The Lazarus Mysteries- Omnibus Collection

by Ken Fry

  “I’ll be ten minutes at most.” Ulla stood, shouldered her bag and headed out into the darkened streets.

  §

  She could see the shop’s glowing red sign, Vinos y Cervezas, 100 metres ahead, lighting up the dark and deserted cobbled street. Buying wine there was less expensive than hotel prices per bottle. She pushed open the door that was connected to a tinkling bell, a sound she hadn’t heard since she was a child. For five minutes, she became lost in an atmosphere heightened by aromas of wax polish and fruity wines, before emerging with a stout brown carrier bag and four bottles of fine Rioja. In that brief span of time, all thoughts of Cortez and Throgmorton disappeared.

  Absorbed in nostalgia, she passed by an alleyway and never heard the soft footsteps behind her.

  She began falling as consciousness left her, aware only of the sound of bottles breaking and a blaze of pain tearing into her skull.

  §

  Throgmorton looked down at the crumpled body of Ulla Stuart. She was covered by a thick array of sheeting. The dank, cobbled cellar was lit by three tripods of powerful halogen strips, which in turn were connected to a junction box leading to a large generator. Copin and López stood there dressed in long black coats, with woollen hats pulled down low on their heads.

  All that could be heard was the hum of the generator. The lighting did little to disguise the dampness that clung with a slimy grip to the walls and the curvature of the roof.

  “What do we do with her, Boss?” Copin asked in a whisper.

  “Nothing yet. She’s a bargaining chip and bait material. She’s to be kept alive until I get what I want.” He indicated to Lopez. “See if she’s awake.”

  Lopez poked at her with his foot and then again, but harder. All that happened was a slight stirring followed by a low moan. “She’ll be out for some time yet.”

  “You shouldn’t have hit her so hard. But she’s tough and it won’t be long before she comes to.” He turned to them both. “I have to leave now and won’t be back until later. Don’t leave her alone too long and you are not to touch or harm her in any way. We need her intact. Understood?”

  “Understood.” Both men nodded in unison.

  “Good. I’ll see you later.” Throgmorton moved to the ladder and climbed the metal rungs leading up the shaft and into the central area of the ruined monastery.

  The shaft was sunk to a depth of twenty metres and was the only way in or out of the cellar area. He climbed with care as the ladder swayed bearing his weight. He congratulated himself on the choice of location. It was what Ladro would least suspect and the location had a certain irony about it. A wooden door shielded the entrance, and the authorities had wrapped it with a double row of NO ENTRY tape. He ducked under it, smiled up at the stars, and decided to contact Ladro after he’d seen the Condesa.

  Let him stew. I now hold all the aces. Six months from now, I’ll be able to do whatever and go wherever I want, and the likes of Ladro and Stuart are not going to stop me.

  He marvelled at his new life. Not long ago he was a former High Court judge vegetating in Vienna and now he was committing serious crimes, robbery, fraud, murder and now kidnapping. He looked up at the sky and the myriad stars shining down. He’d never felt so alive ... extraordinary!

  §

  Ladro looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. Ulla had been gone for over an hour. Something was wrong. She never failed to communicate about any delays. Five minutes later, he stormed out of the building and strode at speed towards the wine shop. Within minutes, he burst through the door and into a shop with no customers.

  “Señor ¿qué puedo conseguirte,” the startled shopkeeper asked.

  “Nothing. I’m looking for a woman who should have been here a short while ago to buy wine. Medium height, blue eyes, blond hair. Did she come in here?”

  “Si, Señor, si. A woman like that left here a while ago and bought four bottles of Rioja.”

  Ladro didn’t wait for him to finish and headed out of the store. Halfway up the cobbled street, alongside a passageway, he trod on a quantity of broken glass.

  “Shit!”

  He bent down to look. The labels were clear on the shattered bottles ... Rioja. His fears multiplied as alongside lay a shoe he knew to be hers.

  “Throgmorton!”

  His shout, unanswered, echoed down the passageway.

