The Shadow Conspiracy

by The Shadow Conspiracy (epub)

  Harker glanced over at Doggie, then passed it back to the doctor. ‘Actually, we have… in the flesh.’

  Wexler’s mouth dropped open. ‘Where?’

  There was no chance Harker was about to reveal his Templar identity, along with the events that had transpired, but he felt, given Wexler had already seen the photo, that he should be told the truth – at least in part.

  ‘It’s a long story, but yesterday we actually found this creature with the same people who hired you to work on the site in Gibraltar.’

  ‘Who are they?’ Wexler asked, making it sound more like a demand.

  ‘They are called the Mithras, and they’re a very powerful and dangerous group of people.’

  ‘The Mithras? From ancient Rome? That sect died out two thousand years ago,’ Wexler protested, looking highly dubious.

  ‘That’s what I thought at first, but I can assure you they’re very real indeed.’

  Wexler’s head bowed, deep in thought, before shooting back up again. ‘And where did they find this creature from the photo?’

  Harker shook his head. ‘That’s what we would like to know.’

  ‘Alex thinks it’s an alien,’ Doggie added, but with no sarcasm in his voice this time.

  ‘Not just an alien, Dean Lercher, but an Annunaki,’ Wexler remarked. He opened another drawer in his desk and this time pulled out an even bigger book, flagged with the same yellow stickies, and began flicking through it until he reached the desired page.

  ‘Once I saw that photo, I knew it was real,’ Wexler said, and he slid the book around and pointed to a black-and-white picture of images carved into a stone wall. ‘The Sumerians were the very people who invented cuneiform, and whose writing is on that coin of yours. They wrote of gods – the Annunaki – giants who towered over men and taught them the technology of the wheel, as well as astronomy, agriculture and animal husbandry, and provided mankind with the knowledge that was to become the very foundation of civilisation as we know it today. There have even been seals discovered depicting the number of stars in the solar system, thousands of years before the Western world even considered the science of astronomy.’

  ‘I’m aware of the artefacts, Michael,’ Harker interrupted. ‘Most archaeologists are, but it’s a long way from there to believing the creature in that photo – which I’ve seen with my own eyes, I might add – is not one of the Annunaki. Besides, it’s only five feet tall.’

  ‘Right,’ Doggie said, with a hint of sarcasm returning to his voice, ‘but of course it is nevertheless an alien.’

  ‘The Annunaki were not aliens. And according to the Sumerians, when the time is right, and before a giant deluge descends to cleanse the Earth once more, the Annunaki will appear again to save humankind from such a terrible tragedy.’

  Harker could see how committed to this belief Wexler was, but he thought it only right to be honest with the man. ‘It could be difficult for them to do that, Michael, because the creature we found – this Annunaki – it died last night.’

  The news hit Wexler like a brick in the face, and he stood there stunned before dropping heavily back into his chair. ‘How?’

  ‘We’re not sure,’ Harker lied, choosing to pass over the revelation of the torture Avi Legrundy had inflicted upon the creature. ‘As of this moment it’s lying on a surgeon’s table at Great Western Hospital, in the UK – and having its DNA tested.’

  Wexler looked almost broken-hearted as he retrieved a packet of Gauloises and a gold Dunhill lighter from his desk drawer and slipped a cigarette between his lips. ‘Care for a smoke?’

  Both Harker and Doggie declined his offer as the doctor lit up, sending a cloud of blue-tinged smoke into the air. ‘Some people find these too strong but personally I enjoy the harsh draw.’ He inhaled deeply. ‘Everyone has their own preferred brand but they all come from the same source: the humble tobacco plant.’

  Harker wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading but both he and Doggie remained silent while Wexler retrieved a glass ashtray from the same drawer and placed it on the desktop, before lightly flicking ash into it.

