The 4th Secret

by R D Shah

  ‘Why! Why would I help, you mean?’

  Harker offered her a simple nod.

  ‘Because I want to come with you, that’s why.’ Chloe exhaled a deep breath as if to steady her voice, which was shaking slightly. ‘I’m not a particularly religious person Professor but I find the thought that something remarkable could be happening here extremely intriguing. Ever since I read about you and those events at the Vatican, I have found myself tantalised by a single thought: What if? What if everything I have read is true, and if it is I want to be a part of it. Besides.’ Chloe raised her hands in the air. ‘Thanks to you I’ll now have lots of spare time on my hands.’

  Behind them the high-pitched rumble of a dozen or so pint glasses crashing to the floor broke the intense stare that was developing between them, and they both turned around to see a young boy wearing an apron being berated by the chef over the pile of broken shards on the floor in front of him. The cook’s tall white hat nodded back and forth as he clapped sarcastically, before disappearing back into the kitchen and leaving the embarrassed-looking teenager apologising to the customers around him, before starting to clean up the mess.

  Harker turned back to find Chloe still staring at him and waiting for a reply.

  ‘If it’s an adventure you are looking for, Chloe, then all I can say to you is that adventures always sound better in the brochure.’

  ‘Everything sounds better in the brochures, Alex,’ Chloe replied. ‘That’s the point of them.’

  ‘True,’ Harker offered flatly. ‘But if this does lead anywhere, and I’m not sure it will, then you can expect your attempted murder by that maniac – as you so aptly put it – to be just a taster of things to come.’

  Chloe delicately cleared her throat before locking eyes with him. ‘My mother died of cancer when I was young, so I never really got a chance to know her. Her passing was one of the main reasons I got into medicine, from a wish to help people. And, if I had not discovered I had a particular talent for psychology, I can promise you that I would be a practising GP.’ Chloe gently rubbed her hands as she attempted to sum up her feelings. ‘The thing is that I always believed …no, I always hoped that my mother went on to a better place, but of course we don’t know that and how could we? However, if there is evidence or some tangible truth to religion and therefore of an afterlife, I want to know about it.’ She paused for a moment and Harker watched as any fragility she had displayed earlier now vanished and was replaced with a look of sheer determination. ‘You, Professor Alex Harker, are the closest I have ever been to finding out, so how about it?’ She reached over and offered him her hand. ‘Do we have a deal?’

  Harker sat for a while in silence and mulled over this proposition, staring at her outstretched hand. He hardly knew anything about this woman and even though she seemed genuine, he had been conned before and at the very worst he could always head back to the asylum and try to gain access to Eckard’s body and the lettering he had carved into his own skin. This idea was soon quashed by the thought of running into the homicidal lunatic McCray again and, as he looked at Chloe, he suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of trust and he realised his mind was already made up. Besides, this whole thing was more than likely going to be a wild-goose chase. His faith in such outcomes was zero and he considered it far more likely for him to come across Lord Lucan riding Shergar than ever witnessing a prophecy come to pass.

  ‘Fine,’ Harker announced and gave Chloe’s hand a firm shake, ‘You have yourself a deal … and from now on call me Alex … no more Professor, OK?’

  ‘And you must continue to call me Chloe.’

  ‘Good. Nice to meet you again, Chloe. And let me take this opportunity to say that you exert blackmail more pleasantly than anyone else I know.’

  ‘Thank you, Alex,’ she replied with a laugh.

  ‘Right, so what is the complete line of text that Eckard wanted me to know?’

  ‘The darkest part of the night always comes before the dawn, but in a windowless room the night is never-ending.’ As Chloe let the words roll off her tongue, Harker suddenly felt a deep attraction to her.

  ‘Well?’ she asked, shaking Harker out of such thoughts of how appealing the Doctor really was without her lab coat and not being surrounded by mental patients which had been of course a major distraction. ‘What exactly do you think it means?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Harker replied, ‘but we’re going to find out. First we need to check out train times.’

  ‘Why? Where exactly are we going?’ Chloe asked, unsure of their next destination. ‘I heard Marcus say to you something like ‘Go see the Dane!’

