by WR Armstrong
“What does he hope to achieve from talking to me?” McGrath asked suspiciously.
“You will have to ask him that,” Kate said. “Can I tell him you’re at least prepared to meet and hear him out?”
“I hate to sound mercenary,” McGrath said, “but what the hell’s in it for me?”
“How about I buy you dinner this evening?” Kate offered.
“Sounds like a bribe.”
“We can always go Dutch.”
“Who says I can’t be bribed?”
They arranged a time with McGrath offering to drive. Kate suddenly grew serious and changed the subject. “I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about the dead man’s claim that the tunnel is haunted.”
“What of it?”
“This place is starting to get a bad reputation, Paul, to the point where a local councillor who also happens to be a practicing spiritualist is demanding a psychic be brought in to investigate the situation.”
“Ye gods,” McGrath said ruefully, “Why don’t we make everyone happy and employ an exorcist to perform an exorcism!”
“That’s not funny,” said Kate.
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” McGrath maintained. “We have to be careful things don’t get out of hand, is all I’m saying. If the dramatic Media reports on the linked deaths and related incidents intensify, then progress here could seriously be hampered. Pressure will be pile on to a greater degree and that is something none of us directly involved in this situation need.”
Kate was forced to agree.
They made their way into the damaged section of tunnel, eerily quiet now that work had been halted. They paused to drink in the atmosphere. There was a definite cold spot beneath the aperture that no one had been able to explain. Looking up into the yawning hole in the roof, McGrath frowned, once again wondering who the occupants of the mass grave were, and what their preoccupation with the sign of the cross signified. It had been reported in the papers that they might have been followers of a satanic cult, although no evidence was available to substantiate the theory. It was, for the time being, another example of the tabloids sensationalising a story in order to grab the interest of the general public
Kate glanced at her watch and announced that she must return to The Dempster Foundation, where she was to meet a reporter from The Daily Mirror who was to be given an exclusive on the story of the discovery of the burial pit.
“I’ll see you later,” she said in parting.
“Look forward to it,” McGrath said distractedly. He observed Kate briefly as she headed for the tunnel exit, and then returned his attention to the dimly lit aperture. Quite suddenly he frowned. Had something moved up there just then? He stood rooted to the spot, wondering if his suspicions would be confirmed, when out of the blue a voice at his shoulder said, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Mr McGrath.” It was the man from the coroner’s office and he was smiling.
McGrath frowned, disliking his manner, and walked away leaving him to stand alone beneath the giant hole wherein lay the remains of a mysterious people of which there appeared to be no historical record. When McGrath happened to glance back he saw that the man was staring up into the aperture, smiling still.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
McGrath woke early as was his habit, completed a quick physical work out followed by a light breakfast and was on the road by seven, keen to be on time for his appointment with Carrington. Kate had been quick to set up the meeting, which was to be held at The Dempster Foundation.
McGrath drove through the city’s northern suburbs feeling troubled, having dwelled on the similarities of the incident involving Marcos Powell and the man who had fallen to his death yesterday. It would be all too easy to say the aperture was in some way jinxed as the Press had already implied. He recalled what the official from the coroner’s office had said and the amused, knowing look on his face as he had spoken. What had all that been about? He was at a loss to know. No matter; it was probably of no concern anyway.
What was of concern was the level of absenteeism within the underground workforce. The men were genuinely spooked. That human remains were being dug out of the earth didn’t do a lot for moral, McGrath supposed, but it was more than that. The atmosphere itself was threatening. He accepted that in part it was due to the poor relations between his workforce and Carrington’s team. He hoped that today’s meeting would prove fruitful and signal a new beginning, at least until the excavators began their work above ground, which in itself might prove to be a major problem for the archaeologists.
