by Gilliam Ness
In a moment he had taken up both of their packs and was guiding Natasha to the scaffolding. She resisted at first, but Gabriel’s touch seemed to reassure her.
The timbers were old but strong, and at the top they found the door the Bishop had spoken of. It was barely big enough to squeeze through, but as Gabriel shined his light into it he could see that it opened into a tunnel above. Shackleton was already through. Gabriel could see him in the shadows, sniffing the air and looking around.
“I’ll go first,” he said, stuffing the packs up and hoisting himself through.
He held a hand down for Natasha to take.
“Come on,” he whispered. “There’s no time.”
Natasha was looking over the edge of the scaffolding. She could see the Bishop helping Suora into the tiny opening at the base of the altar. They would be hiding in the room that was filled with bones. Natasha saw him look up at her.
“Go!” he mouthed, motioning to her with his hand.
Natasha saw him smile reassuringly, and then disappear into the opening.
“I will see you soon, Uncle,” she whispered, and just then, Nasrallah’s men burst into the chapel.
Natasha saw them make for the hearth. These were not the uniformed figures she had seen earlier on in the courtyard. They were plainly dressed men, and would have appeared to be tourists were it not for the guns in their hands. Gabriel poked his head down and was going to say something, but Natasha silenced him. She gave him her hands and let him pull her up.
* * * * * *
“Radio Bahadur,” said one of the mercenaries in Arabic. “Search every corner of this place. They were just here. They could not have gone far.”
Bahadur arrived moments later to find most of his men in the chapel. They were all in plain clothes now, two of them emerging from behind the altar. They had found a backpack. They approached Bahadur.
“It looks as though they were sleeping in that little room, sir,” said one of them, handing him the pack. “The room is full of bones, but there is a blanket spread out on the floor.”
Bahadur took the pack from the mercenary and reached inside. He brought out a package, unwrapping it to find a large piece of cake, dripping with honey. He smelled it and took a huge bite.
“Has this entire space been searched?” he said, chewing.
“Yes, sir,” said the soldier. “We have found nothing here but the traces they left behind. They must have been eating when they became alerted to our presence. There is still soup in the pot.”
“Soup?” repeated Bahadur, raising an eyebrow in the direction of the hearth.
He had not received a single morsel of food in more than twenty-four hours now, and his tortured body was in desperate need of nourishment.
“Continue with the search as planned,” he said. “They are obviously not here. Go! The sooner this is over the better.”
Within moments his men had vanished, leaving Bahadur alone before the crackling hearth. He sat himself down in one of the chairs, wincing in pain as he reached for the pot. It rested on an iron grating with hot embers still burning beneath it. Beside the pot he found a slice of bread laden with what appeared to be slices of roasted pork. It had been Gabriel’s, and only a single bite had been taken from it.
“Lentils,” he said, blowing on a spoonful of the soup. “And roasted swine…”
He paused for a moment, thinking.
“A sin to eat, but Allah will understand.”
CHAPTER 25
By the time Gabriel had lifted Natasha through the trapdoor, Shackleton was nowhere to be seen. Gabriel shone his light down the passage in one direction and Natasha in the other. There was no sign of the dog anywhere.
“Shackleton!” whispered Natasha. “Shackleton!”
Gabriel turned to face her.
“He knows what he’s doing,” he whispered. “We’ve got to keep moving. This place is crawling with Nasrallah’s men.”
“But which way do we go?”
Gabriel pulled out his compass.
“The main entrance is at the southern end of the necropolis.”
“But we are still three levels beneath it,” said Natasha.
“Good point. Let’s just look for a way up then. Any preference in direction?”
Natasha pointed into the shadows.
“That way.”
“West. OK. I’ll always trust a woman’s intuition. Let’s go.”
“I hope that Shackleton has the same intuition as me,” said Natasha, but Gabriel had already moved off.
The tunnel they found themselves in was identical to the others. To their right and left were the countless loculi with their sepia coloured bones. Unlike the tunnels of the lower level these wound and split, bringing them to many forks and junctures along the way. They stopped at every one, each time Gabriel asking Natasha for her first intuitive direction.
“Left,” she would say after a moment’s pause, or, “Straight through,” or, “Left,” “Right,”.
They walked like this for what seemed hours, feeling themselves more and more entangled in the knotted passageways. With each step, Natasha felt her hopes fading. She no longer felt the pressing danger of those who pursued them. Everything had been overshadowed by a desperate desire to escape this place; to simply get out. With every step Natasha felt as if the dead were calling to her, and with every step she feared more and more that they would never leave this place alive.
“Is it true that some people have entered these catacombs and never found their way out again?”
She could see Gabriel up ahead, his dark form silhouetted by his roaming flashlight. He stopped and turned to face her, suddenly aware of how frightened she was.
“Come here,” he said grudgingly, pushing a hand through his shaggy hair. “You’re lagging behind.”
Natasha came closer, and Gabriel took her hands into his. In the darkness he could feel them cold and trembling. He had to make her understand.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said.
