Relics

by Relics (retail) (epub)

‘It’s only a few minutes’ walk from here, past the main layout of crypts and then upwards,’ Reed announced as Harker strove to keep up with the remarkably fit cardinal. He was surprised at how agile the fifty-seven-year-old was, but what really preoccupied his thoughts was why this good man of the cloth did not volunteer a hand with the semi-conscious pregnant woman he was struggling with.

  ‘How do you know this place so well?’ Harker finally puffed.

  ‘During my first week here, Cardinal Vincenzo gave me a quick tour. And thank the Lord he did, because it’s a total maze down here.’

  The metal door Dr Sephris had directed them to led straight into this dark untended section of the necropolis. On the other side, the door was hidden from view by an unkempt mass of ivy serving as a curtain to hide the secret opening to the Magi’s underground lair.

  ‘It’s a shame I didn’t discover that entrance earlier,’ Reed declared. ‘It could have saved both of us a lot of trouble.’

  Harker managed only a groan.

  ‘I gotta be honest, Alex. I’m still struggling to get my head around the Pope, and these Magi crazies, and then there’s this cloning project. It seems as fantastical as it is despicable, and I can’t decide whether their infiltration of the Vatican is a testament to their abilities or shameful proof of our ineffectiveness.’

  ‘Don’t take it personally,’ Harker advised. ‘These people have been pulling strings from the shadows for hundreds of years, and it’s near impossible to stop something you’ve no idea exists in the first place. Just look at the American Mafia. Now, how about you lend me a hand?’

  Reed looked a little embarrassed. ‘Of course. Sorry.’

  Before he had even taken a step, there was a high-pitched ping as a bullet whizzed past their heads and embedded itself in the crumbling stonework of the wall in front of them.

  Reed ducked to the floor as Harker lowered himself more slowly for fear of hurting the girl. He gently laid her against the side of a grey stone mausoleum as another bullet tore over their heads. Further along the necropolis, they could hear the scuffling of leather-soled shoes on the dusty flagstones as they slowly approached. The cardinal priest snapped the Zippo shut with a click, plunging them into the darkness. There were a few seconds of silence as the footsteps paused, and then a familiar voice echoed through the vast underground chamber.

  ‘Professor Harker, there is no need for all this melodrama. I’d rather not harm you. We merely want the woman and her child. Please don’t prolong this ridiculous game of cat and mouse any further.’ The Magi’s voice sounded sincere, but, in the gloom, Harker could hear Reed quietly mumbling in disbelief, echoing his own sentiments as Genges continued with his plea.

  ‘Gentlemen, I’ve no wish to harm either of you,’ the voice continued civilly. ‘I only want what is ours.’

  Reed prodded Harker to move forward, but the scraping of his shoes attracted their pursuer even closer, now perhaps only fifteen metres away.

  ‘I will not beg you, Professor, or you either, Father Reed, but the decision you now make will either ensure your life or terminate it. The girl with you knows not a word of English, so we can clear this up and she’ll be none the wiser.’ All the while the Magi killer continued to draw closer to them both. ‘Please, gentlemen, I am armed and you are not, so there’s not a chance of you escaping.’

  Ten metres behind them, a thin beam of torchlight now flickered into life and began slowly shifting from one headstone to the next, searching for the slightest sign of movement.

  Reed leant over towards Harker and whispered in his ear, ‘He’s right. There’s nothing else we can do.’

  Harker winced at the thought and tightened his grip on the young girl. ‘Not a fucking chance,’ he hissed.

  Reed’s face screwed up tightly in the dim torchlight, and then he shook his head. ‘OK, I’ll make a play of surrendering to him, and, meanwhile, you get her out of here.’ He pointed towards a dim glow of light visible some twenty five metres up ahead. ‘If Dr Sephris told us the truth, the exit should be right about there.’

  Reed carefully slipped off his red-and-black outer robe and gently laid it over the still barely conscious body of Maria Genova. He then lovingly stroked the young girl’s cheek and, with sadness in his voice, urged Harker, ‘With that world summit going on, she’ll stick out like a sore thumb. So put that robe around her and move as discreetly as possible. Then you get her straight to a hospital or somewhere safe. You must defend her with your life, and above all else, don’t let these Magi devils get their hands on her. Do you understand me, my brother?’

