by Sam Christer
Gideon stops reading, turns the diary round. ‘Here.’ He places a fingertip besides the inscription ‘ΟΩΜΥΖ ΙΥΛΦΗΩΣΚΛ’. ‘Do you recognise this name?’
The Master cannot read the code but he knows he is looking at his own name. It is hardly surprising to him to see it written disparagingly in Nathaniel’s diary. It proves something to him. The books are truly as dangerous as he feared they would be. ‘Your father and I didn’t always see eye to eye. Nor was he right about everything. He was a brilliant man, this you know. But it made him difficult. He couldn’t be reasoned with.’ He stands, moves away from the table and paces slowly. ‘Tell me, do you share his views?’
‘On what?’
‘On me. On the fellowship. He probably wrote in detail about it. Our differences of opinion, especially as far as the rituals are concerned.’
Gideon responds without hesitation. ‘He did. I know better than anyone that my father wasn’t always right. For years we barely spoke. Now he is gone.’ Gideon pauses reflectively, then looks straight into the Master’s eyes. ‘My wish is only to experience a long and healthy life. To show my loyalty to the Sacreds and if you help me do this, then of course my unquestioning loyalty to you.’
The Master embraces him. It is the best answer he could have hoped for. Gideon returns the gesture, though he would rather drive a knife through the man’s heart.
The Master pulls back and holds him proudly by the arms. ‘Now it is time for me to illuminate you, to reveal to you secrets that will leave you breathless.’
130
Megan sits in her car in the supermarket car park and waits.
She can’t go home and she can’t go to work. All she can do is dwell on the awful, fleeting image of Adam in the Mercedes with Utley. It was as bad as catching him in bed with another woman. Yet one more rotten, stinking example of his cheating, lying and betrayal.
She thinks of Sammy and wonders how he can have had the gall to come home to them and play the perfect father and husband while keeping all his secrets. Secrets of belonging to other women, other men, anyone except her and their daughter. Now the sadness turns to anger. Her skin flushes and prickles with the rising rage.
It’s late afternoon when an old Jag stops alongside her Focus. The window slides down and the driver breaks Megan’s festering mood by shouting, ‘Get in.’
The waiting is over.
DCI Jude Tompkins listens patiently as Megan tells her about being followed by Utley and her husband Adam. She calls for a vehicle check and confirms the Mercedes is registered to Matthew Stephen Utley of Tidworth. ‘I could check on your husband’s movements over the last couple of hours but not without people asking me why I want to know.’
‘Don’t bother,’ says Megan. ‘I know it was him.’ She chews at a blooded nail. ‘I feel so stupid. I thought he came back because he wanted to be with me and Sammy.’
‘You’ll have time to beat yourself up about that later,’ says her boss. ‘Right now we have to work out what to do about your daughter. Who we can turn to without raising suspicions.’
‘Mum has Sammy,’ says Megan. ‘I called her and said Adam has been aggressive with me. She won’t let him in the house or near Sam. My dad is at home too, so everything will be okay.’
‘Good. I did some checking this morning. Double-checking, if you like, to make sure we weren’t jumping to the wrong conclusions.’
‘And?’
Tompkins slides a mugshot out of her handbag. ‘Sean Elliott Grabb.’
‘Suspect with his prints on the VW Campervan.’ Megan takes the picture. ‘Worked security at Stonehenge.’
‘Right. He’s dead. Turned up in Bath. Fished out of the Avon.’
‘Murdered?’
‘Too early to tell,’ says Tompkins. ‘Grabb and Stonehenge. That’s yet another connection to the Timberland, Lock and Chase cases. There are far too many coincidences for my liking.’
‘So what do we do, ma’am? Where do we take this?’
‘That’s what I’m worried about.’ Tompkins gives her a studied look. ‘The Chief and Deputy want you out of Devizes, right? They’re packing you off to Swindon. So I don’t think we can trust either of them.’
‘What about Jimmy Dockery? Any sign of him?’
‘He’s done a Lord Lucan. Completely vanished.’ She scratches the back of her head. ‘I’m thinking of taking all this out of force, going to Barney Gibson, the Met Commander.’
