‘And which kingdom would that be?’ Harker replied, becoming impatient with this evasive back-and-forth.
‘That is for you yourself to decide… and I hope you make the right choice.’
Russo was now visibly chomping at the bit. ‘Enough with the bullshit, kid. I took philosophy 101, too. What goes up must come down. That which lives must eventually die. Stop talking crap and get to the point.’
He began to lean closer to the youth belligerently, and Harker gave him a restraining nudge. ‘Are you referring to one of the two kingdoms?’ he guessed.
The boy offered no response but instead turned his eyes to the floor of the van as Harker continued.
‘The kingdom of Heaven and the kingdom of Hell.’
‘You have no idea, do you?’ The boy continued staring downwards. ‘Just plucking at straws, trying to make connections that exist only in your mind.’ He let out a deep laugh and shook his head condescendingly. ‘His domain has been here since the dawn of time, but only now does he choose to visit it.’
The cryptic line of thought now began to make some sense to Harker, if only in a theological sense, and he immediately attempted to play into the boy’s whimsical fantasies. ‘You’re talking about the arrival of the Antichrist, aren’t you, and his kingdom is earth?’
The boy looked up with incredulity in his eyes and he let out a dismissive chuckle. ‘His arrival occurred a long time ago, Professor, and I don’t think you’re going to make it.’
This mention of Harker’s academic title and the puzzling nonsense Russo was hearing was as much as the detective could take as he pushed Harker aside and grabbed the boy by the lapels of his hoody. ‘Enough of this movie talk, you little bastard. I want to know why Father Davies keeps a rotting animal head in his house, and I want to know what you were doing there. Not many teenage boys carry a garrotte on them and somehow you know he’s a professor.’ Russo gave a quick nod in Harker’s direction. ‘So you were waiting for us… why?’
‘A test,’ the boy replied in a nonchalant manner. ‘A test you two idiots failed.’
This insult was the final straw for Russo and he was already raising his fist in the air, ready to strike, when the van doors swung open to reveal a man wearing the familiar black uniform and red-striped trousers of a Carabinieri officer’s uniform. ‘That’s enough Detective. I allowed you a few minutes but I have orders to take him into custody,’ the policeman stated firmly, ‘and the less bruises found on him the better.’
At first it seemed like Russo was about to tell the junior officer to get lost, but then his clenched fist relaxed and he turned back to face the boy who was now smiling and looking as happy as a lamb. ‘This conversation isn’t over,’ the detective hissed.
The teenager looked unfazed by this passive threat. ‘Oh, I think it is, Detective Russo.’
Russo ignored this indication of the boy’s obvious awareness of his identity and exited the van, followed by Harker.
‘Good luck, Professor,’ the boy called out and, just before the van doors were slammed shut, he shot off one last piece of advice, ‘and choose wisely.’
‘Freaky little bastard,’ Russo spat out after they had put a few metres between themselves and the vehicle. ‘You don’t buy into all that crap of his, do you?’
‘What… about the Antichrist?’
‘What else?’
‘Not really,’ Harker replied as behind them the Carabinieri officer locked the van doors and started making his way over towards them, ‘but from my experience I’ve found that keeping an open mind is crucial. The devil being in the detail and all that.’
Harker’s play on words was ignored by Russo, who instead turned his attention to the policeman.
‘I told you not to strike him,’ the officer grumbled, clearly upset at Russo’s technique of persuasion.
‘It was only a little slap.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m the one who has to deliver him to the station and if he’s all beaten up, they’ll want an explanation.’
Russo looked unconvinced by such reasoning. ‘That boy just tried to kill one of us. Trust me, they won’t care so long as he’s alive.’
The officer nodded, agreeably, although still unhappy, then he reached into his pocket and produced a folded piece of A5 card. ‘I found this on him,’ he said and thrust it into Russo’s hand. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a prisoner to drop off.’
‘Grazie, Benito.’ Russo said, brandishing the piece of card in his hand. ‘Dinner next week with the family?’
Without a reply, Benito climbed in the driver’s side and started up the van before briefly sticking his head out the window. ‘And you’re paying,’ he declared at which he began driving off down the street, navigating through the pedestrians with sirens blaring.
‘Family?’ Harker asked as the van turned a corner and out of sight.
‘He’s my cousin,’ Russo replied. ‘Good man but he worries too much.’ Now turning his attention to the card still in his hand, he unfolded it and held it visible between them both. ‘What do have here, then?’
The card was marked on one side only and the message was handwritten with a fountain pen.
7 p.m.
Baths of Caracalla
Usual attire
‘You think that means tonight?’ Harker enquired, but already assuming the answer.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Russo replied before checking the other side in case he had missed something at first glance.
‘I know the baths mentioned. Can you take me there?’ Harker was now looking back towards Father Davies’s apartment block and trying to remember where they had parked.
‘Hold on, Professor, I think you’ve done enough investigating for now, don’t you?’
The comment had Harker looking bewildered. ‘We haven’t discovered anything so far, except that the youngster who tried to kill us both has serious mental issues, and that Father Davies’s extracurricular activities include butchery and animal sculpturing.’
