Apocalypsis 1.05 Island of the Light Page 2

  Where is the guesthouse owner? Why isn’t anyone here?

  Peter stormed out of the building and into the street. He paused briefly to get his bearings and then saw the priest running up the narrow alleyway. As he was running, the priest tore the mask from his face and threw it away. A few passersby gazed after him in surprise. Even though he was well aware that the man was still armed, Peter began to pursue him.

  But then he saw the car. A dark Mercedes, driving through the narrow alleyway, straight towards the priest and at full throttle. The passersby panicked and ducked into the doorways along the alley. However, one woman was hit and thrown over the hood. Without braking, the car continued to bear down on the priest. Peter saw the priest stop for a moment, looking for a way out. This was the point at which the Mercedes hit him with a hideous thud. The priest was hurled through the air and slammed onto the pavement, where he lay motionless. Peter saw a man getting out of the car. A machete in his hand, he rammed it into the priest’s head. Without paying any attention to the screams of the pedestrians, he pulled the parchment out of the priest’s hand, got back into his car and drove off.

  »That’s the man from the church!« Maria screamed behind Peter. He spun around and saw Maria standing in the middle of the alley.

  »Maria, get out of there!«

  Peter bolted towards her as he heard the roaring engine behind him.

  Sixty feet. Forty-five. Thirty.

  The Mercedes picked up speed.

  Peter reached Maria shortly before the Mercedes reached him. Running at full tilt, he threw himself against Maria and threw her into the next doorway. At the same moment, he felt the sharp pain of the side mirror hitting his hip.

  The car drove on without stopping. Maria screamed.

  Peter took no notice of her, but kept his eyes on the car that continued to speed through the alley before it slammed into a concrete bollard, which narrowed the alley exit.

  A French license plate!

  The car’s brake lights flashed. The Mercedes was stuck, and Peter saw the driver trying to reverse the vehicle.

  »Do you have the amulet?« Peter yelled at Maria.

  »Yes. Why…«

  »Come on, let’s go!« He pulled her out of the doorway and started running up the alley.

  »What are you doing?« she screamed, trying to free herself from his grasp. But Peter held her in an iron grip and continued to run towards the end of the alley where the rented Peugeot was parked. Time and again, he looked back at the Mercedes, which had reversed by now but would still not fit through the narrow gap between house wall and bollard.

  Peter removed the car keys from his pocket, threw Maria into the passenger seat, and ran round to the other side of the Peugeot.

  »Put on your seat belt!« he yelled at Maria, as he started the car, and then he raced, like the Mercedes had done before, at full speed through the now deserted alleyway, past the injured woman and past the murdered priest.

  »Who is that man?« Maria screamed.

  »I have no idea«, Peter gasped. He saw that the Mercedes had finally managed to get through the narrow gap, scraping both sides of the vehicle. With one look, Peter checked how much gas they had and hoped that the half tank and the engine power of the Peugeot would be sufficient for a chase.

  »What do you intend to do?«

  »I want to get the parchment back. And I want to finally know what the fuck is going on here!«

  Peter followed the Mercedes as it turned into the main street, skidding and with screeching tires, and drove through a red light.

  »This man is a killer, Peter!«

  »Exactly!« Peter stepped on the gas. »But as long as he is on the loose, the rest of the world thinks that I am the killer. And I am sick and tired of that.«

  The driver of the Mercedes in front of them slowed down a bit and weaved his way through the nighttime traffic of Avignon. It was not difficult for Peter to keep the car in view, but he had to make sure that he made it through all the traffic lights and intersections with the Mercedes.

  The Mercedes, with the machete killer inside, followed the signs to the southbound freeway A9. The car was still on the slip road when the driver hit the gas pedal again. It was hard for Peter to hang-on.

  »Do you think he knows we are following him?« Maria asked from the passenger seat.

  Peter did not answer, that question did not concern him. Right now, the only thing that mattered to him was not to lose the car in the darkness.

