door to the room is always kept locked.”
“How many keys are there and who has access to them?” Cade asked, as he pretended to examine the door. What he was really looking at was the lock; it was an old-fashioned tumbler lock that he knew he could have open inside of three seconds.
“Just two. A master key, which I carry at all times, and a key specifically for this lock which is kept in my office and used only on the days when the chapel is to be cleaned.”
“How often is that?”
“Once per week.”
“I see. May I?” Cade asked, gesturing ahead of them.
The abbot bowed slightly. “Of course, Monsignor.”
Cade stepped into the room. It was small, maybe eight by eight, at best, and contained four rows of wooden benches arranged before the alcove at the back of the room holding the reliquary.
The reliquary itself was impossible to miss. It was an ornate gold and glass enclosure, shaped like a miniature cathedral, with tall panes of glass like the windows on the church through which the penitent could see the relic. The rear of the alcove was lined with mirrored glass, no doubt intended to reflect the beauty of the reliquary so as to make it appear larger than it actually was.
Inside the reliquary, on a red satin pillow, was the mummified hand of a human being.
The skin, brown with age and cracked in several places, looked more like shoe leather than human flesh. The fingers were unusually long and were slightly curled toward their tips, the nails dark grey and lusterless. The palm was intact and there was about an inch of the wrist attached.
Church legend had it that this was the hand of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, a former French abbot, founder of the Cysterian order, and known through history as a man heavily involved in the Second Crusade. Cade’s research had shown that Bernard died in 1153 and had originally been buried at Clairvaux Abbey, only to be exhumed and have his remains moved to Troyes Cathedral in 1792.
And that’s where things get interesting, Cade thought. When the body was exhumed, it was discovered that Bernard’s entire right arm was perfectly preserved, almost as if he’d been laid to rest that very afternoon instead of six hundred some-odd years before. Soldiers lopped the arm off at the elbow and reburied Bernard without it. In time, miracles began to be associated with the relic, healings and resurrections and the like, and when word got back to the Church, the Pope ordered a full investigation. Cade didn’t know what had happened to the rest of the arm, only that the hand had eventually come to rest as a holy relic in the care of the brothers at the monastery, where it had spent the last three hundred years.
He studied the case for a moment, the abbot by his side, and then turned to face the other man.
“Alarms?” he asked.
The abbot looked sheepish as he said, “No. The Abbey’s resources are strained enough as it is and we couldn’t afford the monitoring costs. Too far outside the city, we were told.”
Cade shook his head, by all appearances commiserating with the difficulties the abbot faced, but inside he was smiling. He’d been afraid the Hand would be locked away behind museum quality security systems, which would have taken considerable effort to penetrate. He could have defeated them given enough time, but was pleased to find that doing so wasn’t going to be necessary.
They continued in that vein for several minutes, with Cade asking about ambient air temperatures, cleaning procedures, and the like. Eventually he ran out of questions to ask, but at the same time decided that he’d established his cover strongly enough that the abbot would be unlikely to check up on his bona fides. He thanked the abbot for his time and then took his leave, nodding at the monk manning the gate as he returned to his car. He spun the car in a half-circle, glanced at the monastery one last time, and headed down the mountain.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cade didn’t go far, however, traveling for only about fifteen minutes before he saw the overgrown entrance to a narrow forest road he’d spotted on his way up the hill. He turned onto it and drove the rental car deep amongst the trees, far enough away that he wouldn’t be seen from the road and parked.
He dined on the sandwiches he’d bought from the café earlier but husbanded the three water bottles he had with him, wanting to make them last the afternoon. As the sun went down he began planning his infiltration.
Aside from the stone wall extending around the property, there was little in the way of actual security that he was going to have to deal with, for which he was thankful. He should be able to get in, snatch the Hand, and get back out without incident. Once he had, it would be a simple matter to return to the airport with the hand in his diplomatic bags and catch a flight back to New York.
Satisfied that he had the situation under control, he leaned the driver’s seat back and settled in to grab a little rest.
He went over the wall just after midnight.
His internal clock had woken him just after eleven. He grabbed his bag, got out of the car, and stood beside it in the cold night air while changing into the black running suit and sneakers he’d selected for the job. He pulled a black watch cap over his head and blackened his face with some camo paint he’d brought along for just that purpose. Last but not least, he slung his sword case over his back and strapped it into place so that the blade could be drawn easily in an over-the-shoulder style. He didn’t plan on using it that night, but then again, it was the things one didn’t plan for that were always the trouble.
