She could hear the men outside in the corridor, murmuring. Their feet scuffled on the cement floor, giving away their number. Nina stopped screaming and listened, her dark, wet eyes darting to the doorway. “They are here, aren’t they?” she asked Ayer. “All of them. The whole bloody lot are standing outside.”
“Oui,” Ayer replied. “This is why we were not allowed to harm you or starve you, Dr. Gould. If it came to this, to a delivering unto the Goat of Mendes to activate vril for the head to function again, you had to be strong. Pain and starvation would have left your energy wanting, Nina, and that would be of no use to us.”
“This makes no sense,” she wailed, pacing back and forth. Escape was futile anyway. In all the days she’d spent here, not once had she seen a way out. No windows, not even doors, were visible in this place of unholy men with the morality of priests. “None of this makes sense. If you sacrifice me to Baphomet, you will still not have the mechanical Head of Pope Sylvester! Think, Ayer!”
Calmly, he sighed and answered, “No, we would not, but your death will send Sam into action. Your energy will still be harnessed to activate the Head when we do claim it back. But make no mistake, Dr. Gould, this must be done to seal the secret of the Crown of the Templars.”
“Jesus Christ! Can’t you just leave ancient legends in the history texts?” she cried. “Why do you have to practice barbaric rites from the Dark Ages?”
Ayer had had his fill of the fight. His voice became hard and low as he stood up. “Do you know why these practices are still necessary, Nina?” he roared. “Because people keep unearthing them, forcing us to uphold the old ways to keep the maddening world from getting their hands on powers beyond their abilities! Do you wish to address the barbaric rites?” He clasped her head between two strong hands and he looked her dead in the eye. “Look around you, Dr. Gould. Look at the state of the world today and tell me which age was the most sick and barbaric in what they allowed? Tell me, as a historian, where have you found more atrocity and sickness being allowed, no, condoned, as accepted behavior?”
He released her crudely, sending her staggering backwards. “You women, you keep opening that vault of atrocity, from Eve to Pandora. Then you want to cry and reason when your incessant questions lead you to despair!”
“You base us on mythologies, Ayer,” she replied in a much calmer tone, her words mispronounced under the force of her condition. “Eve? Come now, none of that entire episode makes sense. Pandora? Did she even exist? These are all fabrications of men!”
“Fabrications?” he asked.
Nina was only too forthcoming with her debate. “Mythologies created by men to overrule women, to assert power where they had none,” she barked, her face contorted in disdain and mockery. “Playing God’s Advocate in their lies to indoctrinate their male bloodlines to subdue us, to blame us for all your fuckups, Ayer! Blame the women, like all you hypocrites do, when you cannot admit your own fuckups or take responsibility for your own choices. So please, don’t feed me that shit.”
Ayer smiled. He crossed his arms across his chest and paused.
“What?” she asked. She was so engaged in her diatribe that she had not realized that she was defending precisely what the Militum were doing. On her cheeks her tears had dried and her fear was replaced by fight.
“Merci, Dr. Gould,” he smiled. “Finally you understand what Baphomet is to us. It is a beast and a human, because in all men there are animals. Its arms, one lifted above and the other dropped below. Between its horns, a flame above the mind, a representation of that very curiosity so hated by the church. You see, there is no good side or bad side. It depends on what you seek. That makes you side with an ideology and that ideology can be demonized by the church, or the church can be demised by those who ask questions.”
Nina could not fault a single word he uttered as fallacy, but felt her metaphorical eyes open to what she had been blind to when she thought she knew the Crown of the Knights Templar and its purpose. He continued, smiling. “And the Militum revere that innate need to question, Dr. Gould, as you do. When one can manage to look past the imagery imprinted on us as blatant evil, one soon discovers that Baphomet is the spirit of that enlightenment the dogmas of religion wish us to avoid, the equal duality of the universe, both male…and female.”
“You tricked me,” she pouted, feeling exhausted and upset, but noticed that her fear had subsided a little.
