by Seb Kirby
I tried the flash lamp. The battery had failed.
There was no choice but to keep moving forward into the darkness before me. I began to think this was a dead end and I’d be trapped here. Then I saw it. A faint glimmer of light in the distance ahead told me there was something at the end of the passageway. As I got nearer and my eyes adjusted to the light, I could make out another doorway. The light from whatever was on the other side was diffracting from the narrow gaps between the door frame and the doorway itself.
As I approached I heard noises coming from the other side. If the door could be opened, I knew I’d have to be careful not to step straight into whatever was waiting on the other side.
I listened. It was the sound of two men talking as they walked past. I could make out only a few words – Our time is fast approaching – before they were lost in the distance.
I pushed against the door. It opened and I stepped through into a wider passageway. The light, normal by usual standards, burned my eyes. I crouched down and waited for my vision to adjust.
I was in a clean, well-maintained space with an institutional look of its time. It reminded me of the Italian public buildings built during the Mussolini years and still in use in many parts of Italy. Grey steel and glass, utilitarian, featureless.
I knew I had to get out of the passageway. I didn’t know where it led but the voices I’d heard were proof enough the area was peopled. It was vital I was not seen.
Moving along the passageway, I opened the first large steel frame door on my right. I entered a large room, an art gallery.
It was bigger, much bigger, than anyone would suppose when looking at the entrance to the Lando tomb in San Berado churchyard. This room was on a scale that belied any idea of a simple extension of the tomb. Though I had yet to explore further, the thought was forming that this was just one part of a major development, an underground complex hollowed out from the hillside beneath San Berado.
There were paintings, but they were not secured to the walls as in a conventional gallery. Each was stood on a gilded easel, allowing each painting to be picked up and moved when needed. There was an engraved plaque at the top of each easel with the initials IDDL.
I discendenti di Leda. The Descendants of Leda. The secret organization.
I walked the length of the gallery, looking at each painting. They were all here. The priceless paintings on the itinerary set up by Benito Lando, the record of which we’d discovered in Arndt Schreiber’s research papers. The paintings that were believed to have been destroyed in World War Two but moved here to Florence with the blessing of Himmler. Each was a masterpiece in its own right – Mantegna’s St James Led To His Execution, Fra Angelica’s Last Judgment, Botticelli’s Portrait of Cosimo De’ Medici, Ghirlandaio’s Jerome and John the Baptist, Fra Bartolommeo’s Assumption of the Virgin, Veronese’s Apollo and Juno and Saturn Help Religion to Overcome Heresy, Caravaggio’s Saint Matthew and the Angel. There were other masterpieces I did not recognize, ones not on the list, over fifty in all.
At the end of the line, set apart on more ornate gilded easels as a sign of their importance, stood the two paintings of Leda and the Swan, the Michelangelo and the Da Vinci, side by side.
What I was seeing was remarkable in its own right. I thought of how overjoyed Julia would have been to know such masterpieces had survived. But I knew the existence of the paintings here meant something more. They were proof that the conclusions we’d struggled to recognize as certainties when going through Arndt Schreiber’s research papers were just that.
Certainties.
I discendenti di Leda was a reality. IDDL was a cult that had survived down the years and had prospered even as wars and plagues and natural disasters had passed by them. And I knew now why Arndt Schreiber had attached so much importance to understanding the occult fantasies of a madman like Himmler, the weird beliefs used to justify genocide and the hatred of mankind. Benito Lando had convinced Himmler to develop the San Berado site as a secret underground center.
Nico Ferrara had been right to follow the art. Here it was. But he had been wrong to say Arndt Schreiber had spent too much time on the Ahnenerbe. There was a reason why Himmler had been content to allow Benito Lando to take the looted paintings to Florence. There was a hiding place in Florence far superior to anything offered at Wewelsburg Castle. The underground complex beneath San Berado where I now stood.
The connection we’d missed was that the secret society in Munich that was responsible for the killing of Arndt Schreiber’s brother, Max, was itself linked to the Ahnenerbe, to the same fallacy.
The more I thought about this, the more I recalled what I’d learned from Arndt Schreiber’s research, the more I was convinced this was what Benito Lando had all along been aiming at. To use the madness of Nazi mysticism as a vehicle to establish his own secret center at San Berado. The whole hillside beneath the church was a vast labyrinth, a secret center for I discendenti di Leda, IDDL.
Ferrara was right that Benito Lando had used the crazy self-delusional beliefs of Himmler for his own ends. But Ferrara had not dared to consider the scale of Benito Lando’s ambition. It was certain now that Lando had convinced the Germans to develop San Berado as one of the Ahnenerbe underground sites. Himmler believed in the literal existence of a superior race living underground in secret locations, possessed of superhuman powers drawn from the energy of the earth and who would one day be released and rule the world. Benito Lando had convinced Himmler to develop San Berado as one of those sites, to search for that energy, while all the time serving the interests of his own cult.
How much suffering had gone into the construction of this place? How many of the inmates of Dachau, or concentration camps like it, were shipped here and worked until they died? How many local Florentines were killed to preserve the secret of its existence?
