Promethea

by M. M. Abougabal

  “Well, Sir, I am the one in charge of the surveillance actually. I am the best you’ve got.” Replied the young attractive woman in an obvious challenging tone. Unlike Brunner, she seemed to be fully capable of marking her own territory, yet Adam saw little benefit to the escalating tension between the two. He felt an irrevocable urge to intervene.

  “This could very well be true, Miss, but wouldn’t it be more productive to ask for help? You look overwhelmed.” Adam then pointed at the other empty chair in the room. “Where are your assistants?” He chose his words carefully, doing his best to mediate and dampen the situation. He actually felt relieved when he saw the young woman complying, letting her guard down slowly and cautiously.

  “Assistant, actually, just one.” She retorted. “He did not report for work today. We have tried to contact him but with no luck.”

  The Interpol agent did not expect, under such circumstances, to keep track of everyone’s whereabouts. All those in charge were simply under a lot of pressure, they were just too busy doing their own thing. Yet, the prospect of a missing security officer? Now that put Schuster and Adam on alert. They realized that they might have just found their next lead. One that lured them into posing the inevitable question: “And what if we need to find him?”

  ***

  St. Stephen Cathedral was relatively a stone-throw away so we decided to put our legs to good use and walk down Dorotheer alley. Our march bent sharply eastwards by the time we reached the Graben, Vienna’s most famous and lively street. Families seemed busy concluding their festive shopping sprees. They leapt merrily from one store to the next as thousands of lamps and chandeliers shone angelically above them, hanging charmingly over and across the surrounding buildings. The place must have looked majestic at night. I found it relatively easy to distinguish the locals from the tourists who were snapping group photographs in front of the Pestsäule; a famous marble column that was erected after one of the last big plague epidemics here in Vienna.

  We walked relatively quickly, so much that I felt our hasty pace restricting me from experiencing the warm intimate scenery as much as I would have wanted to. We bypassed the area, almost immediately, and gave our backs to the crowds as we strolled down and headed to St. Stephen Cathedral. As time slipped by, I began to realize how much Bauer and I have failed to have any proper conversations ever since we left the Museum. Yet, his preference to resort to silence did not bother me that much. It actually gave me an ample the opportunity to savour the sights and smells of my first ever visit to the city.

  As we drew nearer, I felt as if I could almost taste the cathedral’s distinctive atmospheric ambiance that just got transferred to all of our surroundings. The massive structure had an undeniable presence. So much that I found myself intuitionally drawn to the left and instantly feeling dwarfed by its captivating magnificence, obliged to even stop and stare in admiration for one long breath-taking moment. The structure was, without a doubt, the ultimate offspring of a brilliant fusion of Gothic and Romanesque architecture.

  The bell tolls reminded me of how Beethoven had discovered his complete deafness right here in this very same spot. The story goes that he had seen birds flying out of one of these towers, alarmed by the loud dings, which he himself had failed to hear. The cathedral’s most glorious feature, however, was its glazed ornately patterned colourful roof carrying the Habsburg dynasty insignia. The same family, which its name now adorns the palace we had just left about thirty minutes earlier.

  “This way, child.” Bauer whispered and I closely followed him. We arrived at the cathedral’s main door, for some reason they called it the Giant’s Door; Bauer did not really have the time to explain. I noticed three altars at the far end of the cathedral where the Archbishop’s Throne was situated. The cathedral’s layout was designed in a Cross shape, just like all medieval churches, while the crypts and catacombs sprawled in the basement beneath us. As holy as this place can be, I could not still prevent the eerie chill that ran through my bones.

  Bauer turned to me as he led our passage across some seated worshippers then our hike up a stone spiral staircase that bathed in sunlight and prancing dust speckles. He was setting the stage for something; yet another one of his argumentative antics.

  “What do you know about the relationship between the Vatican and the Austrian church?” He asked.

