The Twelfth Ring (Noah Larsson Book 1)

by Sam Clarke

  ‘Have no fear, child,’ replied Viggo, even though the nurse was at least double his age, ‘we’re here in a chaperoning capacity.’

  The nurse narrowed her eyes. ‘Aren’t the two of you a bit young to be priests? I’ve seen older altar boys!’

  I wished I could sprout a beard on command and straightened my back in an attempt to gain a couple of centimetres. Viggo pushed Isabelle forward. ‘This is the daughter of the tourist who was shot last night,’ he said. ‘She just flew in from Jerusalem.’

  Isabelle tried to smile and removed her sunglasses. ‘Shalom.’

  The hangover, Miguel’s kidnapping, Viggo’s lack of interest and the Björn Borg mystery had taken their toll. She was a wreck. The nurse instantly felt sorry for her and escorted us to Ariel’s room.

  Not many people can look scary from a hospital bed, but Ariel was the exception. An I.V. was securely planted into his wrist and the regular beeping of the vitals machine confirmed, once and for all, that he was human. He recognised us immediately and switched off the TV. ‘Father,’ he said to Viggo, ‘I’m glad to see you.’

  ‘The pleasure is mine, child—’

  ‘Cut the performance short. My head’s very sore,’ barked Ariel, as soon as the nurse left.

  The thespian’s lips curved downwards. ‘I was just getting into character!’

  ‘Who did the feeble minds come as?’

  I thought my disguise was pretty obvious.

  ‘Meet Noah,’ replied Viggo, ‘a young seminarian, and Isabelle, your daughter.’

  ‘My daughter? I must have died and gone to hell.’

  With the niceties out of the way, Viggo dragged a plastic chair next to Ariel’s bed and sat down. ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘He was a poor shot and missed my vital organs.’

  Ariel sounded disappointed at having been shot by such a novice.

  ‘Surgery?’ probed Viggo.

  ‘Last night, two bullets removed. They sent them to the police.’

  ‘Damn it, if they match them to the discarded shells in the cathedral, your story will crumble. Why didn’t you stop them?’

  ‘I was under general anaesthesia.’

  It was the most infallible excuse I had ever heard.

  ‘How long will you be here for?’ continued Viggo.

  ‘Seven to ten days; if you need me faster, I can discharge myself.’

  ‘You just had surgery, let’s not push it. How are you handling the police investigation? Is your cover tight so far?’

  ‘It’s not tight, but it’s not blown. My presumed concussion is buying me time and my contact at the Israeli embassy is buying me a clean passport that will match the name I’ve given. Magnus will get a bill for it.’

  ‘Is he OK?’ I asked. My Adam’s apple went up and down my throat a few times and I braced myself for the worst.

  Ariel snorted. ‘He made it out. Unscathed. Typical Magnus. Last I saw him, he was sprinting towards the side door that leads to Via Minerva.’

  I was so relieved, I thought my heart was going to explode, good thing I was already in a hospital. I spontaneously hugged Isabelle, but she was as stiff as a pizza crust reheated too many times. I didn’t take offence, her stiffness had nothing to do with my (possibly unwelcome) embrace. I knew exactly what she was going through. I squeezed her hand for support. It felt natural. ‘My father?’ she whispered.

  ‘As far as I know, still captive,’ said Ariel. Her eyes filled with tears, he took no notice and turned to Viggo. ‘What’s your next move?’

  ‘Ever been to the Palermo safe house?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Plan B then.’

  Viggo gently squeezed Ariel’s I.V. and tried to read the label. ‘Yes, Plan B. We’re off to Palermo. With the ring.’

  ‘Leave the I.V. alone. Did you say with?’

  He grinned. ‘I most certainly did.’

  Ariel grimaced. Or smiled back. ‘Magnus will be impressed. When he makes contact, I’ll send him your way.’

  ‘How will he find you?’ I asked, keen to see my father in the flesh.

  ‘Same way you did,’ he droned, reaching for the remote control. ‘I’m a TV star now.’

  CHAPTER 41

  Viggo rang the bell of an unremarkable building in Monreale, a small town on the outskirts of Palermo. A security camera trained its lonely eye on us and a polite voice spoke through intercom. ‘Desidera?’