The fact the bones were so deep in the earth meant the bomb explosion might have caused displacement in a downward trajectory after all. That being the case, success could be limited at ground level. McGrath had always thought it odd that the explosion might have had such an effect but could think of no other explanation. The section of tube line where the explosion occurred was seventy feet deep, relatively shallow compared to other parts of the underground, yet the position of the bones had bugged McGrath from the beginning. It was as if they wanted to be found, and had discovered a way of achieving that aim through the explosion. Then again they might just as easily have been displaced naturally over the years following their original burial.
McGrath’s thoughts turned to Kate Marshall. Last night he and Kate had dined out at a quaint little bistro where they had chatted freely, conversing on a wide range of topics. True to her word, Kate had picked up the tab but not before making McGrath promise to return the favour, a promise McGrath was more than happy to keep. He had already decided that, given the chance, he wanted deeper involvement with Kate, and planned to make his feelings on the subject known sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done for McGrath was a past master in the art of emotional detachment, as his ex-wife would no doubt confirm. The very nature of his work in the armed forces had made him that way. At the end of the day Jenny had been unable to cope. She had never really approved of his involvement with an outfit like the SAS. Inevitably she and McGrath grew apart, not that they had had much of a marriage to start with. It had been a shotgun wedding, Jenny having fallen pregnant accidentally. The baby was tragically stillborn. McGrath often wondered if it mightn’t have been different had the child survived but doubted it for they had little in common, failing even to share the same sense of humour.
He had genuinely wanted the child, and would have given anything for it to have lived even if it meant staying in an unhappy marriage. After the loss of the baby he had distanced himself, with the army coming to play an increasingly important role in his life. Desperately unhappy, Jenny nevertheless played the loyal wife, accompanying him on numerous postings, but she had yearned for a stable lifestyle and a family. By then McGrath had lost interest, living instead for the challenge that military assignments provided. Active service in Northern Ireland and in Iraq and the commendations he’d received as a result re-enforced his conviction that the army was right for him. His wife had felt increasingly neglected and unwanted, inevitably finding companionship elsewhere, effectively ending their marriage. McGrath sought solace in a succession of meaningless relationships in the intervening years.
His thoughts drifted back to Kate. He found himself drawn to her. She did something for him that no other woman had done; his wife included. She made him feel happy. She came across as a smart lady who was good company, never short of conversation. Used to being on his own, he was surprised how comfortable he felt around her.
He took the flyover, heading north, switching on the car radio for company, which was tuned to an easy listening station. Lionel Ritchie sang Hello. By now the sky had cleared, promising sunshine.
A few miles further on, he steered the car into a broad leafy street lined with expensive houses. The suburb of Northwalk was only thirty minutes or so from the city centre but it might have been an age away. It was an area favoured by the well to do, providing easy access into the City, which was all the more reason why repairs on the damaged
section of underground should be finished without delay. Important, influential people were being inconvenienced and making loud noises about the fact. The pressure was on, and McGrath found himself at the epicentre of it all.
He travelled the tree-lined road for maybe a mile or so before making a right turn. Five minutes later he spotted a sign for The Dempster Foundation on the left-hand side of the road. Slowing the car he turned into a gravel drive that led to a set of wrought iron gates. A security hut stood to the left. A guard greeted him inquiring his business there. He explained and was waved through. Elm and beech trees flanked the drive leading to the main building. The setting was tranquil. McGrath envied the people fortunate enough to work here. It was a far cry from his working environment with its stuffy corridors; stained, cracked walls and faulty heating system. The home of The Dempster Foundation reminded McGrath of a huge manor house. Typically English, it could have been home to a local Lord in the dim and distant past.
He parked the car and climbed the steps to the main entrance, which led into an oak panelled reception area. A large information board adorned one wall, giving directions to various departments. It read like a hospital notice board. There was no mention of an archaeology department, probably, McGrath surmised, because it was a temporary arrangement.
