by D C Macey
Angelo had gravitated towards the rows of crucifixes and religious iconography and was busy touching and blessing. Sam could see tears in the priest’s eyes as he knelt and lifted items, kissed them and blessed them again.
Forcing himself to detach from the minutia of every discovery, Sam tried to focus on the larger picture. What had they really found here? He looked beyond Angelo to see ornately worked daggers and swords, all gold and silver. These were definitely weapons for the ceremonial, not the fight. They seemed to come from a number of cultures and eras: Greek, Roman, Persian, North African, European, Indian, pre-Christian, Christian, Islamic.
There were extravagantly decorated arrowheads and spear points, the heads too exquisitely worked ever to warrant firing and their shafts long turned to dust. A pair of fabulous gold-headed spears stood proud against the wall, their silver shafts making them impossibly heavy for throwing but perfect for royal display.
Angelo remained on his knees; Bill wandered back and forth, just enjoying the moment. For all the excitement, Sam was puzzled. Yes, this represented a hundred and more kings’ ransoms. But he could not see any one thing that might be the motivation for all the fanaticism and cruelty. What did Cassiter and the others really want? Could it just be jewels? Or was there something more here? He took the time to review the cave and its contents properly, slowly turning a full circle.
Beyond the pair of silver-shafted spears, the glittering spoils faded slightly. In this area was a copper plinth, dull-greened over time. It rose around six inches from the floor of the cave, was three feet wide and about eight feet long. Sam had no idea what its original purpose would have been. It was big and heavy, and once, somewhere, must have fulfilled an important function. Perhaps it was an altar base, or maybe it had had some ceremonial role.
In any other context, such an artefact would have been the centrepiece of a discovery, the peak of many an archaeologist’s career. Here, it was swamped by the richness of its surroundings. Still, Sam wondered. Its plainness seemed to make it special. Lonely, placed in isolation at the centre of the great plinth was a small piece of gold, flat and only half the size of a playing card.
He stooped to pick it up, looked at the engraving. It featured the Templar seal of two Templar knights on a single horse. Here, they rode away from the sunrise and towards what may have been a tree or plant topped with a few dotted holes, beneath the Templar seal was engraved a ship carrying a box. He knew he’d seen it elsewhere recently and quite innocently slipped it into his pocket for later consideration.
Immediately beyond the low plinth, he noticed another. Again, greened copper, but with a much smaller footprint than the first and taller, like a nightstand. Resting on the top was a small gold casket. Instinctively, he moved towards it and lifted the lid.
‘What have you got there?’ said Bill, momentarily pulling his attention away from a golden throwing knife, part of a duo, that he was balancing in his palm.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Sam. ‘I’m really not sure.’
Angelo joined Sam, and his reading of the artefact within the casket was altogether more definite. With a gasp, Angelo reached out his hand, then stopped himself, unsure he was worthy. He knelt, rested his hands on the edge of the plinth and began to pray with a fervour that drew Bill over to the plinth.
‘It’s a metal cup, not even gold, look at everything around us. What’s the big fuss over this simple thing?’
‘It’s blackened silver. I think Angelo believes it to be the Grail.’
‘Nah, he’s got that wrong. I saw a documentary on the Grail. Jesus and the disciples weren’t rich. They only had cheap drinking beakers. Pottery and the like. That can’t be the Grail.’
‘That’s certainly the modern thinking. But there are counter views,’ said Sam.
‘Huh?’
‘Yes, the disciples were poor, rejected personal wealth, extolling the virtues of giving away wealth—’
‘There you are then.’
‘Well, not quite. Sure, Jesus is reputed to have saved the poor people. But he also cured and saved merchants and administrators, and they weren’t so poor. Jesus, his disciples and their followers needed financial support to feed and sustain them on their travels. That had to come from grateful gift-givers. And wealth was not just coin, it was found in a whole range of artefacts, including, I guess, silver chalices.’
