The Templar Succession

by Mario Reading

  The Captain decided to change tack. He forced a little candour into his voice, as if he was engaged in selling encyclopedias door to door. ‘If you are here, Biljana, step forward alone. The others can stay behind. They will be safe. You can come with me. Your father. I guarantee that no harm will befall you.’

  The Captain’s major disadvantage was that he possessed no torch. Hank had let him down on that one. But the walls of the tomb gave off a sort of mild luminosity, as if they were coated with some form of radioactive substance. Radium, perhaps.

  Using the eerie half-light given off by the radio-luminescence, the Captain strolled past the stone coffins and the catafalques, kicking up the dust. Making noise. Some of the bodies, mostly decomposed now, had been left out in the open for the elements to toy with. The place reminded him of a trip to Mexico he had made with the Legion a few years before. On a day off from their official duties, he and a few other legionnaires, including Danko, had visited the famous Mummies of Guanajuato – a bunch of naturally mummified bodies that had been preserved in the mud, beyond all natural logic, after a cholera outbreak in 1833. Some of the victims appeared to have been buried alive, given their extreme facial and corporeal contortions.

  This being Mexico, therefore, the cemetery workers had soon seen the wisdom of charging people for the privilege of seeing the bodies. The Captain reckoned that the Ethiopians were missing out on a similar trick here. One mummified woman he remembered from Guanajuato had even chewed off part of her own hand after finding herself, one presumed, prematurely entombed. Hell of a way to go. Well. You couldn’t have everything. True, the Ethiopians were missing out on some of the more gruesome aspects of the Mexican museum, but this place still ticked most of the boxes. It was a goldmine in waiting.

  The Captain spent twenty futile minutes checking out the areas that were easiest of access, but he soon realized that he was on a hiding to nothing. The women could be anywhere. And if they didn’t give themselves away by mewling, bleating, or otherwise trying to escape, he could easily waste another hour traipsing round and not getting anywhere.

  If it was Hart who had suggested they conceal themselves somewhere inside this open-plan sepulchre, he’d done a heck of an efficient job for a change.

  SEVENTY-NINE

  Rider listened to the Captain clomping round the tomb area with a rising sense of panic. At one point the cocky bastard had even begun singing, quoting from the same Jack and the Beanstalk nursery rhyme Rider had learnt as a child in kindergarten. Where had a Serbian got that from? Did they teach it universally now?

  Rider could feel Biljana shaking with nerves beside him. He couldn’t blame her. He was pissing with fear himself too. The design of the underground cave ensured that it acted as a sort of gigantic acoustic resonator. The Captain’s voice, in consequence, sounded as if it was a few feet away from them. It was enough to rattle the nerves of a water buffalo.

  ‘Shall I fire at him?’ whispered Rider. ‘Force the bastard’s head down?’

  ‘No. For Christ’s sake, no,’ said Amira. ‘He doesn’t know for sure we’re in here. He’s just toying with us. And you can’t see him anyway.’

  ‘But if I fired a burst it would spook the hell out of him.’

  ‘No, Rider. No. Do you hear me?’ Amira was struggling to keep her voice down to little more than an angry whisper. But her message was getting across. ‘We need him to give up and go outside. Then we need him to imagine the coast is clear and climb up the cliff behind Hart and Gersem.’

  Rider tapped his temple. ‘He’d be crazy to do that. This is a fucking useless plan. I knew it from the start. There’s no way he’s going to make himself into a sitting duck just to suit us. He’d be far better off just returning to his car and waiting there for daylight. We haven’t got him trapped. He’s got us.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ said Biljana.

  ‘What? Because it’s true?’ Rider eased himself into a more comfortable position. ‘He’s still walking around out there. Fifty yards away from us. I can hear him. Maybe he’ll decide to spend the night here? How would you like that?’

  ‘Last chance!’ shouted the Captain, from somewhere over to their right. There was an enormous crash, followed by the sound of a bullet ricocheting off the wall ten metres or so behind them.

  ‘Jesus Christ. Do you think he heard us?’

