The Lazarus Mysteries- Omnibus Collection

by Ken Fry

  “My God.” His whisper filled the air. “It’s identical to the sketches back at the Bodega and the one on Abbot Louis’s wall.” He scanned for more, but she was the only clear evidence that Cortez must have passed this way some 450 years ago. There was nothing else to see. Using his phone and the lamp, he took several photographs from numerous angles.

  Let’s see what’s at this supposed dead end.

  The remainder of the passageway looked similar to the rest, but he now found himself bent low, scanning with increased intensity. After a further fifteen minutes of stopping and starting, Ladro calculated he must have passed beyond the walls of the overhead monastery, and open country lay above him. Finding the carved detail had given him extra impetus.

  As Abbot Louis had said, he soon found himself confronting a blank wall of rock. He stood holding his breath. There was nowhere to go.

  This is ridiculous. He didn’t know what to expect. At that moment, he began wishing for another vision.

  Nothing.

  The only sound he could hear was the odd rock or pebble falling to the floor.

  Is that noise increasing?

  He listened harder and directed his lamp into the direction of the noise. Small rocks and chippings were being dislodged from both walls and roof. An intermittent, low cracking noise, like a frozen river breaking up, became louder. It was accompanied by an ominous rumble that made the ground quiver.

  “Shit. I hope that’s not what I think it is.”

  There followed an even louder noise and in front of and above him, a small section of the roof fell in with an enormous crash. Rocks and dust filled the air, billowing across the flashlight beam, and distorting into a pattern of weird shadows and shapes.

  “Time to leave,” Ladro shouted out loud as he tied his scarf across his mouth to stop the dust from getting in. The walls and ground continued to shimmy and shake. He turned in a rush and began to sprint back the way he came. There was another enormous succession of rumbles and the walls began to crumple and crack open, sending up sheets of flint and sandstone. He ducked his head and gulped in air through his scarf and found himself crashing into piles of loose stones and rubble.

  “A fucking earthquake is all I need!”

  It was then he smashed into a solid wall of rock. He fell to the ground and found himself spread-eagled across a pile of debris and damp earth.

  A panorama of horror flashed through his mind as he panicked. Entombed alive and a slow suffocating death. Ladro, get a grip or you will die!

  He forced himself to open his screwed-up eyes. The flashlight was still on, illuminating a million dust particles that swam and danced around in space. A faint tremor continued shaking the walls. With effort, he compelled himself into a standing position, keeping his arms over the top of his head to protect it from being struck by projecting rocks. A quick look in all directions and he knew there was no way forward. He was trapped.

  CHAPTER 54

  Consciousness returned, accentuating the painful throb pounding in the bridge of Ulla’s nose. Her eyelids fluttered.

  What the hell?

  Her first thoughts were for the Sister and the Condesa. Have they been harmed in any way? She attempted to sit up but couldn’t. She was bound tight with duct tape. She kept silent. It was better not to attract attention. Throgmorton was a lunatic but something about him commanded respect. But if she had to, she would kill him and that included the animal he had as a partner. She turned her head, and in the corner saw Sister Agnes sitting on a hard, wooden chair. She wasn’t bound. Her head was bowed with her eyes closed and she appeared unharmed. Similarly, the Condesa was seated and overlooking them was the man who had broken her nose.

  He stood motionless and expressionless with his arms folded. He looked as if he was from Central Casting, auditioning for a gangster movie. It was obvious they considered her the most dangerous. She could feel sticky blood on her upper lip and jaw line.

  It was too early to assume the worst. Brodie was still out there, and he could be ingenious in a tight corner. He had the capability of turning things around if he had to. That thought gave her comfort. It was then she saw Throgmorton, sitting with debonair ease on the sofa, holding a large drink; his feet perched on a stool.

  He turned his head to look at her and spoke without emotion, as if passing sentence on a criminal in the dock.

