by Sam Christer
‘Quickly,’ someone shouts.
A hand goes around the back of his head, pushes him down, urges him forward. Makes sure he doesn’t crack his head on something. He hears rumbling, grunting again behind him. No one says anything for maybe a minute. His mind goes into overdrive. The silence around him feels toxic.
Finally Draco speaks. ‘You’re going down some steps. Watch you don’t fall.’ There’s sarcasm in his voice.
Gideon hears the slap and echo of footsteps in front and behind as he descends. The steps are solid. Thick stone in a large space, nothing to soak up the sound. Exactly twenty of them.
The descent stops and two sets of hands grab his arms and walk him briskly for almost thirty seconds.
‘More steps,’ comes the sarcastic voice.
Another twenty.
He recognises the smell of being deep underground. He knows the odours of the earth – peat, chalk, running damp, sandstone, flint, wet iron, rich moulds. They all zing like sharp perfume notes to his trained archaeological senses.
Guiding hands halt him. The hood is plucked from his broiled face. Torchlight. He is deep inside the Sanctuary. A part he has never seen. Those around him are robed and hooded. That’s what the delay must have been for, before they started the downward climb.
‘Get him stripped and prepared,’ says Draco, his voice tough now, as hard as the stone. Gideon tries not to think about what’s happening to him. He concentrates instead on forming a mental picture of where he is. A large underground space in open fields at the end of an hour-long drive. He guesses he’s thirty miles from Tollard Royal. Thirty miles probably north, perhaps a little west.
Draco interrupts his calculations, leans in close, his warm, sour breath in Gideon’s face. ‘Listen to me. I am going to teach you how to respond to the Master during the initiation ritual. Don’t shame yourself or me by getting any of it wrong. And remember, many agonies will visit your mind and body. If you are truly devoted to the Sacreds, then you will survive.’ He smiles. ‘If not, you will perish.’
112
Lillian Cooper’s pager bleeps on her hip. The haematology consultant unhooks it and curses the message from her secretary: ‘DI BAKER HERE TO SEE YOU.’
A long day just got longer. The bath and the glass of chilled white will have to wait. She starts the walk along a zig-zag of hospital corridors back to her office and thinks. Detectives don’t turn up announced. Not unless there’s trouble. And trouble is what might well be there. She’s already behaved unethically, breached internal guidelines and contravened countless clauses of the Data Protection Act by giving the DI confidential information.
‘Megan Baker. Apologies for coming over unannounced,’ The police woman rises brightly from a chair outside the small office and proffers a hand.
‘Not a problem,’ says Cooper. ‘Please come in. What can I do for you?’ She can feel her heart drumming.
Megan takes one side of a desk and opens a cappuccino leather Padovano handbag that Adam bought her in Italy three years back. ‘It’s about when we last spoke. About Gideon Chase.’
She produces a small sheet of paper and passes it over.
Cooper picks it up and looks at it. ‘I don’t understand. Who are these people?’
Megan produces her friendliest smile. ‘I need your help. Just once more. I want you to access the health records of all the people on that list and tell me what you find. Their hospital and GP surgery records.’
The professor is aghast. She leans away from the paper as though it’s white hot. ‘Inspector, I shouldn’t have helped you the first time. I’m certainly not going to repeat the mistake another half a dozen times.’
‘It’s not half a dozen.’ Megan is steely-eyed. ‘It’s four people. And it would be a bigger mistake not to help.’ She sits forward on the edge of her chair. ‘The first name on that list, Nathaniel Chase, is the father of the man you looked at for me. We have reason to believe Sean Grabb, David Smithsen and Matt Utley may be connected to Nathaniel’s death and to another matter we are investigating. Grabb is currently missing from work and a warrant for his arrest has been issued. All I need to know about him, and about the others, is whether they have, or have had in the past, a major medical problem. That’s all.’