  ‘No,’ said Amira. ‘But keep your voice down anyway. He’s just trying to frighten us. Now he’s wasted one of his precious four rifle bullets.’ She waited for the echoes to die away.

  ‘Maybe that was just a pistol shot?’ said Rider. ‘He’ll have plenty of bullets left if he was using his pistol. Hart told me the Beretta magazine holds thirteen.’

  ‘Shut up, Rider,’ said Amira. ‘You’d turn the Dalai Lama into a depressive.’

  Biljana hunched forwards. ‘Do you think the sound of that shot will bring someone?’

  ‘What?’ said Rider. ‘From fifty metres up on the hillside? Or from a village half a mile away?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Biljana.

  There was total silence for around five minutes.

  ‘Do you think he’s gone?’ whispered Rider.

  ‘I think he wants us to think that,’ said Amira.

  ‘Well he’s succeeding,’ said Rider. ‘I can’t take much more of this.’

  Amira punched him on the shoulder. ‘Well you’re bloody well going to have to.’

  EIGHTY

  Hart heard the distant crack of the bullet from where he was crouching up on the amba. Gersem was just climbing over the lip. With his arm still injured from the Captain’s attack, being pulled up by rope had clearly taken it out of him. Hart and the old monk levered him onto level ground.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ said Hart. ‘It sounded like a rifle shot.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gersem. ‘I believe it came from the tomb.’

  ‘But he can’t have found them?’ said Hart. ‘That place is immense. It’s like the Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris.’

  Gersem shook his head, not quite picking up what Hart was talking about. ‘Perhaps he hope to frighten them? It is what I would do.’ He was clutching his right arm and leaning back against the stone wall of the hut, his mouth set into a rictus of pain.

  ‘You mean go in there and fire a random shot? Hoping that someone will make a break for it and run?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think this whole thing was a very bad idea indeed,’ said Hart. ‘And I’m responsible for it. We should never have split up. The chances of the Captain deciding to come up here after us are infinitesimal. Would you climb up in his shoes? When you know you will be a sitting duck?’

  ‘If I am angry enough. And have enough…’ Gersem hesitated. ‘What do you call it when a man is very pleased with himself?’

  ‘Vanity?’ said Hart.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gersem. ‘If I have enough vanity I will do it.’

  ‘Well, the Captain sure as hell has enough of that,’ said Hart.

  Gersem leant forward and whispered into the ear of the monk who had been helping Hart haul him up.

  The monk acknowledged Gersem’s words and hurried away.

  ‘What did you just say to him?’ said Hart.

  ‘I asked him to go and fetch my brother,’ said Gersem.

  ‘Why did he make that weird salutation with his hand?’ said Hart.

  ‘Because my brother is the abbot,’ said Gersem. ‘It is a sign of respect.’

  ‘The abbot?’ said Hart. ‘Your brother is the abbot? The boss of this whole place?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gersem.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ said Hart.

  Gersem sighed. ‘Because I was not sure of you, that is why. Because I did not want to put the monastery in danger. Later, when I saw what the Captain was capable of, it was too late to tell y
ou. What would have been the point? We had committed ourselves to this action by then.’

  ‘He’s going to be angry, isn’t he, your brother?’ said Hart. ‘Angry that we are trying to draw an armed man up here? To this place of peace?’

  ‘No,’ said Gersem. ‘He will not be angry. He will understand. He is a better man than me.’

  Hart stared hard at Gersem. The Ethiopian was curiously unfathomable. One minute you thought you understood him, and the next you were as much in the dark as you ever were. ‘You’re quite something, you know that? Taking us all under your wing like this. Backing our play. When you could have jumped ship any time you wanted to and been in the clear. Like your friend whatever-his-name.’

  ‘Fikre.’

  ‘Yes. Fikre.’ Hart reached forward. ‘Here, let me check on that dressing.’

  Gersem proffered his arm. He glanced one more time down the cliff face, and then allowed Hart to open his dressing and reset the bandage.

