‘Voicemail, again. Damn it, Darren, answer,’ she shrieked.
‘Right, you wait here and keep trying him.’ William opened the door and made to leave the car. ‘Do not leave under any circumstances, understand? Lock the doors and if there is a problem, sound the horn. One more thing, if you see a large man with short blond hair walking past, hide.’
‘Hide? That’s reassuring,’ Ella snorted. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Find out where the hell Darren is.’
From the car Ella watched as William ran across the busy road and disappeared up the stairs of the museum. ‘Be careful,’ she murmured as she tried Darren’s number once more.
*
With his phone pressed to his ear, Cossack sat back and listened to the story. He watched the street below through the window. It was busy with the morning traffic.
‘Francis Perryvall was the apprentice of Oswyn le Bone,’ Hades went on. ‘Oswyn is a direct ancestor of mine and he was also Hades. They both lived in Rockcliffe Castle in the early sixteenth-century, long before the hall was built. Francis was his man-servant, his right hand man, not one of the inner circle, but still a key and trusted member of the Brotherhood.’
It reminded Cossack of someone he cared dearly about.
‘The story of what happened has been passed down the generations of our organisation,’ Hades said.
While Hades talked, Cossack packed his rucksack. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly time for his next move.
‘Almost five hundred years ago, the Catholic Church under the leadership of Pope Leo X, had somehow found out about the organisation and the book. There was probably a papal spy somewhere in our lower ranks. Anyway, they thought we were an offshoot of the Templars. An unholy secret society in any case. They commenced a secret offensive against our members. A merchant called Benedict de Quixlay, a Brother in the inner circle, was the first to be caught. Cardinal Scaramucci Medici, the Grand Inquisitor of the Inquisition, personally attended his interrogation. Benedict didn’t survive it and soon afterwards a small army attacked Rockcliffe Castle.’
Cossack imagined what the fight must have been like. A religious army against a small rabble of heretics. They didn’t stand a chance.
‘All the males were killed on site, slaughtered. All except for one.’
‘Francis Perryvall,’ Cossack guessed.
‘Yes. He disappeared and was never seen or heard of again. The book vanished at the same time. We always thought the Church took it, but we were wrong. They never found it. Perryvall must have taken it and hid it from them. It all makes sense now.’
*
The museum was busy despite the early hour. The air buzzed with the sound of excited children, school groups that were touring the exhibitions. Small huddles of tourists wandered around with their guides, explanations and stories were hailed out in German, French and Russian. William rushed past them and headed straight for the basement lab. He slipped through a fire exit into a dark stone stairwell, sped down one level and walked into the quiet corridor. A faulty strobe light flickered in the gloom.
Ella had told him that the lab was the fourth door along on the left. William approached it cautiously. He heard a muffled sound of voices. Then there was an odd sound, like a dog had tried to wail but had been cut off mid way. Gripping the handle of his pistol tightly, he carefully leaned in and peered through the glass panel on the door to the lab.
*
Cossack frowned and rubbed his temples, he paced around the room. Something didn’t make sense. The organisation was still in existence, their history was intact, their secrets had been successfully passed down the generations. The Church failed to wipe them out.
‘So how did the Brotherhood survive if they were all killed?’ he asked.
Hades laughed. ‘I said all the men were killed. The misogynistic Church never suspected that there were women involved too. Hestia, Hera, Athena, Aphrodite, and Artemis all survived untouched. They kept their heads down for a while, but with the reformation of Europe well under way the Roman Catholic Church had many other enemies to deal with. Lutherans, Calvinists and Humanists were challenging the very foundations of Christian society. Their attention turned to other battles and they lost interest in us. When it was safe to do so, the women recovered the books and artefacts that had eluded the papal thieves. They re-started the Brotherhood.’
Cossack looked at his watch. ‘It is time, Hades. I must go.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Hades said. ‘I have an incoming call from Calchas. I’ll call you later. Good luck.’
After pocketing his phone, Cossack packed the rest of his things and was about to leave the room when his phone buzzed again.
‘Cossack, I have some information that requires urgent action,’ Hades said hurriedly. ‘Calchas has just informed me that the Web site has been hit again.’
‘But I have the girl’s laptop here.’
‘Listen. The site was accessed from a hotel in Cambridge. My asset informs me that it is the Hotel du Vin. You must get there immediately.’
‘Boss, this is strange. I am here already. The same hotel.’
There was a pause on the line as Hades absorbed the information. ‘Have you seen the girl?’ he asked.
‘No. But I will check with reception immediately. I will find her, boss.’
‘Do it. Find the girl, whatever it takes.’
*
William could just about see the outline of someone. A woman. Tall and slim, she had light brown skin and long jet black hair. She wore a short grey skirt and black leggings which covered her long, slender legs. She was bent over someone who was sat on a chair. Tied to a chair, William realised. The man’s large black hands were bound with masking tape, as were his legs. From Ella’s description, William guessed it was Darren.
There was something about the woman, something familiar. He searched his mind. Then it hit him; she was the Chinese waitress from the Wiener Staatsoper. He feared the worst for Darren. He pressed his face as close to the window as he could. The pair were talking, or arguing, but the words were too muffled to make out.