  “Enough to know that there had been quite some turbulences starting with Vienna’s diocese inauguration and ending with the recent and on-going Austrian Bishops’ Call to Disobedience.” I replied while unbuttoning my coat. They certainly had one efficient heating system.

  “Emperor Fredrick did prevail upon Pope Paul II to grant Vienna its own bishop, that is true, but that was a long six centuries ago. Today however, the real turmoil lays in managing the crisis created by the ‘Call to Disobedience’. I have to admit that if our religion had taught us anything it’s that ideas have, over and over again, proved extremely hard to thwart.” He then added before opening his office’s seemingly heavy ornate wooden door: “I must admit that they are, in their very own way, trying to keep up with the times that are constantly changing. So to an extent, I reservedly understand their cause.”

  I seriously doubted that he shared those views with the Archbishop of Vienna.

  The heavy door swung open, smoothly, without the slightest creak. They were well funded. Well at least enough to carry out even the smallest of maintenance nuisances. Inside his office sat another priest, with an exotic complexion, on one of two Louis XVI dark brown wooden chairs. Bauer must have trusted that man so much that he would leave him alone in there.

  “Father Russo, welcome!”

  “Oh enough with the theatrics Max, it’s been a long time!” Said the seemingly ever-cheerful Russo as he warmly shook Bauer’s hands.

  “Fifteen years since our doctorate in Jerusalem to be exact, yet you haven’t aged a day.” Bauer was probably right. The Italian priest looked unusually fit for someone in his late forties.

  “My body is my vessel, Max, and I intend to sail that ship for as long as I can.” Joked Russo.

  “Well to be honest, I am really impressed by how Italian priests, out of all others, manage to stay celibate.” Bauer jabbed back. Priests with a sense of humour; this is a novelty.

  My ears involuntarily toned down their friendly chatter as they recounted stories of ghosts of lifetimes past. Me, on the other hand, I inspected my surroundings casually, but I found myself pulled to an intriguingly neat corner of Bauer’s office library. There, he had stacked numerous books and works of renowned modern physicists, thinkers and scientists such as Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time, Richard Dawkins’ the God Delusion and Neil deGrasse Tyson’s Facing the Ultimate Frontier. All are renowned remarkable thinkers. Yet again, they were all famously atheist or agnostic individuals.

  “Science does not exclusively belong to a certain group of people Hélène.” Bauer’s voice broke my concentration like an ancient broken record. “Scientific revelations made by these incredible thinkers do remain cold hard facts, yet it comes to the rest of us to accept them the way we see fit.” He continued. “To me, these are the rules God had spun the universe around. More importantly, we must always lend an attentive ear to those who oppose us. Don’t you think? Now, would you care to join us?”

  I flaunted a forced grin as I dragged myself back to his desk, sitting opposite of Father Russo and his Mediterranean wide smirk.

  “So, Franco, tell us more about that message you received warning us of yesterday’s events.”

  I arched both eyebrows in obvious discontent: “The Vatican had a warning letter and you guys haven’t thought about reaching out for the authorities? Perfect.” Bauer did not appreciate my tone. Apparently he did not want to offend his guest.

  Russo on the other hand seemed laid back and indifferent. “Warning, hatred, abuse... These sentiments are never new to us. If only we had a donation for every single letter we received.” I certainly preferred how
he kept his sanity at bay. He was an admirable, positive, forward-thinking man. He reached for his right pocket scrambling for a piece of paper, which he had folded in half.

  “Yet we did forward it to the Italian police after yesterday’s events. Here, have a look.” He presented the paper to me as I unfolded it back to its original state.

  This is the Omega, the last and the end. It is where you shall finally release your decadent grip off the most precious, the sign of your reign.

  Bringer of Light

  Signs of confusion appeared on my face, as Russo began to explain the document.

  “The first sentence refers to the latter part of Christ’s description in the book of revelation. He referred to himself as the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. The rest is, well, it’s a warning of depriving us of the most precious: the sign of our reign.”

