by Gilliam Ness
“Before we do anything about the Cube, I’ve got to get Amir’s family out of there. I’m responsible for all of this. Natasha’s insisted on coming with me. We’ll be flying to Gibraltar tomorrow, and then heading to Morocco from there. Call me the minute you get this. We need to know you guys are safe.”
Gabriel pocketed his phone and lay back onto the bed’s many cushions, his arms behind his head. He could still feel the grit from the catacombs in his hair, and felt far too dirty to be lying where he was. He got up almost immediately, looking around the suite, and feeling a growing anxiety for his three dear friends. The fact that he had intentionally left them behind was proving very difficult to bear now, especially given the luxurious surroundings.
“We had no choice,” he muttered to himself. “There was no option. They’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”
Gabriel paced aimlessly. He had promised Natasha that he would wait until she finished showering before doing so himself. He moved to a little wooden table by the window and pulled up a fragile chair. His old battered duffel bag was on the couch beside him. He took hold of it and noticed that it had already soiled the cream coloured upholstery with rusty catacomb dirt.
“Oh, man,” he sighed, moving it onto his lap. “So much for the damage deposit.”
He reached into it, carefully removing the Cube. There was something about the artifact that drove him to hold it; something that made him feel as though it needed his attention; as though it were somehow alive. Removing it from its container, Gabriel was instantly made aware of its strange characteristics, and once again found himself unable to pinpoint exactly what it was. He had seen countless artifacts over his career, but there was something very different about this one. Gabriel looked up suddenly. The shower had stopped.
“I am almost finished,” chimed Natasha, and another surge of affection filled his heart.
Don’t go there, buddy. She’s not for you.
It was at that moment that Gabriel noticed something very peculiar. It seemed to him that a glimmer of light had caught his eye; one that appeared to have originated from the Cube itself. Gabriel looked up to the ceiling, expecting to find a recessed light that might have reflected in its gold leaf, but there was nothing there. As he looked around the room he saw that there was no lamp that could have produced such a reflection.
“Do you see how quickly I shower?” came Natasha’s voice, pulling him from his thoughts as she appeared at the threshold. “I am just like a man in that way.”
She was wrapped in a thick white towel and in the act of brushing her liquescent chestnut hair. Gabriel was once again captivated, despite his best efforts. It took him a few seconds to register that her happy expression had changed into one of wonder and awe.
“So that is the artifact…” whispered Natasha, stepping into the room and pointing to the Cube in his hands. “What makes it glow like that?”
Gabriel looked down at the artifact, unable to believe his eyes. Emerging from a series of cracks in its surface was an unmistakably blue light. He jumped to his feet, dropping the Cube onto a chair and instinctively moving away from it.
“What the hell is that?” he said, half shielding Natasha with his body, as though the Cube might explode. “This is impossible. Medieval artifacts don’t light up.”
As one, they moved closer to the relic, intrigued by the quality of its light. Gabriel was perplexed. He had examined the piece on several occasions and had been certain of its authenticity. In a split second all that had changed.
“It’s some kind of a hoax,” he said, squatting before it.
Natasha kneeled down next to him.
“The light seems to be leaking through cracks at the edges of the parchment,” she said, picking up the artifact and moving closer to Gabriel, so that he might study it too. “Do you see what I mean? Right here, where the vellum meets the framework.”
“It looks like there’s another layer to the thing,” said Gabriel, becoming increasingly intoxicated by the smell of soap on Natasha’s skin.
“Another layer?” she asked, turning to look at him. “What do you mean?”
Gabriel looked into her beautiful, Sofia Loren eyes, suddenly oblivious of the artifact. It was taking all his willpower to stop himself from kissing her.
“It used to have a crudely painted outer shell,” he said softly, moving aside the same lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes in the catacombs. “I removed it back at the monastery.”
The backs of his fingers traced lightly over her ear as he tucked away the errant lock. It sent a tingling thrill through Natasha. The hint of a smile appeared around Gabriel’s lips.
“I kept the pieces if you’d like to see them.”
Natasha’s eyes were veiled in mist now; like a doe caught in his lights.
“This artifact had an outer layer,” she whispered absently. “You should have told me.”
“I was going to,” said Gabriel softly.
“You were?”
Gabriel nodded slowly in affirmation, his eyes taking in her pretty features.
“Yes, I was. I just forgot.”
Natasha glanced down at his lips. Gabriel was such a paradox. There was no doubt that he was a nice man, but he was so self-assured, and so quietly cynical. She knew so little about him.
“Well, do not let it happen again,” she whispered dizzily.
Gabriel nodded slowly, looking deeply into her eyes.
“Because if the Cube had one layer,” she continued, “it could easily have another.”
“I suspect it does.”
“I suspect it does too.”
Just then Natasha began to break from the spell, the tremendously important meaning of what was being said finally settling in. She had dedicated her life to artifact restoration, and here was the most mysterious artifact she had ever encountered, potentially ready to reveal yet another layer of itself. The realization of it filled her with a flood of excitement, and in a split second her eyes were alight with urgency.
“Gabriel!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and holding the Cube out before her. “Do you know what this means? Why did you not say anything? This is incredible! What did you do with the pieces you removed?”
