The Keeper's Cup: A Controversial Archaeological Thriller

by Ken Fry

  “You sound mysterious.”

  He laughed. “I’m a Druid, remember?”

  * * *

  At the lake end of the tunnel dig, a few things were discovered. They had found tiling, broken clay pots, and a magnificent cluster of mud encrusted jewellery – necklaces and bracelets made from bronze, and one that looked like a gold torc. The items were Celtic for sure. One of them was a circular, twisted metal neckband. Fergy knew that chieftains, warriors, and important characters wore these, and other neckbands in a similar style often made of silver, tin, enamel, or copper.

  The professor became extremely excited.

  This was a significant find and of top museum quality. He rang the makeshift bell to alert the others at the far end that they had made a discovery. Within minutes, both teams were huddled together, examining the find.

  This was proof positive that Celts had lived here. Their next task was to discover how old they might be. There was still no proof, however, that Jesus, Mary, and their family had lived here. That was too much to hope for at this point.

  Vincenzo became animated and more voluble. He was waving his hands and arms. “Stai indietrol! Stai indietrol!” Stand back, he said. He was shouting and poking the camera lens everywhere he could. Then, he began to handle the find.

  That was too much for Fergy who visibly reddened. This mindless, portly, so called Lamb of God, was nothing but an unwanted nuisance. The professor pushed him to one side before he could do further damage.

  “Father! Get out of the way, will you? Please don’t touch anything. That’s an order, not a polite request! You’ll have every chance to take your stupid pictures once these items have been examined and restored to a pristine condition. Right now, you’re contaminating our site. Now bugger off!” Fergal couldn’t care a jot that the man was a priest. He had been nothing but an aggravation since he had arrived.

  “You pushed me.” Vincenzo’s affability melted like ice cream on a stove. His fist visibly clenched and for a moment, he looked as if he was about to punch the professor. He refrained, but his expression had hardened, and his eyes darkened with unmistakeable menace.

  His chilling transformation reminded Fergy of a Mafia soldier rather than a man of God.

  The veins in the priest’s neck bulged big and blue. “I will not forget. You shall see.” He waved his index finger at Fergy, and the hostility was not lost on everyone around him. Gone was the mild-mannered, clumsy priest.

  The professor looked around at the others and they looked uneasy. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned his back on the priest. “C’mon everybody, forget it. Let’s get going, please. More digging is required.”

  Vincenzo jumped into his pickup truck and slammed the door, before furiously revving the engine to express his anger as the truck roared out of the area.

  Fergal felt troubled. The change in the priest’s persona had come faster than an attack dog.

  The team said nothing about the episode and resumed digging. It was not long before a student found the beginning of something that looked like a stone portal.

  “Professor!” His excited shout brought Fergal rushing over.

  There, in front of them both, half buried, stood a massive stone construction of some weight, extending down six feet deep. It had sidewalls that had filled with dirt and earth over the centuries. They could also see the beginnings of stone steps.

  The GPR confirmed their assessment. Displayed on the monitors, there appeared to be twelve of them, and they obviously led into what was undoubtedly a tunnel. A series of distressed, but large iron rings – looking like handholds – were embedded into the left sidewall. What they were truly for, nobody could say at this point. The entrance had been partially bricked up. It would need to be carefully dismantled to open a passage through.

  All work at the far end of the excavation was halted and the crew was brought down to assist with the dig at the lake end.

  * * *

  The professor had taken the artefacts to the university laboratory immediately. There, they would be cleaned up, identified, catalogued and C14 tested. He prepared a preliminary report for Pope Adrian, with the promise of more detailed information to follow. Fergy explained that no further Aramaic writings had been uncovered yet, but hopes were high.

  He did not share his encounter with Father Vincenzo. He decided, this was not the time. They were on the verge of an important discovery and everything else can wait.

  Fergal was aware that his incident with the priest would have consequences, one way or another. Trouble was brewing.