‘We actually know a lot more than that. He knew that you were a professor and clearly he was expecting us.’
‘That’s true,’ Harker replied unfazed, ‘but it leaves us with more questions than answers, doesn’t it?’
‘What do you mean “us”?’ Russo’s highly authoritative tone caught Harker by surprise.
‘I thought you’d offered to help me in any way you could.’
‘That’s true, Professor, but the attempted murder of a police officer changes the landscape a bit.’
Harker rested his hands on his hips and turned away momentarily, as he got to grips with controlling the frustration attempting to claw its way out of his mouth. ‘Are you religious, Detective?’
Russo offered a dry smile, leaning in towards him surreptitiously. ‘I wouldn’t be helping out the Templars, in clear breach of my official position in the Polizia di Stato, if I wasn’t.’
‘Good, then perhaps it’s time I told you why I was asked to come here in the first place.’
Russo’s silence in response only confirmed to Harker that the detective was willing to listen and so after a slight hesitation, he began to explain. ‘OK, now bear with me, because this is all going to sound a little… strange.’
Chapter 7
Officer Benito Romano brought the police van to a screeching halt within just metres of a body lying directly across the road before him. It was impossible to tell if it was male or female as it wore a dark red leather overcoat with the lapels pulled up concealing the head.
He leapt out of his vehicle without delay, but he slowed down as he cautiously reached touching distance. He knelt down and placed a hand on the fallen body’s shoulder, then delicately pulled it towards him, just an inch or so at a time, not wanting to cause further damage if bones were broken.
The light weight of the figure became a dead give-away and Romano soon realised what it was. Tugging it towards him until face side up, he let out a disgruntled sigh. The face of a shop mannequin sm
iled at him, its eyes wide in excitement, and Romano instinctively began inspecting the buildings on either side of the road. There was no one in sight, which was hardly surprising given the back streets he had chosen to take him back to Police headquarters, and he scanned the closed shop-fronts attentively until he spotted a dress shop with its front window smashed in. Two remaining mannequins greeted him with the same inane smile as their fallen colleague. Either Benito had come around the corner just in time to panic some low-level robbers into abandoning their loot in the middle of the street or a bunch of kids were at that very moment desperately trying to stifle their giggles at having watched him fall for such a stupid prank.
Romano picked up the mannequin and placed it back inside the shop’s front window, broken glass crunching underneath his shoes. He himself had played a few jokes in his time but breaking and entering was not one of them. What was wrong with that age-old stunt of depositing dog crap in a paper bag and then setting light to it outside someone’s house, only to have them emerge and stamp the flames out, providing for a hilarious finale. Now that was funny.
Romano made a final check of the other shop windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of a couple of sniggering street urchins but he saw none and so made his way back to the van and opened the driver’s door. He could report the incident once his prisoner was safely behind bars and, although it had been a waste of his time, it would at least be an amusing anecdote to tell the others in his squad.
He was still considering whether it might make him look like an idiot when something solid slammed into the back of his shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground in an unconscious heap.
A woman loomed over Romano with the handle end of twelve-inch machete aimed in his direction and with a flick of her head she tossed back one of the long black dreadlocks that had fallen across her face. ‘Go to sleep, little babylon,’ she said mockingly in a thick Jamaican accent, then bent down to unclip the key-ring from the officer’s belt. ‘I ’ope you don’t wake up for your own sake.’
She made her way back to the rear of the police van, then fingered though the keys before settling on the smallest one and inserting it in the keyhole. With a click she undid the lock and promptly swung open the twin doors, shedding daylight on the teenager handcuffed to a metal bench inside.
At first he looked terrified at the sight of a dark-skinned woman with dangling dreadlocks brandishing a machete but as she smiled, so did he and he leant his head back against the van’s interior wall in relief. ‘I knew you’d come for me,’ he said in perfect English though with a heavy Roman accent.
‘Dat be true, brother,’ the woman replied, not shifting from her position at the open door, ‘but you slipped up. You weren’t supposed to be caught, were you?’
‘They know nothing.’ The boy shifted apprehensively in his seat and he raised his hands upwards pleadingly, as far as the handcuffs would allow. ‘They’re clueless. There’s no need to change the timeline or the plan.’
His words had the woman nodding in agreement. ‘Dat true, dat true,’ she agreed, pulling the ring of keys from the door and dangling them in front of her, ‘but we must always abide by our doctrine.’
The woman placed the keys on the van’s floor and used her black T-shirt to rub away any fingerprints on them and then she raised the shiny machete towards the boy who was now focused solely on its glinting tip. ‘And that is?’ He gulped as a thin bead of sweat began to form on his brow.
‘All debts must be repaid.’
Chapter 8
‘You’ll never get in there,’ Russo declared as he and Harker watched the latest guest arriving at the main entrance to the Baths of Caracalla. The security guard scrutinised the invitation which the man had handed to him, then with a gracious nod he swung open the metal gate and allowed him to pass inside.
‘How many have arrived so far? Over twenty?’ Harker surmised, as he poked his head around the temporary metal fencing surrounding the adjoining car park. ‘The guard over there seems to only be interested in one thing, and that’s an invitation. Harker brandished the piece of card they had retrieved form the young boy earlier. ‘And I’m on the guest list.’