  Father Bauer just sat there listening to us. I assumed he had already known about that letter; he was definitely tense but unsurprised. I, on the other hand, just stared back blatantly, keeping my existing aura of deep resentment.

  “It’s a little too old testament for my taste… so in a nutshell what we have here is a person with a God Complex hiding behind a catchy nickname?” I asked provocatively.

  In contrast to the strict Austrian Bauer, Russo found this funny enough to crack a smile. The lively Mediterranean, that part of the world where emotions are always there on display. I was even expecting a hand gesture or two and as the conversation progressed, he certainly did not disappoint. Yet as sociable as Russo seemed to be, he did not openly disclose the reason why he was here. The concerned authorities could have well handled all these matters over email or phone. More importantly: How did he get here so fast? I must say that he was only drawing suspicions with his questionable, premature presence.

  Chapter seven

  Schuster’s methods did not appeal much to Adam, yet he had to admit: They formed an effective team. The Austrian’s far-reaching authoritative arm was just the perfect ally to Adam’s intellectual curiosity. Even if the Frenchman, at times, felt ruffled by his rigid approach and patronizing demeanour, they were now able to obtain the full address of the absent surveillance professional and quite possibly the only lead they have got from a poor Human Resources lady back at the Hofburg Palace.

  Together, they had just arrived at a less fortunate part of the city. A neighbourhood that is not well accustomed or even tolerant towards their unwelcomed presence. Many have come here illegally and they would rather not risk being spotted talking to an officer of the law. That is why most grew restless at the looming sight of a police car entering their area. They began retreating to the shadowy back allies, lurking from the safety of the darkness and concealing themselves by staying out of view.

  “Delić is of Bosnian ancestry. He descends from one of the many families that have left former Yugoslavia to find more bearable living conditions. Surveillance is his night job. During the day, he is studying IT at the local university. He is trying his best to break out of this place and help his parents. You see, they came as refugees but he was born here.” Schuster had already done the background check en-route to Vienna’s 15th district.

  The five policemen took confident steps up four flights of stairs and down a long dark corridor, where eight typical, small one-bedroom apartments stacked boringly on its right side, giving way to ugly broken black and white chequered ceramic tiles that clearly were in dire need of maintenance. The hallway reeked of eccentric cooking smells and resonated with the loud bangs of frying pans and searing cries of hungry babies, as they anxiously awaited exhausted husbands and drained lovers before sending them back on their way again for their night shifts.

  “206.” Schuster signalled to one of their three escorts to knock on the cheap wooden door, as he crossed his arms anticipating Delić’s answer. Yet, the firm officer’s knock had nudged the door open. The lock had already been broken.

  “You’re unarmed. Stay behind me.” Schuster whispered sternly as he reached for his brown stitched leather gun holster. The other three officers were already in, stepping slowly on the old creaking wooden floor, where Delić was laying, between a loud television set and a fabric grey Ikea couch, sunk in a pool of drying blood.

  “Whoever did this may still be in here. Check the rest of the apartment.” Schuster ordered. His eyes followed his subordinate officers until they vanished inside the apartment’s bathroom and bedroom. He then turned to Adam seemingly irritated. “Dubois, look at this; he cannot afford to rent a better place, not even buy proper furniture, yet his house is filled with gadgets: a fifty inch TV, a home theatre, video games consoles and a state of the art computer. Kids these days.”

  Adam stood there, just silent. The scene was just too much for him to handle. It was one that he had never witnessed before. He had never gotten his hand dirty, as his colleagues used to say. Most of his work required him to stay behind a desk coordinating vital data between different law agencies across the globe. Always engaged in theory rather than application. Yet what may have really disturbed him was Schuster’s indifference and seemingly disconnected reaction to such a grim violent encounter.

  “Why didn’t anyone call the police?” Adam asked feeling increasingly sickened. The smell and sight of blood was nauseating. He pretended to be looking around for evidence but in fact he was just trying to distance himself from the uncomfortable scene.