Natasha forgot all her misgivings and fell into his arms.
“I’m scared,” she said amid shivers.
“Now listen to me,” said Gabriel softly. “I’ve been in much worse places than this. Really, I have. I’m not worried. Believe me. We’re going to get out of here.”
Natasha bit her lip.
“But what about Uncle Marcus, and Suora and Fra?” she said quietly.
Her eyes were wide open now, staring out into the darkness that loomed behind him.
“And where is Shackleton?”
Gabriel said nothing. He could already feel her calming down as the warmth spread between them. He was feeling something he had never experienced before. With their bodies pressed together, the inner void that had plagued him for the past month felt suddenly full.
Gabriel pushed her gently away, but kept hold of her arms. Women like Natasha were incapable of accepting the kind of love he had to give. It was a lesson he had learned the hard way many times. The objective here was simply to cheer her up a little. That was all.
“Never lose sight of the facts,” he said.
Her scent was intoxicating him.
“Marcus knows these catacombs well, and he’s been full of surprises up to now. They will be fine. Just trust me on this one.”
He moved a lock of hair out of her eyes.
“You might have all your woman’s intuition,” he added, frowning at an unexpected surge of affection in him, “but I’ve got my gut, and it’s telling me they’re fine. We’ll be seeing them again soon. That’s a promise.”
Gabriel’s was having a considerable effect on Natasha. In the few minutes they had been together, almost all of her fear and coldness had vanished. As surprising as it was to her, she could not recall having ever felt more safe and secure than she did at that moment, lost as they were in that dark and dreadful place. She swallowed slowly and collected herself, stepping back and wiping away her tears.
“You have a way
with ladies, Gabriel Parker,” she said, giving him a smile that was suspicious and timid all at the same time.
Gabriel was going to say something but Natasha reached up and put a hand over his mouth. She could see a flickering light in the darkness behind him, not fifty paces away.
“There is somebody coming,” she whispered.
Gabriel took hold of her hand and pulled her back into the shadows.
“Don’t even breathe,” he whispered severely, poking his head out into the tunnel.
He could see the light clearly now, but was surprised to learn that it did not come from a flashlight. It appeared to be the light of a lantern, or several lanterns. It was illuminating a large area of the tunnel. Within moments the clatter of many feet were echoing around them. A voice spoke out in an Italian accent.
“Now, please, ladies and gentlemen. We will follow him, but keep together. We do not want anyone getting lost.”
Gabriel turned to Natasha.
“Did you just hear that?”
Natasha had a smile from ear to ear.
“Let’s stay here,” said Gabriel. “We’ve got to be absolutely sure.”
Gabriel poked his head out again to see a large group of twenty or so tourists behind their guide. Directly before the man was a handsome brown hunting dog, urging them all to follow him.
“Shackleton!” shouted Gabriel, jumping into the passage. “Come here boy!”
Natasha burst from her hiding place just in time to receive the dog into her arms. He had come bounding down the passage like a horse at play, slowing only just before arriving, and gently finding his way into Natasha’s embrace.
“Oh, Shackleton!” she said. “What would we do without you?”
* * * * * *
The setting sun was blinding as they emerged from the necropolis, a relief flooding into them that could only be described as euphoric.
“What a beautiful evening,” said Natasha, taking in a deep breath of the fragrant air.
Around them Rome bustled in its familiar way, oblivious to the damp graves and catacombs that lay underfoot. Shackleton let sound a deep bark.
“What is it, Shackleton?” asked Natasha, bending down.
“He’s trying to tell us something,” said Gabriel. “What is it, boy?”
As if in response to Gabriel’s question, Shackleton raised a paw and laid it on Natasha’s bent knee, nuzzling his head into her lap.
“Shackleton!” she said laughing. “What are you trying to tell us?”
The dog answered her question with a happy bark, bounding off immediately afterwards.
“Shackleton!” cried Natasha. “Come back!”
They stood up to see the dog trot past a group of tourists and disappear into the crowds. Natasha looked at Gabriel in distress.
“Now don’t start worrying about him again,” he said, holding out his hands. “I’ve got a hunch he knows more about what’s going on here than we do.”
“But where is he going?” she asked, pouting.
“I haven’t a clue,” said Gabriel. “But if I’m sure of one thing, it’s that we’ll be seeing him again, and probably when we need him the most.”
CHAPTER 26
Amsterdam, North Holland.
“Ladies and Gentleman, I would like to introduce the president and owner of AuraChip Industries; esteemed member of the Vanderhoff group since nineteen eighty-four; Dr. John B. Middleton.”
It was early evening, and the conference was now concluding its second day. The keynote speaker stepped up onto a podium in the hotel’s main banquet hall, amid a full round of applause. Before him were the world’s elite, more than a hundred and twenty strong. They sat at large round tables, arrayed with the finest china, and lit by the warm light of massive chandeliers.
