Prophecy. An ARKANE thriller. (Book 2)

by J. F. Penn

  “Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy,” Jake read, his voice stronger now. “How can this be a book of curses? It’s surely a perfect tribute to God, not a way to invoke the Devil.”

  Morgan turned the pages carefully to chapter six, where the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse rode across the page.

  “It’s an exact match to the Thanatos tattoo,” Morgan pointed at the pale horse’s head braying to the heavens as Death rode it towards destruction.

  “And they’ll be searching for the original. We need to move,” Jake replied.

  “Just one more minute.” Morgan turned the pages further to the end of Revelation where Marietti had said the curses were written, words that turned men into beasts capable of ripping another man to bloody chunks.

  “Look, there are some pages are missing. The curses are gone and the images of the Devil and the Kingdom of Heaven aren’t here.”

  There were torn stubs left behind, evidence that someone had tampered with the book. Jake bent to look more closely.

  “You’re right, they’ve been removed, and in a hurry by the look of the tears.”

  “So where are they?” asked Morgan. “We need to find them before Thanatos.”

  “For now, we need to get the book out of here,” Jake said. “The next puzzle can wait.”

  Morgan nodded, her hand still lingering over the copper clasps that cornered the book.

  “I saw a cleaning trolley in the hallway. I’ll get that and we can wheel it out.”

  She retrieved the trolley and they hefted the book into it with the sackcloth as a protective hammock. They began to wheel it slowly back towards the main entrance, Jake still staggering every now and then with the pain in his head. Morgan felt the empty gaze of the corpses as an accusation, for they had disturbed the peace of the dead and blown apart their cadaverous children. She shuddered. Whether the book was cursed or not, this place felt as if the dead still lurked, wishing ill on those clinging to life. They reached the elevator and wheeled the trolley in as the door began to shut.

  A gun thrust through the crack of the closing door, knocking it open again.

  The Abbot stood there, his shrunken head a mask of despair but his eyes burning with fanaticism. He had seemed so harmless, so welcoming, but now Morgan could see that he had a hidden agenda, but she couldn’t try to attack him, not with Jake so weak.

  “You should have left,” he said. “The explosion was a warning, but now God has led me to the book through the destructive fire. I’ve been searching for the Devil’s Bible and finally here it is.” He indicated with the gun. “Get out and leave the trolley there.”

  “Who are you working for?” Jake whispered, his face grey and sweating now. Morgan could see he was suffering, and she helped him back out into the narrow corridor. The Abbot entered the elevator with the book, holding the gun towards them at all times.

  “The one who will fulfill the prophecy and usher in the end times,” he said as the door closed, leaving Morgan and Jake standing in the crypt with the carnage of the dead. Jake slumped down the wall as dizziness overcame him and put his head in his hands. Morgan banged her fists on the elevator door and tried to pry the doors open with desperate fingers. She rifled through her backpack, finding her phone but there was no reception this far underground. Marietti was expecting a call by 2am and if he didn’t receive it, she knew he would send help after them.

  She threw the pack down in frustration, angry that her first official mission with ARKANE had gone so badly wrong. Her partner was injured and the Devil’s Bible taken by the agent of Thanatos. All they could do was sit here and wait for someone to get them out of the crypt. She sank down next to Jake as the flickering lights went out and they were left in darkness.

  Kutna Hora, Sedlec, Czech Republic. 2.03am

  The night chill hung like mist in the air as Natasha El-Behery stepped through the monastery gate, pulling the elegant cashmere shawl closer about her as she wheeled the heavy suitcase towards the church. She shivered, but tonight she was dressed to make an impression and a little cold wouldn’t put her off.