“No, I simply forced you to see beyond the ugly face of what you have been told to be afraid of,” he told Nina.
“But to worship it,” she winced.
“I never inferred worship. I spoke of reverence for truth, for the illumination of lies. I spoke of the representation of opposing sides into one unit. This thing, to us at least, is not a god. To us it is a physical icon that imparts universal wisdom, not evil or good, just wisdom on things bigger than the division of religion. By no means do we worship it, Dr. Gould,” Ayer explained.
Gille cleared his throat, snapping Ayer out of his lecture. He clapped his hands together.
“Ah! It is time we get this going, then,” he announced.
Nina felt her stomach churn. Ayer’s rational and intelligent explanations did make her understand, but knowing that she was about to die released in her the natural rebellion toward that which she had just agreed with.
You know that screaming is useless, she told herself. If this is really happening, then you have no way of fighting it. Save yourself the embarrassment of trying to run away, or squealing for their delight.
Gille and two others came in as Ayer left the room where Nina waited. They were dressed in ceremonial cowls of dark brown cheesecloth so that she could not tell them apart unless they spoke. Under their hoods, Nina saw the uniform black masks they wore to make them impossible to tell apart.
She fought against her instinct to attack them when they started stripping her, and she held her breath as their crude hands groped at her while undressing her hastily. Nina’s eyes froze on the floor as they threw her on the bed and hogtied her hands to her ankles behind her.
Die with courage, then, if you have to, her inner voice screamed at her. Do not let them remember you as a blithering, wailing, pathetic creature. If you are meant to survive this, you will. Accept your fate, but nothing wrong with a little hope, aye?
Her emotions opted for indifference, for apathy, as the first pain was introduced – rope burns from the tight ties. When they lifted her, her weight on their shoulders bruised her skin and the cold was chewing at her bare skin. Nina was naked as the day she was born and her hair was tied back harshly so that she would see what was coming.
“You won’t be cold for much longer, Dr. Gould,” one of the hooded men said. His words vanished in the din of the dragon’s breath that thundered throughout the hall a few meters away still. She started to sob in fear. In this nightmare, she could not help it. On her skin she could feel the same gooseflesh, but now the cold had surrendered to the immense heatwaves coming from the hall. Nina pressed her eyes shut, and she hated Sam like she had never hated him before. Under her breath she cursed him to hell, the same hell she was about to enter.
32
A Duet for the Dirge of Deception
Purdue finished his call and tossed his phone onto the bed. Sam was still busy speaking from the landline of the posh hotel room in the Old City. Purdue began packing. The two had decided to go their separate ways. Not only would it save them time, but it would allow them to communicate their plans efficiently across a large radius of countries. Purdue would head to Medina to locate the citadel, while Sam would negotiate with the Militum to free Nina.
“Alright, I’ve informed my friends of my arrival in Cork, and guess what,” Sam told Purdue. “They happen to know about Toshana’s deception too.”
“Grand! When are you leaving?” Purdue asked.
“I have another hour to prepare and then I’m heading to Ireland to get her back, God willing,” Sam sighed.
“I am so
sorry, Sam,” Purdue apologized sincerely. “Now that she is gone I actually remember what I am doing and thinking. I swear, because of her thrall over me we have wasted so much time where we could have saved Nina.”
Sam shrugged and gave his friend a slap against the arm. “Look, if you hadn’t been involved with Toshana, we would never have known about the Crown and how to get it, right? I guess things really do happen for a reason.”
Purdue did not look convinced of Sam’s forgiveness, and besides his fresh injuries from Sam’s haymakers in the tunnel, he looked terrible. Nina’s captivity weighed heavily on him, as did Father Harper’s death. Even Jan Harris’ demise saddened him. Like a demoness, Toshana’s words still drifted forcefully through his mind, but he dismissed them. Sam Cleave was proof of true friendship, and so was Father Harper, so her evil recitations had little effect on him now.
