With a thankful nod Harker picked it up and held it close to his chest as the sound of breaking glass could be heard from somewhere on the gallery level below.
‘Front door,’ Stefani whispered and she quietly moved over beside him and placed her finger to his lips. ‘I’m heading over there.’ She pointed to a small overhang where the first floor overlooked the staircase below. ‘You stay here and when our mystery guest comes into view, I’ll take the shot.’
In only about forty-five seconds the seemingly sweet young Stefani Mitchell had transformed into a highly skilled Templar operative and, as he clutched at his teeny three-inch boot knife, Harker was glad of that. The only blade he had any familiarity with was the type used to eat dinner with.
He nodded and watched as, with a light step, she made her way across to the overhang, then rested her gun on the railing waiting for Anastas’s killer to appear. Meanwhile Harker hugged the two-foot-high partition next to the same statue of an Athenian woman that had taken the ricochet bullet, positioned at the head of the gallery staircase.
Thirty seconds had passed since the sound of the front doors being bashed in and from Harker’s angle it was impossible to see anything below. After another thirty, and with still no further noise, his curiosity began to get the better of him. On his haunches he leant past the statue and very slowly craned his head around the topmost edge of the stairway.
The metal muzzle of a Herstal FN SCAR machine-gun gently pressed against his skull as the black-skinned woman with thick dreadlocks holding it smiled down at him, her pearly white teeth glinting from one of the stair lights.
‘Ello there, pretty,’ she rasped in a Jamaican accent, ‘got something there for me, ’ave you?’
The woman clearly had Harker cold but he was already tightening his grip on the knife in his right hand, obscured from her view by the stairway partition. His muscles already tensing, he prepared to lunge. There was no way he could get to her before she unloaded at least one shot into his face, but if she wanted the artefact, would she really not want the chance to interrogate him as to its whereabouts? It seemed more likely that she would use the gun to try and knock him out and that delay might give him a chance to attack her – or give Stefani a chance to take a shot. That’s a point, he thought to himself as the woman dug the muzzle harder into his temple, where the hell was Stefani?
His unspoken query was answered in the form of a gunshot that struck the assassin directly in the back. She toppled backwards and landed, face up and sprawling half-way down the wide staircase, with her machine gun noisily rattling down the steps and ending up on the tiles of the galley floor below.
‘I warned you to stay where you were!’ Stefani shouted in annoyance, and she began to make her way towards him. Harker was about to offer his apologies when he spotted something moving in the lower corner of his vision. He snapped his head towards it only to see the assassin already pulling herself to her feet, with the swiftness and speed of nothing less than a cheetah. Without hesitation he lurched for the statue next to him and slammed against it with all his strength.
The stone statue tumbled down hard onto the concrete steps and, even though it landed in front of the woman, under its own weight, it cracked into two halves and the smaller one smashed against her chest, slamming her hard against the stairwell wall so that she went down for a second time. The collision knocked her out cold and she slid down the steps like an unstable sledge, until the rubble now lying at the base of them finally brought her to a complete stop.
‘That was foolish,’ Stefani growled as he and she snatched the knife off him then made her way down to the body to check for a pulse, before securing the SCAR machine-gun by flicking it to one side with her boot. ‘She’s still alive… as she’s wearing a Kevlar vest,’ Stefani explained, then she did something that Harker had not been led to expect from a Templar. She stood over the unconscious figure and aimed her Walther P99 directly at the woman’s forehead.
‘NO,’ Harker yelled, running down the steps to her level. ‘You can’t kill her in cold blood!’
‘Nine times out of ten you’d be right, as it’s not established protocol,’ Stefani replied, still aiming her gun downwards, ‘but this isn’t a normal situation is it, Alex?’ She now turned to him, her face glowing with sweat. ‘Just look at the hardware she had. She’s a trained killer and we’re on our own here, no one to back us up.’