My thoughts were interrupted by voices approaching from the passageway outside.
I looked around the gallery. There was nowhere to hide. But there was another doorway at the far end of the room. If I hurried, and if the door wasn’t locked, I might be able to make it to the next room before those approaching came in.
It was a close run thing. As I tried the door to see if it would open, the newcomers were just entering the gallery. The door opened. Just in time, I entered a small room, set up for meetings, with a white board and audiovisual equipment. I closed the door behind me and sank to the floor, out of sight.
In the gallery there were two men talking about the paintings. I recognized one of the voices. It was a voice I could not forget. It belonged to Matteo Lando. There was a window that looked onto the gallery. I risked looking in, being careful to not show too much of myself. It was him. He was giving instructions to an elderly, well- dressed man. “Bring in the Fra Bartolommeo first. Then, when I signal it, and not a moment before, bring in the Ledas.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes, we need them.”
They hadn’t seen me. I breathed again as they walked away from the paintings and left the room, still talking.
What was Matteo Lando doing here? He was meant to be in Sollicciano prison. Yet he was here and there was no doubt he owned the place.
I was powerless but I had one strength on my side. If I could escape I could let the world know what was down here. Yet I had no clear idea how I might find a way out other than to explore and risk being discovered.
Before leaving the gallery, I removed both of the Leda paintings from their easels and concealed them in the room where I’d been hiding. How light and unsubstantial they felt as I lifted them down. There was a space between the audiovisual unit and the adjacent wall wide enough to drop the paintings in where they would be out of sight. I did not know if this was much more than a gesture of defiance. When they discovered the Ledas were missing and a search was launched, how difficult would it be to find the masterpieces? My hope was the panic caused by the thought that the paintings had been stolen might provide a diversion as I tried to find
a point of escape elsewhere in the complex.
I ventured back out into the passageway, hoping I would not be seen before finding another place to hide. I opened the next door and found myself in a large amphitheater. At the center was a raised dais with an altar illuminated by spotlights from above. Some kind of ceremony was about to take place here and the start was imminent. Perhaps that was the significance of the conversation about the paintings that I’d overheard in the art gallery.
The periphery of the amphitheater was in darkness. My plan was to skirt round to the far side to search for an exit.
I didn’t make it.
From out of the darkness I was grabbed from behind. A gun was placed to my temple by one of them while the other placed a large hand over my mouth.
I was powerless to resist as they dragged me away.
Chapter 85
They were Lando men. Burly, strong, Italian. They dragged me out of the amphitheater, along another passageway and into a small room with no windows where I was left to sit and wait as the door was locked behind me.
Time passed. My eyes searched the room for any possibility of escape. It had been chosen well. There was no way out.
There was a sound behind me. The door being unlocked and then opened.
I turned.
There was Inspector Manieri.
I thought for a wild moment he’d come to rescue me, that he’d been interviewing Ferrara and Gina and come to the same conclusions as I had about what was under San Berado.
But his expression told me I was wrong.
“Signor Blake. This is not the way I had hoped we would meet again.”
There was an elderly, tall man with him. The same man I’d seen talking with Matteo Lando in the art gallery. If this man was with Matteo, it meant Manieri was also part of what was happening here.
He could see I was staring at the elderly man. Manieri smiled. “James, I see you have not met. Chief-Superintendent Cleary is a compatriot of yours, I believe.”
Cleary showed no emotion. “We need to find out how he knew we were here.”
Manieri held up a hand. “There will be plenty of time for that. First, I want to renew my acquaintance with James and let him know the real meaning of what he has done.”
I looked hard at Manieri’s face, seeking the intelligence and compassion I’d always assumed to be there but could find none. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Join them. Join the Landos.”
He offered Cleary a seat and took one himself. “You see, James, when I prosecuted the Landos and, with your help, began to tear down their empire, I could not help discovering there was more to them than mere criminality. They made me an offer. As you say in your movies, one I could not refuse. And I think you know what that offer was now, James.”
“They told you there was a way to live forever.”
“Yes. And there is.”
“So you became part of this?”
“That is right. And I discovered what you should now know. The damage you did three years ago when you came here to rescue your wife had a significance you could not have understood.”
“I did it for her. To save her life.”
“And took away Alfieri Lando’s chance of immortality. You see, none of this comes easy. To gain the gift of immortality from the mighty god Zeus, everything has to be in place. Mercury, the messenger, the Earth and the Sun had to be in special alignment. And the women have to be ready.”
I was struggling not to vent an uncontrollable anger welling inside me. “You mean for him that meant Julia and her sister, Emelia.”
“Alfieri Lando searched the world to find them, these descendants of Leda. They are two in a million and it’s a one in a million chance of finding them. And you and your wife took that away. Your wife helped Emelia escape to London. She got Emelia killed.”
“It was Ridley.”
“He would not have been involved if Julia had not interfered.”
“You helped me capture Matteo Lando here at San Berado.”
He smiled. “I did not know then what I know now. It would be different now.”