He set off through the woods for the monastery and because he was able to go in a straight line, more or less, rather than following the winding mountain road, he was able to reach the exterior of the complex in just under twenty minutes.
The wall surrounding the complex wasn’t more than ten feet high and with a short, running start Cade was able to put one foot against the wall and boot himself high enough to grab the top of the wall with both hands. From there it was simply a matter of pulling himself up and onto the top.
The section of the wall where he crouched was in darkness so he stayed there a moment, looking around. The cathedral was off to hi
s right, across an open expanse of ground, but he wasn’t concerned; there weren’t any lights or roving guard patrols to deal with and he was confident in his ability to reach the building without being seen. He didn’t see anyone in the courtyard, so he hopped down to the ground and began moving cautiously along the inside of the wall, staying to the shadows as much as possible.
The main entrance was well-lit, so he ignored it, heading instead around to the south side of the building. While touring the facility earlier with the abbot, he’d seen a side door at the back of the south transept through which he could gain access to the interior of the cathedral and he headed for that.
As expected, there was only a single bulb casting a weak light over the door. Even better, the door was unlocked.
Inside, the cathedral was dark, with only a few nighttime security spots here and there in the room providing just enough illumination to see by. Cade paused inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the shadows, wanting to be certain that the sanctuary was empty before he made his move. When he was satisfied that it was, he slipped through the transept, passed the altar, and went to the door to the chapel on the other side of the building.
The chapel was locked, just as it had been earlier. Cade pulled a set of thin metal picks out of his pocket and went to work. Thirty seconds later he had the door open. He stepped inside the room, letting the door shut gently behind him.
Cade didn’t bother with the lights. Instead, he took a small flashlight out of his pocket and flicked it on. The red lens preserved his night vision while still giving him enough light to work by. Now able to see, he moved to the reliquary.
He didn’t have the patience nor the time for subtlety. He slid the blade of the knife into the crack between the door and the frame of the reliquary and then struck the hilt sharply with the palm of his other hand. The tiny lock wasn’t designed to withstand the kind of pressure the blow delivered and popped open with a metallic twang.
After putting the knife away, Cade reached into the case and withdrew the Hand. He could feel the power emanating from the thing and was suddenly very glad for the gloves he habitually wore. Given his Gift he didn’t want to think about what it would have been like to touch the relic with his bare flesh. He wrapped it in a piece of satin he took from his pocket and then slipped the now-wrapped relic into the messenger bag he’d brought along.
Satisfied, he turned…
…only to find that he was no longer alone.
An elderly monk, clad in the Benedictine Order’s usual brown robe and sandals, had just entered the room. He looked up in surprise at discovering he wasn’t alone and saw Cade right about the same moment that the former Templar commander saw him.
He’s gonna yell, Cade thought and instinctively went for his sword.
“Le voleur! Vol…”
The flat side of Cade’s sword blade struck the monk just above the ear, sending him crashing to the ground.
Cade rushed over to the older man, worried he might have to deliver another blow to keep the old man quiet, but there was no need. Cade’s first blow knocked the man into unconsciousness and there was already an egg-sized lump forming on the edge of his skull.
“Sorry, old-timer,” Cade muttered, feeling bad that he had to resort to violence, but happy that he hadn’t been forced to kill the monk.
But the damage had been done.
Voices suddenly erupted through the sanctuary on the other side of the door and Cade knew the old man’s cries had been heard. He crossed to the door and opened it slightly, trying to see as much as he could through the narrow opening.
At least three men, possibly more, were headed in his direction, pointing toward the chapel and talking excitedly between themselves. They had clearly heard the monk’s cries and were no doubt coming to investigate.
“Damn it!” Cade swore and glanced around hurriedly, looking for another way out, but the door he was standing next to was the only way in or out of the chapel. The minute Cade opened the door even a fraction of an inch more they would see him and once that happened he’d have to fight his way through. There was no other way to get around them in the narrow confines of the transept.
He was trapped!
He backed away from the door, sword in hand, wanting to give himself enough room to maneuver if the men came through. He was looking at the reliquary, wondering if he could lift it easily enough to use it as a missile to toss at the other men’s heads as they entered the room, when his gaze fell upon the mirrored glass covering the walls at the back of the alcove.
