The Keeper's Cup: A Controversial Archaeological Thriller

by Ken Fry

  “This is right weird. I’ve never seen anything like it. Now, where are these doors?” He grabbed her by an arm.

  Her first thought was, how does he know about the doors? Vincenzo must have seen us and told him. It couldn’t be anybody else. She said nothing. They had only to walk into the next chamber and he would see them. She turned and ducked through a narrow stone arch and walked into the chamber, and there in front of her, illuminated by the floodlights, were the doors with the Templar’s Portuguese Cross emblazoned on them. Cracker walked behind her. Once in front of the doors, she moved to one side.

  “This is what you wanted to see, I believe.”

  “Too right, my lovely. Let’s get ’em open.” He pulled hard on the doors, but nothing moved. Next, he tried pushing, kicking, and rattling them – but got the same result… nothing. Breathing hard, he stood back and glowered. “You opened them before, so now you try.”

  How did he know that? Vincenzo for certain! Miriam refused to move or try.

  He grabbed her by the shoulder and put the gun to her head. “Do it!” His face was a blaze of menace. She knew what he was capable of. He thrust his face inches from hers and the words spat out through the odour of his sour breath. “Do it now or I will kill you.”

  Miriam felt her heart lurch and her stomach turn. She knew he meant it.

  “You had better do it, Doctor. He means what he says.”

  The unexpected voice of Father Giuseppe Vincenzo startled her. She swung around and there he was, dressed in his Athletica Vaticana sweat suit and also brandishing a pistol. The pretence and secrecy was over.

  For a moment, words failed her. She managed to gasp out, “I always thought there was something unpleasant about you. Now I know for sure. You call yourself a man of God! What rubbish!” Her cheeks reddened with fury. May the Magdalene, Sarah, and all her descendants protect our team and save this treasure.

  Vincenzo smiled and waved his gun skyward. “It is God’s will and we are his warriors. Soon, the whole earth will know of us and there will be a great transformation across all nations. Do as Daniel asks or you and your boyfriends will perish. Do it now, please!”

  Cracker gave her head a sharp jerking prod with the barrel of the gun.

  Miriam pulled away, faced the doors and walked towards them – at the same time, she said a silent prayer. In front of them, she stopped and stared up at the Templar’s Portuguese Cross. Placing her extended palm on the ancient woodwork, she knew exactly what would happen. How she knew this, she had no idea. The knowledge had always been with her, but she had buried it with science. Her hand remained motionless for a moment before she gave the gentlest of pushes.

  Silently and slowly, the doors swung open. The chamber was exactly as she remembered it.

  Both men stared hard into the half-light. At the far end of the chamber, the altar was visible with the glass structure on its top surface. Vincenzo, pushing Miriam in front of him, headed towards it followed by Cracker. The glass case was as she had left it. The shadowy outlines of some sort of cup or chalice could be made out.

  The priest made a grab at it together with Cracker. Both had their hands around it. Miriam did nothing but stood and watched. She knew what would happen.

  The glass container refused to budge. The two men pushed and heaved but the container would not yield.

  “What’s that inside it?” Cracker asked the priest.

  “It’s a drinking vessel of some kind. That’s what we want, not this. Stand back.”

  Vincenzo stood back and aimed his pistol at it and blasted off an ear shattering shot the noise of which echoed around the chamber. Miriam was unable to cover her ears.

  Nothing happened. The glass remained intact.

  Vincenzo, with a puzzled expression, turned and looked at Cracker. “You try.”

  Cracker aimed and blasted several rounds without missing. His bullets hit the glass directly, but again… nothing happened.

  It did not crack, shatter, or break.

  It looked no different. His bullets merely ricocheted around the chamber, causing flinty splinters of rock to fly off in all directions.

  “What the fuck!” Cracker yelled out. “That’s not possible!”

  Vincenzo fired off more rounds, but again the same result.

  Miriam, white faced, had crouched low to avoid being hit by the flinty shrapnel flying about.

  Vincenzo turned to her “You stand up and move over here.” He waved the pistol at her. She moved slowly to an upright position.

  Her voice was low and deep like a war requiem. “You should not have done that. The vessel is sacred and is thousands of years old.” An agonised glow shone from her eyes.