  ‘Um… we don’t speak Italian,’ began Viggo.

  The faceless voice switched to Cambridge English. ‘How may I be of assistance?’

  ‘Is Mr Baldwin home?’

  I made the connection with King Baldwin of Jerusalem. ‘Access code?’ asked the voice.

  ‘This is an impromptu visit, there wasn’t time to request one.’

  Some static buzz came through the intercom. ‘One, two, zero, three,’ recited the voice.

  Isabelle and I traded quizzical looks. ‘Philippe de Plessis,’ replied Viggo, without missing a beat.

  ‘One, one, eight, three.’

  ‘Arnold de Torroja.’

  ‘One, two, nine, zero.’

  He clasped his hand to his forehead.

  ‘One, two, nine, zero,’ repeated the voice.

  ‘Thomas… no, wait! Guillaume de Beaujeu.’

  The door buzzed open. The voice was reciting calendar years and Viggo had successfully passed the Grand Masters bingo. We entered a windowless and poorly lit reception area. The dark panelling of the walls added to the general gloom. A stern looking man indicated a burgundy sofa. He was taller than average and extremely pale, not surprising given that he was working in an upmarket catacomb. His pointy face was elongated, as if he pulled it every morning before brushing his teeth. He reminded me of Christopher Lee in the 1970’s version of Count Dracula. The safe house was the opposite of welcoming, no newspapers, no refreshments, not even a teeny-tiny mint. Dracula’s presence didn’t help. He summoned Viggo closer to the desk and produced a fountain pen and a clipboard. They kept their voices low, but it was impossible not to overhear. ‘I need to check some details,’ said Dracula.

  ‘Check-away.’

  Dracula stiffened. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I’m sorry. Yes, sir.’

  ‘I presume you have a good reason for bringing your charges in here? I’m certain they don’t belong.’

  ‘I do, let me explain—’

  ‘Name?’ asked Dracula curtly.

  ‘Viggo Gustafsson.’

  The Count put the pen down. ‘Gustafsson?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Without a word, Dracula reached for a fingerprint scanner. Viggo placed his index on the reader. The machine sent some information to Dracula’s terminal. Our ghostly host picked up the phone and babbled something in Italian. All I got was Viggo’s name. A door swung open and, before I could make a sound, I was being crushed by my father’s embrace. ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ he said, letting go of me and then hugging me again. He eventually released me and pulled Isabelle to his chest. Viggo had to make do with a series of energetic slaps on the back. ‘You did well, Viggo, you did very well.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He grinned and clapped my shoulder. ‘I had the best wing man I could have wished for.’

  My father, still in his running gear, took a step back and pretended to admire our cassocks. ‘Ariel warned me you had gone for a more mature look. It suits you.’

  We all chuckled, apart from Dracula.

  ‘How did you get here so fast?’ I asked.

  ‘Long story. Tell me, do you really have the ring?’

  Isabelle lifted her hand. We had purchased enough cheap bling to decorate a rapper’s entourage and her fingers were encrusted with a variety of tacky trinkets. The priceless medieval seal was happily sitting amongst all the other junk. She slipped it off and placed it into my father’s open palm.

  ‘The three of you have surpassed yourselves,’ he said, closing his fist firmly over it. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

  We followed him throug
h a side door. The rest of the building was as gloomy as the reception area. We reached a windowless basement illuminated by industrial neon lights. State of the art safes lined the entire perimeter of the underground chamber. My father programmed one of them to recognise his retina and placed the ring inside. He then turned to us. ‘I need to call Knut. Let’s meet in two hours. There is a lot we need to discuss.’ He summoned one of the guards who was standing by the entrance and asked him to escort us to our rooms.

  The safe house was Spartan, essential and, most of all, shrouded in secrecy. Getting from one area to the other required clearing various checkpoints and inquisitive CCTV cameras monitored the guests’ every move. I was dying to explore, but an impassive sentinel – I didn’t know how else to describe the watchmen planted all over the place – advised me to return to my room until further notice. I showered and inspected my tiny wardrobe. It was stocked with a selection of anonymous clothes in various sizes. I dumped my cassock in favour of a pair of grey jogging bottoms and a white t-shirt. The bedroom’s phone rang. My father, Viggo and Isabelle were waiting downstairs.

