The old lady emerged from the natural history wing and headed to the revolving door, her limp now more pronounced.
‘Need any help?’ Zachary said.
She gripped his arm, and he guided her onto the rotating floor, timing the exit onto the pavement outside with ballroom precision. Rachel followed them into the sun. At the kerb the old lady released her grip on Zachary’s arm and waved her cane at an approaching taxi. She plonked onto the back seat, closely followed by Zachary and Rachel.
‘Gatwick Airport,’ Rachel told the driver.
‘Did you enjoy the museum? Zachary asked the old lady.
‘A little stressful but I did collect a wonderful souvenir,’ she said in an amusing falsetto voice.
She put her handbag on her lap, pulled the ornament from her coat and handed it to Rachel.
‘Will you help me, young man?’
The old lady turned away and Zachary felt under her collar, tearing off a strip of scalp and hair. She clawed at her neat blue perm, pulling it downwards in a line across her forehead, grabbing loose flaps of skin, peeling away the rest of her face, handing her nose to Zachary.
‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,’ she said, punching Zachary firmly in the ribs.
Zachary feigned mortal pain. ‘Well done, Steve, an Oscar-worthy performance.’
‘Don’t ever get old, Zach.’
Rachel kissed Father Stephen on a glowing cheek as a police siren sounded past in the opposite direction.
The fat guard’s earpiece crackled to life. ‘I’d be happier if you patrolled inside the room.’
‘Roger that.’
Two visitors left as the guard re-entered. His shift had an hour to run and the thought of a belly full of burgers and chips made him salivate.
Three policemen strode into the British Museum. One went straight to the control room and another flashed his ID at the information desk then headed down the corridor to the natural history wing. The third waited near the meteorite in the foyer.
Outside the control room a policeman pressed an intercom button and peered through louvered windows at a bank of television monitors.
‘Can I help you, sir?’
‘British Police, investigating a national threat with links to the museum. I need to check the security systems.’
‘One moment.’
The guard released the door.
‘Come in, officer. Please take a seat.’
The policeman sat, twisted the louvers shut, casually unholstered his gun and put a neat hole in the guard’s forehead with a muffled bullet.
‘All clear, Eagle One.’
Immediately after, the fat guard received a call from the control room. ‘An officer from the British Police is on his way. Give him your full cooperation.’
‘Will do.’
The control-room guard sounded different.
The amphibian room emptied of visitors as the policeman walked in, closed the door and locked it behind him.
‘Afternoon, officer,’ the fat guard said.
The policeman pulled a gun.
‘Turn around.’
The fat guard put his hands in the air, wobbling around until he was staring at a stuffed cane toad mounted on the wall. His whole body shook as he tried to blink tears out of his eyes.
‘Put your hands behind your back.’
He lowered them slowly as his radio crackled again.
‘Nice to see you cooperating,’ the controller’s British accent had morphed into a southern American drawl.
The policeman came from behind, slapping the guard’s wrists in shiny handcuffs that ratcheted too tightly.
‘Don’t move, and keep your mouth shut, fat boy.’
He wished the policeman wouldn’t call him that.
‘I can see it,’ the policeman said to his control-room accomplice.
A loud knock repeated on the exhibit room door and someone tried the handle. The policeman turned down his radio and unlocked the door just enough to see out. A little girl and her mother peered at a narrow slice of the policeman’s face. He remembered his stiff English accent.
‘I’m terribly sorry, madam, but the exhibition is temporarily closed due to a damaged display.’
‘But I want to see the frogs, mummy,’ the little girl said.
‘Come back in half an hour,’ the policeman said.
‘We can see them another day, darling,’ the woman said, leading her daughter away.
The policeman restored the volume on his radio, repeating his message, ‘I can see the ornament.’
‘Bring it to the foyer.’
‘What about the fat boy?’
‘Cuff his legs and disable his radio.’