  * * *

  Back at the site, work on expanding the tunnel was moving along at a rapid pace. The spoil heap had grown extensively, and the digging lessened as the dirt diminished. The team had penetrated twenty yards, opened up the brickwork, and the heaps of soil had become appreciably less the further in they progressed. The tunnel had not been completely filled in. It was big enough for an adult male to walk through without bending down. It seemed well built, with properly built rock walls, and was far from being just a hole in the ground. The walls were made with evenly cut and dressed limestone bricks. This tunnel had been built with a purpose.

  Flashlights and strapped helmet versions were essential. Miriam led the way. The light, the first that had shone this way for unknown centuries, scanned the damp roof and the walls. It created an eerie silence for those behind. Miriam had a distinct feeling that she was an intruder treading on sacred ground, and that they shouldn’t be there. Their presence was a violation. Yet… there was nothing to see. The walls were bare. The only visible thing around was their shadows, flicking backward and forward across the walls. She began to wonder what the construction was meant for. Clearly, it was a secret route. What else would an underground tunnel beneath open fields be used for?

  As far as Miriam could see, the tunnel was heading directly toward the Tor, and the route now appeared to be unobstructed. She shivered as they moved forward with care. Where does this lead to and what are we going to find there? She sensed the presence of Kelvin directly behind her. Of late, she had been more aware of his thoughts. Things had not been the same since the discovery of his Aramaic tablet. She had always been wary of unguarded emotions and distrusted the inexplicable. Yet, the inexplicable persisted, as if it were demanding a revelation. For certain, there was nothing romantic or sexual about her feelings. It was fuelled by an element of sameness and mutual understanding that went way beyond what she experienced with Fergy.

  It was in the middle of these thoughts, because she was not paying enough attention, that Miriam lost her balance and stumbled over a projecting slab of limestone rock lying flat on the ground. Her flashlight revealed that her foot got caught in an iron ring that looked like a handle. Kelvin and a student bent to haul her up, but her foot was caught tight in the iron loop.

  She yelled as Kelvin twisted her foot around and another team member heaved her ankle clear with a hefty pull. Miriam took a deep breath when she realised she was clear and uninjured. “What the hell is that? What joker put that there?” Her flashlight shone brightly on a foot sized, rusting, ancient metal ring.

  “Wow, I wonder how old that is.” Kelvin reached down, grabbed the ring, and twisted.

  Nothing happened.

  “Well, it must be there for a reason.” He gave it another powerful twist. Something beneath it moved, but not enough to shift it in any way. They needed a stronger tool.

  One of the team was carrying a hefty mattock – just what he had in mind. It was an invaluable hand tool, used for digging, prying, and chopping at the ground. It was similar to a pickaxe. At the end of the handle was a stout head, which combines with a vertical axe blade.

  “That’s perfect.” Kelvin pointed at the tool. “Over here with that.” Grabbing hold of the mattock, he attempted to lift the slab, but it still won’t move. He moved forward for a closer inspection. “Ah! Take another look. It’s a slab within a slab.” He scraped the mattock head along a straight line, abou
t an inch in from the edge, and all the way around.

  Miriam bent closer with her torch. She could clearly see he was correct. Centuries of dirt and soil had disguised and sealed up the inner portion. “You’re right, Kelvin. Try twisting that ring with the mattock as a lever.”

  Kelvin’s face creased with amusement. “I’m not Archimedes. Didn’t he say, ‘Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world?’ With that in mind, this puny piece should shift. Stand back everyone and give me some room.” He inserted the metal head into the loop, held the handle firmly in his grip, and heaved with all his might.

  The sound of ancient metal giving up its life struggle echoed around the tunnel like a dog vomiting a bone. One last tug and the entire plinth shifted.

  Silence descended on them all as quiet as the moon rising. They looked around at each other.

  “Bingo.” Kelvin broke the spell. “Listen… can you hear that?”

  Several pairs of ears strained. Kelvin began lifting the slab. The sound became clearer.

