by Ken Fry
The intercom buzzed. The doctor had arrived.
49
The Waltzing Matilda ring tone of his cell phone reminded the professor that he was in the real world. Vincenzo’s sing song English voice left no doubt who it was. His demanding tone ensured he was never going to be friends with him. His call was terse and to the point.
“Professor Christie, what have you found today?”
Fergal had decided to tell him everything except for the implications of the find. He doubted whether Vincenzo had the imagination to make the connections. That would be up to the cardinal. He told him of a skeleton, a gold plaque, its Latin inscription, and a bag of rusty nails.
The mention of gold got Vincenzo’s attention faster than the hounds of hell. “Gold! I must see it. What does the inscription say?”
Fergal read out the Latin but offered no translation.
“Do nothing but keep it safe. I must tell Cardinal Nicholas. He will understand what it says. He will want to examine it. I will call him.”
“No problem, Father. What about the old nails?” Fergal knew what his response would be.
“Not too worried about those sorts of things, but the gold plaque is interesting. Keep them safe and I will let you know what he says.”
The professor agreed, and Miriam, who was listening in, agreed with a nod of her head.
“Will do, Father. Catch me later.” He turned to Miriam. “What surprises me is that neither of those two slime balls know anything of the rules and regulations we archaeologists are required to adhere to. Perhaps we should have informed them. They should know that we are not allowed to keep or make cash out of anything we find. Every single thing an archaeologist finds must be recorded. Whilst on site, we field archaeologists carefully clean, label and number all finds, and then they are examined by specialists. The gold we have discovered, the rusted nails, the inscriptions and parchments work, will be carefully conserved. Any environmental evidence, such as residues from containers, seeds and pollen are separated and analysed in a laboratory. Once reports have been produced for all the finds on site, the physical evidence is sent to an archive, usually at a local or regional museum, where they will be made available for future study. Exceptional finds are usually put on display in a major museum. What will happen to our finds, we will have to wait and see. Those two creeps think they can take them away. Not a chance in hell.”
“What of the pope? He’s funding all this. Does he get a claim?”
“I don’t know the answer to that one, Miriam. This is unprecedented. We’ll have to wait and see.”
* * *
He had three phone calls to make – one was to Cracker, the other to Cardinal Nicholas, and the final one to Rizzo. He called Cracker first.
“They’ve found gold. They are going to let me look when they get back.”
“Do we snitch it?” Cracker was way ahead of himself.
“Not yet. We have a few other things to consider, like Rizzo and that professor and his woman.”
“Okay, let’s do Rizzo. How do we do it?”
“I’ll get him to that lake place the professor and his friends went to. You will be there and we both have guns. Should be easy. I’ll try for tomorrow and I will let you know, of course. Be ready.”
His next call was to the cardinal.
Cardinal Nicholas answered the phone. His tone was guarded.
“Father Vincenzo, good news, I trust?”
“Si eminenza. They have found a gold tablet with an inscription that they are cleaning it. They will send me photographs of it and you will understand what it says.” He made no mention of the rusty nails. “I have other news for you. Our plans are prepared and ready to act upon tomorrow. This time tomorrow, my Cardinal, your wishes will have been carried out and your fears will have vanished like a bad dream. God be praised!”
“God be praised! Indeed, Christ be praised!”
By the tone of the cardinal’s voice, Vincenzo needed only to imagine the great joy he must be feeling.
Before his next call, he sat back in his chair and thought carefully about how he was to go about it. It had to be believable and enticing. He knew the Inspector was no fool. After about half an hour, he had worked it through. With some trepidation, he dialled Rizzo’s number.
* * *
The caller’s name came as no real surprise to Inspector Rizzo. He knew his presence in the area was unnerving for Vincenzo, Cardinal Nicholas, and Daniel Cracker. He was forcing their hand. Not for one moment did he doubt there would be trouble on its way. They must all know where I am and have a good idea what I’m here for.
He answered this phone. “Father Vincenzo, this is Inspector Rizzo speaking. What can I do for you?”
Vincenzo’s voice had a nervous edge to it. “Inspector, glad you are there. I have discovered some interesting information concerning the man Cracker, who you are looking for.”
“Oh yes? And what might that be?” The inspector was unable to conceal a wry smile. They had no idea that he knew where they all were, and their plans for him. He would go along with them up to a point, and then things would get unpleasant.
“As you may know, we are conducting an important archaeological exploration around here, to discover the truth in a story that Christ once lived in these areas. Do you know that story? Well, Inspector, we have located a site near a small lake nearby where items have been found. The man, this Cracker, was in Italy a short while back, and we know he got to hear of this. Such items, I heard there’s gold, would be most valuable on the open market. Yes?”
Rizzo held back. Vincenzo’s story was ridiculous, and full of holes, but he went along with it. Cleary the cardinal was up to his eyeballs in the plot. I need some information from Professor Christie and the pope himself, possibly.
“Do you know what was found?”
“Gold bars, I hear.” Vincenzo lied.
Rizzo knew a separate dig was being conducted in the outer London area, and a long distance from Glastonbury environs. A simple call to the professor would confirm if the priest was telling the truth. Pretending he knew nothing, he asked, “Where are these items being discovered?”