“What are you going to do?” Sam asked. Exchanging itineraries were important to them, as much as communication, just in case one of them ran into more trouble than he could handle.
“I have summoned my chopper crew and called ahead to an associate outside Mecca who have a few armed men to spare for the right price,” Purdue winked. “Here is your com-device. Don’t throw it against a wall.” Sam caught the small watch with GPS and reinforced radio receiver capabilities.
“You know, if I had your money, I would leave all this crap behind and buy myself a patch of land in the middle of nowhere, never to be bothered, or hunted, again!” Sam said, shaking his head in amusement at Purdue’s latest bribes.
“Right,” Purdue smiled as he retrieved the damning folder he had signed. “You, my friend, you would be bored shitless, I assure you. You would use your money to travel the world, looking for trouble.”
Sam gave it some thought. “Probably,” he admitted, chuckling. “But right now that isn’t how I feel.”
“Me neither, old boy,” Purdue agreed. “I’m also leaving in an hour, to the roof where my crew will pick me up like a mother hen. We have to meet with Hussain, my contact in Mecca, before afternoon. From there we’re going to look for the citadel, in an ancient and holy city where most buildings look like forts.”
The dark, wild hair of the journalist fell roughly over his brow as he clipped round for round into the magazine of his firearm. “I tell ya, I’ll never be chivalrous again.”
Purdue laughed, “Says the man about to risk his life again to rescue a lady in distress!”
Sam had to laugh with his friend. “Aye, that was a dumb one on my part,” he snorted.
“Oh mate, we do these things because it defined us a long time ago. You can’t help wanting to save people, to throw yourself under the bus and I,” Purdue hesitated, “I can’t help but attract trouble.”
“Aye, I guess you’re right,” Sam nodded. He paused for a long while, finishing his arming and rolling up his shirts to stuff them in his bag. “Poor Harris, though, huh?”
“I know,” Purdue replied. “I did not know her, apart from her off-kilter blame game reports and unprofessional conduct, but the meager time I knew her personally? I could tell she was genuinely trying to help, even if there was something in it for her.”
“Aye,” Sam exhaled. “I’ve called in anonymously to notify the authorities about her body and that of Father Harper’s down there. I suppose now the world will discover the other hallways under the mosque that hid behind the already known passages down there. Nothing is sacred anymore.”
“I doubt they’d blow it wide open for the public, though, Sam,” Purdue reckoned. “They are very protective of their secrets, the Jews and the Muslims, you know? These people preserve thousands of years of tradition with the fervency of old disciples. We should not worry too much.”
“Hopefully you’re right. Let the Templars have their secrets,” Sam preached.
“Ha! Like they don’t already have enough mystery to them!” the billionaire laughed. His smile faded somewhat when he perused the contract he signed with Toshana. “Hey, do we have time for one more drink?”
“We’re Scots,” Sam cheered. “What do you think?”
33
Hell Hath No Fury
Nina’s skin chafed off where the ropes cut into her. The men of the Militum were not foolish enough to use thick rope on such a small woman, so the thinner cord played hell on her joints. She expected the heat to kill her soon, long before anything else would, but she was in for a level of suffering she had not known before (save for the time she was exsanguinated for an immortality elixir in England).
“Ayer, please!” she cried, but she could not hear him anymore, nor could she effectively discern which hooded figure he was. There were only six men present, but Nina felt as if she was at the mercy of an entire army of beasts. They put her down on the floor, their expressionless masks leering down at her, while up above their heads the high ceiling gathered up a cloud of smoke before the four chimneys allowed it passage out.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” she sobbed, making sure to revel in the coolness of the cement under her before being burned to death. One of the men nodded at the others. Suddenly their voices filled the massive hall, as it did that night when they sent off their dead brothers. But this was a different aria, a sacrificial hymn just for Nina. The words in Latin and ancient Greek reverberated in the hollow space around them as the bellow of the goat’s head fire challenged the power of their sound. Had it not been a song for a slow death, Nina would have thought it rather beautiful.