  The old Capuchin monk had delivered the Devil’s Bible and had been eager for his reward, his only wish to finally meet his dark Lord. But Natasha was unwilling to share the glory of finding it with anyone, so she had taken him up in the helicopter with her and then pushed him out into the darkness of the Tyrrhenian Sea. She smiled as she remembered the utter surprise on his face as he fell into the darkness. Her smile spread as she thought of the reward she alone would surely receive tonight. Her shawl was a modest outer layer that could be shed quickly, given the opportunity. She was certain Milan would appreciate his gift enough that she would get to show him what was underneath. Her dress was tight, scarlet satin, smooth to the touch, hugging her curves while spike heels lengthened her legs. Tonight she had left her hair down, copper locks soft around her face for her encounters with Milan always left her wanting more. There had been some rumors of what he had done to other women, but she could cope with a man like him, since her own passions also ran a little crooked.

  Her heels clicked on the stone path as she walked towards the church, resolute in her mission. A light could be seen through the window but the door to the Gothic church was closed. Natasha knew Sedlec had originally been a monastery. In the thirteenth century, the abbot had journeyed to the Holy Land, returning with earth from Golgotha that he had scattered on the land surrounding the church. The cemetery thus became a desirable place to be buried. Forty thousand bodies had been poured into these pits over time, and now they decorated the church in macabre worship.

  Natasha knocked at the door and heard measured footsteps inside. The door squeaked as it opened, and Natasha felt her heart rate rise. Milan Noble’s face was lit by the electric lamp he held up and she was struck again by his classically handsome style.

  “You have the book?” he asked, his smile cold in the dark. The pounding in Natasha’s chest accelerated but her voice was calm as she replied.

  “Of course.” She smiled. “Are you going to let me in?”

  He waved her past him, taking the suitcase handle from her, his need for it apparent. She squeezed past him in the doorframe and felt his warmth, his breath in her hair. She could feel he was taut with anticipation, barely controlling his desire to see the book. Once inside the church, the lamplight threw shadows amongst the bony sculptures, a palpable sense of loss permeating the place. Natasha turned back to see Milan bent over the suitcase, his hands greedily unwrapping the book. The Devil’s Bible lay snugly protected and she could hear his breathing change as he realized it truly was the one he sought. He refastened the case, stood and came to stand next to her in the nave.

  “Thank you for bringing it to me. This book drove my father’s desire and now drives mine.”

  “Your father?”

  “Arkady Novotsky. He’s buried in this graveyard. He was a great patron of this place and our family still has keys to the church and the crypt. Come, the Devil’s Bible should be returned to where it belongs.”

  He turned and walked towards the altar where a flagstone had been lifted. He indicated that she should descend in front of him.

  “Careful down these stairs, there’s no railing.”

  Natasha stepped cautiously down into the darkness, her eyes adjusting to the faint light. Milan came down behind her, pulling the flagstone down into place with a thump and then rolling the suitcase carefully down behind him. He switched off the lamp.

  “Stop there,” he said. “Just breathe deeply for a minute. I want you to feel the essence of this place.”

  Natasha could hear him behind her as she did as he asked. He was close but not quite touching her. She inhaled slowly, smelling earth and stone, a damp musk. Images of the bones surrounding her pressed into her mind and the low ceiling seemed to crush the air down here. Then she felt his hand on her back, a light touch as if he was running one finger down her spine until he reached the curve of her butt
ocks. She wanted to press back against him but he stopped and the light flicked on.

  “This is a sacred place, a secret I share only with you. Now let us see where the prophecy is written.”

  He stepped forward into the tiny room where Natasha could see a raised stone dais at one end. On it was a v-shaped stand of ancient wood, chestnut whorls enlivening it. Milan laid the case down reverently and Natasha heard him exhale, centering himself for this ritual moment. He only had eyes for the book as he opened the fabric that covered it. Natasha could see it had thick pages and heavy paper, encased in tooled leather with ornate metal clasps. The dirt of years had seeped intoit so the yellowing stain was made ivory in the lamplight. Milan looked at her, his eyes glazed and distant.

  “This is it,” he said. “The Codas Gigas, the biggest medieval manuscript in the world, the Devil’s Bible and my inheritance. You’ve done well, Natasha. You will be rewarded, but now it must rest where it belongs. Help me.”