“Thank you,” he said, waiting for the applause to subside. “It seems like only yesterday that I was up here boring you all with the tiring details about Radio Frequency Identification Microchips, and their many biometric potentials. I can recall that we were just about to have dinner, and that’s probably the reason why no one left the room.”
Laughter spread through the hall.
“You’ll be happy to know that I’m going to skip past all the technical stuff this time and go straight into what we at AuraChip have accomplished over this last year. Although our outlook is quite extensive, it can all be summed up in two words: Human Implantation.”
He was forced to pause until the applause died down.
“Out of the veritable cornucopia of cutting edge biometric technology, human R.F.I.D. implantation promises to be the ultimate game changer. Over and above the many ways it will improve lifestyle, health, and security, perhaps the most powerful will be population control, and that means outlaws, terrorists, and quite simply anyone who doesn’t do what we tell them to do.”
Laughter and applause sounded, the group delighted with the speaker’s candidness. Population control was, after all, the Vanderhoff Group’s primary objective.
“The AuraChip will mean the end of organized crime and terrorism as we know it. The moment laws are broken, AuraChips will simply be deactivated, leaving deviants trackable, and without any resources. In a world where all your money is on your AuraChip, and cash does not exist, what will a criminal do if he’s offline?”
“He’ll clean up his act, God damn it!” exclaimed an old American man at a nearby table.
His comment was met with a healthy round of applause.
“Yes, I’m afraid he’ll have no choice but to shape up,” said the speaker. “Unless of course he wants to live like a caveman.”
The laughter continued.
Christian took the opportunity to rise from his table and leave the hall. Over his shoulder he could still hear the speaker.
“Now, the world at large is still quite unaware of our plans for the AuraChip, and this leaves us with a tremendously exciting, and extremely lucrative opportunity to be the ones to implement this new technology across a full spectrum of applications. What I’d like to go over now is a detailed plan of action that—”
Christian closed the door behind him. Any interest he might have had in the conference had now been replaced by a cold contempt for all those attending.
“Stinking maggots,” he muttered bitterly. “Putting on airs of helping humanity when all they want to do is subjugate it. If they openly admitted what they were doing I could respect them…”
Ever since the proceedings with the Nautonnier that afternoon, Christian had been consumed with anger and hatred. Although intoxicating, these nefarious emotions also frightened him. They seemed to come from a dark personality within him; a previously dormant shadow-self that had been awakened when he had signed the ledger. He began to tremble with rage the more he thought of it. The Nautonnier had tricked him into taking that pledge. Christian would make him pay for what he had done.
I’ll kill that piece of shit with my own hands.
As he marched towards the main lobby, Christian could not help but flinch when he saw his reflection in a passing mirror. It jerked him back into reality, checking his wrath almost immediately. He had never been a saint, this was true, but in his eyes he had just seen a cold blooded killer. He stopped in his tracks and walked back to the mirror, looking at his reflection with deep concern. For a fraction of a second he could have sworn that his eyes were not his own, but rather those of a reptile. He produced his phone on an impulse.
“This is Christian Antov,” he said. “I need to speak with Doctor Bennington immediately.”
There was a pause as he listened.
“It does not concern me that he is on holiday in Paris. He will drop whatever he is doing and call me at once!”
CHAPTER 27
Rome, Italy.
Gabriel could not help but think he was staying at Buckingham Palace. The pomp of the five star suite was completely at odds with his simple tastes. Despite having managed to amass a considerable fortune retrieving lost treasures and artifacts o
ver the years, Gabriel had never once been taken by the luxuries such wealth offered. With the exception of Italian motorcycles, German cars, and American gadgets, his tastes had remained simple and down to earth.
In almost every case, Gabriel preferred the clay goblet to the golden chalice, and if he had brought Natasha to this particular hotel, it was only because he wanted to be sure that she would be as comfortable as possible. She was currently showering in the adjoining suite, the door that linked the two rooms kept open on her insistence.
“I hope you do not mind,” she had said timidly, “but Uncle Marcus said that those men will always have a general idea of where we are. And then there are those dark forces that he said were following me… I would feel much safer knowing you are close by.”
Gabriel peered into her room uncomfortably. Over the running water of the shower he could hear her singing the lyrics of an Italian pop song. He shook his head incredulously.
How can a nation that spawned the likes of Puccini and Verdi possibly produce a song that cheesy?
He called the Bishop’s phone again, just to get his mind on something else. When the machine came on he decided to leave a message.
“Marcus,” he said. “I hope you get this. Natasha and I are out of the catacombs and checked into a hotel here in Rome.”
He paced around the room as he spoke, not knowing what to do with himself.
“Something’s come up. It turns out that the informant who gave us the location of the Cube was Amir’s cousin: A guy named Bahadur. Nasrallah suspects that Bahadur had something to do with the robbery. He’s holding their entire family hostage.”
Gabriel moved to the enormous bed, looking down at its golden pillows and ornate coverings.
How is anyone supposed to get comfortable in a place like this?
He reached down and pulled away the silken cover.