Ancient Origins: Books 4 - 6 (Ancient Origins Boxset Book 2)

by Robert Storey

  ‘Who?’

  Bic looked at Steiner. ‘Do you want to tell them, Professor Steiner?’

  ‘It will go to someone already embedded in the U.S. government,’ Steiner said, ‘someone occupying a high-ranking position. Someone the GMRC knows Congress will be forced to turn to in their hour of need.’

  ‘If it is who I think it is,’ Brett said, ‘then God help us all.’

  Jessica and Eric exchanged a confused look.

  ‘The man in line to be president, if the assassination is carried out,’ Bic said, ‘will be none other than Professor Steiner’s greatest adversary.’

  Jessica looked from Brett, to Bic, and then finally to Steiner, her expression turning to one of horror. ‘You can’t mean ...’

  Steiner hung his head. ‘If things go badly, yes; the next President of the United States could be Malcolm Joiner. Even if we stop the asteroid, John Henry will still be in mortal danger and the GMRC will seek to stop us any way they can. Installing Joiner as an interim president would suit their needs, ensuring the USA doesn’t disrupt our,’ – he paused as he recognised his mistake – ‘their, carefully laid plans.’

  A distant noise made everyone freeze.

  Steiner, suddenly nervous they might have been found, gave a nod to Brett; she drew her sidearm and left the room to investigate.

  ‘There are no vehicles in your vicinity,’ Bic said confidently.

  ‘Better safe than sorry,’ Steiner said, struggling to keep the anger from his voice.

  Bic raised an eyebrow and his multiple images reduced until he remained on just the central display. ‘Are you upset with me, Professor Steiner?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You almost killed the president,’ Jessica said. ‘I told you he’d be angry.’

  ‘John Henry was never in danger,’ Bic said.

  Steiner held the hacker’s gaze. ‘You flew a drone into the office he was in; if that isn’t dangerous, I don’t know what is.’

  ‘I calculated the trajectory and John Henry’s position. As I said, he was never in any danger.’

  Steiner brought up an image on-screen. ‘Then how do you explain this?’ he said, through gritted teeth.

  Bic looked to his left at the image Steiner had sent him. It was a photo of the GMRC’s D.C. headquarters, and high up on the corner of the brightly lit skyscraper a pall of black smoke spiralled up into the night sky.

  Steiner zoomed the image in to where a man clung to the edge of the ruined corner office, his life hanging in the balance.

  ‘Your resourcefulness continues to do you credit, Professor Steiner,’ Bic said.

  Steiner gave a snort of derision. ‘You thought I wouldn’t follow your moves? Do you still claim the president wasn’t in any danger?’

  ‘I thought you wanted Malcolm Joiner dead? It was a risk worth taking, don’t you think? To cut the head off the snake?’

  ‘Kill Joiner and two more will sprout in his place,’ Steiner said, his face flushed with rage. ‘There is only one John Henry, which means one chance of saving the surface. You almost killed us all!’

  Bic gave a downturn of his mouth, seemingly unbothered by the fury aimed his way, which made Steiner even angrier.

  Steiner’s eyes narrowed behind his spectacles and he leaned towards the camera that streamed his image to Bic. ‘Go off track again,’ Steiner said, ‘and this little union is over, do you hear me? No more killing, no more disappearing at will. You wanted me to lead, so you’ll do as I say, or we’ll do this without you.’

  Bic laughed, but his smile faded when he looked at the frosty glares from everyone present.

  The door banged open, making everyone jump.

  Brett re-entered the room and gave Steiner the all clear.

  They were safe, for now.

  ‘You need me,’ Bic said, sounding nervous. ‘You cannot hope to do this without my help.’

  ‘We can,’ Steiner said, ‘and we will, unless you submit to my lead.’

  ‘Is that what you all want?’ Bic said, looking to Eric and Jessica.

  Jessica glanced at Steiner. ‘It is.’

  ‘Eric?’ Bic said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Da Muss Ich, but yes, you need to listen to the professor.’

  ‘Agent Taylor,’ Bic said, ‘do you agree my autonomy should be restricted?’

