by Kevin Ashman
Brandon patted his pockets.
‘I can’t have,’ said Brandon, ‘I don’t have my transceiver, I’ve lost it somewhere.’
‘Well, someone pressed the panic button,’ said a familiar voice, ‘And here we are. Just in time too, it would seem.’
Brandon looked up at the special forces officer standing over him. He was dressed head to foot in black combat gear, and the tinted visor of his assault helmet was lifted up revealing his sweating face.
‘Mike, you old bastard,’ said Brandon, ‘What are you doing here. I thought you were flying a desk these days.’
‘You didn’t think I was going to miss this one, did you?’ asked his old friend. ‘We have been following you for days. All other leads in the Camille case have come to nought so when it became clearer your investigations were getting somewhere, we prepared for the worst. As soon as that signal came, we came in John Wayne style.’
‘But you told me the case was cancelled,’ said Brandon.
‘Had to’, said Mike, ‘Boss’s orders. This thing is so sensitive; we had to keep you at arm’s length. Just in case you pissed someone off right at the top.’
‘Nice to feel wanted,’ said Brandon.
‘Come on, mate,’ said Mike, ‘You know the score.’
‘Just a number, right?’
‘Just a number,’ confirmed his friend.
‘Anyway,’ said Brandon, ‘How did it go?’
‘Seamless,’ said Mike, ‘Caught then with their pants down, so to speak. No casualties on our side, though some of the bad guys will have a headache for days.’
‘I know how they feel,’ said Brandon, ‘What was that thing?’
‘Stun grenade,’ said Mike.
‘Naah, too big,’ said Brandon.
‘New version,’ said Mike, ‘Designed for larger spaces like this one, takes everyone out in one hit. Incapacitates anyone in range for over ten minutes.’
‘Wow,’ said Brandon, ‘That’s some firepower.’
‘Keeps the body count down,’ said Mike, ‘And you caught it full frontal. Anyway, how are you doing? Feel strong enough to shed some light on this mess?’
‘Think so,’ said Brandon, ‘Help me up.’
India and Mike took an arm each and lifted him to his feet.
‘Where is everyone?’ asked Brandon looking around.
‘They’re fine,’ said India, ‘They’ve been taken back through to the convent. A fleet of police cars and ambulances are on their way as we speak.’
‘What about Mr Smith and his friends?’
‘We’ve got them secured,’ said Mike, ‘Borrowed some of the Nun’s cells.’
They made their way past the pulpit and down the wooden stairs to the cavern floor. Several soldiers were dotted around the room, automatic rifles held across their chest, alert to any further danger. Two more were kneeling down alongside someone in the centre, a rucksack open at their side. They had removed their helmets and flak jackets, and were working furiously to save a wounded man.
‘Who’s that?’ asked Brandon.
‘Hoped you could tell me,’ he said, ‘Got a smashed knee and a chest wound. We’re doing our best but don’t think he’s gonna make it.’
‘That’s Jacob,’ said Brandon, ‘The caretaker’s son and self styled high priest. It seems like he is the one responsible for the two girls in Victoria.’
‘What about Camille?’ asked Mike, ‘Any sign of her?’
‘No,’ said Brandon, ‘Only he knows what happened to her. Let’s hope you can save him.’
One of the medics stood up and approached Mike.
‘Sorry Boss,’ he said, ‘We managed to get a drip into him, but he’s losing blood internally. He needs an operating theatre, not a medic.’
‘Shit,’ cursed Brandon, ‘Can I talk to him?’
The soldier looked at Mike, before answering.
‘It’s okay,’ said Mike, ‘He is one of us.’
The medic turned back to Brandon,
‘He is conscious,’ he said, ‘But only just. He won’t last long.’
‘Then I have to speak to him.’ He walked over and knelt down besides the dying man.
‘Jacob,’ he said, ‘Can you hear me?’
The man opened his eyes slowly.
‘What do you want?’ he asked weakly.
