by Ken Fry
“Yeah.” He cracked his knuckles and spoke in low thick tones. “They went back to the place you left and as far as I know, they are still there. There’s a tracker device on their car that they’ll never find, and the car hasn’t moved since they got there.”
“Excellent. I need to know where they are going. I don’t want you killing anyone until I get what I’m after and I say so. Understood?”
If his remarks irked Ox’s natural inclination to destroy anything that got in his way, he showed no indication of it. “I can wait.”
Throgmorton grimaced. The entire enterprise had fouled up thanks to the meddling twosome. It was also costing more than he had envisaged. His major consolation rested in the Bearer Bonds. They had to be liquefied and the money transferred immediately to his Cayman Islands account. Although bonds were now a rarity and not much used because of the risk factors, there was no way the Condesa could prevent their utilisation or recoup her losses.
“Sooner or later I’ll know whether this painting exists or not. We do nothing and even if it doesn’t exist, the end result for those two remains the same.”
“Leave it to me, boss.” He patted the tell-tale bulge under his left shoulder.
“We sit and wait.”
§
Sister Agnes’s twenty-year training in restraint evaporated. Brodie looked at Ulla as Sister Agnes gathered up her habit and ran with unexpected speed into the Condesa’s home.
“Brodie, take this.” Ulla handed him the Glock and sprinted after the Sister.
He stuffed it in his belt and followed the two women.
He wasn’t expecting to see the sight in front of him. Spread out across the floor like an upended starfish lay the Condesa. Dressed in black, her clothes were in acute contrast to the whiteness of her face. Her terrified eyes were open wide, displaying the yellow stain of creeping jaundice. Bony fingers revealing lines of age and liver spots clawed at the floor. The only sound came from the terrible gasps from her attempts to breathe.
“Mother of God,” whispered Sister Agnes as she knelt beside her mother.
Ulla got in behind her and cradled her head. “She looks as if she’s about to or has had a seizure. What should we do.?” She looked up at Brodie and Sister Agnes.
“Nothing.” Brodie stared down at her. “She’s had a severe shock. Give her some brandy and in a few minutes, she’ll come around. Trust me.”
Sister Agnes crossed herself and began muttering prayers.
“Not prayers Sister, brandy. Give her some of this.” He unscrewed a bottle from the display cabinet. “Small sips only. Can you manage that?”
“Throgmorton’s raised the stakes and none of us can be safe. I’ve seen what his men are capable of.” Ulla propped up the reviving Condesa.
“Nothing that you’re not capable of either, Ulla.”
Ulla winced. “What now?”
“My mother has not long to live, two months at the most. Medicines and drugs have prolonged her life, but I have lived with life and death for years. I know the signs. She wants to look on the painting. She believes it can save her and so do I. Will you find it Señor Ladro?”
“I’ve a clue or two. That last performance gave me some direction.” He paused.
“Well, are you going to let us know or not?”
“I can’t because I don’t know—yet.”
A low moan escaped the Condesa as she attempted to sit up. Her face contorted and she clasped her hands to her chest.
Sister Agnes held her close. “Mamma, Mamma,” she whispered into her ear.
Brodie looked at the Condesa. His face remained expressionless. He couldn’t deny that this broken woman had been instrumental in bringing him to this point. There was one thing he knew that the others didn’t. The Condesa somehow held the final key to this mystery. She, through her bloodline, was linked to the earliest of those who knew of the Lazarus painting and its mystery. The Dukes of Alba themselves had passed down enough tantalising clues to get any historical investigator twitchy.
“Sister, can you and Ulla find your mother’s medication and if possible, stay with her or take her back to the monastery? She’s in no fit state to be on her own.”
“She shouldn’t be moved. She’s had an enormous shock and is very concerned about Donna her maid. We must call the police.”
“That’s the last thing we do, Sister. Don’t even think of it, it’s far too complicated. Can you both stay here? There’s somewhere I need to go.”