  Together they lifted the book from the suitcase and laid it onto the altar stand. Milan gently opened the first pages, his eyes wide, drinking in the fine detail of the book. As Natasha reached out to touch it, Milan took her hand and with it traced one of the images on the page, a saint tortured by demons with blood running down into a golden chalice.

  “Curses and spells are drawn in the book as well as exorcism prayers. It’s a Christian Bible but one that has been cursed and polluted over the centuries. It is the only sacred book with both holy words and demonic incantations.” Natasha was hypnotized by Milan’s voice. “The book belonged to Sedlec for many years, before it was moved to Prague and eventually stolen by the Swedes. The Vatican sowed false stories of where it had been hidden so you have shown great tenacity in finding it.”

  “It was indeed a pleasure.” Natasha thought of the monk she had tortured and the abbot falling from sky to sea. She shivered in delight at the memories. “But why was your father so passionate about finding the Bible?”

  Milan’s voice was wistful.

  “He believed that God had forsaken him and so he turned to the Devil, but in many ways he still clung to his faith. The prophecy was both a promise and a threat from God. He wanted to see the fulfillment of biblical truth but also the destruction of a world he saw as set against God.” Milan began to turn the pages. “The prophecy and the curses are inscribed in the back where the Revelation of St John, the apocalypse, is written. The words give the reader power to usher in the final days. That’s why I have continued my father’s quest for the book.”

  He reached Revelation, then froze for a moment in horror and disbelief.

  “What is this?” he shouted, turning on Natasha and grabbing her by the throat. “There are pages missing, torn from the book. Where are they? What have you done with them?”

  Natasha could not speak with the crushing grip but her puzzled eyes must have given him pause as he released her. She fell to the floor, clutching her throat.

  “I didn’t know there were pages missing, I promise,” she wheezed.

  “Those pages are the key, the most important part of the book.” He stood over her, his rage burning. “I can’t do without them.”

  She could feel his latent violence about to explode but she wasn’t afraid. Instead she would claim it. Natasha rose to her feet looking up at him, her body close to his as he stared down at her, chiseled jaw highlighted by the shadowed lamp, a face symmetrically perfect. His eyes were dark, a raging ocean with hidden depths, arms taut by his side.

  “I brought you the book and I will bring you the stolen pages,” she whispered. “Give me another chance.”

  Milan licked his lips, indecision flickering in his eyes but then he relaxed.

  “I have waited long enough, so I can wait a little longer. You are a woman with similar appetites to my own so I believe I can trust your instincts to find the pages. You have your second chance.”

  He stroked a finger slowly across her chin and down the side of her neck, outlining the hieroglyphic tattoo that wound towards her back. He slid his finger down into the woolen wrap and pulled it away from her, then continued his journey, circling down over her breast, rubbing across her nipple, already hardened from the cold. He pinched it hard, twisting it a little, sublimating his violence into passion as she moaned her pleasure against his mouth.

  Blackfriars. Oxford, England. 11.12am

  The ‘thock’ of croquet balls echoed around the summer green quadrangle as Morgan walked into the heart of Blackfriars College, the only functioning monastery in the city of Oxford. With the Devil’s Bible stolen, Morgan needed to know what Father Ben Costanza was keeping from her, in case it could shed some light on where they should start looking for the mysterious Thanatos organization. After the humiliation of having to be rescued from Palermo by Marietti’s backup team, she needed to make up time and hasten the search for the missing pages. Her old friend and mentor had helped her and ARKANE with the Pentecost stones, but he also kept a secret which he had only hinted at so far. She needed to know what he was hiding.

  As she reached the stone stairwell to the tiny office, Morgan took a deep breath. The last time she had been here, men from Thanatos had stormed the college, killing students and monks as well as burning the offices. Some redecoration had been completed but there was still evidence here and there in the bullet-chipped stone and blackened pillars. Morgan headed up the stairs. Ben’s office door was open and she paused at the entrance to watch the old man writing, back bent over his work as the faint sounds of college life filtered through the windows.