  Harker was already shaking his head. ‘Not dane but dame. Go see the Dame.’

  ‘And who is the Dame?’

  ‘It’s not a ‘who’ but a what. Come on, let’s go. I’ll tell you in the car.’

  ‘Lead the way.’

  They both stood up and began slipping on their coats. ‘You know what?’ Harker said with a smile. ‘You are going to make a terrific assistant.’

  Chloe snorted a brief laugh. Heading towards the door, she turned to face him. ‘Forget the assistant, Alex Harker. You have yourself a damn partner!’

  Chapter 8

  High above Notre Dame Cathedral, a gargoyle watched intently as a black taxi pulled up outside the main entrance and dropped off its two passengers, a man and a woman, before turning around and heading back into the bustle of the Paris streets. The man took a few moments to inspect the impressive stained-glass windows looming above him, and then turned his attention to the pair of stone eyes silently observing them from above.

  ‘Welcome to the Dame of Paris,’ Harker announced enthusiastically, gazing up towards the roofline of the building. ‘You have to love those gargoyles. They must be the most beautifully ugly things of all time.’

  Chloe squinted up at the winged figure in stone perched firmly upon its ledge. ‘Well, you’re right about them being ugly but I’m not sure I could call them beautiful.’

  ‘They are an acquired taste, for sure, but can you imagine what they’ve seen over the years,’ Harker replied, turning his attention back to the cathedral’s entrance and the piazza in front of it. ‘The French Revolution, the coronation of Napoleon, and The Wolves of Paris which has to be one of the greatest films never made.’

  ‘What’s The Wolves of Paris?’

  ‘The year is 1450,’ Harker stated eerily, obviously excited at being able to tell it, ‘and the people of Paris are being hunted by a vicious group of wolves who continue to venture into the city at night and terrorise the locals … Led by a huge wolf with reddish fur this villainous pack kills, mutilates and eats over forty Parisians …’

  ‘Mutilates?’ Chloe questioned with an unimpressed giggle.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Harker offered while narrowing his eyes comically. ‘Finally the citizens decided enough was enough and lured the beasts with bait into the square right here in front of the cathedral, where they were then stoned or speared to death.’ Harker motioned up to the gargoyles above them. ‘And they saw it all.’

  Chloe folded her arms and took a step closer to Harker, an enigmatic smile upon her face. ‘Some might say it was just desserts for the almost total decimation of the wolf population here in Europe.’

  Harker gave a diplomatic nod of his head. ‘And some might say you know how to kill a good story. I bet you’re a lot of fun at a party?’

  ‘Are you asking me out on a date, Professor?’

  The question was a deliberate attempt to make Harker feel uncomfortable, but he batted it away with a smirk. ‘In front of the house of God? Never!’ he gasped sarcastically. ‘Now let’s see if we can find this Eizel character.’ With that he began navigating his way through the seething mass of tourists and on across the forecourt and up the stone steps and through the central portal entrance and into the cathedral itself, followed closely by Chloe.

  The interior of the cathedral was every bit as impressive as Harker remembered. The long n
ave, lined with rows of pews on either side, stretched for over a hundred metres to the main choir and the enormous altar rising high into the air which was backlit with blue lights and surrounded by angelic figures of cardinals long past sculptured in brilliant-white cracked marble. The three famed stained-glass rose windows positioned along either side of the main hall, with another above the entrance behind them, filtered an intoxicating plenitude of gold and purple rays of light which shone down onto the glossy floor tiles providing a vision that would have brought a smile to the lips of even the most passionate atheist. Thick and weathered stone pillars all around rose high into the canopy of the roof and Harker took a further moment to enjoy the sight. He pressed his palm against the closest pillar and proceeded to brush his fingers over its smooth stonework, this very act of touch adding another ingredient to the captivating visual experience. The hordes of tourists taking photos amidst the chatter of excited voices all melted away, and for a moment Harker found himself alone in enjoying this magnificent building that owed its very existence to a few simple ideas. To belief … and the control of it. The awe of seeing such a monument in past ages must have proved absolute in the confirmation of one’s faith, Harker reflected, because for many this building surely had not been created by the hand of man but by God himself.