As the policeman picked the ornament off the stand, he saw it was filled with a spiralling array of crickets, beetles and spiders. He knew it should contain frogs so he walked around the room to check again. The fat guard’s eyes were glued to the ugly toad, not daring to move.
‘Where is the ornament with the frogs, fat boy? Turn around.’
The policeman held the ornament of invertebrates in one hand, his gun in the other.
Sweat ran down the fat guard’s temples, dripping off his chin.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Tell me where the frogs are, fat boy, or your mamma’s gonna need a nice new funeral suit to dress you in.’
The fat guard didn’t know where the frogs had gone and he didn’t want his mamma buying him a new suit any time soon.
He stared disconsolately at the ground then dropped his oversized frame and delivered an acrobatic kick to the policeman’s jaw. His steel-capped boots connected with a crack. As the policeman hit the ground his gun clattered to the floor and the ornament broke in two, bisecting a jewelled beetle. As the fat guard fell, he struck his own head against the edge of a marble plinth, turning his world black.
Eagle Three watched the monitor in disbelief. His panicked call to Eagle One fell on deaf ears.
‘Eagle Two.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘We have a problem.’
A new guard arrived for the evening shift, inputting a code to enter the control room. The door clicked open and immediately a gun stuck in his ribs. He followed orders to sit beside his dead colleague and notify staff in the natural history wing that the amphibian room was shut for the night.
The last visitor left the building shortly after the official closing time, Eagle Two obligingly locking the doors at the museum’s entrance after the remaining staff exited.
‘All clear, Eagle Three.’
‘Good, now make your way to the amphibian room and retrieve the ornament.’
Eagle Two walked through the deserted natural history wing as a thousand pairs of dead eyes followed him in the nocturnal light. He shot the handle out on the door to the amphibian room to find Eagle One on his back with his jaw at an odd angle. The fat guard lay unconscious and the ornament rested in jagged halves on the floor. Eagle Two radioed the control room. ‘I have it, or what’s left.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s in two pieces and I can’t see any frogs.’
‘Check the room. It must be there.’
After a quick scan, Eagle Two reported back. ‘No sign of it.’
Eagle Three slammed his fist on the desk. ‘Meet me in the foyer.’ He shot out the monitors, demolished the hard drives with automatic gunfire and hustled the guard out of the control room toward the entrance. Eagle Two emerged past the meteorite, joining them in the dim light.
As the two faux policemen left the building they emptied their magazines into the guard’s chest, triggering alarms and a raft of lights across the control-room wall.
When the fat guard stirred, the back of his head was hot with pain. He sat up and admired the job he’d done on the policeman’s face. The key to unlock his cuffs was on a ring attached to the policeman’s belt. After freeing himself, he used two sets of cuffs to bind the imposter’s wrists and ankles.
After unsuccessfully radioing the control centre he cautiously left the room, nervously brandishing the policeman’s gun. His fat body ached, hungrier than ever. Downstairs he discovered the two dead guards and after silencing the deafening alarms, he vomited onto the floor.
55
The triumvirate sat on a couch to watch the news.
‘London’s British Museum was the scene of a double murder overnight. Two museum guards were shot dead and a man posing as a policeman was found handcuffed in the natural history wing. It’s believed the ornament recovered nine days ago, from the giant Galapagos tortoise, Queen Moe, is again missing. According to historians it has left a trail of tragedy and misfortune beginning with the bizarre suicide of Sir Kenneth Mullins and the assassination of Sir Timothy Sivewright in 1792. In an intriguing footnote, some say the frogs trapped inside the ornament are imbued with an ancient curse. Police are questioning the cuffed man who is under guard in a London hospital with facial injuries.’
The ornament stood on the coffee table, alluring and oblivious to the havoc it had wreaked.
Cardinal Venti soared high on pills, believing God was smiling upon him. He switched off his television, certain the ornament from the British Museum had completed the collection. The prophetic scrolls had fulfilled the first part of their promise but even Venti was pleasantly surprised by the speed at which it had come to fruition. Soon the Jupiters would call him to a meeting, for without him they were impotent.