“You’re not going anywhere without me,” Ulla retorted.
“This time you do as I tell you Ulla. Take this and guard these two with your life.” He held out the Glock. The look on her face told him she wasn’t happy about it.
“What about you then?” She took the gun from him.
“I’m okay. The backup’s in the car. I’m going back to Valencia, to the Cathedral.”
“The Holy Chalice?”
“The very one.”
Sister Agnes looked startled. “Holy Mother of God.” She made the sign of the cross. “Are you going to tell us why?”
“As best as I can. Remember, all that I tell you may or may not be true. It all happened in my head and it could all be very wrong. Understood?”
They nodded and as they did the Condesa managed to haul herself upright. “Donna, where is she?”
“We don’t know, Maria.” Brodie knelt beside her. “Only Throgmorton can tell us that.
“It can’t get worse.” She struggled to speak and spluttered into a handkerchief. “Forgive me, all of you. This was never meant to happen.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Her daughter leant forward and kissed her head.
Ladro continued. “How true what I saw and heard was, I can’t say. The clue lies in the Cathedral. Why it should be in the same location as the Holy Chalice, I can only guess at. There appears to be a connection and what that is I’ve no idea. The Cortez painting in the chapel, I believe holds information we’ve missed, Ulla. It was almost the last he painted.”
“Almost, what does that mean?”
“I suspect it was the one before Lazarus.”
“Wait.” The Condesa pulled herself into a standing position. “Before you leave there are some things you should know.” She held on to the two women. “Throgmorton has a painting, a fake I believe, that he is attempting to pass off as the real thing. I’ve seen it and it has no miraculous powers, believe me. He has also stolen five million pounds of irretrievable bearer bonds from me and intends to make more from his fake. Poor Donna came in at the wrong moment. I was so confused.” She faltered and clung to her daughter. “Brodie, do what you have to. Go to Valencia and where else you have to. Believe me, the legend is true ... it is all true, and you know it is. One thing I do know is that it will end here amongst these old walls. Now go and leave me to pray for Donna.”
He looked at Ulla.
“Get going, Ladro. We’ll be okay but keep in touch and take care.” Ulla kissed him.
CHAPTER 50
“You drive like an old woman,” said Throgmorton to Ox as they passed the Shell station outside Toledo. He put his hand to his forehead and stared at the road in front of them, willing it to pass faster beneath the wheels of the Suzuki.
“I’m driving as fast as it’s possible. We know where his car is heading so stop worrying.”
Throgmorton took a blue-tinted bottle of Solan mineral water from under the seat and took a long drink without offering any to Ox. The radio announcement that police investigating the murder of international art forger De Witt had found a diary and records giving them significant new information on a possible suspect caused him to drop the bottle and swallow the water the wrong way down.
Suppressing the coughing spasm, he attempted to regain composure.
A moment of calm before his bowels began churning as he guessed at what De Witt may have written. There was a new element to consider. The police would be looking for him and getting out of the country could be exp
ensive.
“You okay there, boss?”
“For fuck’s sake, shut up and drive faster will you. “
§
Standing in the Holy Chalice Chapel, Ladro stared at the cup. The additions seemed unnecessary. They didn’t look right. The precious stones, the stem and handles and the gold had been added later. The cup was a different matter. Its symmetry was simple but stunning. The history surrounding this Holy Chalice was more convincing than others. He thought of the Chalice and its provenance. His research showed it had been handed down through Saint Peter and various Popes until it reached Pope Sixtus. The Roman Emperor of that time, Valerian, was persecuting Christians. To avoid the inevitable pillage, Sixtus handed down the Chalice and various treasures to his Deacon, now Saint Lawrence. These had been listed in a velum parchment dated A.D. 262. Valerian never got the treasures as they were spirited away to Huesca in Spain. Saint Lawrence was allegedly roasted alive for this act. The Cup and the treasures found their way through various Kings and monasteries until it found its way to its current resting place in Valencia. What happened to the treasures was not known.