  ‘So many brands and such different qualities of tobacco, yet all coming from a single species of plant. Life on this planet is not much different,’ he continued with a lick of his lips. ‘So many diverse forms of life in all shapes and sizes and each as diverse from each other as animals are to vegetables, yet we all arose from the same place. It involves the same set of genes which, over time, has added layer upon layer of additional information to best suit individual habitat via the process of evolution.’ Wexler began to rock back and forth on his chair. ‘As I have already said, time is the key to everything, of course, because without it we are nothing. Everything we see in our reality has its origin in stardust, the prime ingredient of the cosmic soup that has given us every conceivable thing, be it this cigarette, the jacket you wear, the mortar that holds this house together, and the variety of life we see about us. All from a single source, and everything we hold dear, but without time it could never happen.’

  Doggie looked unimpressed by the deliberate, long-winded route Wexler was taking, which was in his experience utilised by most university professors when trying to kill the last fifteen minutes on a Friday afternoon.

  Harker, on the other hand, could already see what the doctor was leading up to. ‘You’re referring to the origin of life, aren’t you?’

  Wexler took another long drag, swaying his head from side to side. ‘Not just life, Professor Harker, but the gods that created it.’

  Harker’s mouth dropped open and he glanced over at Doggie, whose eyes narrowed with disbelief, while Wexler took another long drag.

  ‘An ancient civilisation that settled on our planet but became lost to time and history, a shadow civilisation, you might say.’

  Harker gave an involuntary gulp and he, like Doggie, started looking more than sceptical. ‘Are we talking little green men here?’ he asked, clearing his throat with an uncomfortable grunt. ‘Area 51? The Roswell crash?’

  The hint of sarcasm in his tone had no effect on the doctor, and a smile formed upon the latter’s lips. ‘You’ve seen this creature with your own eyes and yet you doubt it? My own belief is that they are the parents of the human race, sent back down to us whenever their help is needed most, just as the ancient Sumerians believed.’ Wexler took a deep breath. ‘As I already said, gentlemen, over time truth becomes legend, and then legend becomes truth, and then reverts to legend again – and finally, superstitious nonsense.’

  There was silence in the room and Harker looked on in bewilderment, because they had gone from apocalyptic floods to aliens, the Annunaki, and now the creators of humankind.

  ‘That’s quite a segue, Michael,’ he said as Wexler finally stubbed out his cigarette in the and placed the ashtray back in the drawer. ‘But if we can put aside the whole Sumerian aspect for a moment, what makes you so convinced this great flood, this planet-wide cataclysm, is about to take place?’

  The doctor got to his feet and placed his hands on his hips. ‘Because, as I said at the beginning of our conversation, the Sumerians believed there were nine planets.’ Wexler strode over to the study door. ‘If you have a few hours to spare, then there is someone I think you should meet. It’s not too far, no more than an hour’s drive, but it’s cold so we’ll need to get you some puffer jackets.’

  Harker glanced at Doggie and nodded towards the door. ‘Come on, Tom, I’ll explain more on the way.’

  With that, he followed Wexler out of the room, leaving Doggie muttering to himself, before he also stood up and hurried after them. ‘Michael,’ he called out, ‘could I at least get myself some crème de menthe to go?’

  Chapter 16

  ‘Is the Council here yet?’ Milat Berger snapped, smacking a pair of long leather gloves against his palm, whilst a young blond man removed the black Burberry trench coat draped around his shoulders and folded it neatly.

  ‘They’re already waiting for you, Mr Ber
ger,’ the young man replied with a respectful bow. ‘It’s the first office on the left.’

  Berger dropped his gloves on top of the coat and, without a word, made his way down the corridor and into the room indicated. This small and unassuming office building was located in the suburb of Munich. Away from the city’s busy central business district, its location was obscure enough to offer a satisfactory degree of anonymity and privacy for anyone visiting.

  ‘My lords,’ Berger began, with an elaborate bow. ‘I hope I have not kept you waiting?’

  The faces of three women and four men stared across at him from the split-screen wall monitor, three above and three below, while in the centre was an old man with a greying goatee and white crew cut. They all looked indifferent to the apology.

  ‘You have been out of contact for longer than usual, Mr Berger,’ the old man began, as the other six looked on suspiciously. ‘We had hoped for an update on proceedings sooner than this.’

  ‘For that I apologise, but events have been happening thick and fast,’ Berger replied, maintaining his self-assured tone of voice.

