Prophecy. An ARKANE thriller. (Book 2)

by J. F. Penn

  *****

  Harghada watched as Maria twitched and then went still, her face transfigured with wonder. A part of him was desperate to see these visions for himself, but then he didn’t believe in any kind of God. However, it would be interesting to know what he would see under the spell of the beats. Would it be the demons of hell or just an expanse of emptiness?

  He untied Maria from the bed and took the makeshift gag from her mouth. She would be no trouble now, not if her research was truly as transformative as she believed. He touched the gun in its holster under his arm. If this didn’t work, there were other ways of dealing with her but he needed to have proof to show Milan for the next phase. Would the suggestion he planted take hold? If it did, they could release her research with the knowledge that destruction could be taken to the masses.

  Maria suddenly sat up on the bed and he stepped away from her, giving her space. Her eyes were open but staring past him, her mouth moving in a trance-like mantra. She removed the headphones and stood, her prayers only whispers now, the words all jumbled together. But she was smiling, a beatific vision transforming her face to that of a much younger woman.

  Harghada followed her out of the treatment room and back to her office where Maria knelt by the large picture window, rocking backwards and forwards in worship. He stood behind her, his gun ready in case she came out of the trance. Her words ran together, faster and faster as she rocked, and then suddenly she stopped. She was silent and still for a moment, and then she spoke clearly.

  “I will obey.”

  Her words shocked Harghada, even though it was as she had promised. He watched as she lifted a heavy paperweight from her desk, a chunk of vermilion crystal, and threw it at the large glass window. It bounced off the safety glass. She picked it up again and went to the window, banging it over and over again.

  “I. Will. Obey,” she said between smashes onto the glass. Harghada could see it would take time to get through the glass with that rock and she would exhaust herself. What if she came out of the trance in the meantime? He made a decision and slipped the gun into her other hand and then retreated around the far side of the desk. Her fingers tightened as she seemed to realize what she held. For a moment, Harghada thought he had made a terrible mistake, as she raised the gun in his direction.

  At the last moment, she swung round and shot double-tap into the window, which splintered and cracked. She shot again, emptying the gun and a large hole was blown out into the grey Paris sky. From the twenty-first floor, there were views all the way to the Seine. Harghada pulled the security alarm for the sake of appearance, for it had to look as if he had tried to stop her. Maria stepped over the glass to the window, dropped the gun and just walked out. No final words, no look back, no hesitation. Harghada was amazed at the result, for the research truly worked and Milan was going to love the elegant solution. The wind whistled in through the gap as the security team burst through from the main stairwell. Harghada smiled inwardly. The delivery mechanism worked, now they just needed the message.

  ARKANE, Trafalgar Square, London. 12.30pm

  Elias Marietti rested his head in his hands, fingers massaging his temples as another starburst of pain rocketed through his brain. The call from the Vatican had set off a migraine that had been lurking in the background for days, waiting for him to lower his guard. The Devil’s Bible was under threat and the Cardinal had been adamant that they must locate and secure it before dark forces could wield its power. How he longed to go back out in the field himself instead of being stuck here in the public offices of ARKANE. He looked out of the tall window towards Trafalgar Square. He felt like one of the great lions trapped in bronze at the base of Nelson’s Column, old fighters reined in to provide an illusion of strength to the Empire. It felt as if the days were getting shorter and time was speeding up. Events were escalating throughout the globe and he could feel the vibrations of those who sought to remove him from this position. He knew too much, and yet they couldn’t act, because they knew what he could do to them.

  Marietti thought back to when he had been young, so focused on what he could achieve for the glory of God and the Church. Over time he had become disillusioned with the way the Church hid the secrets that he investigated. Of course, if people knew that supernatural happenings were so commonplace, how would the Church keep so much power? If people knew the secrets he kept, why would they blindly follow a tradition that encouraged middlemen between individuals and the world of consciousness that awaited them. Marietti felt the pull of the secrets that lay down in the Vaults. Some called to him in the night, their power earthed in the protected tomb. I must ask Martin to add further precautions to the access sequence, he thought, for I will need protection from myself soon enough.

  He looked up at the painting newly installed in his office and for a moment lost himself in its depths. It was Salvador Dali’s Christ of St John of the Cross, a painting he had coveted for many years and had finally managed to borrow for a time. It depicted the crucified Jesus suspended above a lake dotted with fishermen, a swirling cloudy sky and gusts whipping across the waters. The perspective looked down from the top of Christ’s head giving the viewer a sense of being in space, as if God looked down over quiet waters. It was also a bloodless crucifixion, with no instruments of torture to be seen. Marietti found a transient peace in the image, as if all was right with heaven. Although he felt supernatural forces arrayed on both sides, for a moment, there was stillness and he considered it a perk of the job to be able to have such magnificent paintings in his sanctuary.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Enter,” he called, snapping himself back into officious mode as Jake Timber and Morgan Sierra stepped through the door, summoned by his urgent calls. He stood to greet them.