  “We don’t give a shit, lady. Now, you seem to be able to do strange things. It’s your turn now. You try and remove whatever’s inside it. Get moving!”

  “No, I will not.”

  A sharp slap from the back of Vincenzo’s hand sent her head reeling. Another sent her head in the opposite direction.

  She made no sound.

  “Stop that!” a voice bellowed out across the chamber.

  Both Vincenzo and Cracker swung around with their guns pointed at the figures of both Kelvin and the professor rushing towards them. The sight of the guns stopped them in their rush. They froze to a halt.

  “One more step and she gets it.” Cracker had placed the barrel of his gun against her head.

  “Do not do it!” Fergal roared and his entire body shook with fear at what might happen.

  “It’s okay, Fergy. I’m going to do what he asks.” She twisted her head around. “I can’t do it with that jammed into my head. Lower it and let me try.”

  Vincenzo’s gun remained pointed at Fergal and Kelvin, as Cracker, with his coarse burger-like hands, dragged her roughly forward toward the altar.

  In her mind arose a certainty. Something wonderful is going to happen. What, when, or where… she didn’t know. She sensed both Kelvin and Fergy’s fears and concerns but knew she could not reach them mentally or physically. Cracker’s voice, harsh like cement cracking, broke her thoughts.

  “It’s in front of you. Now lift it open.”

  As he spoke, a soft glow emanated from inside the glass and he could no longer see what’s inside. The glow was obscuring. It grew stronger. A yellowy gold colour was filling the case, disguising what it contained.

  Miriam remained impassive. I have returned. Her heart sang.

  Cracker reeled back as his arm covered his eyes. “Holy shit! What is it?” He yelled to Vincenzo. “Over here, quick. You gotta see this!”

  The glow began to spread outwards. Miriam remained motionless, transfixed in awe-like rapture.

  Vincenzo shouted to his two captives, “Don’t move, you two. If you do, I will shoot.” To emphasise his point he raised his pistol and fired a warning shot up to the roof. Great clumps of dirt and rocky splinters spat outwards.

  Both Fergal and Kelvin ducked low as the priest turned and moved across to Cracker.

  The glow was increasing and spreading.

  Kelvin signalled the professor who gave a quick nod. They both understood. In one swift movement, and with a deafening roar, they rushed at Vincenzo and Cracker.

  It was a bad move.

  There was the loud bang of a pistol firing. Kelvin was struck and fell with an agonised groan to the ground. He was motionless. Fergal dived flat and covered his head. Two shots exploded close to his body. Then, he heard other shots coming from behind. He didn’t dare look. They sounded different. There came a pain-filled yell and through the gaps in his fingers, Fergal saw Vincenzo drop like a stone, clutching his stomach. He had taken a gut shot and was in immediate agony, writhing like a snake on the ground.

  Fergal didn’t dare move. Cracker was still standing, armed and dangerous. It was then he heard the unmistakeable Italian voice of Inspector Rizzo. His Beretta was in his hands.

  “Drop your weapon, Cracker. There are four armed policemen with me. I now have extraditi
on papers to take you back to Italy along with the priest, if he lives. You are both under arrest.”

  The golden glow had grown and now surrounded Miriam like a protective shield. Cracker made to grab her, but not knowing why, he was unable to touch her. She had somehow become unreachable. In a few swift moments, he knew he had no chance. Two other men were on the deck badly injured, and he could make out the shadowy shapes of the armed police.

  Rizzo shouted out. “You are under arrest for the murder of Assistant Police Inspector Angelo Florentino and various other charges. Father Vincenzo faces similar charges for the murder of Bishop Vincent Fisher. Now, drop your gun. These police are trained to kill. I only have to say the word and they will shoot you dead. I promise! Now drop it! This is my last warning.”

  Cracker appeared uncertain. His arms gradually rose upward as he let the gun drop. “I surrender. Don’t shoot.” The police and Rizzo rushed up and immediately handcuffed him. Cracker looked at Miriam. “I don’t believe this is happening. What and who are you?”