Is there a link between the Holy Chalice and the Lazarus paintings? The original painting was done whilst Christ was alive, and this cup was used before he was crucified. Could there be a connection? The painting is believed to change through time but there is no way of telling how and when. If found, it could surpass in significance all known Christ style relics put together. I was given a clue at the monastery. The Chalice was one of them the other, Cortez’s painting, in the Saint Lazarus Chapel.
Ladro stood back and in the background, he could hear the assorted voices and hushed whispers of the tourists and pilgrims as they gazed on the Chalice. Cutting through this, he could hear the soft harmony of the choir performing a religious chant that overloaded an atmosphere struggling to cope with a mixture of fervour and incense. He turned and began walking in the direction of the Saint Lazarus Chapel, glad to escape the throng. His mind turned over the events and the mystery of Cortez and his works. A thought began to dominate his mind.
Why is a painting showing a grieving Virgin Mary and a crucified Christ displayed in a chapel dedicated to Lazarus, who is clearly absent from the work? It doesn’t make sense.
He bent his head and ignored the mixture of Gothic and Baroque decor that festooned every inch of the building and let his feet walk their own way to the Chapel. Without looking up he knew he’d reached the entrance. It was deserted. Stepping inside it looked no different from the last time he’d stood there. Cortez’s painting looked the same and there was nothing to indicate why this painting should be in a chapel dedicated to Lazarus. Ladro sat in a small pew, ignored the crucifix and the altar and stared rigidly at the painting. Ulla’s deciphering of the coded body postures made so much sense.
The more he stared at the work the more it drew him in to feel part of the drama. The composition, the colours and the topography danced and wove around him.
It was then he saw it.
The dark red agate of the distant hills and the valley contours matched those of both colours and shape of the Chalice.
My God it’s so clear. I’ve seen copies of that parchment … it’s there for all to see. How could we have missed it? Cortez must have known more than he ever revealed, or he was guided, unaware, to paint what he did. The original Lazarus work must have been listed on that document. There was only one painting listed amongst a collection of precious stones, the Holy Chalice and other relics. For protection, it was made to look obscure and of little value. In Aramaic, it’s listed as ‘Elazar—Qûm’─ Lazarus Rises. Apart from the Chalice, every item on that list has vanished. Cortez is showing us where it or the next painting could possibly be found. The clue was in the Chalice. Its shape and colour Cortez had duplicated in the hills.
“I know where it could be!” His loud voice startled two visitors who backed away from him.
§
Ox tapped the slow red dot moving across the screen. “He’s on the move and he’s heading in this direction.”
“Turn around and pull over. When he passes, follow him at a safe distance.” Throgmorton craned his neck forward. “How long?”
“Less than eight minutes and he’s moving at speed.”
Close to eight minutes Throgmorton spotted his car. It was the only one on the highway. “There he is.” He pointed at the approaching car. “Just where, oh where, is he going and what has he discovered?”
§
Ladro glanced in his mirror. Every car was a potential tail. The speed-dial connected with Ulla’s number at six-minute intervals. She didn’t answer. She and Sister Agnes must have a problem with the Condesa. Answer please. He slapped the mobile against the steering wheel in frustration. C’mon Ulla, I really need you to answer ... please! No response. He yelled into the voicemail as if it would conjure a reply. Nothing. He threw the phone into the passenger seat and drove on.