Bill nodded, unimpressed, while Angelo reached out a hand to grip Sam’s, seeking some comfort, some assurance he was not dreaming.
‘Wouldn’t they need to have sold it for food?’
‘Probably, I imagine they would have sold everything, eventually. But the Last Supper was a big set-piece meal. Why wouldn’t you use your best silver? Of course you would, even if it was only passing through your hands for a few days.’
Angelo rose to his feet. Still gripping Sam’s hand, he reached out his free hand to gingerly touch the Grail.
The sound of a cocking weapon reached them from the doorway behind.
‘Mr Cameron, hands up, please. Then do not move a muscle, or you are all dead. It does seem as though this is becoming something of a habit,’ said Cassiter, carefully stepping through the doorway. Four guards followed him. A fifth remained at the door.
Sheltered by Angelo’s body, Sam’s hand discreetly closed the gold casket and all three men turned as one, raising their hands in the face of an array of pointing weapons.
Cassiter waved two men forwards. ‘Cable tie their hands. Then we can see exactly what they’ve found for us.’
24
Saturday, January 25th - evening
Their evening meal finished, Grace had worked her way round the manse. The ground floor windows and kitchen door were all locked and bolted. She had just done the rear bedrooms and was securing the last of the upstairs windows. In a little while, they would be setting off for North Berwick.
‘I’m not happy about this,’ said Price, standing in the hall. She had taken first watch as an overtime shift. After a long day, she had not planned to include a journey down the coast to North Berwick. Nor could she allow Helen to go without her - DI Brogan would never forgive her.
‘I just think we need to be there when Sam gets back,’ said Helen.
‘I can understand that. But really, wouldn’t it be easier just to let him come here? You still haven’t told me why he went to the May. What exactly is going on? What’s he up to?’
The hallway was thronged. Xavier and Francis stood to either side of Helen, Elaine behind, all facing off to DS Price.
‘Look, based on what’s happened to you recently, I’m going to have to call in a second escort vehicle. It’s Saturday evening. That’s going to put a huge pressure on staffing. Why not wait until Sunday morning? Things are always quieter then.’
‘There’s something going on outside!’ Grace’s voice came down the stairs. A moment later, her running feet crossed the upstairs landing, and she appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Something’s happening.’ She started down the stairs.
‘What is it? What did you see?’ said Price.
‘A dark van just parked out front, behind the garden wall, right beside the driveway entrance. I saw men getting out.’
‘Stay calm, that doesn’t mean there’s a problem. It could be perfectly innocent. I’ll go out and—’
The sound of splintering glass reached them from the study. More came from the kitchen. A percussive detonation in the study rattled its door. The sound of another blast came from the kitchen.
‘Stun grenades,’ shouted Price. As the explosive sounds faded, more breaking glass could be heard then a faint hissing sound. ‘Gas, we need to get away. Is there another exit?’ She looked about, drew her telescopic baton and moved close to Helen. ‘Whatever happens, stay close to me. They’ll need to get through me to get to you.’
‘There is a way out,’ said Helen.
‘Which way?’ said Price, pulling out her radio and calling in her distress alert.
Grace reac
hed the bottom of the stairs. ‘This way, follow me,’ she said, brushing past them and hurrying towards the rear of the hallway where she pushed open the access door to the basement stairs. ‘This way.’
The sound of boots landing on the study floor was echoed by a similar sound from the kitchen. Price looked towards Grace. ‘The basement will be a deathtrap.’
‘No, Grace is right; there is a way,’ said Helen.
With a doubtful sigh, Price nodded. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
Elaine had already shepherded Xavier and Francis to the doorway.
Grace guided them through. She smiled bravely at her mother. ‘You get them down, Mum. I’ll help Helen.’
‘No, you go. You can open the passage doorway easily; it’s hard for me now with my damaged hand.’
Grace hesitated for just a moment, worry for her mother writ across her face.
‘Just go,’ ordered Elaine. ‘Hurry now. Get the passage open.’ She pushed her daughter towards the steps.