  After a drive of just under thirty minutes, the Mercedes left the A9 at the exit Montpellier-East and followed the signs to the airport. Peter stayed a safe distance behind the car, driving past the palm-tree-lined roads around the General Aviation Terminal enclosure, when all of a sudden a fuel tanker pulled out of a side street in front of them, forcing Peter to slam on the brakes. Peter cursed and swore, as he lost sight of the Mercedes. When he finally got past the fuel tanker, his tires screeching, he saw the Mercedes enter the airport area through a side gate. The sliding gate was already closing again. Cursing and swearing, Peter tried to push the engine of the little Peugeot to the limit.

  »Don’t Peter, don’t!« Maria screamed.

  He practically had to stand with both feet on the brake to stop the car slamming into the sliding gate as it closed.

  »Fuck!«

  He jumped out of the car and ran to the gate. He saw the Mercedes disappear behind a hangar, in front of which was a helicopter with its blades turning and navigation lights flashing. Only seconds later, Peter saw a figure rush towards the helicopter, head ducked, and board it. At almost that exact moment, the helicopter lifted off the ground and air-taxied over the tarmac to the Take-Off-Point, where it rose into the night.

  Peter was so frustrated that he kicked the sliding gate with his feet, without paying any attention to the two security cameras that were installed at both sides.

  »Well, to answer the question you asked a little while ago,« he said when he noticed that Maria was standing next to him, »yes, I think that he knew we were following him.«

  »Where do you think he is going?« Maria asked as she stared into the night sky, where the navigation lights of the helicopter were being swallowed up by the darkness.

  »To the Island of the Light, I guess. Wherever that may be.«

  XLIII

  May 14, 2011, Apostolic Palace, Vatican City

  Urs Bühler had stomach problems, again. An old ailment that he had picked up in Sudan, the result of a Malarial infection. Ever since, he had stayed away from coffee and fatty food and had gone through the hell of giving up smoking. These were only three of the things that kept his mood at a persistently aggressive level. Add to this the stomach cramps that robbed him of his sleep and he became downright unbearable. His guards had learned to see the signs and tried to avoid him when they saw him popping those yellow pills.

  This morning, Bühler had already taken two yellow pills and the second one had done the job. Now he felt able to report to Menendez.

  When Bühler arrived in the Apostolic Palace, the Cardinal didn’t waste any time on pleasantries. »We have a problem,« he said. »Last night, Peter Adam killed an Opus Dei numerary in Avignon.«

  And there were three other things that made Bühler’s stomach revolt: Peter Adam, death, Opus Dei.

  »Why in Avignon?« Bühler seethed through his teeth and slumped into one of the armchairs in front of Menendez’s mahogany desk, without being invited to do so. »What kind of shit has been going on there?«

  Menendez remained seated behind his desk and told Bühler in a few words that the Opus Dei – thanks to its network of interconnections, had been successful in locating Peter Adam in Avignon, where he was in the company of a nun. A specially trained numerary had received the order to secure evidence secretly, keep the two under surveillance, and hand them over to the French authorities, all the while making sure that Opus Dei stayed out of the picture.

  »And then the plan went down the crapper,« Bühler inter
rupted the Cardinal. »Did the agencies know about this operation?«

  »Not directly. There was an internal agreement that we would be in charge.«

  Bühler cursed under his breath.

  »What did you just say, Colonel?«

  »You screwed it up, Menendez. Your numerary guys are imbeciles. Why wasn’t I informed earlier about this? Ugh, forget it, let’s cut the crap: where is Peter Adam now?«

  »We are working on that. As soon as we find something out, I will let you know. Then you will get your chance. Get prepared and be ready.«

  You can kiss my ass, Bühler thought. Then he popped another two yellow ones and began to think.

  »I am listening, Colonel,« the Cardinal interrupted his thoughts.

