The Seven Stars

by Simon Leighton-Porter

  ‘You said it yourself,’ she replied. ‘If the FBI drop this case and the local guys file it under “whatever” your usefulness goes from being an informer to a clean-up statistic.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think jail’s not such a bad idea. Listen, Flora, why don’t we try something like this.’ Flora listened attentively while Raymond spelled out his idea. ‘So what do you reckon?’ he said at last.

  ‘It’s complicated, but I think it might just work,’ she replied, looking down at the notes she’d taken while he was talking.

  ‘And safer for you. Sumter’s not afraid to use force.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ she replied. ‘So why should it be any different this time? They could just shoot me.’

  ‘I told you, because of Francesco here. If he takes both of you out, it’ll be obvious he’s trying to hide evidence –’

  ‘That’ll be a great consolation when I’m six feet under.’

  ‘You wont be, don’t worry. Now listen, both of you, here’s what we do.’

  William Sunday University, Alabama

  ‘Good news,’ said Irvine, shutting the door behind him. ‘Moretti’s found the girl.’

  ‘Why, that’s wonderful news.’ Sumter’s face said differently. ‘Where?’

  ‘Birmingham.’

  ‘And has he, you know –’

  ‘Killed her? No, not yet. She’s under FBI protection at the hotel. We have to think laterally about this.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Moretti’s English isn’t very good and he’s not completely sure what she’s up to but it sounds like she and that nigger friend of ours, Raymond, will shortly do us the honour of a social call.’

  ‘Where? Here?’

  ‘Yes, Donald, here.’ He paused. ‘Are you all right?’ You’ve gone pale.’

  ‘N-no, I’m fine, just feeling a little bilious, that’s all.’

  ‘Irvine treated him to a reptilian smile. ‘Not getting cold feet are you, Donald?’

  ‘No, it’s just that –’

  ‘It’s just that you don’t mind inconvenient people disappearing so long as you can convince yourself you had nothing to do with it. Correct?’

  ‘No, Andrew, it’s more complicated.’

  ‘Hypocrisy usually is.’

  Sumter ignored the barb and sighed deeply. ‘Do what you must. I’m not sure allowing the student body their head on such matters is a good idea.’

  ‘Surely you’re not questioning the authority of Exodus 22:18, Donald?’

  ‘No, Andrew, I’m not, it just seems a little excessive that’s all. If they must kill people at least they could do it quickly.’

  Irvine left the room leaving Sumter slumped with his elbows on the desk, head in hands and fighting a losing battle with the remains of his conscience. He was interrupted by a bang on the door. ‘Come in,’ he boomed and the archivist almost fell through the door, panting with excitement.

  ‘I’ve found her,’ he said.

  ‘Well done,’ Sumter replied in a world-weary tone.

  ‘She’s got a message for you.’ The young man was positively bursting.

  ‘Go on, I’m listening.’

  ‘She says she’ll give you back the modern manuscript in return for all the Pompeii finds and the Apocryphon of John.’

  ‘Was that it?’

  ‘No, sir, and this was the bit I didn’t quite understand. Here’s what she said,’ he pulled out a scrap of paper from his pocket and read: ‘“Francesco has corroborated the age and origin of your “Q” fragment. If you try to back out I’ll expose you”. Those were her exact words, sir,’ he added quickly.

  Sumter’s expression remained impassive. ‘Tell her tomorrow at three. I’ll meet her here in my office.’

  The car drew to a halt at the side of the narrow road and Flora switched off the engine. ‘Now, Francesco, this is vitally important. I will check in with both of you at half past three. If you don’t hear from me, you must assume something’s gone wrong. Raymond will call for help and you are to drive back here to collect him. If he’s not here, then wait, do not go off without him. Have you got that?’

  ‘Yes.’ Flora could see that, like her, Raymond was trying to hide his nerves but Moretti spoke in a dull monotone as though he simply wasn’t interested.

  Raymond took up the briefing. ‘As soon as I’m in place, Flora, I’ll text you with “See you tomorrow at ten” if I’ve got good line of sight into Sumter’s office. “Can’t make it tomorrow” means I can’t see anything –’

  Flora brought her hand down hard on the top of the dashboard, causing them both to jump. ‘Francesco, are you listening?’ she shouted.