Early the following day Venti consumed more pills and whisky to dull the sickening emotions tying up his stomach. He prayed for the phone to ring and had barely crossed himself when Sister Dorothea called.
‘Father Calmari and Mr Smith, Eminence.’
‘They do not have an appointment.’ Venti hung up.
She called back. ‘Excuse me, Eminence. Father Calmari has a special delivery from the Jupiter Company.’
Venti paused as his pill-enhanced state battled a landslide of tumultuous thoughts.
‘Send them in, Sister.’ His sweet venomous tone returned.
A storm of unease raged around Venti’s office as the triumvirate filed in.
Cardinal Venti’s appearance alarmed Rachael. His eyes were bloodshot and black stubble covered his jaw.
‘We have come for the reward, Eminence,’ Zachary said.
‘Only God can give your eternal reward, Mr Smith, and he alone will decide your fate on the balance of what you sow on Earth.’
‘We have something so valuable, I fear ten million Euros is unfair compensation.’
Venti remained expressionless. ‘Indulge me, Mr Smith.’
‘What did you find inside the cube?’
‘What cube?’ Venti denied the irrefutable facts and all that had transpired between them. He surreptitiously pressed a blue button under the lip of his desk.
‘You should be anxious, Eminence,’ Zachary said.
‘With God’s good guidance my problems are easily solved.’ Venti eyed him with a steely barb.
‘Do you value your station in the Church, Father?’
Venti continued to stare him down.
‘It is a gift from God, and I am blessed to do the work of Christ.’
‘And if it was taken from you?’
‘God’s will be done, Mr Smith.’
‘The Vatican will not protect you.’
‘Your point is, Mr Smith?’ Venti stretched back in his chair, yawning nervously.
Zachary nodded at Rachel who took the ornament from her handbag and sat it on the edge of the desk.
Venti subdued the powerful reaction in the core of his brain.
‘What is it?’
‘The ornament recently found in Tahiti and returned to the British Museum where it last resided in 1831.’
‘Go on.’ Venti continued his portrayal of ignorance.
‘You know more about it than I, Father.’
‘A wild assumption, Mr Smith, but how did you get the museum piece? There is the theft and murder I happened to catch on the morning news.’
‘Yes, but in your office, it would take some explaining away.’
‘Mr Smith, if you have no further business here, I have important work to attend. As Father Stephen is well aware, there is no rest in the name of God.’
‘No rest for the wicked, Eminence,’ Father Stephen said.
Venti ignored him and said to Rachel. ‘You must return the spider.’
‘I’m sorry, Eminence, but I have not the slightest idea to what you refer.’
‘Touché, Miss Rachel.’ Venti leered at her, filling her with dread. He turned his attention to his computer, pretending they had left.
‘You might reconsider your position,’ Zachary said, pulling his wallet from his jeans and taking a deep breath. ‘Are you familiar with DNA profiling, Father?’ Zachary took a plastic card from his wallet, its surface printed with important medical details. He held it in front of Venti’s face.
Venti maintained his ice cool demeanour while his soul threatened to burst into flames and devour him. He tried to defer the inevitable. ‘May I see the ornament?’
Zachary withheld a dam of emotion as Venti raised the frogs to the light.
‘You were saying, Mr Smith, something about DNA.’
The dam burst and Zachary unleashed upon the Cardinal.
‘For thirty-seven years, you have wielded the awkward truth in my face. You are the Devil incarnate, preying on the vulnerable, harbouring a litany of unspeakable evil.’
Venti squirmed in his seat, repeatedly tapping the blue button under the lip of his desk.
Father Stephen and Rachel sat motionless, unsure of what was transpiring.
‘If you had aspirations to the highest office, here is the bullet to shatter your dream.’