  ‘Kill any more government agents or civilians,’ Brett said, holstering her weapon, ‘and I’ll kill you.’

  ‘Then so be it,’ Bic said, looking back at the professor. ‘Your wish is my command.’

  Steiner stared at the hacker in an attempt at gauging his sincerity. But he knew such a task was pointless, Bic would do what he wanted, no matter what he said to Steiner’s face. At least it might keep him in check for a while, Steiner thought, which is better than nothing.

  ‘So,’ Eric said, breaking the silence that had descended, ‘how do we stop the president from being killed?’

  ‘We need to speed up our schedule,’ Steiner said. ‘If we get to him first, we can protect him.’

  ‘If he lets us,’ Eric said. ‘He’s put a bounty on our heads, remember.’

  ‘We have a plan,’ Bic said, ‘and I can help protect the president until you reach him. If that’s still okay with you, Professor Steiner.’

  Steiner nodded.

  ‘Wait,’ Jessica said, ‘what plan?’

  Steiner swapped a look with Bic and said, ‘It’s best you don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t trust us?’ Jessica said, her expression incredulous. ‘But you trust him?’ She pointed at Bic.

  ‘You need to trust me,’ Steiner said, ‘you all do.’

  ‘And you think it’s better we don’t know,’ Jessica said in disbelief.

  ‘In this instance, yes, I do.’

  Jessica shook her head as Brett added her two penn’orth.

  It’s for the best, Steiner told himself as the arguments started. They’ll see.

  Chapter One Hundred Thirty-One

  Rome, Italy.

  The empty street echoed with the footfalls of a cloaked man, as he wound his way through the ancient metropolis towards a prearranged meeting point. The wail of sirens permeated the night air, as did the smog, which hung in clouds like a Dickensian London in the midst of winter. Rome, the Eternal City, still clung to civilization’s comforting embrace like a child to a mother, despite the riots and suicide bombings that continued to rock its deepest foundation.

  The elderly man turned a corner and stopped to get his bearings. Street lights flickered through the haze. The sound of laughter made him glance left. Lights from a backstreet brothel invited him to break his vows. He licked his lips. Such sins of the flesh were not his to sample, at least ... not in this life.

  He crossed the road, cut through an alley and hurried up stone steps, the haste of his movement revealing the red ecclesiastical robes of a Vatican cardinal beneath his shadow-like cloak.

  Having entered the courtyard of a small church, he stopped and grasped his chest in fright.

  A dark figure waited for him, its own black cowl giving it a demonic air.

  Cardinal Dolmante made the sign of the cross on his chest and walked forward.

  On his approach, the figure turned round, revealing a dark shadow that masked its face.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ the man said in Latin.

  Cardinal Dolmante hesitated. ‘I thought you were coming alone?’

  The hooded figure glanced behind at an indistinct form just visible through the patchy fog that hung in the courtyard like a veil. ‘He’s here for your protection.’

  Cardinal Dolmante squinted at the person in question, who appeared to move strangely in the dark. Knowing his eighty-year-old eyes weren’t what they used to be, Dolmante turned his attention back to the man before him, who said, ‘Has Cardinal Cantrell taken the girl?’

  Dolmante nodded. ‘Avery Cantrell and Cardinal Zinetti are with her. It is as we feared; his Holiness does not see the deception from
within.’

  ‘Zinetti is a problem,’ the hooded man said, ‘the Satanists cannot be allowed to succeed in their quest.’

  ‘Avery Cantrell will keep them in check,’ Dolmante said. ‘They fear his will and influence amongst the conclave.’

  ‘That’s what we’re worried about.’

  Dolmante nodded again, his hand going to the cross at his neck, the reality of what he was about to ask making him sick to his core. ‘That’s why none can be left alive,’ – he closed his eyes and prayed for salvation – ‘especially Sarah Morgan,’ he said, opening them again. ‘She’s not what I thought. Will you not reconsider my request?’

  ‘Do you have it?’

  Dolmante paused, knowing what he was about to disclose was beyond sacred. ‘I do.’ He withdrew a scroll from his robe.

  The man reached out and grasped it, but Dolmante refused to let go. As they both clutched the scroll, Dolmante noticed an array of tattoos covering the other man’s hand.