‘I’ll be back to help as soon as I’ve opened the passage,’ said Grace as she turned and hurried down the steps past Xavier and Francis. Reaching the far end of the basement passageway, she stretched out her arms and legs, forming a saltire shape with her body, seeking out the concealed trigger points that would open the hidden doorway into the tunnel that linked the manse and St Bernard’s church.
Elaine took the key from the door and entered it into the stair side of the lock just as Helen hobbled through the doorway followed by Price.
‘Get her down the stairs, I’ve got this,’ said Price, putting her hand on the door’s edge.
‘No, Elaine, you see to Francis and Xavier, I’ll manage down myself,’ said Helen, pushing Elaine towards the steps. Elaine hurried down to help the older men.
To the sound of boots running down the hall, DS Price slammed the door shut and turned the key. She pressed her shoulder to the door and braced herself. ‘Hurry! I really hope there’s an exit down there, or we’re sunk.’
A hard kick against the door turned her attention back towards the attackers.
‘Stand back. I’m a police officer. Stand back!’
There was a moment’s silence; she heard a muttering then a laugh. The boot returned, and the door reverberated against her shoulder. Helen leant her shoulder against the door in support.
Grace appeared at the foot of the steps. ‘Come on you two, we’re all set.’
‘I can’t leave the door, or it’ll cave. Go now, Helen, make sure the others are away.’
Helen shook her head and grimaced as a reverberation from the door pained her wounded leg.
‘What are you doing? Jesus Christ, get away or we’re both done,’ hissed Price, her back now fully braced against the door while the attackers continued to beat on it.
Reaching beyond the sergeant, into the narrow space behind the door, Helen grabbed two brooms from a cleaning alcove set into the wall.
‘You absolute beauty,’ said Price, wincing as two boots hit the door at the same time.
Helen wedged the broom handles between the door and wall and gave Price a slightly manic grin. ‘I’m going to put the lights out then go down. There’ll still be enough light coming from the exit at the end of the basement passageway for you to see. Follow me down; we’ll make it. Don’t stop for anything, just run for the end of the passageway. When you get there, Grace will close it; then we’ll be safe.’
‘Just like that,’ said Price, though she did feel that the brooms were now taking most of the pressure.
‘Just like that. Welcome to our world! Now, time to go.’ Helen hobbled down the steps and disappeared from view into the basement corridor as Price readied herself to follow. The brooms were holding the door but the assailants must have felt a change in the resistance. Sensing something was afoot, the team leader fired a shot at the door just as Price moved away from it. The bullet passed through the wood panelling and entered her shoulder, throwing her off balance against the wall. She cried out in pain then struggled down the steps while the attackers redoubled their efforts.
Just when Helen reached the far end of the passageway, there was a cracking sound from the stairway above - the door was in. Elaine caught her as she stumbled through the secret entrance. Grace stood poised, ready to activate the closing mechanism. The moment Price followed Helen through the passage entrance, the secret access door slid firmly closed.
Inside the tunnel, everyone stood still for a moment, safe but stunned. Price took in her surroundings, looking around the long, stone-built tunnel, dry with an even flagstoned floor and steady electric lighting.
The first of the attackers was halfway down the stairway when the light in the passageway below cut off with the closing of the secret door.
‘Lights! Lights!’ he shouted. Somebody at the top of the stairs found the switch and suddenly everything was brightly lit again. The team swept the basement and found nothing.
Puzzled, the team leader headed off to report to Eugene Jr who was waiting in the vehicle outside. The team leader paused in the drive; their vehicle was gone.
‘Armed police! Armed police! Put your weapon down and lie flat on the ground.’
‘Armed police! Put down your weapon, now!’
The team leader threw his pistol onto the ground and knelt, before slumping forwards, prostrate.
Boots crunched on the snow-coated gravel as armed police squads hurried for the front door.
Even as Brogan knelt to demand information from the now cuffed team leader, he could hear more police warning shouts coming from the manse.