  The chamber echoed as she spoke with the profound timbre of past millennia… that had never nor would not die. “Something wonderful is going to happen.” Her wrist ties dropped away. “Everyone, please move back and remain where you are and watch. Do not worry for the injured… they will live.”

  Everyone felt compelled to obey. All eyes were trained on her as she moved to the glass case. The glow began a more powerful shimmering as she placed her hands on it.

  Awed expectancy hovered in the air.

  Not a voice spoke as with care and gentleness, she opened the glass case. It moved with welcoming ease – without resistance. Cracker could not accept it.

  Reaching inside, Miriam pulled out a plain wooden chalice with a tight-fitting lid and held it aloft.

  The professor gaped at the unbelievable scene. It was the source of the glow around them.

  She started walking toward Kelvin.

  He had taken a bullet through his left wrist and lower body. Blood was pumping from the wounds. His voice croaked with pain. “You have it. You’ve waited such a long time to see and touch it once more.”

  She spoke softly, close to his ear. “My brother, Iseldir, indeed it has. Now drink for another is wounded here. He drank deeply, and a brief but violent shudder passed through him. Within seconds, his pain started to fade. He looked at his wrist and his side. The wounds had closed, and all bleeding had ceased. All that remained was a small scar. He pulled himself up to stand, as if he had never been wounded.

  Astonishment was on the faces of all present, including Cracker.

  Miriam turned next to the prone but still writhing body of Vincenzo, who continued to groan and call out loudly for his Mother not to let him die.

  “Mamma, mamma, per favore, aiutami. Non lasciarmi morire!”

  The entire front of his body had formed a spreading, darkening, red pool of blood that seemed endless. She knelt beside him and again spoke in a low whisper. “Did you ever believe your vocation, Father? Perhaps now… you will. Look, for here is the man you wounded, Iseldir, our beloved Druid and a member of my family. He is well again as you will be. Be still and drink from this cup.” She stared into frightened and incredulous eyes as she lifted it to his lips and poured.

  He gave an agonised but small convulsion. The pain was leaving him, and the internal damage began its repair. She gazed down at him. The potentially fatal wound was healing rapidly. “You are going to have much time to reflect on this, Father. Inspector Rizzo will be charging you with complicity in the murder of Bishop Fisher. Now stand up and know that physically, you are as you were… if not better. I can do no more for you.” She placed the lid back on the cup.

  Father Vincenzo was dumbfounded, and for once in his life, ashamed. With disbelief written all over him, he got to his feet.

  The cup’s contents had not diminished.

  Miriam returned it to the glass case. The glow faded away and as it did, it vanished. All that remained was a stupefied silence from those present. One policeman moved forward and handcuffed Vincenzo.

  At the same time, Rizzo did a strange thing, so unlike his normal character. He moved forward, and clasping Miriam’s hands, he bent his head low and said, “I have seen many things in my life, but what you just did is the most remarkable of them all. I am much moved. Era Cristo come. It was… Christ like.”

  62

  Two prisoners alighted from Alitalia Boeing. They had arrived at the Leonardo da Vinci – Fiumicino airport, thirty-five kilometres from Rome. A dozen armed Italian police immediately met them. Their British counterparts willingly handed the prisoners over. Inspector Rizzo remained in charge and supervised their transport, future charges, and interrogation at the main police HQ in the Via di S. Vitale.

  Two issues were on Rizzo’s priority list. He had heard that the pope was seriously ill, and his doctors were unable to locate the cause of his demise. There had now been a breakthrough. Utilising the latest methods from a cutting-edge research laboratory, and using a medical assay, a form of analysis was done on his food and various swabs were taken. They provided clear evidence of adulterated food, and the swabs used to wipe surfaces had levels of contamination. It was ricin. Using a few drops of a mixture of reagents, the test pieces emitted light. The higher the luminescence, the greater the concentrations of ricin.

  Pope Adrian was being slowly poisoned. As a policeman, Rizzo had never been far from suspecting foul play. He now had proof. Only the two cooks got anywhere close to the pope’s food. He immediately ordered the kitchens to be shut down and off limits to all, apart from forensics and laboratory scientists. There was little doubt that Cardinal Nicholas was the prime motivator.