  ‘You know it is safe with us, brother,’ the hooded man said.

  ‘My request?’ Dolmante said, sounding desperate.

  The man’s eyes glittered within the shadow of his cowl. ‘We will kill them all.’

  Dolmante relented and released his hold.

  The man unfurled the parchment and read through what was scrawled across its surface. ‘Is this the full translation?’

  Dolmante nodded. ‘From the Golden Scroll – yes. It is what our scholars have confirmed.’

  ‘The Source of Egypt,’ the hooded man said, continuing to read. ‘So it’s what we thought, the other race knew of our Lord.’

  ‘The Redeemer is all things to all men,’ Cardinal Dolmante said.

  ‘The Anakim are not men.’

  Dolmante shifted in discomfort ‘No, I mean ... I meant that—’

  ‘I know what you meant,’ said the man in the cowl, his tone angry. He looked up from the scroll. ‘And the prophecy; where is it?’

  ‘Keep reading.’ Dolmante said.

  The man extended the scroll, his eyes growing wider as he read the spiderlike script. ‘So it is a code.’

  ‘Yes, although it’s more of a two-part message, don’t you think? My contact was as good as his word. He said he could solve anything, but this, this is something else. I could never have dreamt—’

  ‘Do the Satanists know?’

  ‘No, of course not. I—’

  The hooded man seized Dolmante’s wrist. ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes, I’m certain, but don’t you see what this means?’ Dolmante said, unable to suppress his excitement. ‘This message is what we’ve always sought, the search is finally over. We have proof – real proof.’

  The man grunted in disinterest and released his hold on the elderly cardinal. ‘I need no proof.’ He studied the parchment again. ‘If His Holiness has given his seal of approval to the expedition, then what of the Order?’

  ‘They have been reinstated,’ Dolmante said, suddenly worried. ‘You didn’t know?’

  ‘How many?’

  Dolmante hesitated.

  ‘How many?’ said the man, an urgency to his voice.

  ‘A handful, so far. His Holiness is not yet convinced it is the right path.’ Dolmante frowned as his doubt remained. ‘How can you not know?’

  A distant explosion rumbled through the night sky.

  The hooded man looked up. ‘Another martyr sacrificed to the cause.’

  ‘A martyr? They are murderers, of themselves and innocents.’ Cardinal Dolmante took a backward step, his expression fearful. ‘Who are you?’

  The man slid back his hood to reveal a bald head and a face covered with a mass of strange tattoos. ‘I am a saviour of the Faith.’

  Dolmante’s eyes widened in shock and he turned and ran. He hadn’t taken four steps before a spray of blood burst from his mouth.

  He looked down at the sword protruding from his chest, let out a gurgling sigh and collapsed to the ground.

  ♦

  Alexander Konstantin gazed down at the dead cardinal, and the pool of blood that seeped out from beneath him. ‘Godspeed, father,’ Konstantin said. He withdrew his blade and then turned and strode back towards the man he’d left at the edge of the courtyard.

  Konstantin surveyed his captive, who’d ceased to struggle against his bonds. He placed his bloodied sword under the man’s chin and raised his head.

  The man groaned and opened his eyes.

  ‘Your cardinal is dead,’ Konstantin said, reverting to his thick Russian accent. ‘And your secret is ours.’

  More men appeared in the shadowy courtyard, their faces and hands tattooed in a similar fashion to their leader.

  ‘We’re on the same side,’ said the bound man. ‘You are going against the will of our Holy Father.’

  Konstantin shook his head. ‘The Knights of the Apocalypse answer only to God. If His Holiness is blind to the devil at his door, then it is up to us to make him see.’

  ‘You will never succeed. The way of God is closed to you.’

  Konstantin gripped the back of the man’s head, his face a mask of anger. ‘God is with me always, devil worshipper.’

  Blood dripped down from the man’s mouth and he shook his head. ‘We do not worship the fallen one,’ – he gasped for air – ‘we are not ... what we were.’

  Konstantin moved closer until their faces were an inch apart. ‘You will always be what you were and we will kill you all. I swear in my blood, on Holy God, none shall stand in our way.’