‘Inspector, I really—’
Megan can see she’s softening. ‘Just tell me if they have ever been signed off work by their doctors. And if so what for.’ She opens her hands in a gesture of simplicity and finality. ‘It’s not much to ask.’
Cooper looks worried. She shakes her head. ‘It would be traceable. Any search I do like that is electronically logged. It comes back to the computer. Even if I use a different workstation, I still have to log in. I could lose my job just for getting you the information.’
Megan scratches her head. She’d been expecting this. It wasn’t how she wanted the conversation to go, but it was what she anticipated. ‘Doctor, you know from our mutual friend what kind of person I am. Any assistance you give me is solely for the public good. I assure you of that.’
‘That’s not the point. It’s just not right.’
Megan is going to have to play dirty. ‘Lillian, you are married and you are having a long-term affair with a married police officer. How right is that?’
The woman gasps. ‘I can’t believe that you bring my private life up like this.’
‘Believe it.’ Her face hardens. A look toughened in the tempering heat of countless interview rooms. ‘Please don’t preach to me about right and wrong and don’t judge me. I’m trying to solve a serious crime and save people’s lives. I am prepared to do almost anything I have to in order to do that, and right now I need your cooperation.’ She grabs the list of names from the desk and holds it up in front of the medic. ‘Now Professor, will you please help me? Or do I have to call my friend at the Gazette and Herald?’
113
The main passageway of the Sanctuary is lit only by the smoky, orange flames of an endless line of wall-mounted torches. Long black scorch marks taper up the stone walls like vaporised ghosts.
The passage curves relentlessly downwards and inwards. It’s just like his father described. St Paul’s beneath the earth. A vast cathedral-like area with magnificent chambers and crypts. Gideon is trying to blot out what’s happening to him – what is about to happen to him. Under different circumstances, he’d be overjoyed to be here, professionally elated at the prospect of opening up the tombs beneath his feet, carbon dating and forensically piecing together the lives of the people buried beneath him.
Four hooded Bearers guide him into an opening so narrow he barely sees it. The top of his head brushes the underside of the thick lintel as he passes through. Another twenty steps and they take a similar squeezed turning into a smaller chamber. A moon face with sagging jowls rises and speaks from beneath a sackcloth hood. ‘You must disrobe and shower. Then we will dress you for the initiation.’
They guide him into a separate area where he hands over his clothes and steps into a dark stone trench. There is nothing to wash himself with. No shampoo. No soap. He stands naked and alone. A torrent of water bursts out of the blackness above him. Hits him so hard it whiplashes his neck and drops him to his knees. Gideon shuts his eyes and covers his face with his hands. The flow last minutes and then stops as unexpectedly as it started. He is given a towel and led naked down the corridors to the Great Room.
The sight of the chamber takes his breath away. A life-size replica of Stonehenge fills it. As complete as the first moment it had been finished. His father had declared this to be the true tabernacle of the ancient gods. Their original resting place, while the monument in the fields near Amesbury was built.
A loud guttural rumbling turns Gideon’s head. The Great Room is being sealed. A sinister brown tide of hooded devotees swells around him. A surge of bearers edge him to the circumference of a fiery ring of tall, thick candles. Beyond the flames stands the Henge Master, in his hands the ceremonial hammer and chisel. Instruments that m
ay take Gideon’s life. Fear wakes inside him. He feels it coursing through his body like a poison.
The initiation has begun.
‘Behold the embodiment of the Sacreds.’ The Master raises his hands and turns slowly. ‘The divinities rested here centuries ago, when our forefathers built this cosmic circle and this Sanctuary. In here, you are in their presence. Out of respect, once initiated, you will ensure your head is always covered and your eyes always lowered. Do you understand?’
Gideon responds as Draco instructed him. ‘Yes, Master.’
‘You are brought before us because you are deemed fit by members of our Craft to become a lifelong Follower. Is that your will?’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘Are you ready to pledge your life, your soul and your loyalty to the Sacreds and to those who protect them?’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘The Sacreds renew us only as long as we renew them. We honour them with our flesh and blood and in return they protect and renew our flesh and blood. Do you pledge your flesh and blood to their immortal holiness?’