From the look in Stefani’s eye Harker could tell she was absolutely serious and he gently placed his hand on her wrist and pushed it downwards until the weapon was aimed at the gallery floor. ‘Then it’s time we did get ourselves some back-up, isn’t it?’
Stefani’s face began to soften and she nodded agreement before placing her Walther back in its jacket holster. She then picked up the SCAR. ‘We need to dispose of this safely,’ she declared, shaking it lightly and, with a final scowl at the unconscious woman at her feet, she began to head towards the museum entrance with Harker following close behind.
‘I’ll call Sebastian and let him know what’s been going on,’ Stefani decided as they reached the main doors, which had been smashed in probably with the butt of the assassin’s SCAR, and made their way out past the broken frames. ‘We’ll wait outside here until a clean-up crew arrives, and they can secure that woman and liaise with the police. In an unofficial manner, of course.’
Harker was well aware of the term ‘clean-up crew’ and although it sounded like something the Mafia would utilise, it actually referred to a Templar associate – or member – within the local police force who would become involved in whatever capacity was needed. In this case it would mean ensuring that the murderer of poor Adonis Anastas back there would be taken into custody and prosecuted. ‘Shouldn’t we wait to make sure she doesn’t wake up and abscond?’
‘I’d love to but there’s a good chance the police are already on their way, after all those gunshots, and we can’t be found here when they arrive.’
That made sense and it was clearly the right call but Harker couldn’t shrug off the gnawing feeling of guilt in his stomach at just leaving Anastas lying dead on the floor of his own office. He now came to a stop at the glass barrier outside and looked down into the ruins of ancient Athenian buildings below. At least the curator had managed to pass on the artefact now sitting snugly in Harker’s jacket pocket and although it provided little consolation, he vowed right there and then to find out what the hell the item was – and why the late Father Davies had coveted it so much.
‘Come on.’ Stefani yelled back at him as she began dialling into her Samsung smartphone. ‘No time for dawdling.’
Harker was aware she had been through a lot of stress in the past couple of days, but so had he and this kind of teacher-speaking-to-pupil mode was beginning to grate. He took one last look at the ruins below, and was about to follow when something hard slammed into his back, flipping him over the railings and about ten feet down into the ruins below, with a painful thump. He was already thanking his lucky stars, for once not getting winded and landing in a small space with no ruins protruding up from the ground, when a shadowy figure landed beside him feet first and right side up. A plume of dust erupted in all directions and Harker looked over to see the same dreadlocked assassin glaring at him furiously, her eyelids narrowed in anger.
‘You ain’t getting away that easily, little man,’ she mocked aggressively. ‘I want what’s mine.’
Despite the hard knock to his body, for some reason Harker was more offended that she had called him a little man, because he was certainly taller than she was!
The woman closed the two-metre gap between them in less than a second and hurled herself upon him, but Harker managed to raise his left leg squarely into her chest and flung her backwards violently, sending her skidding all the way back to her starting point.
‘Not so small now, you crazy wench,’ he managed.
The insult clearly bit as the assassin screamed in outrage and charged him ferociously, but stopped dead in
her tracks as two shots from somewhere above dug into the ground between them.
‘If you move another inch, I’ll shoot you where you stand,’ Stefani bawled down at her, the SCAR resting on the railing above so it was aimed directly at the assassin’s head. ‘It’s your choice.’
All three of them remained frozen like the statues in the museum as the assassin mulled over her next move. It was only when the sound of police sirens closing in on the museum made Stefani glance back towards the road that the killer made her move. With speed she dove off to one side and into the shadows of the ruins, and thus out of Stefani’s line of sight. A shaft of light from above now separated them, and she stared at Harker with menace as he got to his feet.
‘Dat doesn’t belong to you boy,’ she growled, pointing to the bulge in Harker’s jacket pocket. ‘Dis ain’t over… not by a long shot.’
With that, the dreadlocked woman disappeared into the ruins beneath the museum, and Harker watched until her blurring silhouette melted into the darkness and out of sight.