“You were doing your job. Upholding the law.”
“And that meant more to me then than it does now. Think about it, James. To live forever. To not have to die.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“You have used so much initiative to get here, James. I would have expected no less. But you will never leave this place and you should know what you have done. And when the moment of transformation comes you will know how we triumphed despite all your attempts to stop us.”
There was madness in his eyes and a childish enthusiasm in his voice that told me he was lost to normal reason. If he felt the need to talk, I was prepared to listen and learn. “So why did you arrange the meeting with Zella DeFrancesco?”
“Because I wanted to draw you in.”
“Into what?”
He licked his lips. “Again, I think you know the answer, James.”
He was playing with me, delighting in telling me how he’d succeeded and how I’d failed. And I knew where this was going. “You wanted Gina.”
“Yes. We have her sister, Malika. Like your wife and her sister, Malika and Gina are special. They are the new daughters of Leda at this special time when Mercury, the Earth and the Sun are again in special alignment. They are another of those one in a million outcomes that Alfieri worked so hard to achieve. And, of course, it is only if they are together that they are of value to us. Gina had escaped. Just at this moment, when destiny was approaching, we had lost the key to the transformation.”
“So, you used me to find Gina?”
“Yes. You’ve been as naive as we could have hoped, James. DeFrancesco led you to Ferrara, as we expected. You were believable enough for the professor to trust you. He took you to Ostuni, to Gina.”
“That’s why you bugged the phone.”
“Indeed.”
“And why Heller was sent after us.”
“He was supposed to kill you and Ferrara and bring back the girl. Once again you got in the way.”
The hard truth dawned on me. “But you now have Gina.”
He smiled. “Of course. It was a matter of time. The State Police knew to bring her to me. She is here. Being prepared.”
“For what?”
“For the transformation.”
“And Ferrara?”
“He is also here. It is fitting. Where else to keep him where he cannot talk?”
The madness had not left Manieri’s eyes. His belief in the certainty of imminent deliverance meant he had no reason not to enjoy telling me over and over how he’d bettered me.
If I was never to leave this place as Manieri foretold, I knew I should at least discover as much as I could. “I’ve seen Matteo Lando here. What changed him?”
Manieri adopted his most paternal stance. “This is beyond what you should know, James. But since you will never leave, I will tell you. Matteo Lando is our leader. What you might think of as our high priest. But that did not come about for him with ease. Matteo knew his father expected he would one day take his place as a leader of men. Matteo thought that meant becoming head of the Lando family. He listened too much to his mother, Alessa. As you know, Alfieri died before Matteo knew that what was planned for him was much more than a criminal career. He had been so estranged from his father as a result of Alessa’s influence that he did the killing himself. A killing made inevitable by you and your wife. Yet even this was not enough to deny him the chance to fulfill his destiny. It took time, but we were able to groom him. It was impossible not to send him to prison. The public demanded it. But I was able, with Cleary’s help, to make sure Wolfgang Heller was sent to Sollicciano to protect Matteo. And, as you also know, Sollicciano is suitable in being near to Florence.”
“Heller was there for more than protection.”
“Yes, he was there as much for spiritual guidance, to make Matteo aware of
his destiny.”
“So you got him out of Sollicciano.”
“He’s been coming here as he wishes for over a year. He has a private way in and out of the prison. At night. We had to allow things to be hard for him in the beginning. We needed to make sure he understood how he should depend on Wolfgang Heller. So he would trust him.”
“And the authorities turn a blind eye.”
“The right people have been bribed. This is Italy. It is as simple as that. Now, since the FBI has increased their interest in him, Matteo spends all his time here.” Manieri paused. “Oh, I was forgetting, there is something you do not yet know about.”
I pressed on. “Heller is here?”
He smiled once more. “Nothing so simple, James. And something that brings us closer to the point of letting you know all this. You see, we have not forgiven you or your wife for what you did three years ago. How you squandered the chance for Alfieri to achieve immortality. Heller is not here. He’s gone to find Julia, to make her pay, just as you will now pay for what you did.”
My heart pounded. “You’re demented. You don’t know where she is.”
He glanced towards Cleary. “That’s where the Chief Superintendent comes in. Tell him, Giles. How you found her.”
Cleary stood and stared into my eyes. I could feel the hatred. “You thought you were clever hiding her away in Rook Lane but I have contacts, Mr. Blake, and I used them well. Wolfgang Heller is on his way to Ambleside as we speak.”
The thought that Julia was in such danger made me want to take Cleary by the throat and squeeze the life out of him. But I was powerless. There were Lando men outside who, if summoned, would restrain me. I bided my time.
Manieri smiled. “Yes, James, these are the things I wanted you to know. We want your agony to be complete when we kill you. After we show you images of your dead wife and son.”
I spat in Manieri’s face. “That’s what I think about your immortality. You will die, Inspector, just like all the others who’ve chased the same illusion down the years. You’ll be no different. I’ll find a way to kill you if anything happens to my wife and son.” Manieri wiped his face. “We will see, Signor Blake. We will see.”