There was something else he noticed. On the floor, poking out from one of the desks, was a head. The eyes and mouth were open and there was a black hole in the temple.
The woman stuffed something into Darren’s mouth and placed a piece of black over it. She took a step back from him and pointed a pistol at his leg. William heard the unmistakable cough of a silenced shot, it was followed by muffled screams from Darren who writhed in agony on the chair.
*
The hotel receptionist studied Cossack suspiciously, his eyes flicked down to the wad of cash that lay on the desk in front of him. Nervously, he quickly glanced around the reception to check no one was watching, then he snatched away the cash. It was more than a full week’s wages. He pocketed it and then turned his attention to the hotel computer. He clicked away until he found what he was looking for.
‘They checked out together a half hour ago,’ the receptionist said. He saw that the man was annoyed with this news and hoped he wouldn’t ask for the money back.
‘What else?’ Cossack demanded coarsely.
The receptionist’s eyes widened and he looked again at the screen. Guilt and fear were setting in, his hand began to shake. ‘Booked by phone yesterday,’ he said quickly. ‘Two rooms. The booking was for a Mr Callan Blacklock.’
‘And the girl’s name?’
The receptionist looked up with a nervous smile. ‘It doesn’t say.’ Beads of sweat collected on his forehead. ‘But this morning the woman asked to use the Internet. She used the hotel computer and then they both left together.’
Cossack’s eyes narrowed, he leaned in to the terrified young man. ‘And where is this computer?’
*
The woman ripped off the tape and removed the material from Darren’s mouth. He was delirious, his head bobbed back and forth. She leaned in close to him and said something, but William couldn’t make it out
. Darren said something back and then the woman mercilessly struck him hard on the back of the head with her pistol. He slumped in his chair. The woman turned to leave.
William ran back up the corridor and hid inside the fire exit. He kept his eyes on the lab door. Moments later the woman came out. Furtively, she peered up and down the corridor then walked briskly in the opposite direction from William. He watched as she stopped at another door a few metres further down. Another quick glance over her shoulder, then she tapped on a keypad by the side of the door. She walked into the room.
William took out his phone and pressed down on the number five. It would send an alert to the operations room with his exact location. An armed response team and medical help was only minutes away. But he feared it was minutes he didn’t have. He leapt out of the fire exit and down the corridor with his pistol outstretched.
Bursting into the lab with his pistol held tightly in both hands, he checked the room was clear. Darren’s head hung down but he was breathing. His two colleagues, however, were on the floor dead, shot in their heads. A small syringe was stuck in Darren’s neck, the needle was still in his vein. He pulled it out and threw it the floor. He suspected that it was nothing more than truth serum. Darren’s right leg was gushing blood. William made a tourniquet from Darren’s belt and tightened it around his thigh.
Cautiously, he edged back into the corridor. With his back up against the corridor wall, and his pistol held close to his chest, he crept towards the door the woman had vanished into.
When he reached it he saw that it was made of solid metal, the frame around it was a toughened security frame. The safe room, he guessed, probably where they stored the valuable art works. The door hadn’t been closed properly; it was ever so slightly ajar. Very slowly, William pushed it open and peered through the gap.
The well lit room was medium in size. Narrow silver safes lined the walls all in a row. To the left of each safe was a placard with a serial number and a digital key pad. The woman was not in William’s field of vision, but he noticed a shadow move on one side. Taking a step back, he took a deep breath and readied himself to yank the door open.
To his surprise the door was pushed outwards. The familiar girl looked up at him and they stared, unmoving, into each other’s eyes for a nano-second, each frozen by confusion. Then the woman reacted instinctively and swiftly.
She dropped the painting she was holding, raised her pistol and began to squeeze the trigger. William flicked his arm out and deflected the weapon upwards. A silenced shot slammed harmlessly into the ceiling.
Keeping up the momentum, he lunged forward and grabbed the wrist of her pistol arm. He tried to bring his own pistol around to point at her, but she was lightening quick and nimble. Before he could twist her into submission she brought her foot up through the small gap between them and kicked his arm hard at a west point. The heavy pistol was knocked from him, it clattered onto the floor.
Still holding her wrist with one hand, William battled to get control. He was heavier and stronger, but she was fast and supple. Her long legs and bony elbows pounded him repeatedly in the face, stomach and chest.
Gradually, he gained ground and pushed her into the safe room towards the rear wall. Violently he pulled her this way and that trying to shake the weapon from her. He threw her against the wall, her head hit the edge of a safe. She screamed at him hysterically.
Still grappling for control of the pistol, the woman tried a different tack: she lifted her legs up to her chest. Unbalanced, William couldn’t hold her up, but wouldn’t let go of her either. She fell backwards onto the floor and William landed on top of her.
For a moment the weapon vanished from William’s view, but he still had a grip of her arm. His face was right up against the woman’s. He could smell her perfume; it was Chanel if he wasn’t mistaken. There was a strained expression on her otherwise pretty face. She struggled under him.
There was a brief cough sound and the smell of gunpowder. Something warm splattered onto William’s face. The woman’s eyes widened, she released her grip.