  “Welcome Morgan, I’m so glad you’ve decided to join us.” Marietti extended his hand. Her handshake was firm and she met his eyes with an unflinching gaze.

  “Thank you, Director. I’m looking forward to starting work on this new case.”

  “Jake.”

  “Sir.”

  The men acknowledged each other with an easy familiarity.

  “That’s a Dali,” Morgan said. She raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed with the Director’s choice of artwork.

  “On loan for only a few weeks before it’s returned to Glasgow.”

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  Marietti smiled. He could see her wondering what other treasures he had.

  “I know you’ll enjoy working here, Morgan. Now, to business. Cardinal Brazza called from the Vatican. The Capela dos Ossos in Evora, Portugal has been ransacked and one of the priests tortured and murdered.”

  “What was taken?” Jake asked.

  “Nothing,” Marietti replied. “That’s the problem. We think they’re after the Devil’s Bible, and if so, I’m certain Thanatos is behind it.”

  Morgan looked confused. “I thought the Devil’s Bible was held at the National Library in Sweden.”

  “That’s where you should think it is, but the Capela was only one of its other rumored resting places,” Marietti picked up his tablet computer and flicked to the ARKANE search engine, calling up the records for the Devil’s Bible. The screen on the wall came alive with the image of a huge book bound with wooden boards and metal clasps.

  “It’s the biggest medieval manuscript in the world, also known as the Codas Gigas,” Marietti explained. “Its real power lies in the words within. The legend behind it says that a monk broke his vows and was sentenced to be walled up alive. To save himself, he promised that he would complete a book containing all human knowledge in just one night. In the early hours of the morning, when it became clear he could not complete the task, he called on Lucifer to help him in exchange for his soul. When the abbot came the next morning, the book was finished, but along with the Biblical verses were inscribed curses, spells and images of demonic figures.”

  “Why would Thanatos want it?” Jake asked. “And what’s this got to do
with the prophecy?”

  Marietti sighed. The sins of the fathers revisited on this generation indeed, he thought.

  “The Devil’s Bible in the Swedish library isn’t the real one,” he said, with a sigh. “It’s a fake that has been used to keep the real secrets of the Bible from scholars and the inevitable crazies who flock to see it. If you know where to look, the trail points to the Capela dos Ossos as the real hiding place, but it’s not there either.”

  “So what’s in the authentic Devil’s Bible to make someone want it so much?” Morgan asked, leaning forward in her seat. Marietti flicked the tablet screen and entered his password to access the secret archives of the ARKANE database. The image that came onto the screen was a beautifully rendered illustration of the pale horse of the apocalypse rearing up, its rider a hooded skeleton. Under the horse’s hooves were trampled bodies of the dead. Around the illustration were faint words but the scale meant they could not be made out.

  “The pale horse again,” Jake said. “But what’s the big deal? What power can words from an ancient manuscript have in the twenty-first century?”

  Marietti stood and walked towards the Dali painting.

  “The power of these words cannot be underestimated Jake. When the Devil’s Bible was rediscovered in the Czech Republic it was taken to the Vatican. During the investigation, the words from these pages were spoken aloud.”

  “What happened?” Morgan asked.

  “We only know the aftermath, but it is written that the monk who read the words tore apart his colleagues with bare hands and teeth. It was as if he was possessed with an incredible strength and a lust for blood. He became the wild beast of the prophecy and the bodies of the others were as this image, trampled underfoot as if by rampaging horses.”

  Jake shook his head.

  “You’re saying that this is some kind of curse? That the speaker goes berserk in the classic sense of the warrior crazed with bloodlust in the heat of battle? I’ve seen some crazy things but - ”

  “What happened to the Bible after that?” Morgan asked, cutting off Jake’s tirade.

  “A careful copy was made, omitting the final pages and also the curses written throughout the book. Other, more simple phrases were included about exorcism and demons, enough to keep people interested but nothing that could harm anyone. The faintly comical painting of the Devil was added as a way to ensure the book stayed known as the Devil’s Bible and the Vatican hid the real book deep in its archives, an uncategorized manuscript amongst thousands of others. Only a few men knew of it, those who could be trusted to keep it hidden.”

  “So what triggered the attack in Portugal?” Jake asked.

  “During the dark days of the Second World War, the Vatican contained some who were sympathetic to the Nazi cause and Hitler had a team dedicated to seeking powerful occult objects. The Devil’s Bible was on their list, although even they didn’t know what it truly represented. The Vatican vaults were considered too dangerous for many of the objects at that time and the most powerful were smuggled out. We have some here in the crypt, but the Devil’s Bible was taken to a secret location. Official records say it lies at the Capela dos Ossos so clearly someone has accessed those records and wants the Bible.” Marietti paced the room, his face lined with worry. “Truly this object has terrifying power, whether you believe it could be real or not. I know of men who were changed by those events and wrote personal accounts of their experiences. They understood the power of evil and spent the rest of their lives on their knees every night asking for deliverance. I trust the words they wrote were truth, so you must retrieve the Devil’s Bible. It isn’t safe out there. We must bring it back immediately.”