He approached the receptionist, who took his details and made him sign the visitor’s book before directing him to the floor reserved for the archaeological team. McGrath took the lift, inside which classical music played. As it ascended he found himself growing intrigued at the prospect of viewing the finds. He intended to play his cards close to his chest and listen carefully to what Carrington had to say before committing himself.
The lift came to a smooth stop and the doors slid quietly open. McGrath stepped out and set off along the plush carpeted corridor, passing a storage room before coming to a set of swing doors, to the side of which was a notice warning unauthorised individuals to keep out. Through the smoked glass he spied activity. He walked into the room searching for Carrington. A young man dressed casually in jumper and jeans asked if he could be of assistance. McGrath gave his name and the reason for his visit.
“Ah yes,” the man said, enlightened. “One moment please.” He disappeared into a side room leaving McGrath free to take in his surroundings. The room in which he stood reminded him of a school laboratory. There was even a blackboard at one end. His gaze fell on row upon row of workbenches, occupied by people note taking and examining bones using penknives, brushes and tweezers. Near the back windows stood a row of computer terminals where a small team sat imputing data. McGrath turned just in time to see Carrington enter the room.
“Welcome to the world of archaeology Mr. McGrath,” he said, extending a welcoming hand. The two men shook and Carrington said, “As you can see, we have a lot of work to get through.” He motioned to the array of bones lying on various tables. “Finds are coming in quicker than we can process them. Let me show you around.”
McGrath was taken on a whirlwind tour of the department and introduced to staff members as they went. Carrington was quick to explain their individual roles and where their area of expertise lay. Some were students of archaeology who had given their time freely in order to gain experience while others were keen amateurs. They struck McGrath as being a dedicated bunch who spoke enthusiastically about their work, voicing their excitement at being involved in the present excavation. To McGrath’s untrained eye there seemed nothing spectacular about the bones on display. Bones were bones as far as he was concerned. Even the weaponry dug up in the underground, which included torturing devices along with a number of Saxon wheel lock pistols and rifles, was viewed with limited interest. They passed a middle-aged woman hunched over a workbench examining a selection of small bones. Her work tools included sheets of sandpaper and what appeared to be an assortment of dental tools. Instruments used for the fine cleaning of skeletal remains, Carrington explained.
The guided tour over, the professor invited McGrath into his private office, which was a surprisingly unimpressive affair considering his elevated stature, being furnished with an old desk, a couple of wooden chairs and a single filing cabinet. A laptop computer and a printer took up most of the desktop space. Once they were seated Carrington thanked McGrath for giving his time so freely.
“Think nothing of it,” McGrath said albeit a little guardedly.
“As you know,” Carrington said, coming straight to the point, “we are trying desperately to gain permission from the Church to excavate from above ground. However, should we be unsuccessful, we would expect to continue on our present course.”
McGrath expressed dissatisfaction with the situation, prompting Carrington to say, “I don’t wish to be rude, Mr. McGrath, but it would appear that you and your colleagues really do fail to appreciate just how potentially significant the discovery in the underground is. You have seen the evidence for yourself. The bodies we have unearthed from the mass grave all have one thing in common in that they are murder victims. What’s more, it seems that each individual died as a result of head injury. We have only heard of this kind of thing once before.”
“The French connection,” McGrath ventured, recalling Kate’s account of the burial pit discovered in Southern France.
“I’m impressed,” said Carrington.
“I have my moments,” McGrath replied.
“In both cases it’s as if a whole community was singled out for extermination,” Carrington said. “Evidence points to the people buried in the Norhtwalk grave belonging to some kind of religious or pseudo religious order, possibly pagan in origin, worshipping along similar lines to the ancient Celts. It may even have been a breakaway faction of the Roman Catholic Church. Coincidentally, we believe a non-Conformist church existed where St Anthony’s now stands, which may have been their sanctum. Objects so far unearthed suggest they held pagan value’s regarding the workings of the Cosmos. The sign of the cross appears to dominate.”
“But isn’t the cross a Christian symbol,” McGrath queried.
