Secrets from the Dark Horizon: A Reader's Companion Guide (The Dark Horizon Trilogy Book 0)
Page 1
Contents
Title
Dedication
Exclusive Free Download
Introduction
Who is Vincent Blake?
Exclusive Extract of The History of Things to Come
PART 1: THE LOCATION FILES
The London Location Files
London Location Map
Location 1: Boodle's Club
Location 2: The London Library
Location 3: Freemasons Hall
Location 4: Hunterian Museum
Location 5: St Clement Danes
Location 6: Fountain Court
Location 7: Gresham College
Location 8: Temple Church
Location 9: Ye Olde Mitre Tavern
Location 10: The Temple Bar Memorial
Location 11: Jerusalem Tavern
Location 12: The Site of the old Priory of St John’s
Location 13: St. Paul’s Cathedral
Location 14: Canonbury Tower
Location 15: Guildhall
Location 16: Crossbones Graveyard
Location 17: The London Stone
Location 18: St Mary Woolnoth
Location 19: Circus Space
Location 20: The Monument to the Great Fire of London
Location 21: St Helen's Bishopsgate
Location 22: The Masonic Temple at the Andaz Hotel
Location 23: The Site of St John Horsleydown
Location 24: London Wall
Location 25: The Minories
Location 26: Christchurch, Spitalfields
Location 27: St George-in-the-East
Location 28: St Dunstan and All Saints, Stepney
The Cambridge Location Files
Location 1: The Wren Library
The Jerusalem Location Files
Location 1: Temple Mount
Location 2: Cathedral of St James
Location 3: Church of the Holy Sepulchre
PART 2: THE PEOPLE FILES
St John the Baptist
Constantine the Great
Saint Helena
Isaac Newton
Christopher Wren
Nicholas Hawksmoor
PART 3: THE BACKGROUND FILES
The Third Temple
The Knights Templar
Baphomet
Freemasonry
The Establishment of the Royal Society
Prehistoric London
PART 4: THE BACKGROUND FILES
The Dark Horizon Trilogy
Book 1: The History of Things to Come
Book 2: The Devil's Architect
Book 3: The Infinite Fire
Bibliography
Acknowledgements
About the Author
FAQ
Exclusive Free Download
Make a Big Difference
Legals & Copyright
For Katie, Tamsin, Louis and Finley, with all my love.
This is exclusive to my mailing list: you can’t get this anywhere else.
JUST CLICK HERE
Introduction
The Dark Horizon Trilogy is a mystery-thriller series packed full of action, cryptic clues, history, religion and intrigue. The adventures of Vincent Blake, London’s leading stolen-art investigator, have entertained and intrigued thousands of readers around the globe. Although the Dark Horizon Trilogy is a work of fiction, it is rooted in a world of historical facts. Readers often ask how much is fiction and how much is really true. I have written the Secrets from the Dark Horizon to answer this question and provide a helpful resource for the curious reader who wants to separate truth from speculation. This volume will redraw the missing line between fact and fiction and reveal the fascinating history and true events peppered throughout the novels.
Designed as a pocket reference book, Secrets from the Dark Horizon brings alive the legends, locations, facts, and background material to the series. Jam-packed with fascinating research and chock full of informational tidbits, the guide opens a window on 3,000 years of history. With this guide in hand, you will follow Vincent Blake in his breath-taking race through London and its dark historical secrets.
In many ways, the city of London has a starring role in the Dark Horizon novels. Much of the background detail of the stories involves real locations. For more than twenty years, I have been a keen student of the history of city. It is a city of two personalities; one light and one dark, one visible and one hidden. But above all, it is endlessly fascinating.
During my research into the ancient stories and myths surrounding the city—and often through sheer chance—I have discovered some fascinating places. A great many of them I have used as scene locations and plot devices in the trilogy. They lie undiscovered like golden coins lying on the pavement, waiting for a warm pocket to slip into. A large number of these sites remain unacknowledged, concealed behind the polished granite exterior of a vibrant modern city. For me, these are some of the hidden jewels of the place.
This is a different kind of companion. It is a guidebook to a concealed city and takes the reader on a fascinating journey through the dark shadows of the featured locations. You'll discover hidden layers and mysterious secrets. The locations are all plotted out in a custom-designed map, or a ‘treasure map’ … of sorts. If you take the time to accept the quest, you will indeed find treasure. The rewards are not physical, however: they are measured in the quiet thrill of discovering a new perspective on something that you once thought familiar. This compendium is intended to be both a standalone armchair read as well as a practical tourist guide. To this end, I have included ‘how-to-get there’ information for each site so you can easily visit the locations for yourself.
The key locations featured within the trilogy are identified on the map: from The Jerusalem Tavern (Vincent Blake’s favourite watering hole) and the sinister configuration of Nicolas Hawksmoor’s city churches to the location of the Roman eagle dug out of the earth at the Minories in 2013. They are all here, along with the ancient stories and myths surrounding each location. Part guide, part history, this book also investigates popular Templar legends including the mysteries of Solomon's Temple in Jerusalem and the Masonic connections of the historical figures featured in the trilogy.