“As I said earlier, Inspector, in a lakeside glade not far from here. Exciting, eh?”
Nice try, Vincenzo, but so obvious. “That’s amazing, Father. When do I get to look and what of Cracker?”
“Let’s go tomorrow,” Vincenzo replied. “The man, Cracker… I don’t know where he is exactly, but he knows of this gold and will find it soon enough.”
Rizzo’s eyes narrowed and his brain made a quick calculation. He proceeded to wrong foot Vincenzo. “Can’t make it tomorrow, Father, so you’d better sit on the pope’s gold bars.”
What Rizzo wasn’t saying was that he was expecting the arrest warrant to be acted upon soon, courtesy of the UK police. When everything was in place, then that was the time to make a move.
He continued. “Father, from what I know, archaeology finds are not allowed out of the country. It’s illegal. There has to be a full examination of any artifact discovered. Such things could end up in a museum.”
There was a pause. The inspector could almost hear Vincenzo’s brain whirling around.
“What do you suggest, Inspector?”
“I’ll call you very soon, Father. There are a few things I must do beforehand.” He disconnected the call. He’s setting up a hit, an ambush, and he’s doing it very badly. That would upset his first plan. It’s now my turn to put my plan into operation. I bet he’s now calling both the cardinal and Cracker.
Rizzo sent a call off to the professor. He had a list of questions to put to him. The phone answered almost at once. Ten minutes later, he had the response he expected. He knew everything that had been found and the incredible possibilities that it posed. There had been no cup as yet, but much circumstantial evidence. Vincenzo’s lies confirmed that the priest was planning to assassinate him, and no doubt with the help of Cracker. The cardinal’s bugged conversation in the
restaurant gave total credence to the theory. He decided to leave the trip to the lake for a while. He needed the cooperation of the police and a plan had to be worked out. It was going to be his way, and not Vincenzo’s.
50
In her hotel room, the whisperings in her head would not abate. Dr. Miriam Sinclair had abandoned her reliance on science. There were things and events that were clearly beyond logical explanation. Since the finding of the skeleton, the gold inscribed artefact, and the nails, she thought nothing could be the same again. An image had been forming directly in her mind’s eye. It persisted. Daily. At times, hourly.
At first, she didn’t realise what was happening. The voice sounded like a faint hiss, almost as if it was demanding her attention. It soon changed into a soft murmur. She found herself stopping work and straining her ears to hear what it was saying. Initially, she was unable to make out what she thought she was hearing. As the hours passed, she had abandoned any attempt to logically define what was happening. She simply opened up to it. Finally, with clarity, she heard what was being said. It was a shock to her that the voice was speaking in Aramaic. She recognised it at once. The passage was from Matthew’s gospel.
“You are close. Ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find, knock, and it will be opened to you.”
Her hands clasped around her head. “Who are you?” she shouted at no one.
Then the shape of a woman manifested before her. She was in white and her entire appearance shimmered. Her features were unrecognisable. Gold ornaments hung from her wrists.
Her voice echoed in Miriam’s mind. “I am Ganna. I am the Banduri of the Durotriges people…”
Miriam shook her head in disbelief. The female figure was introducing herself as the Druid High Priestess of the Celtic Durotriges, who formed the communities over two thousand years ago.
The voice continued. “I am sent by she, whom you saw before. You are almost there, but you are uncertain. What you seek is before you and is found from where you came. Trust in Iseldir, but he can only travel so far. You have both been led this way and given paths to follow. Trust in he who was taken from that cross, and in her whose vessel captured his essence. Listen to your heart, not your brain. Your heart never lies.”
For a fleeting moment, Miriam glimpsed what looked like a cup before her. She reached out for it, but it evaporated in a soft, golden light that also faded away. A faint whisper arose in her head…
“We have waited so long. Go back from where you came. You are worthy and through the doors you must go. Your light shines brighter, and your time here is done. The way has been shown. It is now known and glows clear and true. Trust it.”
The vision appeared to shimmer once more before it vanished in a diminishing pinpoint of light.
Miriam fell to her knees. Something, she knew, hovered around her – intimate, knowable, so familiar. She didn’t dare, didn’t want, to question it. Control came back to her and everything seemed so clear. There was a connection between all the events that had surrounded her mind. She ran them through her head, one by one. Always in the back of them was Kelvin, or Iseldir, as he was named. But the Celtic title was becoming more appropriate as events unfolded. Somehow there existed a connection with the Magdalene. She now perceived the motives behind Cardinal Nicholas and his unpleasant aides. The cup was the prize. If found, and he gained possession of it, there would be a world in crisis. The words of her earlier vision became clearer. There was danger around. She needed to speak with both Fergal and Kelvin. There would be no holding back.