  “I’m beginning to believe there is truth in the rumours about this painting. It’s a pity none of you will be here to enjoy it. It will be priceless and will make me a fortune. All I have to do now is sit and wait for your boyfriend to walk through that door with what belongs to me, without having to lift a finger to find it. And of course, I have De Witt’s back up should all not go well. Who knows, two paintings could double my take.” He sipped at his drink.

  She began thinking through what could happen. Throgmorton held the trump cards. If the painting was found, then the Condesa would be needed to test its validity and Sister Agnes, herself and Brodie would be unnecessary. She forced herself to speak. “Let those two go. As long as you have me, they won’t go to the police. You can take the painting, if there is one, and do what you like. We won’t interfere, I promise you.”

  “After coming this far and doing the things I’ve had to do,” he replied, “I will take no chances. Too many criminals have made that mistake. Risks and sentimentality are unacceptable. I’m sure you understand.”

  Sister Agnes looked up. “Use me, I beg you. Let me be a guinea pig, but let my mother and Ulla go. Harm me, cut me, injure me and I will willingly accept whatever should happen.”

  He walked over to her so that his nose almost touched hers. “Now why hadn’t I thought of that before, but you’re missing out one thing, two miracles are better than one, don’t you think?”

  The Condesa attempted to stand but he shoved her back down with a heavy push. “None of you is to move unless I say so. If you disobey, then my friend may be asked to remedy that situation. I’m sure you understand.” He nodded at Ox who stood still and not a muscle moved on his face. “We may have a long wait, so make yourselves comfortable and think on what might happen to you later.”

  Ulla’s sweaty clothes stuck to her and the tape held fast. She examined the room, staring hard at each aspect, looking for something that could help them out of the situation. There was nothing. A pair of scissors lay on the top shelf of a small bookcase close to the Abbess. It didn’t look hopeful that the Sister could spring into action, and what chance would that frail woman have against the two men.

  The clock ticking was the only sound breaking the silence. Ulla willed Sister Agnes to look up at her by shaking her head at her, but she wouldn’t look her way. Sister, please look at me. Please, dear God, look at me!

  There was only one thing she could do. She screamed. She opened her mouth wide and screamed as loud as she could. It worked. Everybody jolted and all eyes swung in her direction. The two men moved with speed and stood in front of her. Ox backhanded her with a vicious swipe across the face.

  Her head jolted to one side like an elastic band snapping and her bruised face spouted more blood. Ox then grabbed her hair, yanking her head back, ready to repeat the attack. A searing pain raged through her head causing another minor scream.

  “Leave her,” commanded Throgmorton. “Your screams are of little use now. Save them for what comes later.”

  Ox backed off. “I was enjoying that.”

  “You’ll get your chance later.”

  Another voice spoke. “Let me help calm her down.” Sister Agnes ignored the two men, and pushing Ox to one side, she knelt next to Ulla and began wiping the blood off her face with a small cloth.

  Throgmorton returned to his drink and Ox gave a loud snort and repositioned himself by the door.

  Ulla wasn’t prepared for what she heard the Abbess whisper into her ear.

  “Don’t speak and keep your eyes closed. I know what you were trying to tell me. I have them here.”

  “How on eart
h...?” Ulla gasped.

  With one hand she wiped away the blood, and with the other, Ulla could feel her rummaging beneath her robe which she used to cover the scissors as they snipped through the tape. It was over quickly, and Ulla was free.

  “Moan louder, please,” the Sister whispered urgently.

  Ulla obliged and squeezed Agnes’s hand with silent thanks. The scissors were thrust into her hands and covered with the sleeves of her jacket.

  “Remember my child, I am with you, and I don’t know what you intend, but I will help you. Let us pray for Señor Brodie and wish him success, and for us to overcome the evil in this place, and for my mother’s return to health. Let them see you pray, and they won’t know what I’ve done.”

  Ulla didn’t question the order. She did as she was told and knew she would look after the little nun to the end. She had no idea how to pray. She hadn’t done that since she was twelve years old at her mother’s funeral. She bent her head, clasped her hands that still looked bound together and mumbled meaningless words from her blood smeared lips.