‘I want you to do the right thing, Jacob,’ said Brandon, ‘I want you to tell me where Camille is.’
Jacob smiled weakly.
‘Oh yes, Camille. Still haven’t found her then?’
‘Is she still alive, Jacob?’
‘She may be,’ said Jacob, ‘I don’t know.’
‘Then tell me where she is, Jacob, don’t let another little girl die for nothing.’
‘Am I dying?’ asked Jacob, weakly.
Brandon nodded slowly.
‘You are,’ he said,’
‘Then I have nothing to gain by telling you where she is, you he said and closed his eyes.
Brandon thought quickly.
‘Don’t do this, Jacob,’ he said, ‘In the name of Vesta, don’t let her die.’
Brandon’s gamble paid off and at the sound of the Goddess’s name, the dying man’s eyes flickered open.
‘Don’t you dare use her name in vain,’ he coughed, spraying spots of blood over Brandon’s face. ‘She is greater than anything this world has ever seen. Her name was ancient when Christianity hadn’t even been thought of.’
‘Are you a true follower, Jacob? Do you really believe?’
‘You know I do,’ said Jacob, ‘And I welcome this final journey with open arms.’
‘And how do you think you will be judged, Jacob? At the time of judgement, how do you think Vesta, the Goddess of love, peace and harmony will see the terrible things you have done.’
‘She will know I acted always with her in mind,’ he said, ‘Those who were punished, died because they failed her expectations. They fell short of her high standards.’
‘Because they were not Virgins?’
‘Exactly, and died in the manner that all who failed her have done so throughout history.’
‘Then you have fulfilled your role, Jacob. There is no need for anyone else to die. Go to meet your Goddess with a lighter conscious. Tell me where this last little girl is. Do the right thing and tell me where she is.’
Jacob closed his eyes and Brandon’s head fell forward in defeat. He stood up to leave, when Jacob spoke one last time.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I will tell you. Come close.’
India sat on the second step of the stairway, talking to Mike when Brandon approached.
‘Well?’ she asked, ‘What happened?’
‘He died,’ he said.
‘Did he tell you where Camille is?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Brandon, ‘But he did confirm she is probably still alive.’
‘So, how does that help?’
‘It doesn’t,’ said Brandon, ‘But before he died, he did say something else.’
‘What?’
‘He said she is laying in the arms of the Goddess.’
‘The arms of the Goddess?’ repeated India, ‘Is that it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘But what does it mean?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Brandon.
They all stared at each other blankly for a few minutes before India spoke again.
‘What else did he say?’
‘Not much.’
‘You talked with him for several minutes,’ she insisted, ‘He must have said something else.’
‘Only that they died in the way that all such women have died throughout history.’
India’s eyes widened.
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘Why didn’t we see it before?’
‘What?’ asked Brandon, looking at her expectantly.
‘This guy, this whole organisation is based around the rituals of Vesta. Anything he has done has been true to the traditions. Those girls in the train station, th
ey were killed according to the ancient ways of Vesta.’
‘One was flogged and one was crucified,’ said Brandon.
‘Yes but in the beginning, that was the way most of them were killed. Flogging in particular was used by the Pontifex Maximus to discipline wayward priestesses. This guy was being true to his predecessors. Jacob said she is still alive and laying in the arms of the Goddess. That can mean only one thing. She has been buried alive.’
‘Shit!’ said Brandon, ‘You really think so?’
‘Has to be,’ said India, ‘It is a typical execution method for fallen Vestal Virgins, and despite her age, Jacob’s delusion saw her as soiled and needing punishment. He has buried her somewhere.’
‘Then she is probably dead by now.’
‘Not necessarily, Vestals suffering this punishment were buried with enough food, water and blankets to keep them alive for a long time. It just relies on how much food and water he left her.’
‘But where?’ asked Mike, ‘She could be buried anywhere.’
‘No,’ said India, ‘Not really, the tomb would be quite large and need a lot of work. Most of his days were spent here in this convent. It has to be somewhere near.’