  “Still writing by hand I see,” Morgan said as she walked in. Ben turned and his face broke into a smile, then clouded a little with guilt and concern. He pushed his chair back and opened his arms.

  “Come here, child. I’ve missed you. Where have you been hiding?”

  Morgan smiled and walked into his arms. His embrace was as close to a father’s now her own was gone. Ben had been her parents’ friend and continued as her mentor and ally within the walls of Oxford University which could close ranks on newcomers. Her colleagues had often made her feel like a fraud, before Ben had eased her fears with his in-depth knowledge of University politics.

  “You’ve redecorated,” she said, releasing the embrace and looking around at his bookcase which had been gunned to pieces the last time she had left this office.

  “Yes, and with some grant money I managed to obtain for special services, the college has agreed to forget about the whole affair. I have ARKANE to thank for cleaning up the mess. But enough of that. Are you alright, Morgan? How are Faye and lovely little Gemma?”

  Morgan sank down into one of the old leather armchairs as Ben shuffled over and put the kettle on. He had a little tea-making kit in here and liked his own blend of chai, steeped with cinnamon, cardamom and a kick of ginger spice.

  “I’m trying to keep them away from any more adventures,” replied Morgan. “But I’m part of a team on the trail of Thanatos now and I need to know about the past, Ben.”

  Ben’s back stiffened and he remained silent as he stirred the sweet chai. When he spoke, his words were heavy with regret.

  “It’s an old tale, but perhaps time you knew it. Maybe it will help you with the present. When I recognized the image of the pale horse, I knew I had to tell you but finding the right moment has been hard.” Passing her tea, he eased himself down opposite her. “This is how it was when I knew your parents nearly thirty-five years ago.”

  Ephesus, Turkey. August 1977

  “Ben, come and look at this. I think I might have found something.”

  The voice carried across the still heat of the day and I lifted my head at the musical Welsh accent. Marianne could always get my attention and it was a welcome break from the meticulous brushing of ancient buried stone. I climbed out of the trench I had been clearing and walked over to look down into the pit where she was working. We were digging near the Library of Celsus, built in the first century and thought to have once contained t
housands of scrolls. At that time, Ephesus was one of the greatest cities in the Roman Empire, so these ruined buildings were just part of the ancient cityscape. There had been a tiny but growing Christian group here living in fear of Roman persecution and we were searching for a cache of artifacts from that time. A reference had been found to the cache in the Vatican archives and a small team of archaeologists had been sent to investigate which I had joined on a mini sabbatical from my studies at Blackfriars College. As I specialized in early Church history, I was thrilled to have the opportunity to search for such potentially significant artifacts. However, I felt that my role was uncertain as I had joined the team so late in the season. The relationships between the others had formed prior to my arrival and only Marianne had tried to make me feel welcome.

  “What have you found?” I asked. She looked up at me, her green eyes alight with excitement. I saw past the dirty streaks on her clothes and earth smudged across her cheeks. Her golden hair was tied back into a long plait, hidden under the hat that shielded her eyes. Her fair skin was protected by the long sleeves and baggy trousers she wore, but nothing could hide those emerald eyes and dirt couldn’t obscure her radiance.

  “I think it’s a tablet explaining part of the journey of the apostles. Come down and have a look.”

  I jumped down into the pit, then bent to examine the tablet. It had only been partially uncovered but I could read some of the ancient Greek letters. I was aware of how close Marianne was. She smelled of the fertile earth, wet clay and also of the heat, the sweat of the dig. I leaned closer and my arm brushed hers.

  “What do you think?” she asked. “Your ancient Greek is better than mine.”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied with a smile. I knew she was just humoring me as she had a DPhil in Classics from Oxford University and her Greek was flawless. I traced the letters with a finger. “It reads like the beginning of a letter to the early Church. What’s this word?”