‘Where’s my sergeant? Do you have Helen Johnson in there? Where are they?’
The team leader was quite stunned by the rapid turn of events. ‘They vanished, just vanished.’
Brogan gripped the man’s collar and jerked. ‘Don’t play me for the fool. We heard the distress call. They were here. What have you done with them?’
A shout of ‘all clear’ reached him from inside the house. Brogan stood and hurried for the front door even as four cuffed men were led out.
‘Is my sergeant in there? Any sign of the property owner?’
His sense of foreboding grew with a succession of shaken heads. He pushed past and into the manse. ‘There’s nobody else here,’ said the leader of the armed response team. ‘The house is clear.’
‘Hello? Hello, is anyone there?’ A voice reached the two men from beyond the broken basement door.
‘What the hell?’ The armed response leader brought his weapon up to the ready and advanced towards the broken door while calling into his radio for backup. Even as more of his men returned to the hall, Brogan was intervening.
‘It’s okay, officer. It’s okay. That’s my DS. I’d know her nippy voice anywhere.’
Price emerged from the stairway, her arms up and hands linked together, one supporting the other, blood dripping from the bullet wound. ‘Police, I’m police,’ she called out. Stepping fully into the hall, she kept her hands raised while her boss calmed the situation.
‘You’re hit,’ said Brogan, reaching his sergeant and gently guiding her arms down.
‘I’ll be fine sir. I hope … and “nippy”, really?’
‘Get a medic in here now,’ he shouted. ‘Come on, let’s get you sorted out.’
Leaning on her stick, Helen emerged. ‘Inspector Brogan, she saved us, saved us all.’
• • •
Parsol snapped at the men who were using their body weight to steady the ramp they had positioned next to the helicopter’s sliding door. ‘Come closer, there’s still a gap. Move it closer!’
The men responded and Parsol was able to drive his chair out of the helicopter, down the ramp and onto his yacht’s helideck. He was immediately followed by his personal guards. He stopped, and as his normally luxuriant and coiffured raft of silvered hair was tugged and blown in the gusting wind, he barked at the pilot. ‘Be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.’ Then he rolled straight ahead, directly towards wh
ere the helideck joined the rear of the bridge deck, leaving his pilot and the crew to ensure everything was secured.
‘Captain, give me an update,’ he said, rolling in through the bridge’s wing door.
‘Cassiter and the shore party are away, sir. They have located the tunnel and entered. Communication’s difficult; they’re underground. But one man’s been left on their RIB, and we’re in touch with him. I understand another is acting as a runner inside the tunnels, ferrying messages back and forth. So we are getting updates sporadically.’
‘Good. What progress?’
‘They have located and taken control of the assets. There are three prisoners. I am to tell you one is called Cameron.’
‘Excellent. At last, things are going our way. Has Cassiter identified our specific requirements?’
‘I can’t say, sir. No message has come through mentioning requirements or anything specific being found.’
‘Get a message to your man on the RIB; I want to know exactly what Cassiter has found. Exactly!’
‘Yes, sir.’ The captain hurried over to his first officer and issued instructions then returned to Parsol.
‘There is something else, sir.’
‘Yes?’
‘From your son.’
‘Ah, good. Another success.’
The captain hesitated and was immediately caught in Parsol’s steely gaze.
‘No, sir. I’m afraid something has not gone to plan. Your son is fine. He had to withdraw, but his team has been taken by the police. He has asked me to inform you that they have not yet taken Helen Johnson.’
‘Hell! What happened? Merde! That was the easy part. Get him on the line for me.’
‘I can’t, sir. He has gone silent, to avoid any risk of being tracked down by the authorities.’
Grim-faced, Parsol powered his chair across the bridge. He paused to look out at the Isle of May, a dark shadow set betwixt a dark sky and sea. He banged his fist against the toughened glass of the bridge’s side window. ‘I wanted it all finished tonight. Finished! … Well, as long as the boy’s safe; she will have to wait.’