Megan is surprised. ‘He’s going to think you’re mad.’
Tompkins smiles. ‘I know. That’s why you are going to tell him, not me.’
131
The Henge Master guides Gideon through the mazy inner sanctums of the Sanctuary. He raises his hands towards the chiselled walls and ceilings. ‘The ancients quarried far and near for this stone. It was hand-picked and dressed by initiated builders. The precision was incredible. Each piece sanctified by the Sacreds. Two million individual blocks interlocked. The entire structure erected without mortar.’
Gideon rubs a hand along the smooth walls as they walk. The twisting corridors become narrower and the ceiling height falls as they descend into the heart of the temple. ‘Why has this place never been discovered?’
The Master smiles. ‘Because there is no reason to look for it. No one knows of its existence and all archaeological digs are focused around Stonehenge. Occasionally there are finds – a wooden henge in line with the Sacreds, a crematorium, the bones of dead soldiers, ancient axes and tools. This is enough to satisfy academic appetitites.’
‘But there is more?’
‘Much more,’ says the Master. ‘Not only the Sanctuary but other sacred places that are all aligned and linked, blessed and protected. And not just here. Across the world.’
Gideon is dazzled by the extent of the unknown. He has a thousand questions.
‘Come,’ urges the Master walking again. ‘In all, it took more than a hundred thousand people over two centuries to complete the Sanctuary and Stonehenge.’ The Master leads him through a spiralling labyrinth of tunnels. ‘They quarried without machines, used rough wooden sleds and their hands to haul titanic weights hundreds of miles, sometimes across deep stretches of water. They built scaffolding from felled trees, ropes and pulleys from grasses, tree bark and vines. They dug a fully functional and entirely original sewerage system. It still works perfectly. Channelled through the plain to the Sanctuary to fall into deep chalk pits fed by underground streams.’ He stretches upwards and touches an open hole in the sandstone blocks. ‘Ancient air ducts ensure a steady flow of oxygen. These vertical tunnels are also star shafts. They point to specific stars, certain constellations. The Sanctuary is a precessional clock that also allows us to keep our charts and calendars, just as our forefathers did.’
The Master leads them through a narrow arch into a passageway running directly below the Great Room. ‘While the Sanctuary’s initial purpose was to be a temple for the Sacreds, it was also a Neolithic teaching hospital, a form of university cum town hall where science, health and administration were practised.’
‘Their society was that advanced?’ asks Gideon.
‘Every era has its outstanding leaders, even the Neolithic one.’ The Master walks on through the passageway and produces a large iron key hung on brown string around his neck. ‘Let me illustrate the point.’ He unlocks a narrow oak door and they slide through into the pitch black.
The air is even cooler and their footsteps echo even louder. The Master lights a wall torch and several large, floor-level candles. As their eyes adjust, they see a large and perfectly circular chamber dominated by a dark block in the middle. The vast walls are hewn from blood-red granite, reminiscent of Egyptian tombs. On the walls to the left and the right as far as Gideon can see are dozens and dozens of open coffins all angled so the skulls of the dead have a perfect view of the large Pantheon-like single star shaft in the centre of the room.
‘A crypt,’ observes Gideon. ‘Who were these people and why the spe
cial treatment?’
‘These are the ancients. Our predecessors. The brilliant men who designed and built the Sanctuary, Stonehenge and all the henges, barrows, burial mounds and avenues linked to them.’ The Master moves slowly around the room lighting more torches and candles. ‘But this is more than a sacred resting place, Gideon.’
The giant stone block in the middle becomes increasingly visible. Fashioned out of polished sandstone, it is at least five metres high and three metres wide. On two sides are shelves filled with maps and scrolls. The other two are divided into what look like dozens of small ovens filled with rubble.
Gideon is amazed. He approaches it like a cat stalking a bird.
The young archaeologist is almost too afraid to touch anything. It is a library. A museum. A time capsule filled with ancient scripts, artefacts, carvings and tools.
‘How far back does this go?’ he asks.