  CHAPTER 37

  Struggling for clarity, Ulla’s senses surfaced as consciousness resumed. Her eyelids fluttered against the brightness of the halogen lighting. Something was covering her mouth. She couldn’t move her hands to touch her face and realised she was bound, but she could see. Looking down, she saw the duct tape around her wrists which limited her movement. The same tape was across her mouth. She tested her feet and legs and they had received similar treatment.

  She had a momentary flash of crashing down and the sound of breaking bottles.

  Oh God! This has to be Throgmorton.

  She managed to turn over and saw she was in some kind of subterranean vault. The area looked large and empty apart from an enormous old wooden vat and the rotting remains of long wooden shelves, most of which had crumbled away.

  Not a place she recognised.

  No sign of anybody and nothing of Throgmorton.

  This must be some sort of storage room. But where? The only way out looks like up. What’s happened to Ladro?

  She wriggled her fingers and attempted to increase the blood circulation to relieve the numbness. At that point, she began to panic, which made her breathing difficult. Nothing positive was going to come from being terrified. She had to remain focused. Calm and relaxed. She began repeating this over and over as if it were a mantra ... Remember your training!

  She placed all her attention into the pit of her stomach and soon the tension began easing and muscles relaxed. She regained composure. Yet, this wasn’t a movie and she had no hidden blades, nail files or a lighter that would help her escape. This was a different script. She was the wrong heroine and long fingernails were non-existent.

  Helpless and hopeless.

  She began sweating as she wriggled to loosen the tape. It didn’t budge. Then, she noticed something in the corner. There were half a dozen mugs and containers and packages she could read as coffee and tea. Next to them were several plates and two large insulated bags. Someone was expecting to be around for a while.

  The pulsating at the back of her head hurt like hell. Whatever she had been hit with, she reckoned, had come within an inch of fracturing her skull. A wave of nausea threatened, but she suppressed it. Sounds came from the top of the shaft and she heard a door opening. It was followed by the sounds of two men talking and the dull clunk of shoes moving down the ladder rungs.

  §

  Once inside the hotel, Ladro strode to their room half expecting to find Ulla sitting there. She was not. Reaching for a bottle of vodka, he poured himself a large drink and forgot about a mixer. His mind began reeling with a range of dilemmas and options. He had no doubt that Throgmorton was behind this.

  Shall I call the police? No! That could seal her fate. He didn’t know where Throgmorton was or where to start looking. There was nothing he could do until he was contacted.

  He imagined how she must be feeling. Ulla was a feisty, tough and resourceful woman, who would be working on some sort of solution. She had the gun concealed on her and if they hadn’t found it yet, she would use it at the first opportunity. All I can do is wait. Should I ring the Condesa? She’s meeting him tomorrow. No, Ladro, wait!

  He knew sitting alone and drinking too much wasn’t going to be helpful, but there was no way he would be able to sleep. It took a traumatic event to highlight his feelings for her.

  The night and early hours passed at the speed of a tortoise crawling uphill. Sleep came in fits and starts. He thought of Throgmorton and knew he would kill him.

  “I must have dozed,” he muttered aloud as he saw the early morning sun glistening in the horizon. He looked at his watch. It w
as six-thirty and sounds from the street told him the city was awake. For a fraction, he’d forgotten his predicament, but it came flooding in. I need a shower. Before he reached the bathroom, he saw the morning paper had been thrust under the door. He didn’t normally read it first thing, but he had an inner compulsion to do so. There might just be some news.

  There was nothing in there that could be connected to Ulla. It was the usual newspaper fare; scandals, corruption and alarmist reports. He began skipping over one murder, but bells rang loud inside his head and he found himself re-reading the article. It was hard to believe what he was reading. It was too much of a coincidence.

  INTERNATIONAL ART FORGER FOUND MURDERED

  Stephan De Witt, well known criminal art forger, was found dead in his room this morning. He had been shot. De Witt had just completed a long jail sentence in the UK for fraud and deception. His forgeries were regarded as exceptional and almost beyond detection.