  “How very touching,” remarked the judge, “you’ll need prayers before this is finished. You there,” he snapped at Sister Agnes. “You, get back to your seat and make sure your mother stays alive.”

  She moved back to the Condesa but managed a whisper to Ulla before she did. “I’ll do anything needed. Believe me.” She patted Ulla’s shoulder.

  Ulla, moved her fingers and her feet, flexing the muscles at the same time. What am I going to do now?

  CHAPTER 55

  Torchlight flickered and struggled to penetrate the dust vortices and minor debris that had choked the tunnel.

  Holy shit! What now?

  Ladro brushed the numerous particles from his eyes and face and thought that at least the Abbot knew he was down there, so some sort of rescue attempt would be underway. He attempted to peer through the swirl, but he could see nothing. He needed to conserve what battery life there was left, or he would be plunged into darkness. There was no way of telling how long he would be trapped. It was a miracle he had escaped injury.

  He could just make out the piles of stone and rock that surrounded him. His first concern was how much air was there. He breathed in with care, holding his gloves over his mouth and realised he had no way of answering that question. The dust was settling down fast and he managed to stand. He stood still and listened … only the faint sound of falling debris. He appeared to be enclosed in a dome-like space that had somehow escaped the worst of the quake. He felt anxious. There was no point in trying his mobile, no signal could possibly escape from this depth. The route back was obscured by layers of impenetrable rock. He would have to wait to be rescued.

  He struggled to maintain his optimism that there might possibly be a means of escape. That hope kept him from scouring the surface of the displaced debris and trying to find something to indicate a way out. He walked up to it and ran his hands over every inch of the distorted wall. Claustrophobia had never been on his list of ailments, but now its clammy presence squeezed at his entrails. For a moment, he had a vision of himself dying in this hole, gasping for breath, and shrieking for water and food.

  He suppressed the thought.

  His lungs heaved with the effort and his breathing came in short bursts. Another noise that sounded like more rocks moving, ricocheted around the stony prison. The ground began to shake again. With increased vigour, Ladro threw himself under a projecting rock and curled himself into a small ball with his arms tight around his head. A splintering crash sent a full section of the remaining wall sliding and slipping in one whole piece, before collapsing into a pyramid pile of earth and rock off to his right. The overhang he was sheltering in remained unscathed but showered him with clouds of dust and debris.

  How long he lay there he didn’t know.

  I’m still alive, but for how much longer? The monastery can’t have escaped damage.

  There wasn’t a sound to be heard. He could sense a light coming from somewhere.

  It must be a torch ... but they can’t have reached me already.

  He opened his eyes and scraped off the dust from his face. He wasn’t wrong, there was light, and it wasn’t from his torch. He followed the source of light. It was coming from beyond the front wall, the direction that had been a dead end. It wasn’t any longer. The wall had broken and collapsed to reveal a gap where light came shining through. Ladro stared, unsure what he was looking at. The gap was big enough to let him pass, but he was sure that the light meant it must be coming from the outside. He picked up the flashlight and hauled himself into a sitting position, before deciding it was safe to stand. Keeping his arms around his head, he rose almost upright and looked around him. Where he had been previously, was buried and no longer existed. Unless escape was possible, he knew he could die. He began picking his way towards the gap. He stood in front of it but was unable to see where the light was coming from. It was big enough to let him through if he turned sideways. He pushed hard, and with a sudden lurch, propelled himself into the space.

  The source of the light remained hidden, but its glow illuminated and filled the entire space. He forgot his predicament and looked around.

  What he saw shook him.

  §

  Abbot Louis didn’t need a watch. He was used to time moving slowly and he could judge it within five minutes by what Office his monks were performing. ‘Afternoon Prayers’ were echoing across the courtyard.

  He gave a satisfied nod. Ever since he was an aspiring novice, he had always harboured a benign appreciation for the Office of None. He associated it with a sweet, brief gentleness the major Offices lacked.