‘Yes, Master.’
Thuribles of incense swing behind him, slowly releasing their sweet and spicy aromas. The Henge Master spreads his arms again. ‘Bring him who wishes to Follow to the Slaughter Stone.’
Gideon is led through the ring of candles into the circle. He remembers Draco’s warning to keep his eyes averted from the Master. Before him is the terrifying slab they call the Slaughter Stone. He freezes. Unseen hands push him to his knees and then to the floor, securing his wrists and ankles. Fear runs wild inside him.
‘Do you believe in the power of the Sacreds and all who follow them?’
Gideon thinks of his father lying in this exact spot. Chained as he is now. About to have his blood spilled so his son might escape the agonising death suffered by his wife.
The Master raises his voice, repeats the question. ‘Do you believe in the power of the Sacreds and all who follow them?’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘Do you trust unquestionably and unhesitatingly in their power to protect, to sustain and to heal?’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘Do you dedicate your life to their service?’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘And do you swear upon your life and the lives of all members of your family and those you hold dear never to speak of the Craft outside of your brotherhood unless given permission to do so?’
‘Yes, Master.’
Members of the Inner Circle swing their thuribles over him and then step away. The Henge Master produces the stone blade that was fashioned from the first trilithon. ‘I draw the human blood, flesh and bone in the hope that you will accept him as one of your servants and will afford him your protection and blessings. Sacred Gods, I humbly beg you to find a space in your affections for our brother.’
He slashes a deep cut from each of Gideon’s wrists up to his shoulders, from each ankle to the top of each leg. Finally, from the neck to the base of the spine. Gideon chokes back a scream. He sees his mother before him, memories of her putting him to bed, kissing him goodnight, smiling at him. Then comes a flash-frame of her in Venice on the film his father made. Then the message she taped for him. The awful secret she revealed to him.
He feels a violent blow to his head. Knows what it is. The brutality of the hammer and the chisel. He hears the Henge Master’s voice far away. Black ness steamrollers him. The only words left ringing in his head are those his mother spoke to him from beyond the grave.
114
Megan uses her hands-free device to call Jimmy from her car as she returns to Devizes. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Give me a sec.’ He steps away from his desk and into the corridor outside CID. ‘I am now.’
‘How did you get on with the check on Sean Grabb?’
‘Good. Security firm were very cooperative. They knew about his previous criminal record, he’d told them. They gave him a chance. Say he’s turned out to be a model employee. Always punctual and to the best of their recollection, he’s never had a day off unless for a holiday.’
‘That’s because he’s never had a day’s illness in his life,’ says Megan. ‘Neither has his father or his grandfather, who lived to be almost a hundred.’
‘Good genes by the sound of it.’
‘It’s more than that.’ She glances at her handbag on the passenger seat. In it are the notes she made when Lillian Cooper finally cracked. ‘Dave Smithsen, our builder friend, has also never been sick. Not so much as a day off school. And it’s the same with Matt Utley, the butcher cum burglar at the Chase estate.’
‘They’re healthy people. What does that prove?’
‘Gideon Chase said the stones had healing powers. Claimed they’d cured him of his childhood cancer and protected people in his father’s cult. Remember how quickly his face healed after the fight with the intruder?’
‘Boss, you’re not from round here but believe me, Wiltshire’s a very healthy place to live,’ says Jimmy, not sure of what she’s driving at. ‘Good healthy stock – no big city pollution, not many fast-food restaurants, lots of country walks and healthy living from when you’re a kid.’
‘Jimmy,’ she interjects. ‘Everyone gets sick sometimes. Food poisoning, hay fever, genetic disorders, whatever. Country air and a walk down a farm lane don’t stop you getting ill or injured. But these people had none of it.’
