The Dark Temple

by The Dark Temple (retail) (epub)

  With the deliberations still ongoing, Harker and the others had instead focused on their own individual situations. David Carter had accepted Sebastian Brulet’s offer to become the full-time curator of the secret vault buried deep within the rocky island of Mont St-Michel, and now he spent his days rediscovering and cataloguing the vast number of relics and historical artefacts that the Templars had been collecting for centuries. The brutal, and rather embarrassing nature of the torture he had received at the behest of John Wilcox and his Magi loyalists had initially proved a serious bone of contention for him. But after gaining his new position within the Templars, and following an intensive course of extra strength pile cream, he had finally put that painful and invasive episode behind him, as it were. Brulet had even presented him with an official badge that Carter now took everywhere with him, and he found great relish in flashing it authoritatively every now and again. In fact the excitement of his work had even encouraged the ex-Cambridge professor to cut down on his heavy drinking; the man had even lost a few pounds and was looking sprightlier than ever. Regrettably his new-found resolve mainly applied during the day only and any phone calls made to him after 7 p.m. were usually met with that slurred and abrasive speech that Harker had come to expect and love. A drunk Carter was always more fun than the sober one.

  Doggie had also been given access to the secret vault and now every few weeks he took a trip to St Michel where he was allowed to pore over the wealth of history contained within its walls, although always under the watchful eye of Carter who guarded the place like a bulldog. In a short time, the two men had forged a tight friendship, even if their massive egos ensured a healthy competitiveness between them.

  Chloe, on the other hand, had continued in her psychiatric role at Blackwater and when she wasn’t working she was usually flicking through wedding magazines and making preparations for their nuptials in the coming year. She had insisted fervently that Harker stay away from any such planning until the day in question, which was more than fine by him although he was fairly sure it had far more to do with her being a control freak than wanting to surprise him, as she had so far maintained.

  As for Harker, the revelation of his own father’s membership of the Templars had gripped him since learning of it and, apart from his busy schedule at the University, these were the thoughts that now preoccupied him. The documentation provided by Brulet concerning his father had been a revelation but had left him with as many questions as answers. For it transpired Liam Harker had indeed been inducted into the Templars and been granted the position of Jarl, which held not only considerable authority within the organisation but also entailed one of the most fascinating roles. Only a single individual could hold that position at any one time and it charged the recipient with ‘determining any and all threats to the Templars and to civilisation at large’. That was the high-sounding brief but in practice it meant scouring the planet for any truths, legends or historical facts that might cause concern for humankind as a whole.

  At first glance it seemed somewhat farcical but as Harker delved deeper into the records, it became apparent that it was a truly serious assignment. The position of Jarl had been initially formed soon after the Templars’ divergence from the Catholic Church some centuries ago. In a world of unknowns, and when the exploration of reality was still in its infancy, the concept of witchcraft, monsters and everything else supernatural was still a very real thing. Today those ideas were still engrained in all earthly cultures in the form of legend and folklore, but in days gone by they had been seen as a genuine physical threat to everyone and something which had to be addressed. Accordingly the Jarl was sworn to seek out and reveal the dark truths of the world, either to be dismissed as fantasy or to confirm and remove any genuine threats thus discovered. The historical records Harker had read so far were beyond captivating, including witches’ covens, satanic societies, and even tales of defeating monsters. The last were taken by Harker with a pinch of salt but, in truth, who knew what animals and creatures might have still existed back then. In areas of the world untouched by man for millions of years, who could know what unique species had slipped through the noose of evolutionary extinction to remain in small groups until contact with humans was made. The obvious examples to Harker had been the English legend of St George fighting a dragon and Perseus confronting the sea serpent Cetus of mythology. It seemed extremely unlikely that dragons ever actually existed but who could know for sure, and perhaps there was some truth to such fables that had lasted until this very day.

  Harker’s father had been the last ‘Jarl’ in a line of hundreds, which at first had seemed an extremely high number but, upon reading of their dangerous exploits and given the nature of the job, it made sense. Spending your career chasing after everything and anything dangerous was not really conducive to one’s health.

  By the time Liam Harker had taken over in the twentieth century, most of these real or imagined dangers had been consigned to history or mythology, and the position had focused more on the dangers human beings posed, whether from cults, secret societies or even war-mongering nations. Whatever the threats, his father had undoubtedly seen plenty of action in his time as Jarl, and the vaults’ historical records attested to this in detail.

  What was less clear, however, rested on the fact that his father had not been ‘born into’ the Templars and, even though Brulet considered Harker a Templar by blood, it wasn’t clear why he had not been inducted earlier. Brulet had explained that, due to the nature of his father’s work in dealing with various nefarious groups the latter had decided to keep young Harker removed for his own protection – and Brulet had decided to respect this. Furthermore, the Templar Grand Master had been considerably vague upon the question of how Harker senior had actually joined the Order in the first place or why the position of Jarl had been left vacant for over twenty years beforehand. Harker had not forced these questions because he was now totally concentrated on Brulet bestowing on him the honour of becoming the new Jarl. Besides which, with ready access to all the records and information pertaining to this area of the Templars’ activities, he had no doubt he would discover the details for himself in due course.