51
The cardinal sat in his chair, staring at his phone. Vincenzo had told him of their plan to eliminate Rizzo. He had plenty of time to think it through. Rizzo’s impending murder now seemed brushed with uncertainty. If he survived, it would be the end of them all. He didn’t doubt that the inspector had been in touch with the UK police regarding Cracker. The man was no fool. It was only a matter of time before they caught up with Cracker for murdering the policeman in Rome. That had been a stupid mistake. It had put his entire plan into jeopardy. How near the archaeologists were in finding the supposed cup, didn’t seem so remote. They had uncovered some interesting and intriguing material… but not enough. If found, and only if it worked, would religious history have to be rewritten.
It’s ridiculous to even imagine such a thing existed, let alone still containing fluid. Blood and water. Ludicrous! It’s the pope’s money and I’m in charge of it. That’s a joke! The man threatens our God-given church and all it has ever stood for, the one and only true faith! But he won’t be around much longer. One thing’s for certain, Pope Adrian will not know of the gold slab. I hear his health is not good.
The Cardinal reflected on a secret he had recently been harbouring. He had friends and supporters in the Papal household. The most useful to carry out his plans were the chefs and cooks in the papal kitchens. He had two supporters he knew he could rely on.
He had orchestrated the slow murder of the Pope by poison, in varying stages over a period of time.
From the papal private gardens, he had seen some rare and dangerous plants growing, of which he had some knowledge. One of them was as toxic as it was beautiful… the Castor Bean. Known for producing castor oil, it was harmless in that processed form. But the leaves and especially the seeds of the plant contained the powerful toxin ricin. It was one of the most poisonous plants in the world. One or two seeds would kill a child, and up to six to eight would kill an adult. A bean here or there, perhaps two or three, would have unpleasant effects, and there would be no discernible cause of sickness. Administered correctly, there would be severe vomiting, breathing problems, diarrhea, and seizures. A fatal dose would have to wait. There is no known antidote. The poison, he learnt, was used in 1978 to assassinate a journalist named Markov who spoke out against the Bulgarian government. He was jabbed in the leg with the tip of an umbrella. All very innocent. Several assassination attempts had been made worldwide using the seeds. They were mailed to various USA politicians in failed terrorism activities.
No need to get Cracker to finish him off. He, the cardinal himself, was managing well enough. Of late, the pope had been experiencing stomach problems. His doctors, he had heard, secretly suspected an ulcer or at worse, colon or bowel cancer, but nothing was proof positive.
He smiled.
The more he thought about it the more he realised it was not a wise move to be seen in the company of Vincenzo or especially Cracker.
After some serious thought, he put a call out to Vincenzo. The priest answered the phone.
“Father, it’s your cardinal speaking. Listen carefully. It’s not wise for us to be seen together, so I’m off to Florence in the morning. You are to maintain contact with Cracker and work on your plan to dispose of Rizzo. When it’s done, report back to me in Rome or Florence. I’ll let you know where I am. I don’t think he knows I’m here and it must stay that way. Understood?”
“Capisco.” Vincenzo understood perfectly. “It will be done, Eminence.”
The cardinal put down the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. As far as he knew, his little problem was sorted. Now all that remains is for me to get back to Italy.
* * *
Rizzo slammed his phone down with barely controlled annoyance and frustration. He had been speaking to the UK police. There had been a serious delay in processing the paperwork for the arrest warrant due to a mistake in the EU documentation. It could take another week or more to put it straight. Never a patient man, he found the delay unacceptable, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had two options. The first is to sit it out and wait, or take up Vincenzo’s ‘guided tour’ offer to the hidden lake, which was an obvious bait to lure him in. If he accepted that, what would he do when he got there? He could be shot and killed, or he could shoot and injure or kill one or both of the assassins. How could he explain that away to the police?
There was also the cardinal to consider. If played correctly, all three could be
netted in one go. Sitting about doing nothing was the least attractive of his options. The situation needed serious thought. The more he thought about it, the more he was attracted to the deadlier option. He needed some clarification.
With that in mind, he decided to call Professor Christie.
52
They stood facing the moat. Kelvin looked across to Miriam. “You don’t have to tell me, Miriam. You saw something or somebody again, didn’t you? I can tell from your face and body language. You don’t have to hide it. Who was it?”
Miriam blanched. “How can you possibly know that I saw?”
“Let’s say I’m pretty good at spotting things like that.”
“You are right. It wasn’t the same woman. She called herself Ganna.”
It was Kelvin’s turn to look surprised. “Ganna, no less! A famed Druid priestess. Now, that is impressive. What did she say?”
“It was odd… she spoke in Aramaic. How could she do that and why in that language?”
“I would have thought putting together what we have found should be answer enough.”
“The Jesus Mary thing and their family?”
“Exactly. She must have learnt the language from somewhere. I have to say the Aramaic language sounds hauntingly familiar to me.”
“Hey, we’re talking as if this whole thing was real.”
“Isn’t it? You believed in it a while back. Tell me, what did she say?”
Miriam explained what the woman said. She added at the end, “I need to speak to Fergy.”
* * *
The LIDAR had performed remarkably well. The graves, previously declared as agricultural furrows, had been a major discovery and an upset for the established archaeological wise men. The professor thought about what they had achieved. It was uncanny that in such a short time, they had found more in a few days than previous excavations – which took months – had failed to achieve.