‘That doesn’t prove anything. My father is strong as a bull and has never been injured or ill to my knowledge. Neither has my mum or me for that matter.’
They both fall silent as they realise the implication of what he’s just said.
115
Megan lets herself into her house, heads straight to the fridge and a half-finished bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. She kicks off her shoes and flops on the sofa, brimming glass in hand. She and Adam are supposed to be having a romantic night. Her parents have taken Sammy so they can go out for dinner and be alone. If ever she wasn’t in the mood for pressured sex, it is now.
She has done a lot of hard thinking on the drive home. About Gideon. About Jimmy. About Jimmy’s father – her Deputy Chief Constable. Jesus.
She hears a key in the door and shivers.
Adam calls her name from the hallway. ‘Meg, you upstairs?’
‘In the lounge, getting pissed.’
He appears in the doorway and smiles. ‘Are you all right?’
She nods, then says, ‘No. Not really.’
He goes to her. She’s clearly tense and he thinks he knows why. She’s worrying. Stressing unnecessarily. ‘Sweetheart, don’t get worked up about tonight. I’m fine if you just want to stay in and watch a movie. We can curl up on the couch, like we used to when Sam was a baby.’
Tears brim in her eyes and now she feels embarrassed. Awkward but grateful.
Adam goes back to the fridge and finds another bottle of wine to top up her glass. He grabs himself a beer as well and goes to sit with her. Sit where he used to sit. The way things used to be.
Megan puts her head on his chest, closes her eyes and starts to cry.
116
THURSDAY 24 JUNE
Gideon can’t tell if he is regaining consciousness or is still in the middle of a nightmare. Waves of trauma crash in his head. So much pain. So much shock. Torrid images sweep him back and forth like a child in a rolling sea. An underground Stonehenge. Black eyes beneath sackcloth hoods. A giant ring of burning candles. His mother’s face. An ancient stone blade and ceremonial hammer. His father’s diaries. The Henge Master’s raised hands. His naked body chained to the Slaughter Stone. The burning stab of the knife in his wrists and legs and back. The taste of his own blood as it runs into his mouth.
Now he sees a boy. An eight-year-old with dark hair and big hopeful eyes. He is holding the hand of his father and they are standing in a swirling mist in an open field. Stonehenge. Only it isn’t. They are inside a circle of tall, spectral figures. The vaporous shapes keep shifting, becoming wi
der then stretching thin like smoke rising from lamps in the ground, then gushing higher like black jets of oil, burning red like the fires of hell, turning gold like the strings of some massive harp.
Now Gideon sees only a waterfall of stars. Galaxies of stars pouring into the centre of the henge, swirling in a vast, bottomless cosmic pool. The stars begin to fade. Rocks are falling behind him. Rumbling like an earthquake. The Stone Gods on the edge of the pool are moving, crossing the darkness of his mind. Closing in on him. One grasps his ankle chains. Another lifts the metal restraints around his wrists and then drops his limb like the arm of a rag doll. His heart hammers in his cold, naked body. The giant Gods lean over him. Then they shift. Drift away. Vanish like the mist he remembers around Stonehenge.
The only light in the Great Room, the pale flickering glow from the ring of candles, goes out. Gideon is alone in the stony darkness.
117
Adam gets up long before Megan to make breakfast. Just as he used to. Everything is going to be just like it was.
He hears her come out of the shower. Ushers her back into their sex-wrecked bed. Hurries downstairs and returns with a tray of toast, orange juice, fruit and a flower from the small cottage garden.
She smiles. ‘It’s been a while since you treated me like this.’
‘It’s been a while since you let me.’
They kiss and almost simultaneously glance at the bedside clock. 7.10 a.m. No time for anything except food. She bites hungrily into the hot buttered toast.
‘I’ll take Sammy to nursery,’ he says perching on the edge of the bed. There’s something on his mind. ‘What you said last night, about crazy cults and Stonehenge. Do you really believe it? Or was it just the messed up day and bottle and a half of wine talking?’
