Pentecost. An ARKANE Thriller (Book 1)

by J. F. Penn

  “Hold that thought,” Jake replied. “You’ll be able to come back with Faye, I know you will.”

  They entered the pedestrian section of the town and walked up narrow streets, past tourist shops and cafes to reach the cathedral.

  “It seems we’re on a tour of some of the best cathedrals in Europe,” Jake said smiling, as he led the way into the piazza. “And here’s another.”

  They stopped at the fountain to look up at the cathedral and the ancient bell tower which rose above it. Cafes and pasticcerria dotted the square, with red tablecloths and carafes of wine on tables where happy tourists basked in the sun. Morgan sneaked a glance at couples holding hands in the romantic place and she felt a twinge of jealousy, a pang of longing. It seemed that no happiness lasted long in this world, but the ephemeral nature made it all the more precious.

  A long staircase led up to the front entrance of the church with shops tucked underneath, for every spare inch was a business opportunity here. The cathedral had a black and white façade, striped and decorated with arched lattice windows. The decoration reminded Morgan of the Mezquita at Cordoba in Spain, an amalgamation of Jewish, Muslim and Christian decoration. She sat on the fountain edge looking up at it.

  “Maybe we should just go to America, to where Everett is holding my sister. Can’t you get Martin to research where he is, instead of where the Apostles’ relics are? Surely you can do some kind of analysis on the video or the voice we’ve heard, or his picture. I feel like we’re chasing the wind with these stones and I need to find my family.”

  Jake turned to face her, his back to the church. She held up a hand to shield her face from the sun as she looked up at him.

  “I need to tell you something,” he began. Suddenly there was shouting and the vrooming sound of a motorbike engine. They turned to see a denim clad rider on a bright red sports bike speeding out of the cathedral and down the steps. He was wearing a helmet so they couldn’t see his face clearly.

  People on the stairs screamed, throwing themselves out of the way as the rider bumped his way down. He shot off the last steps, skidded a little and then headed off into the labyrinth of the Amalfi passageways, shouts of tourists indicating where he had gone. The whole area was packed with people walking, so he wouldn’t be able to get anywhere fast until he escaped the narrow streets.

  “One of Thanatos’ men,” Jake shouted. “It must be.”

  Looking around, they spotted Vespa scooters at the side of the square. Jake ran to get one started. Morgan saw her chance and pushed a passing tourist off another motorbike that had stopped in the erupting chaos. She jumped on and headed off after the speeding bike, leaving the rider in the dust as people rushed over to help. The carabinieri would be there soon, so Jake hurriedly jumpstarted one of the other bikes and headed after her.

  Morgan raced the motorbike after the man, her senses heightened as she plunged into the narrow streets. She could hear screams of people ahead and tried to speed up to catch him. Tourists bottle-necked the streets so they couldn’t go too fast, but he was clearing the way in front of him, so she was gaining. She didn’t know how far he could go up the hill before running out of town and the Vespa was struggling in the winding streets but it looked like the steep hillsides kept the main roads to a minimum.

  She caught a glimpse of the biker’s denim jacket through the crowds and tried to push through faster, revving the little Vespa to clear the way in front of her. He would make a mistake at some point, then she’d be on him. The streets were narrow here, tall buildings several floors high with stone archways over the top joining the buildings. The man was heading away from the main tourist track into the back streets of Amalfi overlooked by cast iron streetlights, balconies with mini palms and looming mountains behind. Away from the tourist areas, the walls were still Mediterranean white but dirty with graffiti. Oblivious as to whether Jake was following, Morgan was determined to catch the man on the bike and she didn’t care who he was. He had something she needed.

  The wind whipped some hanging laundry in front of her and she thrust it away as she turned another corner. She hadn’t been on a motorbike for a few years now, but she’d ridden with Elian in the desert, even street racing in Tel Aviv. As she zoomed along, she realized she had missed the adrenalin rush of the bike and the chase. It seemed she couldn’t entirely bury her old self with academia.