“A common misconception,” said Carrington. “The cross and related crucifix were not adopted as an exclusively Christian sign until the year 680 AD. The sacred geometry of crosses: pagan crosses in particular originated in ancient Egypt. The Egyptians saw the ankh or crux ansata as the symbol of life. It was invested with great powers both to consecrate and ward off harm.
“In ancient writings there is mention of a sect, closely related to the Celts that believed life borne of death could be induced through the power of the cross.” Carrington paused briefly before adding, “We no longer think the individuals buried in the pit at Northwalk were plague sufferers, but were members of the sect of which I speak. If we’re correct, it seems they were persecuted for their religious beliefs.”
“You mean to say they were brutally slain simply for worshipping the cross,” McGrath asked.
“It does appear that way,” said Carrington.
“But why?”
“Why were Catholics persecuted during the Reformation: why were the Jews persecuted by the Nazis?” Carrington pondered. “People are prejudiced, and often fear what they don’t understand. This may have been a case in point. At present we can only guess. What we do know is that the concept of resurrection to eternal life has been with us for centuries. As I mentioned, the ancient Egyptians believed it was possible: so too did the ancient Chinese. Christians came to believe following the crucifixion and subsequent resurrection of Christ. The Egyptians even had a god called Osiris who was slain and resurrected like Jesus. It all fits in neatly with the true ideology behind the symbol of the cross.”
“Which is?” McGrath asked.
“The belief is held in some quarters,” Carrington said, “that the symbol can have a regenerative effect on the physical body. Crossroads are believed to be sacred to the Dead, being a place where, at certain times, it is possible to commune with departed spirits. Cosmic symbolism says a crossroads is where the cosmic axis between the u
nderworld and the upper world intersects with middle earth. It is the place where the distinction between the physical plane and the non-material worlds is less certain. It is said that to place a dead body there, with the aid of the correct ceremony, the corpse would rise again filled with spiritual energy. The cross or cosmic axis or axis mundi as it is also known; is supposed to connect heaven, earth and the underworld allowing spirits to migrate between these worlds. Hence the reason crosses are used as headstones in graveyards. They supposedly form a gateway through which the spirit of the dead person can rise up into heaven from the underworld in which it is buried.”
Carrington paused to allow McGrath time to digest the information. Then, changing tack he went on, “The subject of the burial pit is exciting everyone Mr McGrath, experts and the general public alike. Everything considered; we are making excellent headway with the venture. Why, we have even started to reconstruct the identities of some of those buried in the grave.”
“How is that possible,” McGrath asked.
Carrington smiled, comfortable with the subject. “The process is called Mapping and involves a plaster cast being made of the skull, upon which face muscles are built up with pliable modelling clay. A layer of material to represent flesh is finally added and the features are marked in.”
McGrath listened, quietly fascinated as Carrington continued, “Archaeology wasn’t always so technically precise. It has come on leaps and bounds in the last one hundred years or so. Did you know that the first Dinosaur wasn’t discovered until 1786? The most important early finds of ancient monsters weren’t made until the beginning of the nineteenth century. In fact, the term Dinosaur wasn’t invented until 1842 when a British scientist coined the term “Dinosauria”, which means terrible lizard. Why, the infamous T-Rex wasn’t discovered until 1908!” Carrington smiled to himself, taking quiet delight in discussing his chosen subject. “My great ambition,” he said whimsically, “is to discover the missing link no less. Incidentally, do you know why Neanderthal man died out?” McGrath gave a slow shake of the head. “They lacked an incest taboo, which meant cooperative alliances would have been lacking amongst family groups. Symbolism, language and culture consequently suffered; a point confirmed by the lack of ornaments and art which our ancestors left an abundance of. The Celt’s, whose doctrines seem to have been followed by those buried in the mass grave were similar insomuch that they rarely recorded their beliefs. Instead they passed information down through the generations by word of mouth.”