  For the time being, and especially with the complete annihilation of the Magi, the horizon looked clear and Harker had decided to allow Carter –- with a little help from Doggie – to get to grips with everything contained in the vaults before stepping fully into his new role.

  He also had ongoing commitments at Cambridge, and had spent the last three months putting his work in order before leaving his teaching role there for good. This departure from his academic career was difficult to make but the new position within the Templars seemed just too good an opportunity to pass up. He would now have access to aspects of human history and archaeological discoveries that no one else on the planet even knew existed let alone were able to get their hands on.

  Doggie had been unusually understanding about his decision, which probably had something to do with his own new honorary membership of the Templars. For the Dean loved nothing more than being right in the middle of things, be it as host at a fundraiser or just engagement in the inner workings of the University. It was also this ensuing goodwill that made Doggie campaign for Harker being appointed a permanent member of the University’s board of trustees, which meant he would always retain ties with the academic institution he loved so very much.

  With all that said, however, there was still a very important question – perhaps the most important one – which was yet to be fully explained. And that was what the hell was the role, or the point, of a Jarl in this day and age? The last time he had seen Brulet himself was at Mont St-Michel during the celebration party, and since then his main point of contact had been with Carter. As Harker ran this through his head, he realised how little he actually knew when it came to ‘Jarling’ – if that was the right term for it. For now, he was focusing only on getting his affairs in order at the University and subsequently he was about to gain access
to a hitherto unrevealed library of unwritten history and artefacts more impressive than any of the top museums and private collections in the world had to offer.

  As Harker now caught up with his friends, they were already commandeering a table and chairs outside the reception building. Letting his recent thoughts fade, he couldn’t help but release an excited chuckle. ‘Not bad for a wee boy from Belfast.’

  ‘Beer, Alex?’ Carter yelled as he placed his paint gun down on a spare plastic seat and rubbed his hands together.

  ‘I thought you normally abstained during the day?’ Harker teased.

  ‘I have, but beer is not a proper drink… Whisky’s a drink. Besides…’ Carter subtly pulled open his jacket to reveal the glinting badge that Brulet had presented him with. ‘…I may be able to get a discount if I flash this thing.’

  ‘For God’s sake why are you still wearing that?’ Doggie exclaimed, dropping into his adjacent seat with a thud.

  ‘Because, Dean Lercher,’ Carter replied unashamedly while tapping the metal shield, ‘it means something.’

  ‘Yes, it does David, it means you’re an idiot.’

  Carter let go of his jacket and dismissed the insult with a wave of his hand. ‘Chloe, would you allow me to buy you a drink?’

  ‘Thank you, David, that sounds lovely,’ Chloe replied, and with a wink at Harker she took Carter’s arm and they both began walking towards the reception building, and the small corner bar inside it.

  ‘Do me a favour would you, Alex?’ Doggie asked, settling into his chair and enjoying this chance to relax his aching muscles, ‘I left my wallet in the car. Be a good fellow and get it, would you? You’ll find it in the glove compartment.’

  He was already throwing his keys in Harker’s direction before receiving an answer.

  ‘Yes, your majesty.’ Harker caught the keys and began to stroll towards the car park on the other side of the building, whilst Doggie called out to him again.

  ‘You really are my best servant. Now hurry before I become impatient.’

  Harker didn’t even bother to reply.

  The distance to the car park was no more than several minutes’ walk and, on reaching it, Harker could have spent a few seconds scanning the entire car park in search of Doggie’s Maroon S4 Volvo. But instead he made a beeline for the main entrance and sure enough, squeezed tightly between a filthy blue Mini Cooper and a silver Peugeot 205 stood the vehicle he was looking for. Harker knew that the Dean had an uncanny knack of always getting himself the most convenient space in any car park. For a while he had surmised that his friend enjoyed better luck than most, but he had eventually discovered that Doggie made it a rule to always arrive at an engagement at least one hour before he was due, therefore ensuring the best place. Whether a result of OCD or just severe egocentricity, Harker wasn’t sure, but who the hell hangs around somewhere for an hour beforehand just to secure bragging rights for gaining the prime parking position. And, furthermore, who anyway has the time to spare? Dean Tom Lercher, that’s who.

  Harker unlocked and opened the passenger door, reaching straight for the glove compartment. He found the thin black leather wallet immediately and scooped it out in one hand, then slammed the car door shut and made sure it was locked.

  A voice called out from behind and Harker turned around to confront a young man in his thirties, with short-cropped black hair and wearing a blue cashmere pullover and a pair of tanned chinos.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  The man extended his hand and thrust a £10 note towards him. ‘It was lying on the ground, and I thought it might be yours.’

  Harker offered a shake of his head. ‘No, not mine, but I’m sure you can hand it in at reception.’

  The man smiled and then, with a nod, he pointed to somewhere directly behind Harker. ‘How about that?’

  Harker instinctively looked behind him and, as he did so, the man snatched Doggie’s wallet from his hand and took off at a run towards the car park’s front entrance.