“Ayer, please, think again!” she screamed. An iron clap ensued as the cogs of a giant steel wheel began to grind. “Oh my God!” she hollered hopelessly to their beautiful canto that serenaded her into a hellish oblivion. She recognized the terrible sound of grinding metal she’d heard that first night. Now she knew what it was, and what it was for.
Mercifully, one of the men cut loose the joining rope behind her, separating her wrists and ankles so that she could hang only by her ankles. Her back stretched out in relief as her feet were hoisted up, painfully dragging her upward until her body was hanging upside down, free of the floor. Nina yelped relentlessly in pain, hoping to lose her mind before the real torture began.
As she dangled upside down in the sweltering heat that prompted her eyes to water, she barely managed to see. But what Nina ultimately saw made her wish that her eyeballs would pop first. Opposite the abhorrent giant sigil of Baphomet that she was already acquainted with, another icon was present. It was horrific. Thankfully the hoisting motion twirled her unevenly spread bodyweight as she moved, and she slowly spun the other way to face the burning sigil instead.
I never thought I would prefer to see this! she thought. My God, to know that this ugly thing is the last thing I will see on earth…
The hydraulics ceased with a jolt and Nina’s suspended body rocked uncontrollably in mid-air over the six congregated below, still singing in layers of harmony and melody. Her screams sounded like soprano compliments to their hymns, a choir arrangement that would bless any demonic ear with its potency.
Under the strain of the jerking motion her injured ankle had dislocated, evoking even more shrieks from her. A dead sensation crossed her lips as the blisters began to form. Her temperature was rising already. Slowly her body started to turn back to the hideous image she had tried to avoid, but with her shaking it was bound to happen.
Nina stopped screaming. Shock took hold of her as the heat and pain played second fiddle to a wave of excruciating headaches. They were born from her inverted position, the blood in her head agitated by the searing heat around her. But in her docile state of trauma, Nina stared at the terrible vision on the other side of the hall.
The mummified body of a decapitated woman sat on a throne of crude iron and steel, the rivets rusted into the metal where it fixed the body to the throne. It reminded Nina of a locomotive engine, as if the mummy were consumed by the fixtures, deteriorated by weather and wear. In the leathery skin between her breasts was a symbol, but decay had distorted it beyond rec
ognition.
“Oh Christ!” she shouted in the din of the voices and fire, when she realized that it was an idol representing Baphomet’s well-known image. “That is where I am going to be put? Holy Mother of…”
The singing stopped abruptly with the tap of a staff by the leader. Nina arched her neck to look down at them. “It’s not a staff,” she muttered to herself, panting wildly as her heart threatened to explode in her chest. “It is a scythe.” Her eyes bulged under the pressure of the worsening migraines but she wanted to see where the blade went. The head of the idol was missing, and if her body had to take its place, she had to be beheaded!
She looked at the seated atrocity. “That is where the Head goes!” she whispered in astonishment. “They replace the head of the woman they sacrifice with the Crown of the Templars…the mechanical Head made by Pope Sylvester!”
Nina could not take anymore. The blood had gone to her head, inducing an insuperable coma she could not fight. She could hear the sharp, serrated blade sing as it came for her throat, but her mind kept going to sleep. “N-no-oo,” she slurred.
At once all hell broke loose in the gargantuan chamber under her. She tried to open her eyes, but only her ear could report on the ensuing chaos when a group of men stormed inside with the thunder of semi-automatic weapons.
Before Ayer could move, his hood was ripped back. The steel kiss of a Beretta barrel advised him not to try anything. A rough hand tore his mask off. Before him stood Sam Cleave, looking like he was tapped of patience and mercy. “Nice to meet you in the flesh, Ayer,” he said, following up with a devastating punch that broke Ayer’s nose.
The Lost Crown of the Knights Templar (Order of the Black Sun Book 19) Page 19