  Ladro froze. His head reeled and he was coming up with answers. He didn’t have to read any more. He knew.

  Throgmorton, the ‘discovered Cortez painting,’ De Witt. It couldn’t be a coincidence. He was in the same city. Somehow, Throgmorton had persuaded him to paint a Cortez and the man had got himself murdered in the process. The Condesa’s about to be asked to part with a large sum of money for a fake.

  If Throgmorton was capable of murder, it placed Ulla in great danger. Why kidnap her? Where is she?

  CHAPTER 38

  Pretending to be unconscious was pointless. Ulla struggled into an upright position and made muffled sounds from behind the duct tape. It wasn’t until then that she knew her kidnappers had made a fatal mistake. They hadn’t done a thorough body search. She could feel the pistol pressing low down the small of her back, hidden under her shirt and covered by her bulky duvet jacket.

  One man drew up a chair, straddled it, then leaned forward and looked at her. His face was expressionless. He was dark, short, and muscular, with a crumpled face dominated by a crooked nose that looked like it’d been hit too many times.

  “My name is Lopez.” His voice matched his expression. “This is Copin.” He nodded towards the one leaning up against the wall. “We’ve been instructed to look after you. Do you need anything?” He added as an afterthought, “The toilet perhaps?” His leer was unmistakeable as he looked back at Copin who returned the smirk.

  Ulla nodded and attempted to move her legs to indicate urgency. She had no desire for the toilet. All she wanted was a free hand to reach for her gun, get it all over with and get back to Brodie. She’d do whatever they wanted as long as it gave her the chance she needed. She tried moving her legs faster.

  Copin moved across to her. “We’d better help her, or the boss won’t be too pleased.”

  Ulla sensed he was the more dangerous of the two. His black trench coat failed to disguise his lean and angular frame from which she spotted the tell-tale bulge of a holster strapped to his right side.

  Lopez stood. “Watch her, she can be dangerous. We’ve seen what she’s capable of, so take it easy.”

  “Pissing in a bucket should quieten her down. Over there.” He indicated a large metal bucket standing in a corner. He began zipping off the tape from her legs.

  Her toes began to tingle.

  He hauled her up but left the tape over her mouth and wrists and began pushing her towards the bucket.

  Ulla knew it was vital to get her hands free. She didn’t want their assistance in getting her trousers or underwear down—not that she intended to get that far. She had to think fast. With a sudden jolt of her body, she came to a dead stop. She closed her eyes, lifted her head, shaking it from side to side, and jumped up and down on the spot. She gurgled muffled shrieks from behind the tape. She widened her eyes and shook her two bound arms up and down. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what else I could do…

  “I think she’s shy,” Copin said to Lopez.

  “The boss told us not to touch her in any way, didn’t he? That didn’t mean we couldn’t watch, did it?”

  She looked at his face and saw the perverse excitement.

  Copin shifted around to her side and whispered into her ear. “You’re an interesting woman and I think you are about to make it more interesting. Make no sounds apart from what I tell you. Do you understand?”

  Ulla guessed what was on the menu but nodded furiously as if in agreement.

  With one sharp but painful tug, Copin ripped off the tape around her wrists, and manoeuvred her across to the bucket. She pointed to her mouth.

  “No, that stays put.”

  She watched him studying her. Mentally, she counted the number of strides to Lopez, who was sitting in front of the bucket, with an inane grin across his face. She counted four.

  Ulla decided to play for time and as stupidly as she could. She rolled her eyes and gestured to a large tarpaulin sheet, hoping they would understand a request for privacy.

  “No curtain.” Copin moved her backwards to the bucket.

  Ulla promptly turned her back on him and faced the wall. She knew he wouldn’t want that and his hard grip on her shoulder spun her back around again.

  “You filthy bastards.” The words only came as a muffled indignation.

  “Look at us, sit and piss ... now!” Copin had clenched his fist.

  Ulla paused to gather her emotions. She began to unbuckle her trousers and kept any expression from her face.

  He moved to one side so as not to obstruct Lopez’s view, and leaned forward further, anticipating the show. “Lift your head and look at us.” Copin sounded breathless.

