The Nine Men (A Novella)

by Haydn Jones

  ‘Global Intelligence Management and Analysis.’

  ‘Isn’t that what the CIA does, young man?’

  Rob smiled, anticipating the question. ‘The CIA is concerned with keeping our country safe from whatever the world wants to throw at us, Whether it’s bombs or cyber attacks. GIMA takes a more, shall we say, comprehensive view of the world.’

  Canseliet nodded approvingly. ‘I see…So tell me, why does GIMA want to speak to Victor Canseliet?’

  Rob answered confidently. ‘Because we believe you may be able to help us.’

  ‘Really!’ The old man raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, that depends on what you want to know.’

  The waiter arrived with two coffees and placed them on the table.

  ‘Merci, Phillip.’

  Robert waited until he’d moved away. ‘We want to talk to you about the Nine Men.’

  Canseliet took a theatrical intake of breath. Finally he asked, ‘What is it you want to know?’

  ‘We believe you have an interest in them.’

  ‘So what! It’s not just me who has an interest, Robert. They’re a secret society, and that naturally intrigues people from all around the world… I don’t understand… Why is GIMA interested in the Nine Men?’

  Rob sipped his coffee. ‘…A manuscript has been found that may be of great significance…’

  ‘A manuscript!’ Canseliet interrupted, raising his eyebrows. ‘And what has that got to do with the Nine Men?’

  ‘I’m hoping you can tell me,’ Rob answered.

  Chapter Four

  Victor Canseliet’s apartment overlooked Place Victor Hugo. The living room was spacious and brightly lit by shafts of sunlight that streamed in through four, large, south-facing windows. The shaded inner wall, some twenty-meters long, was packed to the ceiling with books of all sizes and colors. On the shorter west wall three leather sofas surrounded a large open fireplace that was made up with a pyramid of neatly cut logs in a wrought-iron cradle. The sweet smell of applewood had impregnated the room.

  Vicki gazed through one of the windows at the fountains and the cafe below, where ten-minutes earlier they’d been sitting and drinking coffee in the warm sunshine.

  Rob was busy scanning Victor’s eclectic array of books that filled the shelves; some modern, some, clearly very old indeed, and some written by their host.

  Canseliet entered the room. ‘Please make yourselves comfortable,’ he said, gesturing to the sofas.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rob, joining Vicki on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

  ‘Cognac?’

  ‘Bit early for me, Victor.’

  The Frenchman looked disappointed.

  ‘Just a small one then.’

  ‘Good man! How about you, my dear?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you, Victor.’

  Canseliet poured out the cognac and walked in front of the fireplace, preparing himself for the lecture; brandy glass in each hand, cigarette in his mouth. He asked, ‘Where shall I start?’

  ‘At the beginning, please,’ Rob asked, taking the cognac offered to him. ‘Thank you.’

  The Frenchman stood tall, breathing in through flared nostrils and holding his breath for a moment; enjoying the attention. ‘D’accord,’ he said, quietly to himself. Smoke from his cigarette rose upwards towards the high ceiling.

  ‘…The Nine Unknown Men are the most secret society the world has ever encountered. Their beginnings can be traced back to two-hundred-years before the birth of Christ. Their very existence is credited to one, Emperor Asoko, who reigned in India. Asoko was the grandson of Chandragupta, credited as the first person to unify India. It is said that Asoko, having experienced the horrors of war, wanted to stop further bloodshed and killings. During his reign, natural science, past and present, was vowed to secrecy. The Nine Unknown Men were tasked with protecting the secret knowledge that Asoko deemed too dangerous to be in the hands of the common man. Their task was to stop methods of mass destruction falling into the wrong hands and to pursue knowledge that would be beneficial to mankind.’ Canseliet took a moment to sip his drink. ‘Shall I carry on?’

  Rob said, ‘Please do, this is fascinating stuff.’

  ‘The Nine Men kept nine books. Each of these books were a source of immense knowledge. The first book was said to be devoted to the techniques of propaganda and psychological warfare.’

  ‘Two-hundred years before Christ?’ Vicki exclaimed.

  ‘Exactly! …The second book was about human physiology and, amongst other things, explained how to kill someone… just by touching them.’