Mirrors.
Cade smiled at the sight.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Riley intended to spend most of the day following Cade's disappearance running down information about the men in the warehouse, trying to find something that might link them to the Necromancer, but that path quickly turned into a dead-end.
Thanks to the fact that all of the deceased had been arrested for minor issues in the past - vagrancy, public drunkenness and disturbing the peace, to name a few - he was able to identify them quickly through fingerprint analysis. After studying their records for a short time, one thing was clear. To a man, they were unremarkable in every way.
The morning had barely begun, however, when he received a call from Preceptor Johannson. It seemed that a monastery in France had been burglarized the previous evening.
“The thief made off with a holy relic, the Hand of St. Bernard of Clairvaux,” the Preceptor said.
Riley had never heard of it and said as much.
“I’ll spare you the history lesson,” the Preceptor replied, with more than a hint of condescension in his tone, “and simply say that the Hand was rumored to be able to heal the sick and to raise the dead. It’s the latter that we’re concerned with.”
Riley would have bet the Preceptor had never heard of the relic before that morning, but he ignored the veiled insult and asked, “What makes you think it was the Necromancer?”
“The Hand has been in the monastery for hundreds of years undisturbed. Then the Necromancer escapes and suddenly one of the few holy relics that have been linked to resurrecting the dead suddenly goes missing? That’s too much of a coincidence for me, Knight Captain.”
It was thin, but it was the best lead he had at the moment.
“How many injured and dead?” Riley asked.
“One.”
He frowned. “One?”
“An elderly monk was injured when he surprised the intruder, but he wasn’t alone and several other monks came to his aide. In the process, the thief escaped.”
Riley’s doubts returned. The Necromancer had left a pile of bodies in his wake during both his escape and the subsequent ritual he performed at the warehouse. Doing so was practically his signature at this point. Hell, if given the chance he’d probably kill just to flex his powers and bring the dead back under his control.
So why hadn’t he done the same at the monastery? Why had he allowed the monks to live?
Riley was still trying to make sense of that when the Preceptor said, “There’s a jet standing by at La Guardia to take you and your team to Paris. I want you over there while the trail is still hot. Find this guy and find him quickly!”
Cade burst back into this world with the sound of breaking glass and a body-slam that knocked the wind out of him as he crashed to the floor. He laid there, staring at the wood floor mere inches from his face, and wondered just where in Creation he was.
Travel through the Beyond was always…interesting. Time and distance worked differently there so Cade not only didn’t know where he was but he also didn’t know what day or time it was. Mere moments could have passed since he’d launched himself through the mirror at the back of the chapel; but hours, even days were just as likely. The only thing he knew for sure was that he’d returned to the world in the same way he’d gone out of it.
Through a mirror.
The one he’d come through was in the bathroom of a small home somewhere. Moonlight seeped
through the window at his back, casting the room in its silvery glow. The pedestal sink, over which the remains of the mirror still hung, and the claw-foot tub beside it looked to be originals rather than pricey upgrades and the stain on the wooden floor was worn in places but had been lovingly touched up in the past.
His sword and his messenger bag made it back with him and he took a moment just to double check that the hand of glory was still inside. Satisfied that he hadn’t lost the very thing he went all the way to France to collect, Cade headed for the door.
It opened into a narrow hallway, lit by a nightlight plugged in to a socket across from the bathroom door. By its light Cade could see that there were doors to his left, all closed, and a staircase to his right. He quickly descended the stairs, made his way through the small living room, and let himself out the front door just as lights turned on through the rest of the house.
He hurried down the drive and only glanced back when he reached the road. The house was a small farmhouse, empty fields stretching out behind it in the moonlight for as far as he could see.
No help that way.
Cade turned and began trudging up the road away from the farmhouse. It was a cold night and he knew he wasn’t adequately dressed for it; he’d intended to be back in his warm car long before this. The cold was eventually going to play a factor and he knew he either needed to find a ride or shelter. For now, he tucked his head down into his collar as best he could, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together as he marched methodically up the road.
Fifteen minutes later the road he was walking on ended in a T-intersection with another, larger road. He glanced both ways, saw lights reflecting off the undersides of the clouds in the distance and headed in that direction. A few minutes later he came upon a roadside sign.
Toulouse 5 Km
Paris 426 Km
Infernal Cries: An Echo Team Urban Fantasy Novel Page 9