  He stopped gazing out of the window and turned to look at her. ‘Y-yes, Flora, of course.’

  ‘Good, now pay attention,’ she said. ‘If everything goes to plan, I’ll call to let you know. Francesco, you drive to the front gate, collect me from there and then we come back here for Raymond. Everyone happy?’ They both nodded and Raymond slung a pair of binoculars round his neck and opened the passenger door. Flora leant over and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘Good luck,’ she said.

  ‘You too. Take it easy now, babe.’

  In five minutes they arrived at the front gate: the college buildings lay about a quarter of a mile away and Flora jumped out. She kissed Moretti too and, in return, received a few mumbled words she didn’t catch, and a wan smile. Closing the car door, she set off towards the administration block. The sudden buzzing of her phone made Flora jump. She checked the text: Raymond had good line of sight and she began to breathe a little more easily. In an hour it would all be over; Sumter would have his forgery back, she would leave with the finds from Pompeii and, if things went to plan, a recording of a conversation that would convict the professor out of his own mouth.

  The receptionist was all smiles and southern charm. She led Flora through to a waiting room and a few minutes later, two students, tall, well-dressed men in their early twenties, greeted her by name.

  They walked either side of her chatting amiably. This was going to be easier than she thought. ‘Professor Sumter’s really looking forward to seeing you,’ said the first. ‘Please step this way.’ He stood aside and gestured her forward while the other student held open the door. ‘After you, please –’

  She took a step forward and froze, her briefcase hitting the floor with a thump. Whatever it was, this wasn’t Sumter’s office.

  Someone shoved her in the small of the back, propelling her into the arms of another two young men who secured her hands behind her back with cable ties and pushed her forward once more. What she saw next almost caused her to retch: also bound, but bloodied and dishevelled, Raymond sat on a plain wooden chair. She realised they were in a lecture theatre with a stage at the front and rows of seating rising in a series of tiered quarter circles to the back: about fifty of the seats were taken and the occupants were male. On the stage was a row of a dozen single chairs, all empty.

  On the stage next to Raymond stood Moretti, also with his hands behind his back. ‘Did you have chance to call?’ she asked him in Italian as they led her forward.

  He shook his head. ‘No calls, Flora, sorry. You see, it’s Anna,’ he said, opening his arms in front of himself in a gesture of apology. He wasn’t bound and she couldn’t understand why at first. Then she noticed that, unlike Raymond, he showed no signs of having been in a struggle.

  ‘What’s Anna got to do with this?’

  ‘They said they’d hurt her.’

  ‘Who would? What are you talking about?’

  ‘People I know in Italy. You know, the –’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said the student who had tied her wrists, we haven’t got all day. Put the prisoners in the dock.’

  Flora ignored him. ‘You betrayed us? Francesco, not you, please say it’s not true.’ Tears coursed down her face as she was manhandled into the makeshift dock and forced to sit down next to Raymond.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Moretti, also in
tears, but no one heard him in the clamour of voices.

  One of the students moved in behind the lectern and stood facing them. He shouted, ‘All rise.’ Folding seat-backs clattered as the students came to their feet.

  Raymond stayed where he was. ‘Fuck you,’ he said.

  ‘On your feet, boy,’ said the student. ‘This is my court, I am its president and you will do as I say.’

  ‘Go fuck yourself –’

  He nodded and Raymond was hauled, cursing, to his feet. ‘Gentlemen of the jury, please take your seats.’ Twelve young men trooped silently forward and sat on the chairs set out on the stage.

  ‘These clowns should be on Saturday Night Live,’ said Raymond.

  ‘Silence,’ shouted the president, banging his wooden gavel down on the lectern in front of him. ‘Or you will face charges of contempt of court.’

  ‘Contempt?’ replied Raymond, ‘Believe me, motherfucker, contempt ain’t the half of what I think of this crap.’