  “It’s running water.” Miriam bent her head low as Kelvin and a student helped hoist the slab to one side.

  “Miriam, quick! Shine some light down there.”

  A beam from her torch illuminated an area that had never seen the light of day for ages. It looked like a cavern with running water passing swiftly through it, into the direction of the Tor. It was about ten feet below the ground layer, and the gently sloping walls were of solid rock and limestone.

  “The water doesn’t surprise me,” Kelvin said. “It’s all around this area – springs and wells are common. I guess it must be coming from the Chalice Well in Glastonbury itself. But… what was this tunnel for and why the sealed entrance? It looks like it’s been deliberately concealed. Why?”

  “Let’s take a look. As long as it’s not slippery, we should be okay.” Miriam made a move to begin a descent. “Kelvin you come too. You all should stay where you are and don’t move in case we need you.”

  They all agreed.

  They began the descent and upon landing, were happy to discover that the ground was firm beneath their feet. The air around them was cool and had no doubt been the same temperature for centuries.

  “This must all be part of the underground tunnels and caves of the entire region. I’ve never seen it so extensive as this.” Kelvin’s flashlight shone into the gloom like a solar flare.

  “Just a moment, Kelvin. Stop right there. This place was once used. Look!” She pointed to a large, flat ledge that stood proudly from the rock face. It was perfectly smooth and about five feet in height. She got more excited when she saw what was on it.

  32

  They watched the stars go out one by one as the morning sun began its slow chase across the sky like a stealthy hunter. They had prepared for this moment, but emotions and sensibilities always had ways to overwhelm even the most intense of preparations. Judah, now a man, looked first to the sky and then to his beloved sister, Sarah. They had grown up together with their beloved parents – Magda and Jah – as they were called, although they knew them as Mary and Yeshua.

  They had known their time was upon them. All their life, they were told that there would come a time when they would return to their own Parent, God, who lived nowhere and beyond, and yet was everywhere.

  This was their destiny and responsibility, and they had prepared for this over the years. They were now joint protectors of their parent’s most precious secret. As Keepers, they would pass it on to the worthiest of their own kin. It would survive the ravages of time and it would be a beacon of hope for all humankind.

  Sadness sat in their hearts. Yet there was also a joy that surrounded them, for they could hear the soft whisperings of their parents ripple through the leaves of trees. Time and its fortitudes would never part them or their descendants. The link would never be broken. Distance would not matter. Even if they knew each other not, like magnets, they would forever be drawn.

  33

  Rome

  Cardinal Nicholas had the look of a worried man as he stubbed out his cigarette, finished off the brandy dregs in the bottom of his glass, and hurriedly limped from his apartment building. He carried his walking cane. Once more, he was wearing his mohair suit. The less like a priest or church dignitary he looked, the better. After all, it was not every day he met a convicted felon such as Cracker. They were to rendezvous in a quiet restaurant and bar the cardinal had selected. What could be more appropriate than the Roman version of London’s Harry’s Bar, where he had first met him? Situated on the Via Vittorio Veneto, it was an iconic rendezvous. It’s interior, filled with plush and expensive antiques, offered the degree of privacy required.

  The sources of the cardinal’s worries were threefold. Vincenzo’s latest missive was an angry outburst full of hints of physical violence on the team leader, Professor Christie. The photographs he had sent back, however, looked promising. The professor could not be curtailed at this moment in time. There was too much at stake.

  The second area of concern was the pope himself. Francesca De Lucca, the cardinal’s PA, had whispered to him that she had heard it spoken that the pope knew about The Order of the Cross and Holy Sword. If this were so, then urgent action would be required to scotch the story once and for all.

  Rizzo’s recent meeting with the pope had now become more of a concern. Was the issue of the DNA discussed? If so, then it was possible both the pope and Rizzo could be drawing some unwanted conclusions. Rizzo was already on Cracker’s ‘to be dealt with’ list. As of yet, that hadn’t happened. When Rizzo was out of the way, for good, he had to think of the unthinkable next. It wouldn’t be unique because it wouldn’t be the first. The magnitude of such an action, however, was magnificent. He didn’t dare to think of it, but the idea would not leave him alone.