  Vicki looked at Rob in astonishment.

  Canseliet continued. ‘They say that martial arts developed from information leaked from that very book. The fifth book contained a study of all means of communication, terrestrial and extra-terrestrial!’

  Vicki once again looked at Rob, who simply smiled back.

  ‘The ninth book is about sociology and sets out the rules for the evolution of societies and the means for foretelling their futures…Legend has it that this particular book, Book-Nine, was stolen.’ Canseliet finished his cognac in one gulp.

  Vicki asked ‘What language are these books written in, Victor?’

  ‘I believe it’s a secret language only understood by the Nine Men. And that would make perfect sense of course.’

  ‘So where are the other books now?’ Rob asked.

  ‘I presume they are with the Nine Men. You see, I believe they still exist, and that each book is being constantly re-written.’

  Vicki frowned. ‘Are you suggesting these men are immortal?’

  ‘Not at all, Vicki, they are mortals and they guard secrets that in the wrong hands could destroy mankind.’

  ‘So how do you become one of them?’

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that one, Robert. I guess you must earn the right, somehow.’

  ‘So why do you believe this incredible myth, Victor?’

  Canseliet re-filled his glass and lit another cigarette. ‘Myth? …Are you aware that the Vatican archives were transferred to Paris during Napoleon’s occupation of Rome from 1809 to 1814?’ The Frenchman didn’t wait for a reply. ‘You see, with the escalation of papal excesses and Vatican deceptions, most Europeans had rejected Christianity and, because of this, Napoleon realized that the government faced the prospect of losing control of the country. In 1809, he ordered his grenadiers into the Vatican City and they subsequently removed a large quantity of documents from the Secret Vatican Archives and placed them in Napoleon’s Paris headquarters. He deposed the brutal Pope Pius VII and exiled him to Savona near Genoa, and then in 1812, relocated him to Fontainebleau near Paris. Napoleon then set out to dismantle Christianity and create what he called, ‘a new docile religion.’ He abolished both the murderous Inquisition and the ‘Index of Prohibited Books’, and established a new Catholic creed, a new messiah and a new Christian calendar. Year-One was reckoned to start in 1792, and he identified Paris as the ‘Holy City,’ with Rome its subsidiary. Pope Pius VII was released in 1814 after the occupation of Rome ended and he returned home, along with the archives, returned in 1817; but that’s another story.’

  ‘So where is all this leading to?’ Vicki asked.

  Canseliet paused to light a cigarette. ‘A man by the name of Gerbert d’Aurillac who lived from 920 to 1003 has been closely associated with the Nine Men. He was also known by another, more familiar name…Pope Sylvester ll… I believe the missing ‘Book-Nine’ was taken sometime between 1809 and 1814, while in Napoleon’s headquarters in Paris and hidden at a secret location somewhere in the city until the outbreak of war in 1939, when it was covertly taken to Russia out of the reach of the plundering Nazis. For many years it was protected at the Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Moscow, a prize stolen from the Holy See; imagine that! But in 1931, under the orders of Joseph Stalin, the Cathedral was destroyed and the ninth book was thought to have been transferred to the Kremlin; the book was a curiosity that nobody understood or ap
preciated but looked important. The latest thinking is it’s still there; somewhere deep in the Kremlin vaults, gathering dust; assuming it hasn’t been destroyed of course.’

  Rob downed the last of his cognac. ‘Are you suggesting that this… Pope Sylvester was one of the Nine Men?’

  The Frenchman’s cheeks imploded as he sucked on his cigarette. ‘…Yes…that’s exactly what I’m suggesting; him and the succession of Popes that have followed him… What I’m also convinced of is that Albert Einstein was privy to information leaked from Book-Eight. The book that deals with the properties of light.’

  ‘E equals MC squared!’ Vicki added. ‘Can you prove that?’

  ‘I hope to — one day. You will just have to wait and see, my dear.’…Canseliet stroked his goatee with finger and thumb. ‘What do you know about alchemy, Robert?’