  ‘Do they have a doctor up here?’ said Hart. ‘You need some proper care with this. That climb you just made has broken the wound open again. If we’re not careful it will become infected. You don’t want to lose your arm.’

  ‘There will be one up here who understands such things,’ said Gersem.

  ‘Just how many people are there up here in the final analysis?’

  ‘The entire community is three hundred and fifty strong,’ said Gersem. ‘One hundred and fifty monks and two hundred deacons. There will be those among them who specialize in nursing the others too. I will be in good hands.’

  ‘What?’ said Hart. ‘Three hundred and fifty people? All living up here on this plateau? You’re kidding me?’

  ‘No I am not. I am not kidding,’ said Gersem.

  ‘And we’re enticing the Captain up here?’ said Hart. ‘Like a fox amongst the chickens? I can’t do it, Gersem. I just can’t do it. You should have told me.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ said Gersem. ‘Are you going to climb down again? Now that you know for certain the Captain is below you? With a rifle that he is aching to use? He would enjoy the target practice, I believe. When he has dealt with you, he will have ample time then to find the others. And what do you think he will do with them? Will he allow them to go free and write about him, do you think?’

  Hart shook his head. He felt closer to despair than ever.

  ‘My guess is that he will try to come up here in darkness,’ said Gersem. ‘Late in the night. Hoping we will have lowered our guard by then. Or maybe have fallen asleep in one of the many huts scattered about the plateau.’

  ‘And what if there’s another way up?’ said Hart. ‘A way no one knows about? The Captain is capable of just about anything. Physically, despite his injury, he will still be very strong.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Just a hunch,’ said Hart.

  ‘There is that too, of course,’ said Gersem. ‘Another possible way no one knows about. But do not let him under your skin. The monks will be watching now. They will all know what is happening. My feeling is that when the Captain finally appears at the top of the amba, from whichever direction he chooses to come in, he will be somewhat surprised at the warm welcome my brothers shall have prepared for him.’

  EIGHTY-ONE

  For a long moment, Rider didn’t notice that Biljana had slid the rifle off his lap. He was listening hard for any sounds from beyond the entrance to the tomb. The creaking of the gate. More singing. Another random shot. Anything along those lines. His concentration was elsewhere.

  ‘Biljana,’ Rider said, when he discovered the empty space in front of him where the rifle had been. ‘Please stop pissing about and give me the rifle back.’

  Biljana held the assault rifle tightly in her arms. Her face, in the dull ambient light, looked oddly determined. ‘No.’

  ‘Sweetheart,’ said Amira, in a low, intense whisper. ‘Hand the bloody rifle back to Rider. This is no time for teenage stuff and nonsense.’

  ‘This is not teenage stuff and nonsense,’ said Biljana, clutching the rifle tightly to her chest. ‘You are not a judge and jury. Any of you. I will not let you kill my father.’

  ‘Is this what this is all about?’ said Amira. ‘Killing your father? Come on, girl. No one is going to kill him. We are aiming to capture him, that’s all. That’s why Hart and Gersem have taken themselves up onto the plateau. So we can conduct a sort of pincer movement and catch him where he can’t injure anybody. And when we have him, we are going to hand him over to the criminal court in The Hague. They’ll make sure justice is done.’ Amira put on her most empathetic smile. ‘That way you will have a chance to get to know him, you see? To help him if you want. I’m sure they will let visitors in to see him at the prison. We’re a civilized society.’

  ‘I do not believe that this will happen,’ said Biljana. Her eyes were locked onto Amira’s with unsettling intensity. ‘You are just saying that to sway me. To keep me in line. I can tell by your face.’

  ‘Do you deny that your father killed Danko?’ said Amira, no longer able to hide her irritation. ‘That he raped your mother? And connived at the rape of all those other women during the Kosovo War? Alongside God knows what else? The murder of your uncle and your grandparents, for instance?’

