by M.Y. Roger
CHAPTER TWO
SIGNS
In the past week after the murder, Rice had become more accustomed to driving along 7th street which he had done everyday. The sleepless nights of the past week had taken its toll on him, his face looked more wrinkled as he looked at himself through the rear view mirror, he had drank more than he was used to and had smoked more cigarettes than a locomotive train. After this case he resolved to take a vacation in somewhere sunny with white beaches under the tropical sun with the sight of gorgeous women in bikinis, bathing and tanning in the sun, and the soothing sound of calypso music in the breeze. Jamaica.
The church bell tolled twice for two PM as he pulled up before the church; the forensic team had deemed the church safe and free from any biohazard. Rice ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, at a corner of the altar a bank of reeves and candles besieged the portrait of the priest. Rice cast high at the mosaic portraits of the saints and crucifix that adorned the wall of the auditorium. He wished the portraits could speak since their gazes were fixed on the altar where the murder had occurred, they were witnesses.
Rice took out a pair of latex gloves and put them on, he went over to the priest office, the place was still as rumpled and intact as a week ago. He was out on a mission to find what the forensics had failed to find, and he had a strong conviction something cleverly hidden, the key to unlocking the mystery of this case was yet to be found. Agent Rice began the meticulous and painstaking process of going through every piece of paper or document he could lay his hand on. After three futile hours of search he felt he needed a break, he sat on the floor with his back to the wall and a cigarette in his lips and was about to struck a match when he remembered he was in a church, he grimaced then he caught sight of a bronze crucifix on the wall with a tiny hole in the head. Rice took the crucifix off the wall and a key clattered to his feet.
An old bronze key of intricate shape, as old as a roman relic with a faint inscription on its side. Rice took out of his inner jacket pocket a paper containing all the inscriptions found on the dead priest body, he compared them but they did not match. He stood pondering for a moment what secrets this key led to.
Rice took the crucifix again something was quite different about this one, he took it back to the wall then he found his answer unlike other crucifixes that looked forward this one was facing downwards at an angle about 45 degrees. On the floor was an Old Persian rug, Rice rolled it away and bingo, ingeniously hidden beneath the rug was a trapdoor no one would ever believe was there.
He gradually lifted the trapdoor and in the deep darkness below he saw a flight of stair that descended to the foundation of the church.
Agent Rice hurried to the altar grabbed a candle, lit it on the way and came to the open descent. The light faltered and illuminated another secret chamber. Rice cautiously went down the wooden flight of stair after delving about twenty meters down he came to a door which the key in his hand fitted perfectly into the lock. He worked the key inside the lock until he heard it snap. Rice felt like Ali Baba in the Arabian legends or Indiana Jones at a tomb, he could sense he was close to a secret. He gradually pulled back the door, and it opened to him with a creaking sound, he had stumbled into the secret sanctum of the dead priest, the hoard of his secrets by sheer ingenuity. In the middle of the little cold room sat a table and chair, a candle stand recently used and a lump of old wreathed files and folders, why were this kept in secret away from all eyes he asked himself as he felt his heart hammering in his chest, he was about to discover the other side of the other side of a dead man, what he was about to see would prove if the old priest was a saint or villain he thought.
Rice set the candle in its place; the light grew and brightened the whole room. He picked the first file it was a Babylonian hieroglyphics deciphering book like those carried by archaeologist, Rice went through the end notes written by the priest, he could tell he was a man much learned and fascinated in Babylonian art and history, that would explain his theory why he thought the killer had not inscribed the markings on the vic.
The next file had blaringly on the cover page, “THE KNIGHT OF BABYLON” interesting he thought thinking he had stumbled upon an old book manuscript, but after he had read through the first page of the conspiracy theories that the old priest had written down Rice got even more interested. The old priest had written about a faceless clandestine society or fraternity that controlled the governmentt, business conglomerates and defence, and was responsible for every single global mishap from wars to famine and was on the brink of achieving the technology to carry out even natural catastrophes.
The next page provided more points to buttress the priest theories, and from the manner of classified and top secret information he had access to, Rice could tell he had some considerable intelligence connections.