The detective shrugged his shoulders despondently. ‘While all I need to do is show my ID and we’re in, simple as that.’
Harker was already shaking his head at this idea. ‘No, I need to find out what’s going on here and if we waltz in there flashing your badge, they are likely to clam up.’
They both turned away as another car pulled into the dusty car park and two more men wearing black-tie got out and made their way over to the waiting guard. ‘OK, wish me luck,’ Harker said and, with a reassuring pat on the back from Russo, he strolled through the entrance and headed towards the guard who was still in the process of admitting the latest guests.
With the invitation already clutched in his hand, Harker tried to look as relaxed as possible, even if his stomach was beginning to rumble nervously. The worst thing that could happen now was to be refused entry and if that was to happen, then he’d come back with Russo and do the whole police badge thing. But if it was that simple, why did he feel so apprehensive? Oh, I don’t know, he thought maybe because someone tried to drown you earlier and your nerves are still shot to shit? This seemed the likely cause, but as Harker reached the navy-suited guard he could not shake the feeling that something was extremely wrong here.
‘Lovely evening,’ Harker said with a smile, holding the invitation out before him in the same manner as the guests preceding him.
The guard gazed down at the invitation and then promptly whisked it from Harker’s fingers. ‘You are aware it’s a black-tie event, sir,’ he said on taking note of Harker’s jacket and the slacks that still showed signs of dampness from his earlier encounter with the fountain.
‘Don’t ask. It’s a long story,’ Harker replied, managing to retain an air of superiority. ‘But I could not miss this evening’s event for anything, so here I am.’
The guard maintained his judgemental stare and then, with eyebrow raised, he examined the invitation card and passed it back. ‘Follow the illuminated path to the main bath house, where your additional attire may be picked up at the entrance.’
Harker’s ears pricked up at the mention of ‘additional attire’ because, except for perhaps an eccentric-looking top hat, what could anyone possibly add to black-tie. ‘Thank you,’ he replied and began making his way slowly along the path with flaming torches set on either side.
In its heyday the baths were considered the pinnacle of Roman ingenuity, and they could accommodate a staggering sixteen hundred people at one time in a number of hot, cold and steam rooms, as well as fifty-metre, Olympic-sized swimming pool. Built by two Emperors, Septimius Severus and his son Caracalla, the facilities were free and open to all citizens of Rome. The complex itself was so huge that a single extension aqueduct was constructed to provide enough water, which was then heated via underground coal and wood burners. An impressive feat even by today’s standards, it must have been a sight to behold back in the day. Of course, after a couple of millennia of neglect and weathering, all that stood now were the walls but at thirty metres high they still commanded respect, and as the sun set over them this made for a spectacular setting.
Harker followed the torch-lined path all the way to the base of one of the massive walls where, from a small arched opening, a short man, no taller than five foot, wearing a distinct red and gold hooded cloak approached him. With long white hair tied in a ponytail, he would have fit in perfectly at a wizards’ convention and Harker had to suppress the urge to look surprised by this little fellow’s odd appearance.
‘Can I help you sir?’
The man’s voice was unusually shrill with a high-pitched squeak that could have made even a professional castrator proud.
‘I’m here for this evening’s events,’ Harker declared with a ring of entitlement in his voice, passing over the invitation. ‘Forgive my attire but it could not be helped.’
The sky overhead now beginning to darken, Harker was led through the ruins, room by room, until they reached a small alcove in one of the limestone walls, where a metal clothes stand had been placed. It was an odd to see this piece of modern equipment set here against the backdrop of such ancient architecture, but Harker remained silent as the little man selected a coat hanger holding an identical robe to the one he himself was wearing.
‘You are the last to arrive,’ the little man said, just managing to wrap the garment caringly around Harker’s shoulders and, with a hop, flipping the hood up to conceal the newcomer’s face. ‘They are waiting for you,’ he announced and that statement produced a pang of alarm in Harker. But, as he was guided into the adjoining room his nerves immediately settled. In the middle of the large unroofed space burned a small fire that had been built on the grass and around it stood more than thirty people, all in exactly the same hooded robes as he wore. With so many people present it was reasonable to assume that not every face would have been recognised by the diminutive guide, and Harker’s hood afforded enough anonymity for him to observe without being rumbled as an outsider.
He made his way closer towards the fire and took a place amongst them, but seemingly not one of these people even registered his presence. Instead all seemed to be mesmerised by the fire there in their midst.
‘Welcome,’ called out a loud and joyous voice, and all hoods, including Harker turned to a gap in the farthest wall, where a man dressed in a white tunic and black trousers addressed them with hands high in the air. He was six-foot tall, completely bald, and with his thin, black goatee and manically happy smile, there was about him a whiff of Ming the Merciless from the famous comic strip Flash Gordon. Without another word and still with no verbal reaction from the people assembled, the man made his way towards the fire, stopped suddenly at a piece of broken rock about a foot in height which protruded from the earth, then stepped up onto it.
The Dark Temple Page 6