  Morgan turned a corner and saw a dead end ahead of her. They had reached the end of the town streets, the other man clearly wasn’t a local either and they were both lost. He had turned his bike and was revving it as he prepared to come back at her. She braked and stopped by the corner. He held a gun but didn’t have a clear shot yet but he would when he came back out of the tight corner.

  She waited for him, racing her engine, and then gunned out as he tried to pass in front of her. She braced herself for impact and then crashed straight into the side of his bike, knocking him into a wall, his body crushed under the heavy machine, gun ripped from his hand. Morgan jumped off her bike, ignoring the slight whiplash from the impact. She grabbed his gun and pointed it down at him. He was mostly unhurt, but trapped by the weight of the bike and he cursed her in Italian as he pulled of the helmet. He was tanned dark from the Mediterranean sun with long thick hair tied back with a leather string. Morgan thought that perhaps Thanatos were using local Mafioso now. She flipped the safety off and held the gun under his chin, speaking slowly but firmly as she pressed the muzzle hard into his skin.

  “Give me the stone.”

  “There’s no stone, I couldn’t find it.” He spoke English with a rough Italian accent. “I have nothing. Get off me!”

  Morgan’s voice was low and calm, the threat apparent.

  “I don’t believe you. Where is it?”

  Sirens began to sound as the carabinieri drew closer. Jake came round the corner on a scooter. He skidded to a halt near them and began to get off the bike.

  “We don’t have much time, Morgan. Does he have it?”

  She glared round, gun still held against the man’s neck.

  “Back off, Timber. This one’s mine.”

  Jake backed away at the possession in her voice, like a bear defending her kill. She moved the barrel of the gun to the man’s exposed knee, thrust forward by his position half under the bike.

  “I need that stone. Give it to me or your knee goes.”

  He sneered at her, “You don’t have time for this.”

  Without so much as a change in expression, she shot point blank into his knee. The man howled in agony, clutching at the shattered bone, blood oozing through his fingers. Jake rushed forward, but she swung the gun on him.

  “I mean it, Jake.”

  He put his hands up in surrender and retreated. She bent low to the man’s ear.

  “I will take your manhood next and leave you to bleed to death. Don’t doubt my words. Where’s the stone?”

  “Puttana,” he spat. “If you take it, they’ll kill me.”

  He was pleading now but his hand moved to his chest. Keeping the gun on him Morgan pulled the zip of his jacket down and reached in for the stone, wrapped in a white handkerchief. She pulled it out and turned to go.

  “Don’t leave me, please. They’ll find me.”

  Turning back to the trapped man, she saw the pale horse tattoo on his arm holding tightly to the knee she had shot. Blood dripped down onto the pristine paint of his motorcycle. Her eyes narrowed.

  “That means nothing to me.”

  The sound of running feet could be heard now as the police closed in on their position and Jake hurriedly pulled Morgan away. They climbed the wall at the dead end of the street and ran back down the hill to the marina. Exhausted, they dropped into the boat and the skipper cast off, heading back to Salerno.

  ***

  The ARKANE plane was waiting for them at Salerno and they boarded, having hardly said a word on the journey back. Morgan’s violence sat between them, uncomfortably acknowledged but not discussed. She knew she had
crossed a line by turning the gun on Jake, but she had been in a haze of anger. For a moment the man had embodied the terror that held Faye and Gemma and she had wanted to hurt him. Part of her had willed him to defy her so she could have put a bullet in his head instead of his knee. This was the side of her she had been trying to forget, for violence only spiraled into more violence, but was it so deeply embedded in her that she couldn’t let it go? And could she justify it for the end result? After all, they had the next stone.

  Jake sat across from her, reading quietly as the crew prepared for take-off, even though they were unsure of the next destination. She knew that neither of them were team players and she had pushed his help away back in Amalfi. It felt as if the tentative relationship that had begun to grow in the Venice night had been blown apart by her actions. She felt the need to reach out to him again, to patch up what was unsaid and unacknowledged. This was no time for division.