William pulled the weapon from her and pushed himself up. Blood began to pool around her waist. Clutching at her chest and unable to breathe, she looked at William with an expression of desperation and disbelief for a moment longer. Then she went limp. Her mouth hung open and her eyes gazed up vacantly at the ceiling. As quickly as it had started, the blood stopped flowing.
*
Back in the lab, William gently lifted Darren’s head up by the chin. He tapped him on the cheek with his other hand. ‘Darren,’ he said. ‘Darren, wake up.’
‘Don’t hurt me,’ Darren murmured. His words were slurred, his eyes closed.
‘Darren, open your eyes. Come on, you can do it.’
Slowly, Darren opened his eyes. When the dark cloak of his slumber lifted, he breathed in sharply. ‘Who are you? Where am I?’
‘I’m here to help; I’m a friend of Ella’s.’
‘My leg hurts,’ he cried.
‘You’ve lost a lot of blood,’ William said. ‘But you’ll be okay. I’ve stemmed the flow, don’t try to move.’
‘Where’s Ella?’
‘She’s safe. The Chinese woman, what did she want?’ William asked.
‘Ella’s painting, the code to the safe,’ Darren replied breathlessly. ‘I gave it to her, I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Why did she want it?’
Darren shook his head and sniffed. ‘I don’t know.’
William kept Darren talking until the armed police unit arrived. He explained what had happened to the commander while several paramedics tended to Darren. William ordered the commander to provide armed protection to both the painting and to Darren until further notice. When he was done with the debrief, he left them to secure the crime scene.
*
Sat in the passenger seat of William’s car, Ella watched as several police cars, sirens blaring, sped up to the museum and screeched to a halt outside it. An armoured police van had pulled up, several heavily armed officers clad in black protective clothing and helmets ran out, climbed the steps and disappeared into the museum. Moments later, two ambulances arrived. Paramedics dressed in green and white rushed out and followed the policemen into the building.
Ella’s stomach clenched, the blood drained from her face, she felt cold. She pulled out her phone, her hand was shaking. She was about to dial Darren’s number once more, but she saw something that curdled her blood. She dropped the phone and jumped out of the car.
Several paramedics cautiously carried a stretcher down the steps to the back of the ambulance. One of them held a bag of intravenous fluid above the young black man that lay on it. Unmistakably, the man was Darren.
There was no traffic on the road, the police cars had blocked it off. Ella ran towards the ambulance. ‘Darren,’ she screamed.
Just as she reached the ambulance, William sped down the white steps towards her. The police were evacuating the building, a long line of museum staff and tourists were guided away along the pavement.
‘What’s happened?’ Ella asked William as they met, terrified of the answer.
The ambulance doors were slammed shut. Sirens blaring, it pulled out and sped off down Trumpington Street.
‘Talk to me, William,’ Ella demanded. ‘What the hell is going on? Was that Darren in there?’
‘Yes, but he’ll be fine,’ he assured. ‘He was shot in the leg, it’s not life threatening. He’s in safe hands now. I’ll explain it all in the car. We need to leave here. Right now.’
The spectacle had attracted dozens of onlookers. William guided Ella back across the street and into the car. He wasted no time in getting away from the scene and blended in with the busy morning traffic. Once they were on their way, he told Ella everything.
*
Recovering from the initial shock, but still fragile, Ella wiped the tears from her face with a tissue. They had driven to the Cambridge crematorium on the outskirts of the town. William dr
ove down the long gravelled drive and stopped in front of the sombre building.
‘Are you sure you’re okay to do this?’ William asked as he pulled on the handbrake.
‘Let’s just get it over with.’ Ella blew noisily into a tissue.
When they entered the crematorium they were met by an elderly man dressed in a worn black suit with a white shirt and a thin black tie. He welcomed them and made a note of their names. He ran his shaky finger down a list on the desk until he found the record he was looking for.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Miss Moore,’ the old man croaked noticing Ella’s red eyes. ‘He is in a better place now.’ The kindly man clasped his leathery hands together in prayer and smiled consolingly at her.
Ella and William followed their guide through the hallway at a snail’s pace. Organ music played quietly in the background, Chopin’s Piano Sonata, if William recalled correctly. At the end of the hall they reached a row of urns that were placed in neat crevices in the curved wall. The old man stopped and turned to face Ella.
‘“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted”,’ he said. ‘The Gospel of Matthew, Miss Moore. You will find all the comfort you need in the Good Book.’
Finding the correct number above one of the urns, the man held out his unsteady hand and took out a simple black porcelain urn. He passed it over to Ella.
‘May God rest his soul.’
*
The pair set off from the crematorium and headed straight to the Church where Ella’s father requested his ashes to be scattered. The quiet country roads took them through several picturesque villages west of Cambridgeshire then onto Bedfordshire. Ella held the black urn firmly in her lap. Lost in her own thoughts she hadn’t spoken for the first half of the hour long trip. William respected her mood and followed the sat-nav directions in silence. He kept his anti-surveillance to a barely noticeable minimum.
The Secret of Hades' Eden Page 17