Gabriel nodded and rose to his feet with a groan, pointing a thumb at his tattered pack.
“Go crazy,” he said, half angry with himself for letting himself get caught up in her like that. “But don’t get too excited. I think Nasrallah’s played a little joke on us. My guess is that you’re going to find a couple of nine volt batteries hidden in that thing. I’ve got a hunch we’ve been duped.”
“We cannot know until we have studied it further,” she said, rummaging through the leather duffel bag. “Where are you going, Gabriel?”
“To take a shower,” he said, feeling almost relieved that the Cube had turned out to be a hoax. “You know, that drug lord really had me going. Apart from the silly light trick, that artifact is a brilliant forgery.”
He made his way into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar so that Natasha might feel safer.
“He sure went through a lot of trouble to throw us off the trail,” he added, turning on the tap. “I wonder why. It just doesn’t make sense.”
CHAPTER 28
Bahadur finished the last of his soup, mopping up the remaining few lentils with a crust of bread held between two massive fingers. It had been the first thing he had eaten in a very long time, and although it had done him tremendous good, he was still not satisfied. He hunched over and picked through Fra Bartolomeo’s pack, wondering if he might have missed something. He found a bottle of water and a flashlight.
“This is very strange,” he said to himself. “Perhaps they left their food and water behind in their haste, but how far could anyone go in this darkness without light?”
Bahadur tested the switch and saw that the batteries were still good.
“Something is not right,” he muttered, his voice as deep as the catacombs.
Groaning i
n pain, he rose from his chair and turned, leaving the warm fire behind him as he made his way to the room where the guards had found the pack. Shining his flashlight into the chamber, Bahadur passed the beam of light over the somber mounds of bones until it arrived at a small blanket that lay spread out on the floor.
“Why sleep here when you could sleep by the fire?” he said slowly.
Grunting with effort, Bahadur bent low and squeezed himself through the tiny opening, unholstering his handgun as he went. He made his way to the blanket and pulled up the edge.
“Allah be praised,” he said in his deep basso.
There in the floor, directly beneath where the blanket had been, was a trap door made of heavy wooden planks. Holding his gun in one hand, he took hold of the door with the other and swung it open, his eyes opening wide at the sight before him. There, lying trembling in the cold ground, he could see three figures looking up at him, their eyes wide with fright.
“What have we here?” he said, holstering his gun. “You all look quite old, but hardly ready for the grave.”
Bending down, Bahadur took hold of Suora’s arm, and gentler than might have been expected, helped her out of the shallow pit.
“Sister,” he said respectfully, his voice like a booming bass drum. “Please, allow me.”
He shook the blanket that had been lying on the floor, and wrapped her shivering body in it.
“Thank you,” said Suora, utterly surprised.
The enormous bald-headed man appeared to be a monster. His scarred face was badly cut and bruised, and there was a gruesome image of a black moth tattooed to his tortured neck. He wore a black, tight-fitting sweater and black military pants, his massive, horse-like muscles stretching the material taught. Strapped to his waist, on the opposite side of his handgun, was a massive, and very dangerous looking, military combat knife. Even still, there was a deep wisdom in his intelligent eyes. The three seniors could see that this was no monster who stood before them, but rather a tame and noble giant.
“Please,” he said to the Bishop and the Brother, reaching down to help them.
They each took hold of a massive hand and rose slowly to their feet. They had only lay there for ten minutes at most, but the ground was cold and damp and their old bodies had not taken kindly to the accommodations. Bahadur helped them out of the pit, looking back over his shoulder as he did so.
“You need not fear me,” he said, his grim and battered face at odds with his words. “I am not a murderer, and especially not of those in the holy service. I only ask that you assist me in my endeavor. Where is the Cube of Compostela?”
“I am the Bishop Marcus Di Lauro,” said the old Bishop, “and I thank you for your kindness and civility. I must say it is greatly appreciated. The Cube is not in our possession, although we were close to its keeper not so long ago.”
“Gabriel Parker,” said Bahadur, frowning. “Where is he?”
“That I do not know,” said the Bishop, “but I must confess that even if I did know, I would not tell you under any circumstances. You see, the Cube belongs to Gabriel by birth. It is his for the keeping and I will not betray him.”
“Yes, of course, your Eminence,” said Bahadur, nodding solemnly. “This I can understand, but you must also understand that if you will not cooperate with me, I will be forced to take you as my prisoners until the Cube is recovered. It is not I who decide it, but those to whom I am bound.”
“You are a good man,” said Suora Angelica suddenly. “In your heart you are true, my son. It is the wickedness of others that has led you astray.”
Bahadur turned to face the little nun, his expression gentle.
“Thank you, Sister,” he said in his deep voice. “You are very kind and very observant, for ugly as I am, I try to be my best under the eyes of Allah. I have taken many lives, but never those of the innocent. You are safe while under my charge, but I cannot guarantee that my master will be so kind. Please now, you must come with me.”
He led them out into the tunnel.