Large raindrops began drumming on the windscreen. He leaned forward attempting to see further through the relentless spray. Slow down ... slow down What was daylight had turned to night. Red brake lights came on and off all around him. If Throgmorton or his men are following me, I’ve no idea in this shit. He felt the back wheels slip and slide as the car began a slow drift into the hard shoulder. It came to nothing. Resounding in his head, the name of Bethany, used in the Chapel of the Blessed Saint Lazarus of Bethany, could in Aramaic also be translated as the House of the Poor or of Misery. Ulla, Sister Agnes and those brushes, who could explain that? The three people he had seen, he could see them as clear as day. A violent judder at the back end of the car snapped him back to attention as it attempted to slide off the road. He brought it back under control and glanced in his mirror. It was too confusing to give an indication he was being followed or not. A quick look at the dashboard clock showed it was almost seven-thirty. His mobile erupted into life. He grabbed at it and pulled off the road onto the hard shoulder.
“Ulla at last. Just listen and don’t say anything.”
“Brodie...”
“Ulla, Shut up. I’m not certain if I’m being tailed or not but I’m going to assume that I am. Are you three safe?”
“Yes...”
“Then do as I say. Let no one in, whoever they are. Do you still have Evita’s list of monasteries?”
“Yes, it’s with me now.”
“Is the Monasterio de San José de Nazaret listed?
“Yes, it’s top of the list.”
“Excellent. That’s where I’m going.”
“But Brodie, it’s miles away to the north. Why there?”
“Let’s say a penniless artist told me. If there’s anything to be found, it will be there. The past Kings of Spain and the Dukes originally hid Valencia’s Holy Chalice there together with an obscure painting they titled Lazarus Lives. I believe its real title was The Eyes of Christ, the forerunner of a series of miraculous Lazarus works across the centuries that have all vanished, and of which Cortez was the last heir apparent. When we find it, and if it does what it says on the tin, then we have a religious bombshell. No wonder Throgmorton wants to get hold of it.”
“Brodie, I need to come with you.”
“No chance. Those two need your protection. Stay put, be on your guard and I’ll call you when I know more.” He switched off. He didn’t want Ulla pressurising him. In the depths of his being, there was something calling him. He didn’t know what, but he knew it had to be answered and answered alone. Checking his mirrors, he pulled out onto the highway and began accelerating towards Segovia. No one followed.
§
“Don’t follow him!” Throgmorton’s bony hand slapped the dashboard with a sharp crack.
Ox came to a screeching stop. “Why? He’s getting away.”
“We only need what he’s going to find. If he does, he will take it back to the Condesa and submit it to its true test. We have to be there for that event and then my friend, we shall be masters with unbelieva
ble wealth. I think it’s time we set our trap. We’re heading back to her place so drive slow. I need time to think and put together a plan of action. Just do as I tell you.”
Ox grunted and turned the car around and began the drive to Guadamur.
CHAPTER 51
Mile after mile of uneventful terrain gave way to steep climbs and hills as the road to the monastery led through dipping and twisting roads. Ladro piloted the car off the main highways and along narrow tracks that climbed ever upwards. The weather had cleared, and the air smelled sweet and moist. Olive and orange trees grew at random amidst rocks and sun-baked earth.
He knew he was close, and he didn’t stop to ask himself how he knew that. He just did. It was if he was being pulled by giant magnets. He couldn’t resist the force. He carried on until he could drive no further. A firmly mounted signpost prevented that. It stated all vehicles prohibited bar essential deliveries. The engine sighed as he cut it. He checked once more and there was no sign of anybody following him. His objective was beyond the brow of the rocky outcrop and hidden from view. Slinging his small rucksack across his shoulder he began the grinding trek upwards. He stopped and listened to the majestic silence.
For a moment, he heard something to fracture the magic. Whatever it was, it stopped as soon as he heard it. He thought it could be distant thunder, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He ignored it. With a few more strides, he was at the top and gazing down a long undulating and winding track leading down into the monastery. It was a large stone coloured structure. Around it was a small lake bordered with several outhouses and low buildings. The centre was dominated by a red earth courtyard, and on all sides ran a cloister. A large encompassing perimeter wall encompassed the entire structure. Outside the main building, he could make out the straight rows of planted vines and other crops being attended to by figures wearing the brown and white robes of monks. The grip of medieval antiquity had not diminished.