  ‘Very little, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I believe I’m close to understanding the secret language of alchemy. Just like the men who guard the secrets in the nine books, which must be kept from those who don’t understand the implications of the knowledge; the secrets of alchemy are also hidden from the unworthy, but, at the same time they are in full view; meaningless of course, until you have the key to unlock the chemical code…I have been obsessed with esoteric languages. Like women they have fascinated and frustrated me all my life, driving me almost insane at times; and now I am so close… so close to unlocking the alchemical code.’

  Rob stood up and walked over to the window. ‘…If Book-Nine was retrieved, would you be able to decipher it, Victor?’

  ‘I doubt it Robert; I would suggest it’s written in a language understood only by the Nine Men, which bears no resemblance at all to the chemical language used by alchemists…I would need their key to break the cypher; wherever that is… So tell me, why is GIMA suddenly interested in a book that has been missing for hundreds of years, which nobody can understand?’

  Robert turned to face Canseliet. ‘…Two months ago at the Badami Cave Temples in Karnataka southern India, a strange manuscript was uncovered by some local youths who found a secret chamber, near to cave five. I’ve got some drone footage of the actual site if you’re interested.’

  ‘Formidable!’ Canseliet enthused. ‘I’ve heard of the Badami Temples; they’re dug into the sandstone hills around the town; they were discovered in the six-century. Cave five is a bit of an enigma if my memory serves me well, the experts have failed to date it; ummm… tell me more, Robert.’

  ‘The document is written in a language apparently never seen before and there is a suggestion that this manuscript may be the key to understanding the nine books.’

  The Frenchman stiffened. ‘And just who suggested that?’

  ‘An old friend of yours, I believe, Professor Shastri.’

  ‘Not Shastri! Do not take his word for it; he might be a professor of antiquity but the man’s an idiot and certainly no expert on esoteric languages.’

  ‘That’s why we want you to look at it.’

  Canseliet’s eyes widened. ‘Naturally, I…I would love to inspect the manuscript; where is it?’

  Robert smiled through tight lips. ‘…At this precise moment in time, we don’t know, Victor. It’s gone missing; and what worries GIMA is that if this manuscript is the key and the Russians break the cipher, they will then be able to understand the contents of the ninth book.’

  ‘Book-Nine; The rules for the evolution of societies and the means for foretelling their futures.’ Victor Canseliet added, solemnly.

  Robert nodded at Victor, ‘Precisely.’

  Chapter Five

  The Holy Danilov Monastery: Headquarters of the Russian Orthodox Church in Moscow.

  At the age of twenty-four, Alexi Gorinyenko was the youngest of the monks at the Holy Danilov Monastery, in southern Moscow. He was tall and thin with a head of thick black hair. His big brown eyes that once sparkled now looked sad. Tonsured at the age of nineteen and with regular food in his belly and a bed to sleep in every night, he was disillusioned with his lot; treated by his fellow monks as the runt of the litter. His mundane daily routines and austere lifestyle helped to push him further and further into a dark place; a place his mind seemed to readily accept. But for those who knew him he was a kind, considerate person with a talent for mimicking others’ voices, especially the Bishop’s, to the amusement of the other monks at meal-times. To the astute, his wanting smile, hinted at the torment pulling him and his faith apart.

  ‘Are you aware that it’s Bishops’ Council tomorrow, Brother Alexi?’

  ‘Yes, Bishop; I’m invited?’ The monk asked excitedly.

  ‘I have other plans for you this week, I’m afraid.’ The Bishop’s bearded craggy features remained hidden as he continued to write, ignoring the diminutive, robed figure standing in front of his desk.

  ‘Oh… So I won’t be attending the meeting?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So… what plans do you have for me, Bishop?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What plans do you have for me?’

  ‘Plans? …Oh yes…I want you to do a thorough inventory of the vaults.’

  Brother Alexi’s head lowered and his shoulders drooped as he quietly exhaled another small part of his soul.

  ‘I’m sure, brother, you are aware that we received most of the artifacts from the Cathedral of Christ the Savior before it was destroyed in 1931?’

  ‘Yes,… destroyed on Stalin’s orders.’

  ‘Precisely! Well, the new administration wants them back. Your job is to catalogue the items for return and report back to me. You have two-weeks, Brother Alexi.’

  ‘How do I know which items are to be returned, Bishop?’