  ‘Sergeant-at-Arms, make the prisoner be quiet.’ The burly student who had manhandled Flora strode over and punched the helpless Raymond in the kidneys, causing him to double up on the floor in agony. ‘Very well, we will continue. Flora Kemble, you are charged with theft, blasphemy and the bearing of false witness. Are you guilty or not guilty?’

  ‘Look, you’ve had your fun, you’ve got the manuscript back and now if you don’t mind –’

  ‘I will take that as a plea of not guilty.’

  Raymond was hauled to his feet once more. ‘Prisoner at the bar, state your name.’

  ‘Most people call me Raymond.’

  ‘State your full name.’

  ‘I told you, my name’s Raymond. That is my full name, asshole.’

  ‘Sergeant-at-Arms –’

  ‘Yeah, OK, sorry. Asshole, sir.’ Flora winced as a fist smashed into the side of Raymond’s head, almost knocking him clean out of the dock. He staggered back to his feet.

  ‘Don’t antagonise them,’ hissed Flora. ‘Try and play for time.’

  The president began once more. ‘Flora Kemble –’

  ‘Just hang on a minute,’ she said. ‘If this is supposed to be a court, where’s the prosecuting counsel and more to the point, where’s my lawyer. I want representation –’

  ‘Miss Kemble, as president of this court I act in the capacity of examining magistrate. I shall place the facts affecting this case before the jury and they will decide whether you are innocent or guilty.’

  ‘Have you read Alice Through the Looking Glass?’ asked Flora.

  ‘Silence,’ he shouted, going red in the face. ‘One more outburst like that and I’ll have you flogged.’

  The witty comeback was on the tip of her tongue when rather late in the day, a ghastly reality dawned: he wasn’t joking.

  The archivist was chivvied out of his seat and made to take an oath on the Bible. He gave a scripted and heavily embellished version of his encounter with Flora’s journalist alter-ego and every time she caught his eye, he looked away. ‘Thank you,’ said the president. ‘Gentlemen of the jury –’

  ‘Hold on, that’s not fair,’ said Flora. ‘Don’t I get to question the witness?’

  ‘No. The testimony was given on oath and therefore is the entire truth.’

  Next it was Raymond’s turn to answer the same charges. To every question he replied “no comment”.

  The president then addressed them both. ‘Do you realise what you could have done, what you could have put at risk?’

  ‘Nope, but I’ve a feeling you’re about to tell us,’ said Raymond. Flora shushed him.

  ‘We are approaching the End of Days,’ he said, a beatific smile spreading across his features. ‘The prophecy will shortly be fulfilled. We are building the House of the Mountain of the Lord and all nations shall flow unto it.’

  ‘This guy’s been skipping his medication,’ whispered Raymond.

  ‘The Temple of Jerusalem will be rebuilt and then the Great Tribulation of mankind will begin; but those who are saved will meet in the air on the day of Rapture –’

  ‘Not so fast,’ said Flora, cutting him off in mid-stream. ‘Can I ask a question?’

  ‘You may,’ said the president. ‘But it won’t affect the verdict.’

  She looked at him with contempt. ‘Are you really saying that if you can pack enough people into the churches on a Sunday then it’ll help hurry the Second Coming along?’

  ‘Isaiah, chapter two, verses one to five: when the people of the earth flow unto his house, the Lord will return.’

  ‘Even if you’ve tricked them into turning up by using a dodgy website and forged manuscripts? I don’t think Jesus will be very happy if he turns up and finds you’ve done that –’

  ‘Gentlemen of the jury,’ he shouted over the top of her. ‘In the case of Flora Kemble, have you reached a verdict?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Guilty on all counts.’

  ‘And in the case of Raymond Doe, have you reached a verdict?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Guilty on all counts.’

  ‘Very funny, but would you mind untying us now?’ asked Flora. ‘My wrists are hurting.’

  ‘Silence,’ said the president. ‘You’ll have a chance to speak later. I will now pass sentence. Isaiah, chapter forty seven, verses thirteen to fourteen shall be my guide: “Let now the evil men stand up, and save thee from these things that shall come upon thee. Behold, they shall be as stubble; the fire shall burn them; they shall not deliver themselves from the power of the flame."’