  »This whole thing doesn’t really paint a clear picture,« Bühler said. »There are too many players in the game, too many variables that don’t fit. If Peter Adam really is a murderer and a terrorist, then where is his operative network?«

  »The agencies are working on that.«

  »Damn it, Cardinal, spare me the nonsense of the agencies. They know less than we do and are just groping in the dark.«

  Menendez listened up. »Are you telling me that we have new information?«

  Bühler snarled an obscenity and then he gave the Cardinal a brief report about his investigation in Suite 306 and the dead body of the young doctoral student.

  »I can’t quite see the connection, Colonel.«

  »I can’t see it either. And I hate that. I also hate it when people withhold information from me. I hate it when some pissy Carabinieri guys treat me as if I were an idiot. So I did some research on my own about this investment bank that secured the long-term rental of Suite 306.«

  Menendez looked at his watch.

  »Look, Cardinal, either you listen to me now, or I cannot guarantee your safety or the safety of the conclave.«

  »Please continue, Colonel.«

  »This investment consortium by the name of PRIOR Financial Services has its headquarters in Kathmandu and is part of a widespread network of international subsidiaries and holdings. Among other things, they own shares in a private security firm by the name of LIGHTSWORD, which specializes in sending protection forces into conflict zones. However, the deeper I dug in my research, the less tangible the entire business became. I couldn’t reach anyone over the phone. Anywhere.«

  »Are there any connections between PRIOR and Peter Adam?«

  Bühler shook his head. »That’s the point. But there was another name that kept popping up: Aleister Crowley.«

  Bühler saw Menendez wince at the mention of this name.

  »He seems to be some kind of chairman of this web of companies. Do you know him, Cardinal?«

  Menendez got himself back under control. »No. Who is he?«

  »Well, this man seems to be a phantom, pretty much like his network of companies. No pictures, no biography; nothing. Well, almost nothing.«

  Bühler grinned at Menendez and enjoyed the sight of the Cardinal, who was squeezing the golden fountain pen in his hand hard enough to snap it in half.

  »Please, Colonel! I have appointments to keep.«

  »He is registered with the Commercial Registry of Rome as the chief executive of a mining company by the name of Fratec. Last week, this mining company conducted digging and drilling operations inside the Necropolis. But Fratec is a letterbox company, which also belongs to the PRIOR group.«

  »Is that all?«

  Bühler gave the Cardinal a piercing look, searching for the slightest reaction or emotion. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

  »No. Due to the fact that, as you know, my investigations do not have the support of the Italian Police or the agencies, I had to activate different channels. A friend of mine, or rather, an old comrade, happens to work as a consultant for LIGHTSWORD. Do you remember? The security firm, which is partly owned by PRIOR. You would expect them to be in a line of work where everything is classified information, but lo and behold, my old comrade found something. It was a shot in the dark, so to speak. The name Aleister Crowley appears in the member list of an organization which usually places great emphasis on secrecy and discretion.«

  »Let's dispense with the preliminaries, Colonel. Which organization?«

  Bühler grabbed at his stomach and stared into the Cardinal’s face.

  »The Opus Dei.«

  Bühler enjoyed seeing the Cardinal blanch at his words.

  »What are you talking about? How the hell did you get your hands on a member list of the Opus Dei, Colonel?«

  »My old comrade told me that it was not easy to hack into the individual systems. But it was possible in the end. You might want to put a little more effort into the security of your servers.«

  »I will have this checked immediately. Do you have anything else on this Crowley?«

  »This is my question to you, Cardinal. Who is Aleister Crowley?«

  The Cardinal held Bühler’s gaze and leaned back in his chair. »I would like to thank you for your excellent work, Colonel Bühler. Please continue to keep me posted on any new information you may find in the course of your investigation.«

  Bühler’s stomach exploded. He was white with pain and anger, as he bent forward over the desk. »Perhaps I did not make myself quite clear, Cardinal. During my research into the background of several murder cases and a number of mysterious events, I came across the name of a member of the Opus Dei. And now, Cardinal, I want some explanations from you.«