  The Bishop dismissed the monk with a wave of his hand and continued writing.

  The monk turned and walked towards the door.

  ‘Brother,’ the Bishop called out, softly.

  The monk stopped but did not turn around. ‘Yes, Bishop?’

  ‘What happened was of your own making and nobody else’s; you know that, don’t you?’

  The knuckles on the monk’s clenched fists turned white. ‘Yes, Bishop.’

  ‘Good…and you know the importance of silence in such matters; for the Church’s sake.’

  ‘Yes, Bishop.’

  ‘Good…Off you go.’

  The monk walked out of the office and as he closed the door behind him he turned and glanced at the bearded figure studiously writing at his desk. When the solid-oak door closed, the metal latch clunked into place, echoing down the long, cold corridor.

  Brother Alexi looked up, closed his tearful eyes, and breathed out through puffed cheeks.

  ‘God, please forgive me for what I’m thinking,’ he said in a whisper.

  Within the hour the young monk had reluctantly made his way down the spiraling stone steps until he reached the locked doors of the vault. Inside his head the words of the Bishop repeatedly bounced around: What happened was your fault and nobody else’s.

  ‘You know that, don’t you, Alexi?’ He said out loud. ‘YOU KNOW THAT, DON’T YOU?… DON’T YOU?’ The monk slammed the key ring against the door as tears dripped from his chin onto the cold floor-slabs. Twenty-meters directly above him was the Church of the Holy Fathers of the Seven Ecumenical Councils. Above the church, the striking golden domes of the monastery, a symbol of purity, juxtaposed the morning mist and the grey Moscow sky.

  Composing himself, he wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand and sighed. Four, long and rusted keys dangled from the metal ring in his hand. He tried the first key but it didn’t fit. The second key he tried turned with some resistance and the lock clicked open. The monk pushed the heavy door with both hands, and reluctantly it opened; revealing nothing but darkness and a rush of dank air that brushed past his face as if a trapped and lonely spirit had seized the opportunity to escape the bleak solitude of the vaults.

  Chapter Six

  New Delhi, India

  Rob McPherson gazed down at
the Indira Gandhi airport and its cross-hatch of runways as the private jet banked for final approach. The holiday in Italy with his wife was less than a week ago, but it was now just pleasant memories, spent with the woman he loved dearly. Three-year-old Daniel had been fine and clearly spoilt by his Auntie Susan, who’d flown in from San Francisco to Washington DC to look after her nephew while they were away. He was turning into a fine boy; strong and healthy. Rob visualized Daniel’s pallid face and sunken eyes in dark sockets as he lay near to death, that wondrous day at the Walter Reed Medical Center, when Rob placed the crystal into his limp hands and watched as…

  ‘I can’t wait to have a cigarette!’ Canseliet said, with the twitchy, nervous look of a man desperate for a nicotine rush.

  ‘Not too long to wait now, Victor. We’ll be down in ten-minutes, and then you can smoke two at a time if you want to.’

  Canseliet laughed; the croaky laugh of a heavy smoker. ‘One at time is quite sufficient, Robert, thank you,’ he said, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity.

  The long flight had been a good chance for Rob to update him on the manuscript situation. Though missing for a day, during its transportation, the manuscript was now in the safe hands of Professor Shastri.

  The Frenchman had studied the images of the strange text on Rob’s iPad, during the flight, and excitedly proclaimed that he had “never seen a script quite like it before,” describing it as “a fascinating amalgam of Japanese and Egyptian hieroglyphics.”

  As the plane landed at the Indira Gandhi International Airport, Victor Canseliet was ready to climb the nearest wall, desperate for a cigarette!

  Within the hour Rob and Victor had checked into the Eros Hotel on American Piaza, near the outer ring-road that served the airport.

  Victor was bearable again, now that the level of nicotine in his bloodstream was back to normal and after a cigarette he’d wandered off to his room for a “short rest” before the evening meeting with Professor Shastri in the hotel.

  Rob lay on the kingsize bed in his room, having enjoyed a hot shower and shave. He was expecting a call from Hunter at any moment to discuss the matter of the missing Book-Nine. The setting sun’s rays filled the room with a soporific, golden glow that confused his overactive mind’s inner clock.