  Exactly what I want to do. She raised her head and did as he asked.

  She pretended to fumble with the fastenings, put one hand on her zipper, and moved the other behind her, beneath the jacket, until she located the reassuring butt of the Glock nestled against the small of her back. She wriggled her hips and the gun was free. A small flicker of her eyes, a play with the zip, and she saw their transformation into eager lustfulness. Inch by inch she lowered her trousers, keeping one hand behind her back.

  She had to be fast.

  In one movement, she had refastened her belt and her other arm swung around, fully extended and aiming at them. There was a momentary look of disbelief on their faces as they attempted to react.

  Too slow.

  Lopez jumped to his feet, kicking the chair at her as his hand reached for his gun. It was as if he’d forgotten where it was. She fired at him. He dropped to the floor without a sound, a single bullet had gone through his chest. Her next worry was Copin. He attempted to dive behind a pillar and fired at the halogen lighting. He missed. Ulla didn’t. She crouched low and her first shot struck his outstretched leg. She heard him groan but didn’t wait to for him to recover. On autopilot and with an unemotional focus, she moved behind him and her second shot went through the base of his neck.

  She stopped, gulped in air, ripped the tape from her mouth, and became aware of an overpowering silence. She replaced the Glock behind her back and began climbing the ladder. The top door opened with ease and she stepped out into a cool starry night.

  For a moment, she had no idea where she was.

  CHAPTER 39

  Monasterio de San José de Nazaret

  Nr. Segovia, Spain

  1604 A.D.

  Brother Alfonso’s initiation was not over. For seven days and nights, he was to be the lone sentinel — The Guardian. His mission: to protect the monastery’s legacy from robbers, damage and unwanted curiosity. No person, not even a monk, would be allowed to pass into the caves. Guardians of the past had been attacked, even wounded by those who had heard rumours of a priceless relic and had attempted to steal it. Not one had passed into the caves. His other mission was sacred. He was to contemplate the mystery and grace of what he had witnessed.

  Over his robe, he wore the Order’s tabard embellished with a black cross. He also carried a large two-handed sword.

  A monk, early each morning, would
bring him his one meal a day, plus wine mixed with water and herbs. The remaining time, Alfonso spent in prayer, contemplation, reflection, and twice daily flagellation. One scourging was performed upon waking, to purge the body of evil dreams and desires, and the other before bed for any lapses during the day.

  The flesh on his back seeped blood and pus that soaked his robes. The pain was constant. He thanked God for allowing him to be so blessed in receiving the sacrament of Holy Punishment.

  Looking up to the hills, he could make out the silhouette of the monastery and its jutting buttresses. Alone and in silence, Brother Alfonso was unable to resist the flood of memories that hauled his mind back in time, when as a young boy, he realised he had neither mother nor father. The recollections came as they always did, like a whiplash striking at every sense and emotion ... the Institution, the blows and the taunts, the relentless labour. He worked harder and received more blows than the Institute’s donkey. He was unloved. They said his mother was a whore and his father a worthless artist.

  They called him El Hijo de Puta. The Bastard.

  As he grew older, he took to stealing and drinking wine, brandy, and anything he could find. He endured his rough existence but thought there had to be something more in life than the one he was living. One evening, after a day of taunts and blows, he decided he had had enough. Wasn’t he good at stealing? He could run, he could hide, and he didn’t need the Institute. They needed him more than he wanted them. It was time to leave.

  In the early hours, he loaded their donkey with wine, bread and rice … and escaped.

  He was twelve years old.

  At seventeen, he looked rough and menacing and he knew people were wary of him. He saw their sidelong glances and heard their whisperings whenever he passed by. Unwashed and dressed in tatters, his mouth and skin infections smelled, and most people stepped away from him. But he had grown into a strong young man and he knew how to survive. He had no friends and was forever on the move. Casual work and thieving kept him alive. Of late, his way of life had begun to disturb him, but he didn’t know how to stop it. He could see no escape.