  Señor Ladro has been a while. I did tell him there was nothing to see down there. He put it down to archaeological curiosity. I hope he’s not going to be too long.

  He walked out of his room and onto the parapet that gave him an uninterrupted view of the semidesértico, the half desert that had been his home and that of monks long departed centuries ago. He let his gaze travel across the plateau and the surrounding hills. The weather was warm and there wasn’t a sound to be heard. How he loved this area. Its stark beauty had always attracted him. It possessed a mystical quality that in his more fanciful moments, he imagined as akin to the wilderness that Christ ventured into for forty days and nights. Whatever it was, it had been good for his soul.

  He had long ceased to worry about the ground rumblings. Their frequencies were hardly noticeable and never amounted to much. Those of the last hour were no different. Like the others, they had stopped as soon as they had started. Señor Ladro was perfectly safe, and there hadn’t been enough movement to make even one’s feet tingle. He continued to stare out at the land outside the walls. He doubted that Ladro could have found a way through. Many had tried, but their efforts had proven fruitless. There was nothing to find there. What was needed was dynamite. That was the only way the place could be opened up but using that could cause the whole complex to collapse. He wondered about the rumours of what the missing or lost painting might be. He’d heard many. As a monk for over twenty years, it would have been surprising if he hadn’t.

  He judged that almost an hour had passed since Brodie Ladro had made his descent underground. It seemed longer than necessary. He decided to check to see if all was well. The large trapdoor remained closed as he had left it. A swift yank on the large brass ring swung it open. What Abbot Louis saw filled him with horror. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks, but then it was obvious they weren’t. A yellow cloud of dust and sand rose out of the opening, and in an instant, had covered himself and his office in a film of ochre particles and debris.

  He gasped as he wiped his eyes.

  This can’t be possible! There wasn’t a sound!

  “Ladro! Ladro!” His voice went nowhere as he shouted into the choking filth that obscured half the descent in a pile of bricks and rocks. He shouted louder, but knew it was a waste of time. Even if he was alive, Ladro would never hear him thr
ough the debris.

  I never heard a thing!

  By then, he was already running to the nearest wall-mounted alarm bell down the corridor. He collided with the lame monk who was returning from his prayers.

  “Brother!” he yelled, feeling uncomfortable at raising his voice. At the same time, he smashed open the glass on the general emergency system. “Shovels, spades, axes, NOW! All monks to the courtyard at once! Hurry, Brother. Hurry!”

  The alarms shrieked throughout the monastery. Lame monk didn’t hesitate and shuffled at speed to the central assembly point in the courtyard. Already, other Brothers were running to the spot, only to be told to sprint off again and return with digging tools, buckets and wheelbarrows.

  Within minutes, they were assembled.

  A grim-faced Abbot told them the situation. In his office, there was only room for one person at a time to dig, fill a bucket, and pass it to another monk, until it found its way to the surface. He watched as the monks worked at fever pitch and they still hadn’t reached ground level.

  This is going to take a long time. I pray for him and that he is still alive.

  CHAPTER 56

  Hidden in her hands, Ulla held the scissors with the blades concealed under her sleeve. They were no match against Throgmorton’s weapon, and she wished she had the Glock. Now she had to work out a way of using what she had to maximum effect. There was little chance of taking on two armed and dangerous men with just a pair of scissors. The Condesa was too frail to be of any use and just what Sister Agnes could do or how far she was prepared to go, she had no idea. What was needed was a gun.

  How am I going to do this?

  She looked at both men. Ox was the immediate threat. He had, she guessed, an animal violence and would lash out and kill anything or anybody that got in his way. His guarded posture, his arms folded over his chest, shoulders stooping, fat hands clasped together gave no hint of vulnerability. He sat down and had begun picking at his fingernails. The most frightening thing, she thought, was his total lack of expression. Throgmorton looked alert. His vulnerability was his preposterous vanity. The gun was resting on his lap and she knew he was listening and watching for Brodie to make an appearance. Different to Ox, but no less deadly.