  ‘Wow, now that is impressive,’ Chloe exclaimed having made her way to Harker’s side. ‘Shame about all the tourists.’

  Her comments brought Harker back to reality – and to the mass visitors most of whom were searching for a perfect photo angle. ‘This is nothing,’ he replied, motioning to the swelling crowd. ‘When it’s really busy there can be as many as fifty thousand of them passing through here in a single day!’

  ‘That’s a lot of people.’ Chloe concurred, sounding genuinely surprised. ‘Hey, wait a minute, is that ex-President Sarkozy?’ Chloe discreetly pointed out a brown-haired man with a strong nose and wearing an expensive suit standing a few metres in front of them, inspecting one of the cathedral’s many statues.

  Harker stole a quick glance before shaking his head. ‘No, but it looks a bit like him.’

  ‘How do you know for sure?’

  ‘Because this guy’s well over six-foot-tall and Sarkozy is pushing only five and a half.’

  ‘Ahh.’ Chloe gasped. ‘That explains a lot.’

  Harker let slip a chuckle at her obvious reference to the short-man complex, before turning his gaze to the far side of the church. ‘Right, now let’s find the one person we’re actually looking for, shall we.’

  Harker made his way down the nave towards the main altar followed closely by Chloe who seemed far more interested in the people hovering around them than the cathedral itself. He was about to make a crack about psychology being the right profession for her when the sight of two uniformed security guards in navy blazers caught his attention. The two men were standing either side of an impressive -looking statue of St Angela. It took a few more seconds of manoeuvring past a large party of Chinese tourists who had managed to occupy the entire side aisle before reaching the figures of authority posted at the south end of the cathedral. One of the guards was tall and slender whilst the other was short but broad-shouldered and both wore black-tinted sunglasses.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Harker enquired in a thick Parisian accent to the taller of the two, ‘I’m looking for someone. Can you help?’

  ‘I will certainly try, sir.’ The guard offered. ‘Who are you looking for?’

  ‘It’s Eizel, a Mr Eizel.’

  The taller man deliberated over the name for a few seconds before shaking his head slowly. ‘I’m sorry, monsieur, but I’m not aware of any Mr Eizel.’ He turned to his colleague and repeated the name: ‘You know of a Mr Eizel?’

  The stocky guard turned his attention to Harker and studied him through those dark glasses for a moment. This silent stare was just about to become uncomfortable when he turned back to the taller guard and patted him on the back, the thick muscles of his shoulders stretching the suit’s stitching close to breaking point. ‘I may be able to help here, so why don’t you take a break?’ The guard’s voice was unusually husky, and his workmate gave a polite nod and then headed off towards the group of Chinese tourists, who were still not only blocking the entire aisle but appeared to be growing in number.

  ‘Are you already acquainted with Mr Eizel, monsieur?’

  Harker shook his head glibly. ‘No, but I was asked by a friend to speak with him.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know that either,’ Harker insisted, feeling like more of a berk with each question, ‘but I was hoping he might know more than I do.’

  The guard raised his eyebrows above the rims of his glasses and then lowered them, following his curiosity with a deep frown. ‘And the name of this friend, sir?’

  ‘Eckard. Doctor Marcus Eckard.’

  The guard’s mouth fell open ever so slightly, then he pulled down his glasses to reveal two bulging eyes, one of them facing in the opposite direction to the other in a classic case of wall-eye. ‘Then you had better come with me.’

  The man turned his back on them and began making his way toward a solid wooden door off to the side, with Harker and Chloe close behind

  ‘I can see why he wears sunglasses!’ Chloe murmured.

  ‘That doesn’t seem a very enlightened comment for psychologist,’ Harker remarked while resisting the urge to laugh.

  Chloe let out a faint chuckle. ‘Not at all. I’m merely saying that if we don’t find this Mr Eizel at Notre Dame, then we can at least say we found the hunchback.’