  “We don’t have the stone of Philip yet,” she said, leaning forward. “He was the most organized of the Apostles, the steward of the group.” She pointed at the notes she had made with Ben, scanning them with a finger as she told the tale.

  “It seems that he may have preached in Ethiopia and North Africa, but he ended up dying in Jerusalem either of old age or perhaps beheaded as a martyr. He also wrote a gospel that was later suppressed by the Church as heresy as it apparently demonstrated the more esoteric side of Jesus’ teaching. The relics of St Philip were supposedly taken to Germany by the mother of Constantine. They are held in the Abbey Church of Trier, built in the twelfth century but still an active monastery.”

  “So the stone could be in Trier?” Jake said. Morgan was grateful that he had taken her conversation opening because although she felt bad she still didn’t feel she had anything to apologize for.

  “Perhaps, but only if it was kept together with the bones. We’ve seen a number of different places the stones of the Apostles have been kept, so we can’t assume this one is in Trier and we don’t have time to get it wrong again. Philip was mostly active in Jerusalem. The other stones left there with the Apostles, but maybe this one remained. I think we have to go to Israel.”

  “That’s crazy,” Jake looked incredulous. “Jerusalem is packed with relics of all kinds and it’s a security nightmare. How would we possibly find the Keeper of this stone in such a short timeframe?”

  Morgan sat back.

  “I know Jerusalem, Jake. Ben and I discussed this and Philip preached to the Ethiopians for much of his career. He wrote his gospel in Ethiopia, so we should start with the descendants of his church. The Ethiopian Coptic church is one of the most ancient and is even rumored to protect the Ark of the Covenant.”

  “What? Like Indiana Jones?”

  Morgan laughed.

  “There’s a legend that it was taken to Ethiopia by Menelek, the son of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. They still claim to have it. Whatever the truth, the Ethiopian Coptics are good at keeping ancient secrets. It makes sense that if there were a Keeper for his stone, then they would know who it might be.”

  “So do they have a church in Jerusalem then? A special place for Ethiopian Coptics?”

  “They sure do. Only at the most holy Christian church in the world, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. They live on the roof, and that’s our next destination.”

  May 24

  Extract from New York Post, May 24: Comet not seen since the time of Christ enters Earth’s orbit.

  The Resurgam comet will light up the night sky during the next week as the body of celestial matter enters the earth’s atmosphere, streaming a colored tail of dust and gas. The comet was named with the Latin Resurgam meaning ‘I shall rise again’ because it hasn’t been seen since 33AD, the time of Jesus Christ. In ancient times, comets were considered to be bad omens and indeed some have claimed that the violent weather events currently wreaking havoc in the South East are related to the comet's approach.

  Celestial influence has been seen recently with Elenin, a comet that passed close to the earth in 2011. During the period it aligned with the Earth and the Sun, earthquakes wracked the planet producing the Japanese 9.0 quake, Christchurch in New Zealand and before that, Chile. There is a concern that the Resurgam comet will have a similar impact, bringing widespread natural disturbances. There are claims from conspiracy theorists that the government is covering up the possibility of cataclysmic occurrences but repeated statements from NASA downplay the potential impact.

  “There is some evidence that the sun is becoming more active and earth-changing events are becoming more intense and frequent,” NASA scientist Dr Marie Isherwood said at a press conference this morning. “But it is pure fiction to suggest that comets have any impact on the earth’s climate. They just don’t have enough mass to generate such a gravitational pull.”

  However, religious groups say the comet is evidence supporting the Biblical references to the end times. Pastor Jesse Warren of San Bernandino said, “The gospel of St Mark says that in the end times there will be earthquakes and famines. The earth will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken. These are the beginnings of birth-pains, for the new world will be born in this turmoil.”