‘Right to the beginning.’ The Master points to the top of the cube. ‘Up there you will find original carvings. The first plans for the Sanctuary and Stonehenge. Over there in the largest coffins you see the remains of the first sacrifices, those who completed the Sanctuary and the henge.’
‘The builders were sacrificed?’
‘It was their will. They knew that in offering themselves to the Sacreds, they ensured blessings for their children and the generations to follow.’
Gideon stands in awe. Around him is an archaeologist’s dream. An Aladdin’s Cave of ancient history and civilisation. The discovery of a lifetime. His pulse races. ‘I never read anything about any of this. In all the diaries I found, there was no mention of this place or anything in it.’
‘Nor should there have been. Speaking of it, or writing about it, is forbidden.’ The Master moves closer to him, smiles again. ‘Nathaniel knew of this chamber. He did much work in here. Among the parchments and documents in the archive, you will find his own labours, contributions to the star maps and charts that all Masters are obliged to complete.’
So much history in one space. So much knowledge. So many secrets. The Master breaks the spell by motioning to the door. ‘We must go. I have more to show you and very little time in which to do it.’
Reluctantly, Gideon leaves the chamber and the Master extinguishes all the lights, relocks the door. They walk to the end of the passage and begin a steep and precarious climb up a seemingly endless flight of open-sided stone steps. They cling like ivy to the outer wall of the Sanctuary. No safety panels or guard rails. A sheer brutal drop beside them.
‘Take care,’ says the Master. ‘You may still be a little weak from the initiation.’
It’s good advice. After more than a hundred steps, Gideon finds himself sweating and struggling for breath. The man in front pushes on like a mountain goat, taking each stone slab with a powerful and confident stride.
Gideon keeps one palm on the wall. He notices the intricate carvings in the stone. Ancient art depicting farmers working fields, women carrying babies, herds of cattle gathering by streams. Across the walls he sees other scenes. Workers raising giant blocks of stone, the first outlines of the henge being formed. People at burial mounds, their heads hung low. Scenes showing the orbit of the sun, the constellations of the stars and the phases of the moon. Up above, there is a more frightening depiction.
Men in robes are gathered around a bound figure over the Slaughter Stone, the hammer of the Master is raised. It reminds him that the young American woman, the one from the news, is immured somewhere below them.
He sways on the steps.
A hand grabs a clump of his robing. The Henge Master pulls him tight to the wall. ‘Be careful.’
He steadies himself and breathes slowly. ‘I’m okay.’
‘Good. Then we go on.’
Within a few steps, they reach the top. Gideon sees now that there is another set of stone stairs descending on the other side, running straight down towards the chambers and the Great Room.
The Master again uses the key from around his neck.
The area that Gideon steps into is a world removed from the archive chamber and in its own way even more surprising.
The first thing that strikes him is the light. The bright white fuzz of fluorescent tubes, flickering and buzzing like trapped and angry ghosts. The floor and the walls are grey. But not stone. Concrete. Plaster. It is as though he has walked into a giant modern warehouse or garage.
In front of him is what he guesses is an acre of sealed concrete. Hundreds of metres of plastered walls. The Master walks forwards on to a slatted steel gantry some ten metres above the floor. Gideon follows. There are vehicles parked at the far end. Chunky 4×4s and something distinctly familiar. Draco’s white builder’s van.
The place is more than a garage. He can feel it in his gut, long before his eye roams over the vast greyness. The space is divided into other distinct areas. There are dozens of metal lockers; clusters of changing benches, tables and chairs. A kitchen section with rows of sinks; endless worktops to cut and prepare food on; lines of tall refrigerators and freezers; microwaves, stoves, ovens and pans.
Enough room and equipment in here to feed an army.
‘It’s our operational centre,’ says the Master casually. ‘Below ground we respect our traditions in the way our ancestors did. Above the surface, we are an elite force. Tomorrow you will come here and work. You will play your part in the preparations for the great day.’