  The cardinal’s emotional plea stirred a renewed strength in Harker’s muscles. He remembered this as the way men of the cloth spoke to each other – as friends, as equals, as family. Harker nodded silently and placed his hand on top of the cardinal’s before squeezing it as one would do to a sibling.

  Reed’s smile was barely visible. ‘You’re still a man of God, Alex Harker, whether you accept it or not. You may have turned your back on him, but he will never turn his back on you.’

  This simple comment almost caused Harker to shed a tear, and he fought back his embarrassment as Reed gestured him away. ‘When I stand up and head towards him, I’ll cause as much distraction as I can to cover your escape. Now get her out of here. And good luck.’

  Before Harker could say anything, Father Reed was already standing up and swaying about wildly, giving the impression that he was trying to find his footing whilst preparing to cover the sound of Harker’s movements with his own. ‘All right, you win, the girl’s yours. I’ll come to you.’

  In the same moment, Harker dragged the girl to her feet and, ducking as low as he could, took off towards the dim outline of a doorway ahead, turning briefly to see the torchlight pick out Father Reed, its dazzle making him squint and raise a hand to his eyes.

  ‘Where is she, Father?’ Genges snarled.

  ‘She’s lying here, unconscious.’ The cardinal priest continued to shuffle around before pointing towards a wall of crumbling masonry just a few metres away. ‘She’s OK, but she’ll need a blanket. It’s freezing down here.’

  Genges cautiously edged towards him, the torch now shining directly into Reed’s face. ‘Where’s the Professor?’ he demanded.

  Father Reed took a step back as the blinding light drew nearer. ‘That coward made a run for it. He said he’d had enough of people trying to kill him over something that wasn’t his fight.’

  By the time he had finished speaking, the Magi prince was no more than a few feet away and, shifting his torch, revealed the grimace of anger that was spreading across his face. ‘Now now, Father, you don’t expect me to believe that for a second, do you?’

  The cardinal shook his head woefully. ‘No, but it did bring you closer.’

  In an instant Reed lunged towards the other man, his hands reaching for the gun, but, still blinded by the light, he missed, only managing to clasp both hands around the torch instead. Instantly, he felt the hard muzzle of a gun dig into his ribcage, followed by a blinding flash. The explosion in his chest caused his legs to buckle and sent him to his knees. With a struggle, he raised his head to see the flashing white teeth of his attacker, his grip now tightening on the killer’s jacket.

  ‘You lose, Magi. All your years of work have been for nothing. All your hopes and dreams are over.’

  Genges smiled mockingly. ‘As is your life, Priest.’ He cocked the pistol, staring down at Father Reed who was drawing upon his last pockets of energy to pull his head up as close to the killer’s face as possible. The cardinal could only manage a whisper, but his words sent a shiver down Genges’s spine. ‘My soul is prepared for the afterlife.’ He coughed, bloody spittle running from his lips. ‘But is yours?’

  Up ahead, Harker was only a few metres from the dim outline of the secret doorway when he turned and glanced back fleetingly into the gloom of the necropolis. In that moment, a second shot rang out, and the flash of the gun provided a snapshot of the two me
n together like a photographic negative. Genges towered over Reed, the gun pressed against the man’s chest as the cardinal clung to his attacker, before they were both enveloped in darkness once more. Ignoring the fear rising inside him, Harker turned and pressed against the door in front of him.

  Despite its bulk, the door swung open easily with nothing more than a scratchy grinding sound, and he was instantly bathed in yellow brightness from a light above his head. He swiftly lifted and carried Maria Genova through it and then pushed the door shut behind him. There was no lock or handle, for the exterior did not even resemble a door, but a beautifully sculpted white marble wall slab depicting the Virgin Mary in prayer.