  “So where is it?” asked Jake. “We’ll go at once.”

  Marietti paused. The weight of long years of silence pressed down upon him. To speak the location now would mean that the Devil’s Bible would be out in the open again, a danger to all, but he had no choice. Finally he spoke.

  “It’s at the Capuchin monastery in Palermo, a fitting place to consider the death that awaits us all.”

  “Why? What’s there?” Jake asked.

  “You need to go and see for yourself,” Marietti replied. “I’ve told the Abbot you’re coming for research purposes. He doesn’t know about the book, none of them do, although many rumors have surfaced over the years. I don’t know where it is within the crypt. You’ll need to figure that out.” He looked at Morgan. “I’m concerned for what could be done with this book. It was never fully studied, never investigated further because of that incident.”

  “Why wasn’t it destroyed?” she asked, “if it was that dangerous?”

  Marietti shook his head, recalling the mistakes of his own past.

  “The fatal flaw of those that seek spiritual truth is that they cannot destroy even that which is truly evil,” he said. “The book still contains the holy word of God as well as curses, so it could not be burnt. But I’m afraid of what could happen if the knowledge of what it can do was known by others. If Thanatos find it first it could be the trigger for an escalation of their plans.”

  “We’ll go as soon as we can get the team together,” Jake said as he stood to leave.

  “No team, just you two. Get in and out quickly and quietly. Keep this low profile and top secret.” Marietti swiped at the screen, tapping with his fingertip.

  “There, I’ve opened the Devil’s Bible file for you in the archives. You won’t be able to read the inscriptions, they were all scrubbed from the images in case someone accessed it by mistake. But it should give you somewhere to start, and something to read on your journey.”

  Marietti waved them out and turned back to the Dali painting. The lake below Christ was deceptively calm but there was a storm brewing in the distance, bringing chaos and destruction in its wake.

  Catacombe dei Cappucini, Palermo, Sicily. 9.07pm

  “So you’re saying that the monastery crypt is full of dead bodies?” asked Jake as their taxi sped from the airport towards the Capuchin monastery. “That’s normal though, right?”

  “Yes, but these are clothed and more like mummies than skeletons. They still look like people,” Morgan replied.

  “That just seems weird. Shame we have to go in after dark.”

  Morgan laughed.

  “You big baby. It wasn’t so long ago we were creeping round Venice after midnight.”

  “Yes, but there weren’t any zombie looking bodies there. I prefer my dead people completely dead.”

  Jake returned to studying the Devil’s Bible file as if he could solve the puzzle of its location by looking harder at it. Morgan gazed out of the window at the city speeding by as memories of that night in Venice replayed in her mind. They had spoken of faith and God in the darkness of the ancient Basilica before the revelation of the Pentecost mural. She had surprised herself that night by sharing stories of her own spiritual experience, but then it had been a magical place and thing were different now. Then she was fighting to save her sister and niece, now she was Jake’s partner at ARKANE, although how well their partnership would work still remained to be seen.

  Glimpses of Palermo’s architecture reminded Morgan that this ancient city had been founded by the Phoenicians nearly three thousand years ago and had been influenced by every major civilization since then. Even today it was an important port in southern Italy, famous for its gastronomy and architecture as much as for the Sicilian mafia.

  The taxi pulled up outside the Capuchin catacombs. Jake paid the driver and went to talk to the lone security guard at the entrance. After a moment, he waved them through nonchalantly, clearly settling in for a quiet night listening to sport on the radio.

  “He says the abbot is in the crypt and will give us the tour before he leaves for the night,” Jake said, as Morgan joined him. They headed down into the crypt in an elevator, then walked down a long corridor at the lowest level which finally opened up into a large room.

  Morgan looked around in fascination. The bodie
s exhibited here were fully dressed, some just skulls and others with brown skin stretched around screaming heads like mummified horrors. The bodies were stacked two levels high, hung on hooks to keep them stable in a minstrel’s gallery of mortality. Their clothes were mainly in tatters now, but Morgan could see that they had once been fine fabrics with trimmings of lace and fur. She looked more closely at one of the mummies. His teeth were bared in a grimace, lips shrunken back, eyelashes still lay upon leathery cheeks. He had been posed as if at prayer, in a tribute to the God he expected to meet in the hereafter.

  “Benvenuti,” a voice said. Morgan and Jake both started, snapped out of their fascinated contemplation. “Scusi, scusi, I didn’t meant to make you jump. I’m Abbot Scorienza. Welcome to the crypt.” The abbot stepped towards them, pulling back the cowl that hid his face. He was an eerie extension of the place, skin tight around his face, his bald head reflecting the dim lights. “You must be from ARKANE. You certainly keep some odd hours for research but, for sure, it’s more peaceful down here at night. We have a lot of tourists in the daytime. The face of death has many admirers.”

  “This is an amazing place,” Morgan said, a friendly smile on her face. It would be helpful to have the abbot onside. “Please tell us more about it. These people are clearly not all monks.”