On the next page Rice saw a photograph of a group of men numbering about a dozen, he could point to the priest at the left hand corner of the photograph, and could tell the photo was taken within the last ten years. But what caught his attention most was that every face in the photo was marked with an X in red paint, save two faces one which was the priest and another elderly man, Rice brought the photo close to the candle for a better view, then he saw that a set of secret inscription stood over the head of everyone in the photo.
“What is this?” He asked himself.
The phone in his pocket vibrated, bringing him back to reality from his thought. The caller ID was Dr. Harrison, he wish he could pick but this was not the ideal time, he felt he was about uncovering something that moment.
Rice placed the phone back into his pocket, when he checked his wristwatch he was startled by how far time had gone without him sensing it. Six PM it said.
It was 8.30pm when He arrived home, drove up through the driveway; he alighted and cast a suspicious glance at the street for any alarming sign of anyone trailing him. He had become security conscious like a jeweller in a den of thieves.
On the way home he had ordered chiness, with a load of every file he had found in the priest sanctum under his left arm and the right holding onto his meal he opened the door, walked in and shut himself in from within.
He quickly took a drink of whisky, as he tore off his jacket and tie. Took his seat on the sofa and continued from where he had stopped in the underground sanctum. On a page the writer wrote about exorcism, demonology and other believes he found absurd, if crimes were carried out by people under the influence of demons why don't they have priest and exorcism experts prosecute criminal instead of the police he thought.
Rice refilled his glass with more whiskey, as he pondered if the Knight of Babylon were evil, nature would always provide an opposing and antagonistic side to it. The tone of the writer was that of an antagonist who did not reveal the name of his own side, perhaps it was as secret as the Knight of Babylon that was the enemy, a common characteristic of conspiracy theories and fables.
Rice continued to study the dossier of the havoc claimed to have been caused by the Knight of Babylon since the turn of the past millennium. Around 1.am when he had covered much of the files without finding any forthcoming clues to solve the murder, he went to bed.
Jason’s shy eyes gleamed pitifully behind his heavy shielded medicated glasses, from where he sat before his boss who was sipping a cup of coffee, paying no attention to the geek who was seated before him. Jason was the computer analyst attached to the division, a graduate of MIT who had gotten the job after he had hacked into the FBI server, over the years he had proved to be capable of doing exceptional things with a computer.
“I went through the records of the old priest and found nothing incriminating, not even a parking ticket the man was a saint.” He said.
“Never jump into conclusion so rashly.” Rice warned. He passed onto Jason the photograph he had found. “I want a full profile of the identities of the men on that photo, and any connection they might have to each other.”
Jason gave the photograph in his hand an intent look. “Well, at least I
know the late congressman from Dakota.” He said pointing to a marked face, which he showed to Rice. “Over here is the late Italian prime minister who died last fall in a plane crash.” He said this time pointing to another face. Rice could tell he had seen that face before but failed to recognise where.
“Over here is Senator Jim Berkley whose car tumbled off a cliff while returning from church in Ohio last summer. Half of the men on this photo are dead, sir. Am afraid every face marked here is dead and they died within the last twenty four months, and this are not mere men in the society.”
Jason’s observation definitely struck a cord, Rice knew it was baseless disclaiming the natural or accident induced death of the men in the photo, he could be staking his carrier against the mortician’s report which if proven again would be a daint on him. But what if someone somewhere had murdered these men and made it appear natural, a carefully orchestrated murder. He was gradually having a lead and a breakthrough in the case, now he had to find the last living person in the photo.
Noon met agent Rice at Dr. Harrison’s office, while there he received a call that agent Dickson his partner had returned and was waiting him at the office, so he rushed back to debrief him.
During the debriefing director Henry joined them in the spacious conference room; he had taken a keen interest in this particular case. Director Henry and Dickson were both Catholics who had known the priest for a number of years, and the brutality and mystery of the murder had brought the case closer to their hearts.
Agent Dickson had grown up in the Bronx, an African American he had joined the bureau after the years of the civil liberties marches and had rose to become one of the most decorated agents in the bureau. Henry on the other hand had had a meteoric rise through the ranks of the bureau.
"A mummy in a church, and the museum hasn't reported any missing, that's strange.” Dickson said. "We need to start looking into areas we don't usually check to solve this case."