‘Alex, we have to go now,’ Stefani yelled from high above. ‘There’s some stairs over to your right.’
Harker scanned the gloom of the area he was being directed to and caught a shimmer of metal. Within seconds he had reached them and hurtled up to find Stefani disposing of the SCAR. She ejected its magazine, and after cleaning the trigger handle for any prints, she placed the weapon right in the centre of the entrance for the police to find on their arrival.
‘This way,’ she urged, her breathing heavy as the sound of sirens became close enough for the red-and-blue flashing lights to be seen reflecting off the Museum sign at the top of the steps leading into the main courtyard. Sprinting in tandem, they hurried down one side of the building and into an adjoining parking lot. Then, once they had reached the main road, both of them slowed to a relaxed saunter as another two police cars, sirens blazing, flew past them heading in the direction of the Museum.
‘You good?’ Stefani asked, sounding barely out of breath.
‘Fine – and you?’ Harker replied, struggling to maintain his cool due to lack of oxygen.
‘I’ll call Sebastian… but first we need to find somewhere we can talk.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Is that… thing in one piece?’ she asked, glancing at his jacket pocket.
‘Yep, but I still have no idea what it is.’
‘Neither do I, but we will soon.’
‘You can bet on that.’ Harker agreed and, although still rocked by Anastas’s sudden death and their narrow escape, he felt a growing confidence. ‘Whoever or whatever is behind all this is going to get a rude awakening by the time I’m done,’ he added grimly.
A grateful smile appeared on her lips. ‘You know that in this modern age it’s not really a Jarl’s job to go chasing after trained killers?’
Harker smiled and a look of sheer determination descended upon him. ‘Well today it is.’
Chapter 14
The night air was chilly as the small group of hooded figures made their way along a muddy path and up into the torch-lit cave entrance while the silver light from a full moon shone down upon them. Not a word was spoken as they negotiated the uneven stone surface in single file before moving ever deeper into the gloomy tunnel beyond. The only light came from small metal oil lamps that hung from the rocky ceiling, which all tinkled in the light breeze attempting to snuff out their blue flames.
The pathway itself was no more than twenty metres in length but, the further in the figures penetrated, the thicker the air became and sniffling sounds echoed off the stone walls as they approached a dim glow of light at the passageway’s end before stepping into the considerable void beyond.
The cavern was oblong in shape with curved corners at both ends, and a smooth stone surface due to water erosion over the decades, with a ceiling over fifteen metres high. It proved more than capacious enough to house these latest arrivals now joining the small gathering already inside.
Marco Lombardi pulled back his black flannel hood and took a seat at the long rectangular dining table running almost the entire length of the cavern, before immediately taking a sip from the shiny metal goblet already placed in front of him. The sweet, velvety tasting honey-mead slipped down his throat with ease and then, with a shaky hand, he placed the goblet back on the table.
‘Cold or just nervous?’ Michael Donitz asked with a machiavellian smile as he sat down next to him on the bench.
‘Please. It’s chilly tonight,’ Marco protested but swiftly withdrew his unsteady hand and placed it on his lap and out of sight.’
Donitz only nodded, and took a sip of his own drink as Lombardi gazed down the table at the other men present and was met with smiles from some, while others continued talking amongst themselves. Everyone looked so relaxed that it imbued Lombardi with a sense of calm, but that quickly evaporated as a scraping sound began to echo through the cavern.
The oil lamps suspended from the ceiling began to flicker as a strong draught swept along the table and suddenly, at its far end something began to emerge from the rock floor, eliciting an eerie hush from all those present. Slowly the silhouette of a robed and hooded figure rose upwards until finally a form six foot tall stood before them.
They rapidly got to their feet in unison even as the figure stretched out its arms with its palms raised to the ceiling.
‘Welcome, my sons.’