  The book of Revelation further describes these end times. “There was a great earthquake. The sun turned black like sackcloth made of goat hair, the whole moon turned blood red, and the stars in the sky fell to earth, as late figs drop from a fig-tree when shaken by a strong wind. The sky receded like a scroll, rolling up, and every mountain and island was removed from its place.”

  Wherever you stand on the debate, the best views of the comet will be in the desert areas of the Northern Hemisphere, away from city lights. Sightings can be logged on the NASA website that will be tracking the comet’s movements across the skies.

  Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem, Israel.

  May 24, 8.45am

  Jake and Morgan came out of a narrow passageway and entered the courtyard in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, an ancient building crushed into the dense heart of the Old City. The church seemed to be within the walls of the souk, stuffed amongst the traders and hawkers of the market, brimming with religious baubles and trinkets. Tourists milled around eating felafel and sweet harissa cakes. They exchanged shekels for Palestinian glass, Jerusalem t-shirts and statues of the Virgin Mary. Morgan thought that perhaps this was appropriate, for surely Jesus would have held his ministry amongst these people, the merchants, the hagglers, the real people of the city.

  Walking these streets was a bittersweet joy for Morgan as she felt the sun on her skin while the smells of the souk permeated the air about her. Despite its conflict, Jerusalem was her home and England would never arouse this passion in her, but there were also ghosts here. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elian in the doorways of the teahouses, his broad smile welcoming, and she caught a glimpse of her father bent over a manuscript in the antique booksellers. This country had dashed her heart on the ancient rocks that were the foundations of the city. It thrived on a fast-moving river of bloodshed and violence and when she left, she had been sinking into its depths. But as the sunlight dappled the cobbled stones of the old city, just for a moment, she regretted leaving. It had beaten her then but Morgan knew her relationship with the city of God wasn’t over yet, and yet this could only be a fleeting visit. There wasn’t time to see her old friends or visit her father’s grave and she couldn’t even show Jake the secret spots of the city she loved. Instead she weaved between the tourist groups towards the entrance of the Holy Sepulchre.

  The church was a short walk from the Western Wall, the only part of the Jewish Temple left standing and sacred to the Jews. Behind that stood the Temple Mount topped by the golden Dome of the Rock mosque, sacred to Muslims. This was the heart of the three greatest religions on earth and yet, just outside the Old City walls, it wasn’t far to the shopping malls of Ben Yehuda street, a temple to consumerism.
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  As usual, the small square in front of the Holy Sepulchre was packed full of tour groups, with guides holding umbrellas high, shouting to be heard. This was Christianity Grand Central and millions of the faithful came on pilgrimage here annually. Morgan led the way through the crowd, glancing back now and then to make sure Jake was still close.

  They entered the church in a haze of incense, a cloying sensory overload that made Morgan cough. She had been into the Holy Sepulchre many times as part of her psychology of religion degree. She had compared it to the clean, plain synagogue her Father had worshipped in, and wondered how the Christians could stand the smell for it made her feel heady and nauseous. She was briefly blinded until her eyes adjusted to the darkness, lit only by strings of candles and lamps. They joined the throng who gathered to touch the stone where Jesus’ body lay after the Crucifixion. People pushed and shoved each other, a far remove from what would be expected in such a holy place. There was no spiritual peace to be found here and it was loud and unbearably hot. Sticky hands pawed idols, cameras flashed and public displays of overt religiosity erupted everywhere. Pickpockets prowled the crowds, finding easy pickings from the rich Westerners who flocked from America and Europe on pilgrimage.

  “This way. We need to make our way to the Ethiopian Coptic section,” Morgan said as they walked past Calvary. The faces of the believers gathered there were lit with candles that burnt briefly for those they prayed for. Here they believed Christ suffered and died, and pilgrims lined up to put their hands down to touch the rock itself through a gold rimmed portal in the floor. The icons and paintings on the walls crowded in with their bloody images of the scourging and crucifixion of Jesus, denoted in horrific detail.