In conclusion, it is my sincere hope that this small work will act as a catalyst for your own personal journey. Perhaps it will even to prompt you to follow in Blake’s footsteps and head out on your own adventure.
Duncan Simpson
London
Who is Vincent Blake?
Dr Vincent Blake is London’s leading stolen-art investigator. Working at the fringes of the legitimate trade in rare and antique objects, he’s the man the police call when all other avenues have failed. Blake’s methods are unorthodox, but his results are undeniable. Early tragedy in his life has left its scars, both inside and out. Educated at Oxford in history and archaeology, Blake is anything but the ordinary academic. With a background in British Military Intelligence, he uses his exceptional knowledge to uncover the truth, battle against chilling adversaries and solve mysteries that stretch back over centuries. Operating under his own personal code, coupled with a general disregard for authority, he often chooses what he deems to be right, rather than what is legal. He is the brilliant maverick who can’t seem to stay out of trouble.
In the Dark Horizon Trilogy, Blake faces challenges beyond his imagination and is thrown headlong into a sinister world of danger, intrigue, deception and forbidden knowledge. Read about the damaged hero that review
ers are describing as ‘more intriguing and complex than Dan Brown’s Robert Langdon’.
Exclusive extract from The History of Things to Come, the first electrifying instalment of The Dark Horizon Trilogy.
Prologue
15 July 1936
Sotheby’s & Co.
The sound of the auctioneer’s gavel echoed through the large hall like a rifle shot. With the tension in the proceedings momentarily released, the assembled group of private collectors, dealers and museum representatives shuffled in their seats, ready for the next sales lot. The auctioneer peered over his wireframe spectacles at the packed audience before him. Squinting slightly in the afternoon sunlight, he looked around the room for a second and then back to the sales catalogue perched on the lectern.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, now we come to Lot 249: a miscellaneous collection of Isaac Newton’s papers concerning the history of the Early Church. This unusual lot also includes a volume from Newton’s own personal library.’
As the auctioneer read aloud from the sales brochure, a man wearing brown overalls placed an open wooden box on the table beside the lectern. Its contents, several large bundles of paper tied together by loops of brown string, shifted inside the box as the man tilted it to afford the audience a better view. Resting against the largest bundle was a small book whose vivid crimson cover seemed to illuminate the bottom of the box.
‘Let us start the bidding at £500.’
The exchange of bids was immediate, and within a minute the auctioneer’s starting price doubled. Soon, the bidders were reduced to two men sitting uncomfortably close to each other in the centre of the hall. The room looked on in silence, as the men batted offer and then counter-offer back and forwards.
Suddenly, the auctioneer’s attention was drawn to the back of the hall. After a pause, he nodded and announced a bid of £3,000. A chorus of gasps was accompanied by the sound of shifting seats on the wooden floor, as the audience swung round to follow the auctioneer’s sightline. A man, his face slatted in light and shadow, stood alone against the back wall.
‘I have £3,000. Thank you, sir. Do I have any more bids?’
The auctioneer’s request was met by the resigned shaking of heads from the previous two bidders.
‘Thank you, sir. £3,000. Going once … Going twice … Sold to the gentleman at the back of the room.’
The strike of the gavel sounded once again through the auction hall.
‘Let us move on. Lot 250: parts 1 and 2 of Newton’s unpublished treatise on the transmutation of metals. Let’s start the bidding at say £300.’
The buyer of the previous lot was approached from the side by a man with ink-black hair carrying a clipboard. ‘Congratulations, sir, on your purchase,’ he said in a hushed, respectful tone. ‘I am the auction clerk for today’s sale. Please may I take some details from you?’
The man nodded and, from the inside pocket of his exquisitely tailored jacket, retrieved a silver business-card holder. He opened it and handed the auction clerk a printed card.
Dr Roberto Martinelli
Books & Manuscript Broker
Representative of the Vatican
Chapter 1
Monday 1 December
Bullets don’t fly through the air in straight lines: they progress in an arc according to Newton’s laws of motion. Many factors can influence the arc of travel, but at the relative short flight distance of 330 metres, the Drakon could ignore the bullet’s marginal gravitational drop. Tonight, the most significant influence on the flight of the projectile would be the southwesterly wind gusting down Marshall Street.
All was quiet in the vacant fourth-floor Soho flat except for the discordant sound of a glass cutter working against the windowpane. With a careful twist of the suction handle, the Drakon freed a small circle of glass from the window base, and with it came a sudden rush of cold air from the street below. Moments later, the bipod legs of the Soviet-made SVD Dragunov sniper rifle were opened out, and a curved ten-round box magazine clicked into place. It was nearly eight o’clock. It was time. Things had got sloppy. There would be no more mistakes.
The Drakon quickly drew the bolt in and out, moving a single round into the firing chamber. Nuzzling into the stock, the Drakon breathed in the distinctive odour of factory gun oil. The weapon smelt new. A magnified eye blinked down the length of the telescopic sight as a pair of crosshairs focused on the head of a stone lion. Forming part of the coat of arms carved into the limestone façade of the restaurant below, its outline was now crystal clear. Soon the head of a beast would be replaced with the head of a man.