  Rizzo could not help thinking of Pope John Paul I and his short reign of thirty-three days in 1978. His death was mysterious. No post-mortem was carried out and the exact cause has never been known. It was announced that he had suffered a heart attack in bed. Rizzo had always thought that was a tad too convenient. As Pope John I was a man of liberal views many die-hard cardinals and priests opposed him. Conspiracy theories of murder were rife. Pope Adrian’s condition sounded similar to those theories. Cardinal Nicholas was leading an ever-growing band of followers – not only in Rome, but across the globe – and his rhetoric of late had become increasingly unpleasant.

  The cardinal had made a rare error, as most criminals do. He had switched on his phone and made a call to Vincenzo’s cell phone, which was being held by Rizzo’s unit. From this, the experts in the Communications Department had managed to trace his exact location. Using a method called triangulation and a tracker app, they had located his hiding place. This method was an illegal procedure and can only be used by permitted agencies, such as the police.

  The cardinal was about to get a visit, but first Rizzo needed to inform the Holy See, Pope Adrian. He was still capable of coherent speech and reasoning. The two cooks had been arrested and vigorously interrogated. They were close to a full confession but had not yet succumbed.

  * * *

  Wrapped in a large blanket, Pope Adrian was seated in a comfortable wing-backed chair. He looked gaunt, pale, and frail. The dynamic light of his once penetrating gaze had gone and was now replaced by a dull flicker.

  Rizzo was shocked at his condition. He managed to bow low and kissed the Fisherman’s Ring which was now too loose on his extended and trembling hand.

  Pope Adrian spoke first. His voice matched the tremor in his arm. “It’s always a pleasure to meet you, Inspector. I am certain you are thinking how dreadful I look. Have no worry. Since my food has been changed, I am feeling much better and improving daily. What news do you have? I have not been able to read any of my emails or messages from SOTA. What of my errant cardinal?”

  “It’s a long story, Your Holiness. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll start from the beginning.” Rizzo told it all and his part in it. He saw the pope’s interest spark. He got to the events and miraculous healings in the tunnel. The light returned
to the pope’s eyes like a blazing fire.

  “Un momento per favore, ispettore, puoi ripetere?!” He attempted to stand but it was too much for him.

  Rizzo did as he was asked and repeated what he had witnessed and the effect it had on himself and the others.

  Pope Adrian began to weep.

  Rizzo, without being asked, arose and placed his arm around the pope. “It is true, Holy Father. I saw with my own eyes.”

  “I believe you, Inspector. I wish with all my heart I could have seen it for myself. You are indeed most favoured. What of the cup and the woman, Miriam?”

  “I don’t know,” Rizzo replied. “It was most strange, mystical almost, and we were all transfixed. We felt powerless and were content to do as she asked. The cup seems to have gone, evaporated before our eyes. Father Vincenzo and the man Cracker are now in the Italian police’s hands, and I have come here to apprehend and arrest Cardinal Nicholas. I know where he is. Do I have your blessing?”

  “You will arrest him with or without my blessing,” the pope replied, “but you have it anyway.” He paused. “I just wish, hope, and pray, that you will all be well and safe – and that before I leave this world, I wish with all my heart that I have seen the cup and the lady named Miriam. I am deeply moved by what you have told me. Happiness fills me. Everything I’ve believed is true. Will the world ever know? Keep me informed, Inspector… and thank you. But one more thing before you leave…” The pope had the trace of a smile on his face.

  “Yes, Holy Father?”

  “Are you now attending mass?” Pope Adrian asked, and at the same time, he embraced an embarrassed Inspector Rizzo.

  “Yes, I have been to mass three times this week.” He bent his head to cover the slight blush that raced across his cheeks.

  “I thought you might. You were meant to.”

  Rizzo, for once uncomfortable, bowed low and left. He had a destination to go to.

  63

  The room was quiet… tense as a taut wire. The professor was troubled and bewildered. He saw himself as a stranger amongst people whom he had regarded as good friends. He now felt like somebody excluded, blackballed from a private club. He looked at both Miriam and Kelvin and couldn’t deny the closeness of their relationship. He had heard her clearly refer to him as her brother and a member of her family.