‘An existing room, then,’ said Brandon, ‘This place must be filled with them.’
‘I’m not sure,’ said, India, ‘It is apparent that the Nuns knew nothing about his actions. I think he would have been found out if he was using this place. There has to be an obvious answer.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Brandon, ‘He was the caretaker’s son, right?’
‘Yes, amongst other things.’
‘Exactly, and one of those tasks was grave digging.’
India stared at him.
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘There must be dozens of tombs in the cemetery that are suitable.’
‘Then what are we waiting for,’ asked Brandon, ‘Let’s get going.’
They jumped up and started up the stairs, closely followed by Mike and two of the soldiers.
Outside the convent, the storm had abated, leaving a deep layer of snow over everything. In contrast to the anger of the storm, the cemetery was now an eerie and silent landscape, full of indistinguishable shapes that hinted at the sad secrets they protected. India and Brandon stopped in their tracks, staring at the scene before them.
‘Where do we start?’ asked Brandon.
‘Lying in the arms of the Goddess,’ said India, ‘There has to be a clue there, somewhere.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, said India, ‘But the longer we wait here the longer we will be. Look for anything that looks out of place.’
The two of them, along with the three soldiers started sweeping the snow from the covers of the tombs, reading each in turn to find anything that may shed a clue to the occupant’s identity.
Brandon made his focus any that had a statue of an angel or anything that could be interpreted as a goddess.
‘In loving memory of Sister Rachel,’ he read at the base of one.
‘Shout them out,’ shouted India, ‘Let me hear every one. They may mean more to me than you.’
‘Sister Leanne,’ shouted one of the soldiers.
‘Mother Superior, Elizabeth,’ shouted the other.
Over and over again, the names of the long dead echoed across the cemetery as they systematically checked the tombs.
‘No name on this one,’ came a shout.
‘This one’s collapsed,’ shouted Brandon.
‘Come on,’ said India to herself, ‘You have to be here somewhere.’
Between the five of them, they had cleared most of the tombs within the hour.
Brandon sat on a flat topped vault, blowing on his freezing fingers.
‘It’s no use,’ he said, ‘There’s nothing here. We are wasting our time.’
‘She has to be,’ said India, ‘It makes total sense.’
‘I don’t know, India,’ he said, She’s probably dead. Perhaps we should call it a day.’
India didn’t answer, just stared over his shoulder.
‘India,’ said Brandon again, ‘I said…’
‘That’s odd,’ she said.
‘What is?’
‘On the head stone, there’s no name, just a date.’
‘One thousand and five,’ read Brandon, ‘Must be one of the oldest here.’
‘The headstone may be old,’ said India, ‘But the engraving is quite modern.’
‘Perhaps someone just refreshed the date,’ suggested Brandon.
‘But why just the date,’ mused India, ‘Why would anyone do that?’
‘Who knows?’ asked Brandon.
‘Actually, it’s not one thousand and five,’ said India, ‘Look at the numbers, It says 100 then a space and then the number 5. It doesn’t make sense.’
Brandon stared at the engraving,
‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘I hadn’t noticed.’
India’s eyes widened as realisation dawned.
‘Oh my God, Brandon,’ she said, ‘It’s not a date, it’s a label. The numbers represent Roman numerals.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The number 100 was represented by the letter ‘M’ and the number 5 was a ‘V’
She looked at Brandon with hope in her eyes.
‘Don’t you see, Brandon, MV are the first letters of Mortuus Virgo. They must have been carved by Jacob as a sick taunt to anyone passing. This is the one, Brandon, We’ve found her.’
Brandon rapidly swept the rest of the snow off the tomb with his arm. Underneath the snow, the lid of the tomb was six inches of solid granite, but in the centre, another, smaller and more modern slab sat its own, the mottled concrete finish looking completely out of place against the natural stone. Brandon pushed it to one side, revealing a circular hole underneath, the ragged edges showing where someone had drilled a ring of holes in the slab before knocking it through to make an access hole.