132
SATURDAY 26 JUNE, ONE DAY
TO THE NEW FULL MOON
Dawn sleepily pulls at the dark curtains of the sky like a red-faced toddler tugging blankets at the foot of its parents’ bed. Lookers surround the dew-soaked fields of Stonehenge. They stand in the empty car park. No tourists have been allowed to book any early visits to the site.
The Henge Master walks the public footpath trodden by millions, steps across the newly cut grass. Enters the iconic circle. Today will last sixteen hours, thirty-seven minutes and five seconds. The altitude of the sun is 61.9 degrees.
Tomorrow it will make its first major shift for ten days and drop to 61.8. He looks to the ever-changing sky as he enters the horseshoe of trilithons.
Moonset was more than an hour ago. There is no sign of the lady in white. She dances in the unseen darkness almost a quarter of a million miles away. At nine tonight she will return and she will appear in 98 per cent of her full virgin glory.
Almost ready.
A gentle wind blows across the open fields. The Master stretches out his arms to feel the energy of the Sacreds. Everything that happens from now on is about precision. Precision, alignment and the final will of the gods.
133
Caitlyn has never prayed. Her father comes from lapsed Jewish stock and her mother from a brand of Protestantism so casual she might as well have been an atheist.
The only things her family have ever believed in are fairness, goodness and kindness. Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you. Not the kind of upbringing that prepares you for being held hostage, immured in stone and starved to death. That’s where she has been since she injured herself and they moved her. In a tiny immurement cavity stuffed with memory foam. She can feel it against most of her front and back. Like being sandwiched between mattresses.
Caitlyn closes her eyes and tries to pray. Her mind is such a spiky jumble of fear that she can’t even focus a single silent plea to any or all spiritual saviours. For the first time since they locked her up, she starts to cry.
134
It is exactly eight a.m. when Megan follows her DCI into Barney Gibson’s makeshift office. She last saw him and his operational sidekick Stewart Willis six days ago, but the two men look ten years older. Endless shifts, sleepless nights and the stress of the inquiry are breaking their health.
Tompkins lays it out for them. ‘Almost a week ago, DI Baker sat in this same room and told you that she believed Caitlyn Lock and Jake Timberland had been on their way to Stonehenge when he was killed and she was abducted. We have infor
mation that now seems to confirm that. And we think we know who is responsible. Incredible as it seems, there is good reason to believe that an ancient pagan cult may be behind the abduction.’
‘Unlikely,’ says Willis. ‘We have reliable intelligence that an international crime syndicate has Lock. Ransom demands have already been made.’
Tompkins holds her ground. ‘I’d ask you to stay open-minded, sir. What DI Baker is about to tell you is going to sound fanciful but I assure you that there is strong circumstantial evidence to support it.’
Gibson is starting to think it was a mistake to consent to this confidential meeting. ‘Jude, why didn’t you take this to John Rowlands or your own Chief?’
She knows she’s on thin ice. ‘Sir, there is a possibility that my own force may be implicated. Physical and electronic evidence has already been tampered with. The inquiry could be compromised from within.’
‘Those are very serious allegations. You put me in a difficult position.’
‘I do, sir. And I apologise. But given the circumstances, I believe it is entirely appropriate that we seek your guidance as senior external officers heading this major investigation.’
‘Point made.’ He turns to Megan. ‘So, Detective Inspector, what’s the story?’
Megan knows she’s only got one shot at maintaining her credibility. ‘While investigating the suicide of Professor Nathaniel Chase, a published archaeologist and world-renowned expert on Stonehenge, his son Gideon made me aware of diaries written by the professor about a secret cult dedicated to the stones of the henge.’
‘Druids?’ interjects Willis.
‘No, sir. This society predates any druid movement. If you need a comparison, think of the Freemasons. I believe we are talking about an ancient craft-based order that has matured over centuries and wields considerable power and influence.’ No sooner have the words crossed her lips than she regrets them. If either Willis or Gibson is a Freemason, her case is dead in the water. ‘Sir, coded diaries discovered by Gideon Chase suggest that the cult derives some form of blessings and protection from Stonehenge providing human sacrifices are periodically made to their gods.’