Zachary waved the card. ‘Do you ever contemplate an eternity of pain beyond the imagination of men, dear Father, where your crimson regalia will buy no favour? How many children have you fathered? How many other poor souls have you bought with your overbearing threats of infallibility?
He threw the card onto Venti’s desk, and tears ran down his face.
‘I never asked to be born of your indulgent loins to a mother who loves me like no other; a woman who has worn the stocks of guilt around her neck on account of a moment of weakness which you encouraged with your vile and deceptive ways. You violated the sanctity of her marriage and she is tormented still.’ Zachary breathed heavily.
‘Your abandonment of grace surprises me, my son. You have been blessed with wealth, women and inherent good looks.’
Zachary spat in Venti’s face. The Cardinal barely flinched, calmly wiping the sputum away with his sleeve.
‘I once believed some good lived in everyone, but in you I realise an unshakeable truth. Some are born innately evil, beyond the saving grace of God.’
‘There is no God, Zachary, didn’t your mother tell you? It’s what I told her in the confessional, to give her hope, you understand; to stop her worrying if Jesus absolved her of her sins. I never convinced her, never quite made her believe death is the perfect deliverance from consciousness and all its worldly anxieties, after which there is absolute, unequivocal nothingness.’
Zachary drove his fist into Venti’s nose before Father Stephen wrenched him away. The Cardinal’s nose turned to mush and how he sat there bleeding profusely and apparently devoid of pain, Father Stephen was at a loss to explain.
The door to Venti’s office burst open and six Swiss Guards lined up at the back of the room in a medieval detail.
One stepped forward awaiting commands, his eyes darting between the Cardinal’s bloodied face and three people standing idly by.
Venti spoke serenely. ‘These three are to be held in custody under the suspicion of theft and murder. Inform the police and arrange for me to meet with the inspector.’
Zachary vented of all hurt, showed no concern.
Father Stephen consoled Rachel with an arm around her shoulder.
The Swiss Guards e
scorted them from the office unrestrained. As they left, Zachary snatched the ornament off the desk.
Venti delivered a parting quip. ‘I won’t lie. Your ornament is worthless.’
‘Scruples deserted you before the first mangled words of infancy ever left your mouth, Father.’ Zachary said, walking out the door, free at last.
Venti sniffed blood hard up into his sinuses and let it drain down his throat then he leant back in his chair, laughing like a contented devil.
The triumvirate sat in a holding room inside Rome’s central police station. Father Stephen and Rachel sensed a heavy beam had been lifted off Zachary’s shoulders.
‘Inspector, we are not responsible for the deaths of the museum guards. Your police imposter will vouch for it as will the surveillance footage.’
‘Mr Smith, footage of the incident does not exist. The hard-drives in the control room were destroyed by gunfire.’
‘Inspector, this ornament is significant for reasons beyond its colourful history. It is part of a bigger puzzle yet to be solved and there are others willing to murder for it.’
‘Go ahead, Mr Smith.’
‘It would be premature to announce our arrest in relation to its theft. I suspect the masterminds of the crime are expecting its delivery, awaiting confirmation of it as we speak. The man arrested at the museum must complete the drop so the ornament can be traced to its intended destination.’
‘And conveniently exonerate all of you in the process.’ Inspector Rosa said, not entirely happy with Zachary’s resolution.
‘It’s your only chance to find the perpetrators,’ Zachary said.
‘Cardinal Venti is having his nose reset at Gemelli this afternoon. What were you doing in his office?’
Father Stephen broke an extended silence. ‘Cardinal Venti is part of the bigger puzzle and we were using the ornament to entice information from him.’
Zachary quietly pasted a small square of invisible film on one end of the ornament while holding it beneath the desk.
Inspector Rosa thought for a moment. ‘Tomorrow I will travel to London with the ornament and consult with the British police based on the suggestions you’ve made. For now, you are free to leave.’
The Jesus Germ Page 26