  ‘Hey.’ Harker yelled, immediately bursting into a sprint after him. Cheeky bastard were the words that rattled in his head as he sped like a maniac. Besides this being bang out of order he himself would never hear the last of it from Doggie if he allowed the fellow to get away.

  The wallet snatcher was far slower than his athletic form suggested and Harker was already catching him up by the time they reached the entrance. The thief continued around the corner and disappeared from sight for a moment and, pursuing him, Harker was met with a sight that brought him abruptly to a halt.

  Catching his breath was the thief, standing next to another man, dressed in a grey suit and tie, who held out a Metropolitan Police badge towards Harker. ‘I’m Detective John Owens; could we have a word, sir?’ he asked politely before slipping the badge back into his inside jacket pocket.

  Harker’s hands dropped loosely to his sides and, before he could ask what the hell was going on, the thief threw him Doggie’s wallet and then flashed his own detective’s badge, clipped onto his belt and previously concealed under his pullover.

  ‘Is it normal for detectives to rob members of the public?’ Harker asked them, still taken aback by the bizarre charade.

  ‘No, it’s not, sir,’ Detective Owens replied. ‘We’d planned to come in and fetch you but, when we saw you in the car park, we decided a ruse was preferable. Pure luck on the timing, though.’

  Harker was still looking doubtful at the detective’s explanation, which was noticed by the other officer right away.

  ‘We figured the last thing you’d want is to be taken away in a police car right in front of all your students, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Harker glanced over at the unmarked black BMW 530d parked next to them, and then back to the detectives. ‘It’s not exactly recognisable as one, is it?’

  ‘That’s true, sir, but we’d have had to enter the building and start flashing our badges, and that would have resulted in the same predicament.’

  To Harker this was a sound explanation, but that was about all. ‘OK, then, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Actually, it’s what we can do for you, sir. We’re here to give you a lift, as there’s someone who wants a word with you.’

  The answer had Harker frowning and he glanced back and forth between them, with understandable mistrust. ‘That’s extremely vague, Detective.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is, sir, but it’s of the upmost importance, and I assure you we’ll have you back here within the hour.’

  Harker eyed the two men suspiciously, which was picked up immediately by Owens who now leant closer towards him. ‘We have a serious situation developing sir, and it’s one that the top brass believe you can help with.’

  The officer looked sincere but it did little to shake off any of Harker’s scepticism. ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say I’m afraid,’ the detective continued politely, ‘and you have every right to refuse, but I can tell you it’s extremely important.’

  For a few seconds Harker stood silently contemplating his response and then he nodded his head. ‘OK, I’ll bite, but can I at least change?’ he asked, and pointing down at his paintball-stained camouflage trousers. ‘And also let my friends know?’

  ‘Afraid not, sir, as time is of the essence,’ the detective replied. ‘But my colleague here can let your party know that you’ll be back soon, and who you’re with… discreetly of course.’

  Chloe would be a bit put out over him simply disappearing for an hour – but, seeing as this was official police business, she could hardly take it out on him, could she? Of course, she could and she undoubtedly would, but this matter sounded important. ‘Yes, please. Be sure to let them know I’ll be back within the hour, or my fiancée is going to throw a total wobbler.’

  ‘A wobbler, sir? Not sure I know what you mean.’

  To be fair it was more of a northern saying, so Harker wasn’t wholly surprised by the man’s ignorance. ‘It’s when someone gets so furious t
hat they literally shake and wobble in anger. I suppose you could also say throw a shaker, but that wouldn’t make any better sense now, would it?’

  Neither man said a word, but just stared at him blankly.

  ‘Just forget it,’ Harker said in despair, and he tossed Doggie’s wallet to the detective who had snatched it earlier, ‘The owner is Tom Lercher, so tell him my travel plans, will you. He’ll pass it all on.’

  Detective Owens opened the BMW’s back door and Harker slid inside, waiting for the officer to occupy the driving seat. Within minutes they were speeding along the A20 and heading north towards the nation’s capital. Harker slowly became aware of a bulge in his camouflage outfit trouser pocket and it only then dawned on him that he still had the key to Doggie’s Volvo.

  Still it didn’t really matter. He’d be back within the hour.

  Chapter 3

  The slanting glass dome of London’s City Hall sparkled from across the river Thames as the black BMW 530d pulled up along Tower Wharf towards the red-striped barrier and the security guard manning it.

  ‘Ever visited the Tower of London?’ asked the driver, Detective Owens, as he wound down the side window to display his badge.

  ‘A few times but never this way,’ Harker replied, smiling back at the tourists now taking an interest in the only vehicle on the pedestrian walkway that ran parallel to the Tower walls. When he first realised where they were heading, he’d felt a jolt of concern, because he had presumed, given his current escort, that a police station would be their end destination. This goal was far more puzzling, though, and no matter how many times he asked, the good detective remained tight-lipped about who had demanded this meeting.

  ‘Only deliveries or VIPs are allowed through this gate,’ the detective now informed him as a guard inspected his badge and, with a nod, began to raise the barrier. ‘So those tourists probably think you’re royalty.’