The Faversham was popular with London’s hip wealthy set. Its fortunes had been turned around by a Danish chef, who transformed the tired inner-city pub into a buzzing modern restaurant. The once-cramped drinking rooms and dark snugs had been replaced by a large expanse of whitewashed walls, stripped-down floors, and salvaged art deco lamps. Although it was the start of a new working week, the large, high-ceilinged dining space was packed with customers. A cacophony of accents vied for dominance over the electronic music orchestrated by a cool-looking black DJ, a pair of earphones appearing permanently balanced between his shoulder and right ear.
A bearded man with a blunt, square face sat alone at a table. He looked up to the clock above the bar and checked the time with his watch. After repositioning himself in his chair, he tilted his head to the side and with his finger, opened up a small gap between his neck and the collar of his red lumberjack shirt. As he did so, the lines on his forehead intensified into a deep frown. Touching his earpiece with his other hand, he whispered into the microphone taped to his wrist.
‘Any sign?’
His question was met swiftly by an annoyed voice in his ear.
‘Stop touching your ear with your fucking hand! You’re going to blow the whole operation.’ A pause. ‘Just sit tight. The message said eight o’clock at the Faversham. They’ll be here. Just stay cool.’
The large Afro-Caribbean police officer threw down the headset onto the bank of controls in the back of the surveillance van and let out a long deep sigh. Detective Chief Inspector Lukas Milton didn’t like it one bit: too many people, too many guns. He slowly shook his head, returned the plastic smoking inhalator to his lips, and bit down hard onto the end of the white tube. His teeth ached. He tried to stretch out his legs in his chair, but his shins quickly hit the underside of the instrument desk. The van wasn’t big enough to comfortably accommodate a man of Milton’s size plus the racks of cameras and recording equipment installed in the back of the vehicle. Milton raised his binoculars to peer through the one-way privacy glass. From the van’s parallel position to the restaurant, he had an unobstructed view through the large window that ran down the length of The Faversham’s crowded dining room. Milton repositioned himself in his chair and focused the binoculars on the cloakroom next to a large green statue of a Buddha at the far end of the restaurant.
Behind the open hatch to the cloakroom sat a female attendant on a bar stool, her arms folded over her mid-section and her shoulders hunched over the counter. In front of her lay an open paperback book. Even though she had opened the book over thirty minutes ago she hadn’t read a word.
Outside The Faversham, a black Mercedes came to a halt. Tarek Vinka reached over to the small canvas bag on the passenger’s seat and hauled it onto his lap. After studying the street’s reflection in the side mirrors for several seconds, he opened the door and stepped out into the cold London night. Vinka placed the bag by his feet, straightened his back and pulled up his collar against the wind. He closed and locked the car door and as he did so noticed a single snowflake land on the roof. Almost instantly, its delicate structure began to dissolve. With a finger, he went to touch where the snowflake had been, but all trace had disappeared, as if it had never existed. Vinka pulled down his baseball cap, picked up the bag and began to cross the street.
The surveillance van driver whispered over his shoulder. Milton quickly turned round in his chai
r.
‘Yeah, I see him. This could be our man,’ Milton followed his every step. ‘So, Mr whatever your name is, what’s in that bag?’
Vinka pushed open The Faversham’s front door and stepped into the small reception area, letting the door close slowly behind him. He looked unkempt and unwashed, and his face was dark and weathered like a gypsy’s. However, his clothes were expensive and recently pressed. Despite appearing in his late forties, his physique was strong and showed no signs of middle-aged spread.
On seeing the man’s arrival, a waiter smiled a welcome and shouted for his colleague’s attention. Vinka nodded. Several seconds later, a woman emerged from behind an espresso machine. She collected an oversized menu from the bar and headed over to him. After they exchanged several words, the waitress directed Vinka to the cloakroom.
The sound of street traffic was all but drowned out by the wind whistling through the small hole in the window of the fourth-floor flat. The strength and direction of the crosswind was visible by the Union Jack flag billowing on the roof of the restaurant. The crosshairs of the telescopic sight centred onto the head of the man walking from the foyer of the restaurant. At this range, the 0.50-calibre bullet would not only tear up the contents of the skull but also rip the back of the head clean off. After making a small adjustment to the sight’s magnification ring, the Drakon followed Vinka as he progressed towards the cloakroom, bag in hand. The Drakon dropped a finger down onto the steel arc of the trigger. The rifle’s scope rapidly found the back of Vinka’s head. The Drakon took a breath and held it.
As the cloakroom attendant rose to her feet, she could feel her heart racing. She tried not to meet the eyes of the man in front of her. He stood there impassively as she forced a smile and ripped off a numbered ticket from a small book. Not taking his eyes off the attendant, Vinka carefully placed the canvas bag on the countertop and picked up the ticket. The attendant shot a glance over Vinka’s shoulder that lasted only a fraction of a second. Just long enough to establish a line of sight with the man in the dining room wearing the red-checked shirt. Somewhere in his subconscious, Vinka perceived the minute flicker in her eyes.