The voice was male and extremely low and it seemed, impossibly, to come from all directions at once. As those present remained silent, the robed figure took his place at the head of the table, where he slammed a gloved hand down onto its surface three times in succession. On the third stroke they all dutifully sat down, still none of them saying a word.
Only then did he speak. ‘Thank you for meeting me here at such short notice. Your patience is, as always, appreciated.’ It was said with courtesy but in an almost playful tone. ‘You will be glad to hear that we are progressing nicely, and exactly as I foretold.’
His audience remained silent and heads began to bow in grateful acknowledgment – but then they abruptly froze as the hooded individual raised a finger straight in the air.
‘But! There is something I need to address first, something unsettling.’ The last word was spoken with a hiss and all the attendees glanced back and forth at one another uneasily. ‘Our way of life – who we are, our very essence – is grounded on the very earth and rock of this reality. It is a reality we have sought to change and soon we will achieve just that.’ The hooded speaker slowly pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘But our strength and sense of purpose is only as strong as the bonds that link us, because without that, our foundation, our rock, begins to crack and crumble.’
The heads were all now nodding again as he began to slowly move down the left side of the dining table and behind the seated attendees, sliding his hand across each of their backs in turn. ‘And in one of you I sense doubts regarding the path we have chosen to follow.’
Marco Lombardi began looking exceedingly uncomfortable and he shifted in his seat as Donitz glanced at him with a devious smile.
‘But redemption is always possible for anyone as long as he recognises his own shortcomings, and in doing so may be retrieved from the depths of despair and returned to the fold by means of my loving embrace.’
The hooded figure came to a halt behind Lombardi and rested both gloved hands on the man’s shoulders, which were now visibly trembling. ‘Marco, is it true?’
Lombardi turned his head and stared up into the black depths of the hood. Then, with a tear in his eye, he offered a slow nod. ‘It is true that doubts have entered my mind, Father, but I still remain loyal and therefore true to you and our cause.’
The hooded one said nothing and instead he moved back towards his own chair and raised his hand outwards. ‘Your rebirth awaits,’ he finally declared.
Donitz instantly grabbed Lombardi and pulled him to his feet, then dragged the quivering fellow towards one end
of the dining table, as the hooded man sat back down and clicked his fingers.
Behind him a section of the cavern wall slid aside, revealing an adjoining room which was empty except for a plain, red stone sarcophagus with two horns sticking out from the top end, resting flat on four wooden plinths. On either side of the bulky casket stood a robed guard. They both had shaven heads and waited with wicker baskets at their feet.
By this point Lombardi was nothing more than a sobbing wreck as Donitz dragged him right up close, still smiling excitedly and the two robed men slid the heavy sarcophagus lid to one side.
‘Please, Father, I have sinned but forgive me. I have always remained true to you and will ever do so.’
Donitz now appeared even more thrilled with his role as he began to shove Lombardi down inside the casket. But then he paused as the hooded one began to speak again, his back still facing them.
‘Doubt is a shameful failing my son, and forgiveness will set you free. But lying can never be tolerated.’
Lombardi’s tears began dry up and he now resisted Donitz, who continued to hold him firmly. ‘But I have never lied to you, Father.’
The hooded man calmly swivelled round in his chair and began to stare in their direction. ‘No, you haven’t… but you have, Michael.’
One of the robed guards suddenly grabbed Donitz tightly around the neck from behind and slipped a cloth gag around his mouth while the other one pulled their new prisoner’s hands behind him and slapped on a pair of handcuffs. Meanwhile Lombardi was released and he dropped to the floor.
Donitz now looked terrified and, although unable to speak due to the tight gag, he began to shake his head in frantic denial of the accusation.
‘When you first had suspicions of Marco’s doubt you never told me, did you?’ The hooded one growled as the two guards restraining Donitz picked him up and thrust him into the sarcophagus, feet first. ‘Instead you kept it to yourself – until I found out through other means, and that, my son, can never be forgiven.’
The Dark Temple Page 10