  The Cardinal stared at the Swiss with an icy glare. »Or what?«

  Bühler rose from his chair. »I don’t want to threaten you, Cardinal. I am a soldier. I have taken an oath to protect the Pope and the Holy See, if need be, with my life. And that’s exactly what I am going to do. I will fight anyone whom I consider a danger to the Holy See, even at the peril of my life. If it proves necessary, I will even kill. You should always keep that in mind.«

  Bühler left the Apostolic Palace with the grim satisfaction of knowing that he had successfully managed to put his own name on the blacklist of one of the most powerful organizations in the world. Despite the fact that he had always tried to separate his work from all political matters, he distrusted Opus Dei profoundly, just as he distrusted any organization that operated in secrecy. Bühler was delighted that he had looked Cardinal Menendez right in the face while pissing down his back. He could only hope that this would bring some much-needed movement into the investigations. And he had been smart. He had kept one trump up his sleeve. He had not told the Cardinal everything that he had found out about the phantom Aleister Crowley.

  Back in the barracks, Bühler gave his Lieutenant Colonel the order to put Cardinal Menendez under 24/7 surveillance.

  »I want to know where he is going, with whom he is speaking, what he eats, and what his feces smell like! Hack into his phone and emails.«

  »Colonel Commandant!« Lieutenant Colonel Steiner was filled with indignation. »We do not have the authority to do that!«

  »This is an order, Lieutenant,« Bühler barked back, »I take the full responsibility.«

  He reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out his SIG P220.

  »I have to go. You can reach me on my cell phone.«

  »Where are you going, Colonel Commandant?«

  »I’m flying to Venice to follow a lead. I’ll be back tonight.«

  XLIV

  May 14, 2011, Montpellier

  There was no such thing as an »Island of the Light«. At least not close enough to reach by helicopter. Peter and Maria searched the internet for different spellings and synonyms of the name in French, in English, and in Latin, but the only thing they found was a vacation island in the Caribbean and another island that was part of the French Antilles.

  »Perhaps Malachy just called the island ›Island of the Light‹ and its real name is completely different.«

  »I was thinking the exact same thing,« Peter mumbled over his paper coffee cup, as he kept his eyes on the owner
of the small internet café, who had been watching them the whole time with a suspicious expression on his face. It seemed obvious that the man was not used to welcoming a nun and a German guy as his first customers in the morning. Peter and Maria had spent the night in the Peugeot in the parking lot behind a supermarket. When it got light outside, they left the car and began to stroll through the city until the first stores opened. Peter deemed it safer not to return to the Peugeot.

  »Let’s go,« he said when the young man grabbed the telephone and called someone. »He might have recognized us.«

  »Are you sure?«

  »We are attracting too much attention, that’s for certain.«

  He pulled Maria out of the café. The streets of Montpellier began to fill with business people, tourists and deliverymen. Peter wanted to keep moving and mix with the crowds to remain undetected, but now he had the impression that everyone was staring at them because of Maria’s habit.

  Maria understood the problem. »How much money do we have left?«

  »Not enough.«

  »Do you have your credit card?«

  »Yes, but using it would be too dangerous.«

  He wanted to move on but Maria stopped him. »Honestly, Peter. Whether they find out through your credit card that we are in Montpellier or whether they recognize us right here and now and take us into custody, what’s the difference?«

  When she was right, she was right.

  »Are you sure this is okay with you? I mean, I don’t want to infringe on your faith or something, it is just that…«

  »Peter, you have other things to worry about, so don’t worry about my faith.«

  They went into a big department store and Maria displayed surprising confidence as she began to choose the individual items that she needed: simple underwear, a pair of not too trendy jeans, a T-shirt, and a plain navy blue sweater, a pair of sturdy sneakers and a blue raincoat. The last thing she chose was a modest headscarf. Then Peter paid for everything and she disappeared into the restrooms to change.