  Raymond and Flora exchanged bemused glances. However, the young man’s next pronouncement left them in no doubt of the horror in store: the joke was well and truly over. ‘The sentence of this court is that both prisoners be burned at the stake until their bodies be entirely consumed by the cleansing flames. May the Lord have mercy on their souls.’

  ‘You’ve gotta be shitting me,’ said Raymond, although Flora could see that his cocky swagger had gone.

  ‘Show them,’ said the president. Flora and Raymond were forced to turn round to where one of the floor-to-ceiling blinds was being raised. On a patch of ground just before the sports fields, three solid metal poles stood embedded in the ground: each showed signs of charring and around two of them other students were stacking bundles of faggots. Flora felt her knees giving way and she slumped to the floor.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Rome AD 80

  The emperor Titus choked in disbelief at what he’d just heard. ‘You want me to do what?’ He put down his drinking cup and wiped away the wine that had reappeared down his nose.

  ‘To rebuild the Temple of Jerusalem,’ said Josephus.

  ‘Have you gone mad? My army of Alexandria spent six months flattening Jerusalem and now you want me to rebuild it?’

  ‘Yes, because if you don’t, very soon this Christ cult will be too big to stop.’

  ‘So how does rebuilding the Temple help and what am I supposed to do with the treasures my army paraded through Rome? Have another parade in the opposite direction?’

  ‘I’ve explained it before, sir,’ said Josephus. ‘The men responsible for my father’s death perverted our law, the teachings of the prophets, even the law of God as handed down to Moses.’

  ‘I know all this,’ Titus replied. ‘But they’re all dead. What use is continuing a family squabble beyond the grave?’

  Josephus became agitated. ‘No. It’s more than that – much more. The only way to get people to realise it’s all false is to show them that the prophecies of the Jews are the only true ones.’

  ‘My prophecy’s bigger than yours. Lacks a certain philosophical sophistication, doesn’t it, Josephus?’

  ‘Please, listen, sir. The prophet Daniel speaks of a desolation, an abomination. For us, that was the destruction of the temple.’

  Titus snorted derisively. Josephus could see he was losing interest. ‘You brought that on yourselves, prophets or no prophets.’

  ‘But it’s what comes afterwards, afte
r the desolation. Once the temple is restored then the true Messiah – not the one Peter and his cronies invented – will come and bring about the end of days. All will be united in the bosom of the Lord.’

  The emperor looked at him pityingly. ‘So not only is my prophecy bigger than yours, you get to say “I told you so”. Listen, even Rome’s resources have their limits. Face it: your God deserted you. Why else did he allow us to defeat you? Finish writing your histories and let posterity be the judge of who was right.’

  Chapter Fifty

  William Sunday University, Alabama

  ‘Pick her up,’ the president of the court ordered and Flora was hauled, sobbing, to her feet. ‘Raymond Doe,’ he said. ‘I will start with you. Do you have anything to say?’

  ‘Yeah. Go fuck yourself, asshole.’

  This time he ignored the insult. ‘Flora Kemble, do you have anything to say?’

  She swallowed hard, choking back the tears and a rising tide of panic. ‘Yes I do but I want to say it to Donald Sumter.’

  ‘Very well, but you do realise it won’t change anything?’

  Two chairs were brought and the prisoners allowed to sit down while one of the students ran off to fetch Sumter. Outside, the last of the faggots were packed into place. Flora and Raymond watched in terrified disbelief as two young men began drenching the firewood in what could only be gasoline.

  A door opened at the back of the auditorium. The students in the tiered seats turned round to look and the president banged his gavel for silence. Sumter, accompanied by Irvine, looked down on the impromptu court and its prisoners. ‘Mr Moretti, would you come here please,’ said Sumter. ‘There’s no need for you to watch this.’ Moretti walked up the central aisle, head down, looking neither right nor left. Sumter continued. ‘I understand you have something to say to me, Flora?’ he said.

  Despite all Flora’s efforts her tears flowed anew and the halting words came out punctuated by sobs. ‘Donald, for pity’s sake, stop this and let us go. The FBI have given up, you’ve got your manuscript back. I admit it, you’ve won. Please don’t let them do this.’