"You imply spiritual, you know that won't help." A call came to the desk phone from Jason's office, rice remembered he had strictly told him not to call him unless he had found something tangible, this might be it.
Rice sprang to his feet. “Genius!” He exclaimed when he saw Jason’s message. “Jason might have uncovered a new lead.” He said. He took to the door with Dickson trailing behind him. They came through the corridor, hurried down a flight of stairs and came through a glass door.
The door opened at Rice push, Jason wheeled his seat around away from the bank of computers he had been staring into to face them.
“How was your vacation, sir?” Jason asked.
“Is that why you called us down here? I tell you about my vacation some other time.” Dickson said. Jason sniggered, as he called agent Dickson a dick in his thought.
“I ran a facial background on the men on the photograph and guess what.” Jason had the habit of putting his listeners in excruciating suspense like a magician, but the agents that stooped over him like vultures waiting for the Hyenas to be done to takeover had no stomach for that by the stolid look they cast at him. “Ok sir!” He clicked on his mouse making an enlarged image of the photograph display on the 80 inch monitor.
“Every single one of them is dead unless one.” He emphatically said. “I ran through their autopsies report they all died inauspiciously, except our Vic.”
“What do you mean inauspiciously?” Dickson asked.
“Natural causes of death.” Rice said.
“Mathew Mallory former congressman from Florida and father of governor James Mallory killed in an accident, jack Williams former CIA field director in Algiers during the Algerian crises of the 80's died from a heart attack while strolling in his farm. Roberto Casonaci, Italian prime minister killed in a plane crash over the alp. Ahmed al Oubadi former Saudi prime minister and member of the royal family his jet crashed in the red sea last summer. Colonel Herbert McElroy, US Special Forces during the first gulf war died by suicide, and last but not the least Father Pirlo who died last week, they are all dead except this fellow.” Jason said pointing to a corner of the picture, to an unmarked face that stood next to the reverend.
“I also found out that these men were close buddies, having connections all over the world and were constantly in contact with each other. Three hours before father Pirlo’s death he gave major Isaacson a call that night.”
“And who is that?” Dickson asked.
“Major Isaacson, Vietnam veteran, but that’s not all sir. You see I found these hidden markings over their heads.” He clicked on and the markings appeared on the screen.
“They are the same markings found on the body of the mummified priest.” Rice said taking out a piece of paper from an inner breast pocket.
“I think I have seen something like this before, but I can’t tell where.” Dickson said, as he tried hard to recollect. "It was an old painting of Christ and his disciples at the last supper, I can’t tell who the artiste was, but he drew the names of each disciple over their heads.”
“But even if this is similar, I don’t believe whoever inscribed this would go through the stress of inscribing their names in Babylonian meanwhile this men are popular.” Jason added.
“It’s not their names; I think these are their titles in their secret fraternity. Just last night I learnt from the priest diaries of a hideous secret society called the Knights of Babylon, this men must belong to another secret organisation that opposed the Knights of Babylon, an organisation we have just discovered.” Rice said. Dickson and Jason were awestricken as if he spoke in another language.
“I want the major’s location; he could have something for me or could be next in line to be assassinated.” Rice said.
“Are you insinuating that there is a serial killer out there after these men?” Dickson asked.
“I think so, these men once had influence it is a good enough reason for them to be on someone’s hit list.”
“The major lives in an old ranch somewhere in Montana.”
“Keeping a low profile I guess.”
Jason took off a piece of paper recently belched out of the printer, and handed it over to the agents. On it was the major’s address in Montana and without any further ado both agents were about to take leave.
"Aahhh, something else." Jason said. Rice and Dickson stopped short at the door. "Remember that totem we talked about?
"I do."
"Four totems were found on four of the victims."
"Thank you, next time you have such information don't put me through any suspense before sharing it with me, I hate that." Rice said and stormed out.
AUTHOR NOTE TO READER.
I humbly want to introduce to you another of his book, under Fantasy genre. I have chosen a few chapters which I know will interest you most. Please continue to enjoy reading.
THE LEGENDS OF THE SCROLLS:
BOOK ONE
THE LEGENDS, THE SCROLLS AND THE DARK QUEST
By
M. Y, ROGER