  #

  After a short drive, we arrived at a deserted pizzeria where my father had the nerve to ask for a quiet table. We all wore grey jogging bottoms, apart from Viggo who had managed to source a pair of cargo shorts. Our starters arrived together with a jug of home-made lemonade and two ice-cold beers. ‘How did you beat us to Monreale?’ I asked my father, while stealing a grilled aubergine from under Viggo’s nose. ‘When we saw Ariel, you hadn’t made contact yet.’

  ‘I missed you by an hour.’

  ‘You got here really fast, did you steal a car or something?’ My joke was met with an embarrassing silence. I nearly choked on the aubergine. ‘You did?’

  My father spread his palms upwards. ‘It was an emergency. You didn’t exactly purchase your cassocks, did you?’

  ‘Point taken. What did you do after the shooting?’

  ‘I left the cathedral through a side door and kept a low profile.’

  I was fine with his explanation, but Isabelle’s female intuition detected something fishy. ‘And where exactly did you keep this low profile?’ she asked.

  Another embarrassing silence followed. My father pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had superglued it to his face and wanted to make sure it stuck. Viggo put two and two together and teased him in a deep, Darth Vader voice. ‘I sense you misused your powers of seduction. Do we know her?’

  My father took a sip of his beer and unsuccessfully tried to look unfazed. ‘A gentleman never tells.’

  I was incredibly embarrassed, this type of conversation never happened with mum. The day we had “the talk” had been one of the most excruciating of my life. Thankfully, she had never touched on the subject again. I was a bit curious about this woman’s identity, but the prospect of hearing about my father’s romantic interlude was beyond awkward. Isabelle leaned towards him, fists clenched. ‘You’re despicable! Spending the night with a mystery woman while my father is at the mercy of his captors!’

  He got his nose closer to hers. ‘Let me assure you, that woman wasn’t an experience I’d like to repeat!’

  Irrespective of my ignorance in such matters, I doubted it could have been such a traumatic episode. My father didn’t exactly come across as a shrinking violet. ‘I returned to the hotel straight after the shooting,’ he continued, ‘but the Russians had beaten me to it. They went to our rooms and wiped them clean. Miguel was with them, as far as I could tell he was unharmed. I couldn’t challenge them by myself, but I managed to delay them.’

  ‘How?’ I asked.

  ‘I slashed the tyres of their people carrier.’ The line between seeker and vandal seemed to be a thin one. He carried on. ‘No mechanic would come out at that time of night so they ordered two taxis through the reception desk. I waited for them to leave and went in, Alessandra was on duty—’

  ‘So your lady-friend was Alessandra the receptionist?’ Isabelle’s tone couldn’t have been more condemnatory.

  ‘I wish!’ replied my father, clearly no longer bothered by Alessandra’s unfamiliarity with rotary dial phones. ‘Anyway, Alessandra had booked the taxis for the Russians and eventually, as long as I promised to leave her out of it, agreed to give me the destination address. The place where they’re keeping Miguel isn’t that far from here.’

  ‘That’s great!’ I said. ‘When are we going?’

  He sighed. ‘Noah, Isabelle, there is something I need to tell you. Something very important.’

  I held my breath. Was he finally going to come clean about his Templar associations? I braced myself for the official revelation and offered a smile of encouragement. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘You must go home.’

  The smile died on my lips. Go home? I had no home! Mum was in Lebanon, so home was supposed to be with him! I wasn’t even upset, not yet, just stunned. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You must go home,’ he repeated.

  I looked at Viggo for support, but his eyes were conveniently glued to his feet. Isabelle seemed mildly relieved. Going home wasn’t as much of a tragedy for her as it was for me. ‘I don’t get it, what did I do wrong?’ I asked.

  ‘You didn’t do anything wrong,’ replied my father. ‘But I have.’

  ‘Here we go again!’ I huffed. ‘You make a mistake and I pay the consequences!’

  ‘Those are pretty harsh words!’

  ‘But true.’