  The vaulted room he entered was decorated with gold and red tiles of magnificent craftsmanship, and Harker recognised it immediately. Directly above the modest stone altar behind him was The Madonna della Bocciata, a fresco as famous as any found in Vatican City and, in English, was better known as the bruised Madonna. The legend dating back to the fifteenth century told of a soldier who, angry at losing his florins in a game of chance, hurled a stone at the virgin’s face. The impact left a lesion on her cheek, and soon afterwards, drops of blood oozed from the cut before dripping to the stone paving below. Harker had viewed the scene of this miracle for himself on numerous occasions and knew that the chapel of the Madonna della Bocciata was located directly beneath St Peter’s Basilica and not more than twenty feet from the Tomb of St Peter itself. The recognition gave him a sliver of comfort as he realised they were only seconds away from two potential exits. One led up to the necropolis or Scavi tourist office, which would get them outside, but there was a problem. The gates would normally be open at this time of day, but, seeing as the world’s entire political elite were here for the summit, they would no doubt be locked for issues of security. And with Genges less than a minute behind them, he could not chance running into a dead end. That meant there was only one other way.

  Harker tugged at the girl, who had finally found the strength to stand on her own, though barely able to keep her eyes open, and began heading away from the small underground chapel. Once reached, he continued onwards past the impressive grey marble slabs that led to the tomb of St Peter and then further still until he reached a spiral staircase next to the small chapel of St Andrew. The steps led directly up on to the main floor of St Peter’s, emerging only a few metres away from the main altar where Pope Adrian VII would be delivering his speech to the world at large.

  Harker wrapped the clerical robe Father Reed had given him around Maria Genova’s shoulders, fastening it in place with its scarlet sash and quickly brushed her hair back from her face as best he could.

  ‘OK, here we go.’

  Chapter 49

  ‘Honoured friends and guests, I give you His Holiness Pope Adrian VII.’

  Superintendent Rino Perone watched Cardinal Rocca with accusing eyes as the clergyman raised his hand in the direction of John Wilcox, who was slowly progressing down the long aisle of St Peter’s Basilica towards the great altar and the majestic baldacchino directly above it. Bernini’s masterpiece towered thirty metres above the altar itself, supported on four massive legs of bronze, and, at the corners of the canopy, gold angels sat studiously watching over the expanse of the cathedral floor below.

  The pontiff was flanked by five high-ranking cardinals who continually nodded greetings to the hundred or so world leaders that had assembled for the summit that morning. Every pair of eyes was fixed on the papal procession, except for two. Both Perone and Barbosa instead focused on the pulpit in front of them. To be more accurate, both men were concentrating on one man, Cardinal Rocca, who was making a final adjustment to the height of the microphone. Once that was done, the cardinal stepped to one side where he stood waiting calmly.

  Angelo discreetly nudged his boss’s arm with the LCD-display tracker unit nestling in his palm. ‘The signal’s definitely coming from him, sir. There’s no doubt. He must have the phone on him.’

  Perone gave a small nod. ‘Once the speech is over, we’ll introduce ourselves.’ He glanced back at their personal security guard, Officer Greco, and smiled pleasantly before returning his gaze towards Cardinal Rocca, who was now joining in with the rapturous applause for the new Pope. ‘We’ll wait until afterwards, when all the political types are outside, and then we’ll have a chat.’

  Angelo sighed slightly. ‘You know I’m with you, boss, but I have to be honest. Questioning a cardinal about murder on his own turf is, well …’

  Perone raised an eyebrow questioningly as he listened to the young detective’s concerns.

  ‘Well, it’s a bit above my station, if you know what I mean.’ Angelo nodded towards an elegantly dressed man in the front row who was now kissing the Pope’s ring on bended knee. ‘And I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, but that’s our prime minister and the minister of the interior – our boss.’

  If Perone had noticed the Italian prime minister, he didn’t show it, his face remaining the picture of a man at ease. ‘I don’t care if Jesus himself walks in and pulls up a seat. If this so-called cardinal has anything to do with our murderer, then we’re taking him in, even if that means dragging him across the Vatican border by the scruff of his robe.’ The apprehensive look in Angelo’s eyes was clear, and he understood his subordinate’s reservations. If this all went wrong, it could constitute an international incident, and there was a shit load of ways it could go tits-up. ‘Don’t worry, Angelo, I’m the commanding officer here, so it’s my responsibility.’ He leant in nearer as officer Greco closed in behind them, straining to get a better view of Pope Adrian VII making his way leisurely up the altar steps towards the waiting microphone. ‘And if it’s God you’re worried about, believe me, boy, if this guy’s crooked, then the old man upstairs will be cheering us on.’