  ‘Then you damn us all to Hell.’

  ‘No, it is you who is damned.’ Konstantin pressed his lips to the man’s ear and whispered, ‘Your knights of renown will be cast back from whence they came,’ – he slid his sword across the man’s throat – ‘my brother.’

  Konstantin kissed the dying man’s forehead as his blood flowed down his chest.

  ‘My Lord, our transport awaits.’

  Konstantin turned to look at his second in command. ‘Then gather our forces,’ – he held his bloodied blade aloft – ‘for our time is now!’

  ‘Our time is now!’ said his men in unison.

  Konstantin pointed his sword heavenward. ‘I am king of glory!’

  ‘I am king of glory!!’ the Knights of the Apocalypse chanted, raising their swords as one.

  Alexander Konstantin gazed at his men with maddened eyes and shouted, ‘EGO SUM REX GLORIAE!!’

  ♦

  As the Knights of the Apocalypse raised their swords, the man who Konstantin had left to die from his wounds, gazed at them with sorrow in his heart. His eyelids drooping, his gaze drifted to the unmoving body of Cardinal Dolmante and he knew he had failed his master; their secret was out. It was up to him, now, to protect Mother Church. The man’s head sank to his powerful chest, the last drops of his lifeblood pumping from his neck, his last vision, the mark of his order, a single tattoo on the inside of his wrist. It was a mark that had once served at the highest tables, but now a handful was one less, and the Catholic military order that had been shunned for almost a millennium was once more on the brink of annihilation. The Order of Solomon's Temple had arisen from the ashes of the past, but for how long, remained to be seen.

  The man closed his eyes, knowing that he was the first of his kind to die for eight hundred years. Whether he was to be the first of many remained to be seen, but he had served as best as he could, and he was proud to have been a servant and soldier of God – or, as his murderer had said, a knight, although not of the Apocalypse, but of renown.

  The man’s final breath was released from his lungs and his body went limp against the ropes that bound him, the only sign of allegiance the tattoo on his wrist, which was also the symbol of one of the greatest military orders the world had ever known: the symbol of a Templar Knight.

  Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Two

  Sarah Morgan sat wondering why she was doing what she was doing. Wondering why she was helping the very people that had destroyed her career and fami
ly, and covered up the very thing she’d always striven to expose: the existence of Homo gigantis. Because you want to see Trish and Jason, she thought, the memory of her two friends worming its way to the forefront of her mind. She was excited to see them, to see Jason’s cheeky grin and Trish’s caring eyes. It had been so long, she could hardly wait. They were her family now, but despite her longing, the excitement was tinged with dread. She’d been through a lot since she’d last seen them, operated on and interrogated by Dagmar Sorensen, not to mention being kept in confinement for months on end in torrid conditions. After her first stint in the military prison in Sanctuary she’d thought she’d never have to go through such an ordeal again, but she’d been wrong, very wrong. And now, on the other side, she felt different, unfamiliar to herself in ways she couldn’t explain. Would Trish and Jason recognise the friend they’d known, or would they see the stranger in her skin?

  Sarah glanced at her watch, it was almost time. She looked around the aeroplane that had taken off from a private airstrip outside Rome six hours before. Avery Cantrell sat across from her, his aging eyes closed in sleep, while the younger Cardinal Zinetti sat on the opposite side of the aisle, staring out of the window in silent thought. Elsewhere in the twin-engined passenger jet, the clergymen’s retinue occupied another thirty seats of the eighty available. Many of them had the look of soldiers, soldiers that Sarah guessed usually wore the colourful garb of the Swiss Guard. At the far end, near the cockpit, sat the powerful form of the monosyllabic monk, Ruben. Ever since her encounter with him in the Vatican’s shower complex, waves of animosity poured out of him whenever they drew close. She could understand his vow of celibacy must have been difficult, especially when coming face-to-face with a naked woman – Sarah’s desire stirred at the memory of his body – but it wasn’t her fault he found her attractive. She crossed her legs. Although, she thought, he’d probably find a squashed tomato attractive if he hasn’t been getting any. She craned her neck to glimpse the back of Ruben’s head, the monk’s long hair hidden by the cowl of his robe.