  He fiddled with the tablecloth. Viggo cautiously looked up from his feet, but only to reach for the last aubergine. My father turned to him and Isabelle. ‘Can you give us a few minutes?’

  Viggo stood up and offered her his arm. ‘Come Princess, I’ll show you the lobster tank.’

  Destination aside, they could have passed for a loved-up couple. My father turned his piercing eyes on me. ‘Noah, I’m doing this for you. You’re a smart kid, by now you’ve figured out that my life is very… unusual.’

  ‘And I adapted. I even found the twelfth ring!’

  ‘You have,’ he said, with a faint smile. ‘And I couldn’t be more proud. But I’m afraid Knut was right, I can’t protect you. I thought I could, I truly did, but last night proved me wrong. I put you in harm’s way and I nearly lost you. I’ve never been so scared in my whole life. And I don’t scare easily.’

  I scowled. ‘So that’s it? You’ll return me like an unwanted package because your stint as a father was more complicated than expected?’

  He exhaled. ‘Noah, if anything happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.’

  ‘It’s all about you, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter how I feel.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’

  ‘You’re damn right it’s not!’ I yelled.

  ‘Calm down, I’m trying to have an adult conversation here.’

  ‘Really? Because I don’t feel like an adult at all, you’re making all the decisions and my opinion counts for nothing.’

  ‘I wish things were different…’

  ‘Then change them for God’s sake! With you it’s always one step forward and ten steps back, but the bottom line is that you always have, and always will, come first. You waltz in and out of my life when you feel like it and I have to put up with it.’

  ‘Put up with it? Is that how you really feel?’

  ‘Yes, whenever I think we’re making progress, you pull the rug from under my feet. This emotional drain is getting harder and harder to handle!’ My heart was pumping pure bitterness. ‘In fact, you know what? We should stick to seeing each other once a year.’ I smacked the table with the flat of my hand, it was harder than I expected. ‘I’m such an idiot!’

  ‘Why?’ he asked, without contradicting me, which would have been nice.

  ‘Because I believed you cared. Did you know that one of my best moments was seeing you go against Knut to keep me with you? And do you know why? Because that’s what fathers do, they stand by their children, they don’t abandon them at the first hurd
le or to chase fantastic creatures.’

  He snorted. ‘And what could you possibly know about fatherhood?’

  ‘Thanks to you, absolutely nothing.’

  My words hit home. He went eerily quiet and bit the nail of his thumb. His other hand was curled into a tight fist, I hoped it wouldn’t fly in my face. The waiter brought our pizzas, I shoved my plate to one side. ‘When am I going?’ I asked emotionlessly.

  ‘Let’s talk about this—’

  ‘Just tell me when. I really don’t want to hear any more platitudes on how you want to change the world, but you can’t.’

  There was a long pause.

  ‘A couple of weeks from now,’ he said softly. ‘I doubt your mother will be able to return any sooner. First thing tomorrow, I’ll take you to a secure location. Later in the day, Viggo and I will extract Miguel. Whether we succeed or fail, there’s no telling about possible repercussions, so staying with me for the next few months is no longer an option. If all goes well, I’ll join you at the secure location until it’s time for you to go back. Then I’ll return to Valhalla and wait for the dust to settle. Or unsettle.’

  ‘And if all doesn’t go well?’

  ‘Then Knut will take care of everything. And I’ll no longer be around.’

  ‘So, either way, it makes no difference to me.’

  I knew my words were caustic, but I didn’t care. I hoped they burned through his soul, like his perpetual rejection was burning through mine.

  ‘Noah, it doesn’t have to be this way. I’ll speak to Katie about the custody arrangement, I’ll visit more often.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’ I could feel my lip trembling, but there was no way I was going to cry in front of him. ‘I need some air, I’m going for a walk.’

  I pushed the chair back and made for the door. I walked at a deliberately fast pace, in an attempt to leave my excuse-for-a-father behind. Someone was running after me, I walked faster. ‘Dude, wait up,’ shouted Viggo.

  I swirled to face him, furious and hurt. ‘Did you know about this?’

  ‘No. I only knew you were not coming on the Miguel thing because Magnus asked me to submit the details of the extraction plan with the relevant… um… office. I had no idea you were going home.’