  “A lot of people came here illegally, they’d rather avoid our rather unpopular presence in the area.”

  “… But a murder?!” Adam’s voice came out shrieking that it made Schuster aware of his shakiness. The Frenchman took a deep breath trying to quell his hectic, pulsating heart rate. Yet, his uncontrollable hyperventilation and increasingly sweaty forehead gave away his nervousness. His whole face glistened under the fluorescent bulbs that illuminated the tiny residential space.

  “Everyone is on his own in this part of the city.” Schuster replied in an apathetic disconnected tone.

  “IT’S CLEAR!” Exclaimed a loud voice from inside the bedroom.

  “Alright, you three go ask the neighbours if they had seen or heard anything suspicious… So, Dubois, another dead end?” Schuster asked as he reported the murder on his radio.

  “Not precisely.” He said. “Whoever did this, did it in a hurry and obviously it wasn’t a robbery; even Delić’s wallet along his other expensive belongings were still there. Let’s just hope that they did not find what they were looking for. Unlike yesterday’s heist, this looks very sloppy.” Adam felt confused, from what he had previously encountered, art heists were almost always non-violent.

  The Senior Councillor bent down taking a closer look at the body, still refraining from touching it. He did not want to tamper with any evidence before the forensics team arrived.

  “He was shot at point blank. Three bullets. Two in the chest and the last one entered through his jaw, exiting the back of his skull. I think he was probably being threatened too. There’s a small mark where the gun muzzle was pressed against his cheek. What do you think they were looking for?”

  That was the only question Adam had a perfectly good answer to. “Just plain old leverage. Whatever power he had over them.”

  ***

  The question had to be posed and there was obviously no better time than right here and now. I patiently awaited the first conversational pause to reveal my concern. I was actually hoping that the Italian would present me with a convincing explanation.

  “So how did you make it here so fast, Father Russo?” I asked playfully, yet I could tell that it did not go so well; his facial features tensed and cringed to the extent that I feared the irreversible departure of his joyful mood. He was definitely caught off-guard.

  “You seem to have suspicions, child. So do you consider me a suspect now Ms Hélène?” He grinned before continuing, “I came here for the latest negotiations with the Austrian ‘Call to Disobedience’. Even if I had just seen
him today, I have been here all week. Didn’t you tell her that you have received a letter yourself, Max?”

  How convenient. “And I presume you already gave that document to Schuster?” I asked in a frustrated mood. It seemed that everyone around here was hiding one thing or another.

  “Of course, but it was already too late. I believe they are running their diagnostics now, trying to trace back the letter to where it came from.” Bauer answered while readjusting his glasses.

  It seemed like yesterday’s events have revealed, in part, the contents of the letter. Everyone had already presumed that ‘the sign of your reign’ had something to do with the various versions of the Holy Spear scattered across Europe. After all, these items were used in coronations for centuries. I sat here processing all the newly presented data. I sensed the irony in being acknowledged by the church as a qualified expert, even if to them I was just a woman, unworthy of ordination. I could clearly see it in Russo’s eyes, which were still fixated on me, looking increasingly aggravated.

  “Well gentlemen, I think that you should send us this letter officially. The Interpol would then share it with all the designated police forces in the region. As for me, I’d advise you to tighten the security around the Holy Spear in Rome or even consider moving it to somewhere more secure, until we know what it is exactly that we’re dealing with.”

  A woman lecturing two catholic bishops in a church rather than being burnt at the stake; things have definitely changed. As much as they do not like being preached by a woman, which is ironically one of the demands of the ‘Call to Disobedience’, I was sure they would be soon entertaining my ideas. Father Russo was already scratching his bronze dimpled chin in consideration.

  “We will definitely look into that after yesterday’s events. I’m sure the Pope wouldn’t even mind stating ‘restoration works’ as the main reason for moving the spear along some other invaluable items to quell suspicion.” Funny how only them could use a white lie, I thought.