  ‘I know that he is a bad man,’ said Biljana. ‘Yes. But he is still my father. The only remaining blood of my blood. I cannot feed him to the pigs. You heard what he said, didn’t you? He promised no harm would come to me. And that you would be safe.’ Biljana sprang to her feet. She turned on her heel and sprinted towards the entrance to the tomb.

  Cursing under her breath, Amira followed her, with Rider hard at her heels.

  When Biljana reached the gate, she saw that it was half open. The Captain had already left.

  Something closed down in her heart when she realized that the Captain had not been sure that they were hiding in the sepulchre after all. He had sounded so positive when calling out to them. So sure of himself. As he always did.

  Biljana was the first to admit that she found her father’s powers of persuasion unsettling. She was more than half aware of her own susceptibilities in the matter. But something, nonetheless, was forcing her to play the dangerous game she and the Captain were involved in to its bitter end.

  She eased herself through the crack in the gate and pulled it to behind her.

  Dusk had fallen. Around her she could see the silhouettes of swooping bats feeding on the last of that day’s harvest of insects.

  She stood with the rifle cradled in her arms, searching for signs. When she heard Rider and Amira approaching behind her, she turned back towards the gate, unhooked the padlock, reset the chain, and clicked the padlock shut.

  ‘What have you done, child?’ said Amira. She tugged at the padlock, but it was locked tight. ‘Don’t do this. Don’t go looking for your father out there. You’ll be making a serious mistake. Please go and hide. Please. Leave him for Gersem and Hart. They know what to do.’

  Biljana ignored her. She walked slowly towards the cliff face. She could just make out the rawhide rope and the accompanying safety rope swaying gently on an evening zephyr. Stationed near the rope was a man’s figure. The man had a rifle slung on his back. He was looking up at the cliff edge through a pair of binoculars.

  Biljana raised the assault rifle to her shoulder and started towards her father.

  At first he did not hear her. She was wearing espadrilles. Their rope soles were completely silent against the rocks. Thirty yards out, though, Biljana trod on a dry stick. The crack of the stick sounded like a rifle shot in the night’s vacuum.

  The Captain turned abruptly. He let the binoculars fall onto his chest.

  ‘Don’t touch your rifle,’ said Biljana, moving towards him. ‘I have you covered.’

  The Captain reached for his rifle with one fluid movement.
‘That sort of assault rifle needs a key, you know. It’s useless without it. This one doesn’t, though.’

  Biljana fired a single shot. She aimed it maybe ten feet over her father’s head. The bullet struck the cliff face above him and ricocheted away with an angry whine. The sound of the shot reverberated over and over again down the valley, until it gradually faded away into the distance like a forgotten curse.

  The Captain instinctively ducked his head, even though the bullet had struck high above him. He looked amazed that his daughter had managed to summon up the courage to fire a warning shot over his head. He let go of his rifle.

  ‘We found the key,’ said Biljana. ‘The one you were talking about. The rifle, as you see, is unlocked. I will shoot you with it if I need to.’

  The Captain let his hands fall to his sides in seeming capitulation. ‘So what do you want me to do? Climb up this rope? Hand myself over to those two arseholes cowering up there on the ridge? You know what the do-gooders in The Hague will do to me, don’t you? They’ll lock me up and throw away the key. I’d be better off hanging myself with this.’ He pointed to the rawhide rope dangling behind him. ‘Would you really do that to your own father?’

  ‘My own father?’ said Biljana. ‘Is that what you are?’

  ‘Like it or not,’ said the Captain, with a grin. ‘That’s what I am. You’re blood of my blood. You’ve only got one of me. You’ll only ever have one of me.’

  ‘One is quite sufficient,’ said Biljana.

  The Captain laughed. It was a sudden, ragged bark. More like the hack of a jackal or of a prowling fox than anything resembling a human sound. He raised one hand and took hold of the rawhide rope, as if he wished to demonstrate how a man could hang himself on it.

  ‘Let go of that,’ said Biljana.

  The Captain let go of the rope. It swung to and fro behind him like a pendulum. ‘So what are you proposing? To keep me prisoner? Or are you intending to let me go, perhaps?’