  His cane beat a rhythmic tattoo on the cobbles as he limped furiously to his destination.

  With his mind swirling with every possibility, his thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Cracker approaching from the opposite direction. He was relieved to see that for once, Cracker looked presentable. He was wearing a dark suit with an open neck white shirt. He looked less brutal when not in his trademark T-shirt and jeans.

  * * *

  The grey haired, academic-looking man walked some distance behind the cardinal. He was careful not to overtake him. His shoulders were hunched over, causing his Irish style tweed jacket to wrinkle around his lower neck. Age was catching up to him. A white goatee beard had grown straggly, which aged him a little more. Under his arm, he carried a thick, gilt-edged volume of the poetical works of Alfred Tennyson. He paused as the cardinal appeared to greet a man in a dark suit with a shiny head. They both turned into Harry’s bar. The academic waited a minute before pushing through the purple tinted glass doors. He followed them inside. The interior had the aroma of expensive aftershave.

  It was not long before he was ushered through an affluent, wood-panelled room, to a large winged chair and table about twenty-five feet from where the two men were seated. He glanced up at the photographs of the rich and famous that hung from the walls. It was not often he found himself in such an imposing place. There were no other customers about. He quickly ordered sea bass and white wine.

  From the corner of his eyes, he could see the two men had ordered and appeared to be having a serious conversation.

  It seemed to be the opportune moment.

  The academic opened up the volume of poems, which had been hollowed out. Within the hollow sat an upgraded GSM Spark audio listening device. It was his favorite spying product. All he had to do was call the SIM card inside the device using his smartphone. Once done, he could clearly listen to and record whatever he wanted within a certain range. The powerful upgraded microphone allowed him to monitor audio in real time some thirty feet away from where the equipment was placed. He called the device, adjusted his earpiece, and closed the book.

  Inspector Rizzo, in disguise, now had a God-g
iven opportunity to overhear the conversations of the cardinal and the man who had followed him – whom he now knew as Cracker. How ironic. He went through all that trouble and here I am, yards away from him, and he doesn’t have a clue.

  * * *

  “I’ll start from the beginning.” The cardinal lifted a forkful of grilled beef into his mouth. “When you get back, do something about Vincenzo. He’s threatening to do some damage to the professor who is heading up the team. It’s too early for that. I need that man and his workers right now, so sort Vincenzo out in your own way. I don’t care what you have to do, just do it.”

  “Ok, boss. I’ll do it in a way he understands.” Cracker smiled and picked a sliver of corn cannelloni from between his teeth. He never ate meat and had been a vegetarian for twenty years.

  “Good. Now… a bigger worry,” The cardinal’s lifeless eyes could have come straight from the tomb. “Rizzo. What’s happening there? That man’s like a dog with a bone and I want him eliminated and I want it done fast. What’s keeping you? He’s getting too close. Him and the pope are getting too chummy, and the man’s attempting to implicate me in the bishop’s murder. I can’t have that. There’s too much at stake.”

  Rizzo kept his head bent low. He found it hard to believe what he was hearing. Why should I? I’ve been doing this job long enough not to be amazed at anything. But here is a suspect, a cardinal for God’s sake, meeting a man who he obviously sent to follow me. Now, I clearly heard him say he wants me eliminated. Accidenti! Phew! That doesn’t happen often. He had to see the pope and soon.

  Cracker gulped at his overpriced beer. “Boss, he knows I’m on to him. I followed him the other day and I got spotted. No need to worry. He doesn’t know me, and he won’t know we’re acquainted. He managed to give me the slip, but I’m getting to know his routines and habits. I’ll get him soon for sure. I’ve got an Omega suppressor, that’s a silencer if you didn’t know it – the best in the business. I can take him out from seventy yards if I have to and nobody will ever know a shot has been fired.”