  This last remark coaxed out the smile Perone had been looking for, and he returned his gaze to Rocca who was now taking his seat, along with all the other guests, as Pope Adrian tapped at the mike and waited calmly for the sound of shuffling feet and creaking chairs to die down.

  ‘Ladies, gentlemen, leaders of the world, I myself, the Vatican and the entire Catholic Church welcomes you here on this special day.’ John Wilcox surveyed the hundred or so delegates seated in front of him, each eager to know why the head of the Catholic Church had called on them to attend.

  ‘When I first made the invitation to all the heads of state to attend here this morning, without offering a good reason, I wasn’t sure how many of you would actually turn up. But seeing so many of you present, from so many different countries and belonging to so many different faiths, representing six-and-a-half billion people around the globe, it imbues me with a renewed sense of faith. Not religious or ideological faith, but a faith in humankind and its ability to come together regardless of our differences.’ Wilcox smiled proudly, and his audience smiled back. ‘On the day of my inauguration as head of the Catholic Church, a tragic event occurred. For, as you will know, one of our cardinals committed the awful sin of taking his own life in a very public way. It was an incident that has left many of us with a great sense of sadness and shame.’

  Wilcox shook his head woefully from side to side. ‘Yes, I say shame because those of us who knew Father Archibald Dwyer did not see the tragedy coming. That oversight in itself will haunt many of us for years to come’ – he gave a deep sigh – ‘but there is another reason that our shame is so great, and it is why I have invited you here this evening. It is also the reason I have insisted there be no direct broadcast or reporting of what I am now saying, so please allow me to explain. Eight months ago, a young woman arrived at the doors of the Vatican with a story so unbelievable that there were those of us who found it impossible to accept. Aged in her early twenties, she was born in the village of Monte Massaruccio just outside Rome, no more than thirty kilometres from where we now sit. For the time being, I will refer to her simply as Maria and tell you only that she is a good Catholic and a child of Jesus Christ. S
he is an extremely special young woman, not just because of her religious faith but because of her caring, loving, and honest nature. It is for these same reasons that I believe she was chosen.’

  A confused murmuring began to fill the cathedral as the audience struggled to understand where this announcement was leading.

  ‘Please allow me to explain. For what you don’t know is that Maria was with child, and she was utterly convinced that the child, still only one month in her womb, had no father. She insisted she had never had carnal knowledge of a man and had simply woken one day to a bout of morning sickness. Now as you can all imagine, most of us here at the Vatican believed her to be mistaken or simply making up the story to gain attention. But …’ Wilcox let the words hang for a few seconds as the majority of his congregation’s eyes began to widen like saucers. ‘We organised a doctor to investigate further, and a medical examination confirmed what Maria had been insisting upon all along. She was indeed pregnant but had never been with a man.’

  As Wilcox paused for breath, whispers of disbelief began to circulate amongst the crowd.

  ‘After this revelation, we called upon the best medical advice we could find, and a sample of the child’s blood was taken through the most non-invasive way possible to provide us with the child’s DNA. That on its own does not convey anything, simply indicating the blood type of the unborn child, even if its conception was unconventional. The story might well have ended there if it had not been for comparison with certain items that have been in the Church’s possession for over two thousand years. I refer to sacred relics that have been protected and kept secret from the outside world until now.’

  Emerging from a side door to the left of the pulpit, six cardinal priests in full ceremonial robes made their way towards the altar. Three carried caskets, each wrapped in a purple velvet cloth, whilst the others carried wooden stands which they positioned side by side on the flat marble surface of the altar. Once that was done, the first group of priests each placed a box on its stand and then simultaneously pulled away the cloths to reveal the three ancient reliquaries of Emperor Constantine, each now contained in their own transparent Perspex box.