  ‘And what is the word on our old comrade, John Davies, and his pathetic band of idiots?’

  ‘I took care of that personally, my lords. They won’t be a bother to us any more,’ Berger replied with a sly smile.

  ‘And what about the gift for the coming celebrations?’

  ‘That also has been prepared. I got your message in time so was happy to oblige. On the far more urgent matter of our project, you will also be pleased to know that although our plan is proceeding far more rapidly than anticipated, we are controlling it step by step.’

  ‘Under whose hand?’ asked a dark-haired woman in the top row.

  ‘Herbert Pelosi, my lady, who is, I am sure you will all agree, someone we can place our faith in.’

  It was clear from the Council members’ expressions that there was no disagreement regarding Berger’s assessment of the assassin, though the old man in the middle appeared unsure.

  ‘I agree that your faith in Mr Pelosi is justified, for he is a solid and capable asset, but we have some reservations about strategy.’

  ‘How so? We are getting closer to our objective, faster than we have over the past few months.’

  ‘True, Mr Berger, but from what we understand, that is due more to this Alex Harker than to our own efforts. Perhaps John Davies was right about that one after all?’

  Berger’s lips puckered slightly, and although he did a good job of suppressing it, the old man noted it straight away.

  ‘No one on the Council is questioning your tactics or capability,’ the old man assured him with a gentle smile. ‘Without you, we would never have been able to secure the site at Gibraltar, or keep it secret, and the work you have done there is something we can all have faith in. But you must admit that this precocious little professor appears to have a knack for unearthing things.’

  ‘The coin, yes,’ Berger acknowledged, his ego feeling slightly bruised. ‘That idiot Barbara Holtz took him down there, against all protocol, but her mistake has now been paid for in full. And you know that the pyramid has been destroyed, and Mr Pelosi is keeping a very close eye on Mr Harker, so if he makes any further progress we will be there ready to take it from him.’

  The Council members all looked encouraged by this answer, though collectively not entirely satisfied.

  ‘Very good, Mr Berger. But given the importance of what he might find, meaning that which belongs to us, we feel that perhaps it is time to sharpen our sword.’

  Berger thought about this for a moment, then nodded in agreement. ‘Very well, my lords, but as you well know, this might only exacerbate our situation with the Templars.’

  ‘We are well aware of the complications it may cause, Mr Berger, but it would have to happen sooner or later, would it not?’

  ‘That much is true, my lords. I will arrange it immediately.’ Berger nodded. ‘And our man on the inside will make sure to keep us one step ahead of Sebastian Brulet and those zealot clowns of his.’

  The old man looked concerned by this reply, and he leant in closer. ‘Do not underestimate Brulet and the Templars, Mr Berger. They are a wily lot, and therefore to be taken very seriously. That is a lesson we have all learnt in the past, though, but one you have not yet experienced for yourself.’

  ‘Of course.’ Berger lowered his head respectfully. ‘I will take all the necessary precautions. You have my word on that, upon the honour of the Mithras.’

  The old man looked pleased at that and he finally began to smile, revealing a set of near perfect white teeth. ‘When we have what we seek, I promise you that the Templars will pay their full dues in blood, and those that oppose our ordained greatness will be cast out like the sodomites they are.’

  Chapter 17

  The red cog-wheel train, the first of its type when it opened in 1898, wound its way slowly up the snow-covered mountainside to the ridge of Gornergrat, at an altitude of more than 3000 metres. The railway had been upgraded over the years to accommodate the millions of tourists who made the half-hour journey from central Zermatt for the stunning views of the Matterhorn and surrounding Alps. Sadly for the three men travelling in one of the carriages, there was nothing to see in the darkness outside, as thick clouds muffled the full moon’s silvery embrace.

  ‘So, is anyone actually going to tell me what’s going on here, or should I expect to remain ignorant in perpetuity?’ Doggie complained, having pretty much reached the end of his tether. ‘Because if that is the case, I might as well have stayed back at the chalet.’

  ‘As I said, Dean Lercher, you’ll see in due course,’ Wexler replied for the umpteenth time.