  Harker could not suppress a subdued guffaw which attracted the attention of their guide. The man glanced back and, with a snort of impatience, ushered them down a narrow corridor leading to a room beyond which Harker recognised immediately. Like in a small chapel, its walls were lined with wood-panelled alcoves except these ones contained a collection of numerous gold and silver artefacts protected under glass covers. Above them the stained-glass windows set into the stone walls added to the feel of a small village church.

  ‘What is this place?’ Chloe asked as she made her way over to the first alcove to inspect the ornaments it contained.

  ‘It’s the Notre Dame treasury,’ Harker informed her. ‘I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing it before but the photos don’t do it justice.’ He was about to follow Chloe’s lead and view the items for himself when their chaperone stepped in front of him.

  ‘I would be happy to give you the tour, monsieur,’ he said, taking off his glasses and dropping them into his jacket pocket. ‘But first …’ In a single move, the guard slammed Harker back against the stone wall and firmly thrust his forearm up against his chest. With his other hand he then produced a short hunters knife from another pocket and slid it under Harker’s chin, pressing it securely across his Adams apple. ‘… you are going to answer some questions.’

  Harker raised his hand towards Chloe who was already making her way towards them both and she stopped and offered an uncertain nod in Harkers direction.

  ‘Who are you?’ the guard demanded roughly.

  ‘My name is Alex Harker and I am a professor of archaeology,’ Harker spluttered, the knife digging deeper into his throat with every word.

  ‘Archaeology?’ the brute growled suspiciously.

  ‘Yes … At Cambridge University. And she is my assistant.’

  The burly guard glanced over at Chloe before returning his skew-eyed gaze to Harker … as well as the wall opposite. ‘And what do you want with Eizel?’

  ‘As I said earlier, I am a friend of Marcus Eckard.’

  ‘Marcus Eckard doesn’t have any friends,’ the guard snapped fiercely.

  Harker managed another gentle nod, not wanting the sharp blade to actually penetrate his skin. ‘Well on that we can both agree. He was murdered last night.’

  Harker felt the knife begin to ease away but his attacker continued to scrutinise him, his lips moving silently as if contemplati
ng his next question. This staring match continued until a soft voice sounded from behind the three of them.

  ‘Alphonse! What on earth is going on here?’

  Harker turned his head enough to see a man dressed in the official white and silver biretta of a bishop, looking totally astonished.

  ‘I apologise, Father, but these people are looking for Eizel,’ Alphonse replied respectfully, though not relaxing his grip on the knife still held firmly to Harker’s throat.

  If that name meant anything to the bishop he didn’t show it but the cleric immediately stepped over and pulled Alphonse’s hand away, allowing Harker to rub his throat.

  ‘I apologise Mr …?’

  ‘Harker.’ Harker coughed, continuing to massage his larynx. ‘Professor Alex Harker.’ He motioned towards Chloe, who looked remarkably calm given the situation. ‘And this is my assistant, Doctor Chloe Stanton.’

  Chloe raised a hand in acknowledgment. ‘Actually I’m his partner, not an assistant.’

  The bishop nodded to her cordially and switched his attention to Alphonse, who had already returned the offending blade back into his pocket. ‘Thank you, Alphonse, I will take it from here.’

  The bishop’s statement was met with a look of concern from the brawny guard, who inspected Harker intently one final time, then graciously nodded to his superior and headed back out into the nave.

  ‘He doesn’t look like an Alphonse!’ Chloe remarked.

  ‘Neither did Al Capone,’ Harker replied sourly.

  ‘It’s not like that all. Please forgive Alphonse’s rashness.’

  ‘Rashness!’ Harker gasped. ‘That man was ready to slit my throat.’

  ‘No, no. I can assure you he would never have gone that far, but nonetheless his actions were inexcusable. Please except my apologises and allow me to introduce myself.’ The bishop outstretched his hand. ‘I am Bishop Canard.’

  Harker hesitated momentarily before grasping the man’s hand. ‘It’s a pleasure and, as I said, my name is Professor Alex Harker and this is my partner Chloe Stanton.’