“I will give you a choice,” said Bahadur, stopping and looking very serious. “I will be taking you to our headquarters. To do this we must first leave the catacombs. We can do this by going back to the monastery the way you have come, or we can take the much easier route up through the catacombs, and out the public entrance.”
The Bishop moved to say something, but Bahadur silenced him with a gesture.
“Were we to take the way through the catacombs, and enter into the general public, any one of you could easily scream out and draw attention to us. What kind of promise can you give me that you will not do this?”
“You have shown us mercy, my son,” said the old Bishop in earnest. “In exchange for your kindness, I give you my word that we will not cry out. We will go with you peaceably to your headquarters, or anywhere else you wish, and we shall trust in God, or Allah if you choose, for He is the father of us all.”
“And I will honour your promise, your Excellency,” said Bahadur. “Please, come this way.”
The sun had already set when they approached a black van parked on the roadside, meters from the catacomb entrance. Bahadur slid open the side door, much like a chauffeur might do, inviting the three to enter with a polite bow.
“Please,” he said. “Enter and sit. You will find the seats very comfortable after your long flight.”
“Thank you, my son,” said Fra Bartolomeo, being the last to enter. “God bless you.”
Bahadur closed the door and Fra watched him through the windows as he made his way around the van. He stopped just outside the driver’s door and made a phone call. Fra listened in with his sharp ears.
“He must be talking to Nasrallah,” he whispered to the Bishop and nun. “Judging by his tone.”
He listened intently.
“He is telling him that he has found us, and that his men are still searching for Gabriel and Natasha.”
Fra looked at the Bishop in surprise.
“He has been told that they are no longer in the Catacombs.”
The Bishop took hold of the Brother’s arm, a combination of joy and worry engulfing his features. The old Brother held up his hand in a gesture of silence.
“They do not know exactly where they are. Somewhere in the city centre. Bahadur is agreeing to regroup at headquarters.”
Just then the driver’s door opened and Bahadur entered the van.
“Do you require food or drink?” he asked over his shoulder. “I am afraid I have eaten all of your provisions.”
“Perhaps a cup of tea would be nice,” said Suora. “If you might be so kind.”
“It will be my pleasure, Sister,” said Bahadur, “and a fair price for such fine lentil stew. The honey cake was also very good.”
“Oh, I am so glad that you enjoyed it, my son!” said the old sister. “It is my specialty. The lentils however, were Fra’s humble invention.”
She timidly pointed her thumb at the old Brother, and smiled ear to ear.
“I thank you,” said Bahadur. “My employer had given me a severe beating and nothing to eat for more than a day.”
“Oh, my goodness,” said the sister, but just then, the Bishop’s phone beeped.
“Excuse me, your Excellency,” said Bahadur. “It would appear you have a message waiting. Perhaps you might put the phone onto its speaker mode, so that we all might hear.”
“Of course, Bahadur,” said the Bishop, fumbling with the phone. “I understand.”
Gabriel’s message played itself out. Bahadur turned in his seat to better hear.
“-before we do anything about the Cube, I’ve got to get Amir’s family out of there. I’m responsible for all this. Natasha’s insisted on coming with me. We’ll be flying to Gibraltar tomorrow, and then heading to Morocco from there. Call me the minute you get this. We need to know you guys are safe.”
Bahadur nodded slowly.
“Amir is my cousin,” he said. “His family is my family. It would appear that Nasrallah
is an enemy to us all. If you will please excuse me for one moment.”
With that Bahadur left the van and began pacing around outside, bent in thought. He returned within moments, speaking out immediately after he had closed the door behind him.
“I have made a decision,” he said. “I will help Gabriel Parker. We will bring Nasrallah down together. He is a very bad man. I will now make a few calls. When I am done, if your Excellency will please call Gabriel and inform him that you are here with me, and that you are safe. I will arrange a private flight to Gibraltar for us all tonight. Allah willing, we shall free my family, even if we must raise a small army to do so. We must do this quickly. The moment Nasrallah learns that I have betrayed him, he will order my family killed.”
Suora Angelica squeezed both the Brother’s and the Bishop’s hands excitedly, delighted with the new plan. Bahadur produced his phone and put it on speaker mode so that they all might hear. The connection went straight to Nasrallah’s voicemail.
“Master,” he said. “There has been a change in plans. I have extracted information from the hostages and killed them. A trap has been laid for Gabriel Parker at the Trevi Fountain tomorrow night at twenty-three hundred hours. I have learned that he has hidden the Cube. For this reason he must be taken alive and made to talk. I promise to have the artifact for you in thirty-six hours. Please call me if you have any questions. I am your humble servant.”
Bahadur closed his phone and then opened it to dial another number.
“Stop your search,” he said sharply. “Regroup all the men. We will be laying a trap at the Trevi Fountain tomorrow at twenty-three hundred hours.”
He was silent while the mercenary spoke.
“No!” barked Bahadur in his deep basso. “I have other business I must attend to. I am putting you in command. You will position the men around the square. I want two snipers on the rooftops, and everyone else in plain clothes. We will be taking Parker alive.”
He was silent again.
“Yes, that is correct,” said Bahadur. “I will meet you in the southwest corner of the square at precisely twenty-two hundred hours. Is that clear?”