‘She must be down there,’ gasped India, ‘The poor thing.’ She leant over and shouted into the darkness, ‘Camille, are you there?’ She fell silent and waited for an answer. ’Camille, sweetheart,’ she shouted again, ‘If your there, just make a noise. We are here to help.’
When there was still no answer, she started to take off her coat.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Brandon
‘I’m going down there,’ said India.
‘No, said Brandon, ‘Mike sent for help. We can get this thing apart within the hour.’
‘She may not have an hour,’ said India, ‘I have to go down there now.’
‘Then let me go down,’ said Brandon.
‘Oh yes,’ said India, ‘Have you seen your midriff recently?’
‘Point taken,’ said Brandon, looking at the diameter of the hole, ‘Okay but hang on.’ He turned to Mike. ‘Have you got a torch?’ he asked.
Mike opened one of his pouches on his utility vest and handed over a pencil torch.
‘Take this,’ said Brandon, giving the torch to India, ‘If she is alive, let me know what you need and we will send it down. If she’s not, we’ll pull you out straight away. Okay?
‘Yes,’ she said nervously and hoisted herself up to sit on the tomb. She lifted her legs up and dangled them into the hole. Brandon took hold of her wrists and braced himself.
‘Good luck,’ he said, and India slid herself over the edge. Brandon grimaced as she descended into the darkness and he leant forward until his shoulders were almost completely into the tomb.
‘Can you feel the floor?’ he shouted.
‘No.’
‘Hang on, I’ll pull you back up.’
‘No,’ shouted India, ‘Let me go.’
‘I’m not letting you go,’ shouted Brandon, ‘You don’t know how far it is.’
‘Brandon,’ shouted India, ‘I know what I am doing, just let go.’
‘You sure?’
‘Brandon,’ she shouted.
‘Okay, okay,’ he said, ‘I’ll let you go.
Bend your knees and roll when you hit the floor. Here goes.’ He let go of her wrists and India fell into the darkness.
India expected to hit a hard floor, but to her surprise she landed on a soft surface, twisting her ankle in the process. She sat up, coughing as she inhaled a mouthful of dust.
‘You okay?’ shouted Brandon from above.
‘Think so,’ she said and retrieved the torch from her pocket. The narrow beam of light was quite effective in the dark and she shone it around the tiny space.
The room was about ten foot square and was totally empty except for a small alcove cut into the wall. Within the alcove, a glazed pottery urn reflected the light from the torch back at her. The soft surface she landed on was revealed to be an old mattress that must have been rolled up and forced through the hole above. Empty crisp wrappers and water bottles littered the floor, evidence of recent life but there was no sign of the girl. India double checked the room for hidden doors, finding none. She stood in the centre of the room, turning slowly, totally confused. It didn’t make sense, she had to be here somewhere.
Her gaze returned to the urn. It was quite small for the alcove and sat slightly to one side of centre. She walked slowly over and stopped facing the alcove. The urn was beautifully decorated with multicoloured glazes and the lid was sealed with a thick layer of Red wax.
India caught her breath as a slight movement caught her eye in the tiny space behind the urn. She shone her torch into the alcove and slowly released her breath in relief.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said gently, ‘You must be Camille.’
A tear stained face peered back at her in terror. A little girl was squashed into the tiny space, her knees drawn up to her chin in order to fit. She nodded slowly.
‘I thought so,’ she said, ‘My name is India’
‘Like the country?’
‘Yes said India,’’ Like the country.’
‘That’s a pretty name.’
‘Thank you,’ said India, ‘I like yours too.’
‘Have you come to take me home?’
‘I have,’ said India, ‘But first we have to get you out of this little hole, Is that okay.’
The little girl nodded, and wiped her runny nose.
‘Good, then let’s move this out of the way, shall we?’ She picked up the urn by the handles, but before she could place it on the floor, her foot slipped on an empty water bottle and she fell headlong into the darkness, emptying the urn’s contents across the tomb floor as it smashed into dozens of pieces.