  Seeing how annoyed Doggie seemed, Harker turned to him and said ‘I’m not sure—’

  ‘I knew it,’ Doggie interrupted loudly. ‘You haven’t got a bloody clue, have you?’

  Wexler merely smiled and continued to gaze out of the window into the gloom beyond.

  Harker rolled his eyes. ‘I was going to say I’m not sure, but do you know how many planets there are in our solar system?’

  ‘Nine,’ Doggie said with a shrug and was met with a shocked look from his friend.

  ‘Jesus, Tom, it’s eight. It was nine until they dropped Pluto a few years back for not being considered large enough. How did you ever become a dean?’

  ‘I’m a dean of archaeology, not astronomy, Alex,’ Doggie replied curtly. ‘It’s just not my bag, as you might put it.’

  ‘Well, we’ve come this far, so what’s the harm in going a bit further? Besides, he seems to know what’s going on here better than we do.’

  Doggie responded with a concessionary smile, whereupon Harker settled back into his seat and, with a playful smile, motioned to the darkness outside. ‘So just enjoy the ride and take in these incredible once-in-a-lifetime views.’

  For the rest of the thirty-minute journey, Harker found himself preoccupied with many questions. He had still not heard back from Dr Cordon, who was obviously taking his own sweet time over the DNA test on the humanoid. Botha hadn’t yet called to tell him how his interrogation of Legrundy was progressing. And he had no idea why the Mithras had put so much time and effort into all this, not to mention where that creature – alien or Annunaki, if you believed Dr Wexler – had come from in the first place. By the time they arrived at their destination his head was swimming and he felt quite light-headed.

  ‘Feeling OK?’ Wexler asked solicitously as the train pulled up alongside the concrete platform of Gornergrat station. ‘You look a bit rough.’

  ‘It’s just the altitude, I think,’ Harker replied, not wanting to explain that he might be still suffering a mild case of decompression sickness. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Some people can be affected by the sudden change in elevation, but you’ll soon get used to it. Let’s go,’ Wexler urged. The train’s doors slid open and they stepped out onto the cold mountaintop.

  There was nothing beyond the station exc
ept a path that snaked upwards and, some hundred metres away, the grand, looming Kulmhotel. With its grey stone walls and large sun terrace facing the Matterhorn, it was the perfect place to enjoy the majesty of the surrounding Alps – in the daytime. At either end of the façade rose an impressive, round, stone tower, each topped by a small observatory.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Wexler said as they approached the hotel’s front entrance. ‘On a clear day you can see for hundreds of miles, and there’s nowhere better to view the Matterhorn.’

  ‘It’s quite something,’ Harker agreed, squinting into the near pitch-black darkness. ‘Really makes you think.’

  Wexler swung open the door and allowed his guests to enter before following, then he made his way to the concierge’s desk in the cosy reception area.

  ‘You can buy yourself a Swiss Army knife if you want – there’s a shop just around there,’ Wexler said, pointing to a nearby door before speaking to the receptionist.

  ‘Considering that man believes our world is going to end in just a week, he’s acting mighty chipper,’ Doggie whispered.

  ‘Maybe he just wants to enjoy it all while it lasts,’ Harker replied, getting an alarmed look from Doggie.

  ‘You’re not buying into all this rubbish, are you?’

  ‘Of course not, but he is.’

  Wexler returned from the reception desk and motioned towards a red door. ‘He’s in the restaurant. Follow me.’

  The interior was stunning and not because of the quaint, Swiss-style, wooden chairs with hearts carved into their backs, or the white tablecloths with glinting cutlery neatly laid out at each place setting. Neither was it the red curtains at the windows nor the elegant bar running the length of the room. The stunning aspect was the view, now that the clouds had cleared and the giant peak of the Matterhorn was visible, rising above the mountain tops like a lone sentry keeping watch on all that happened below.

  ‘Gentlemen, may I introduce Nicholas Wattling,’ Wexler began, as a tall man in his thirties stood up from a table and offered his hand to Harker and then Doggie, who had barely taken his eyes off the wondrous view since entering the room. ‘This is Professor Alex Harker and his colleague Dean Thomas Lercher, and they know what’s going on.’