The Last Judgement Read online

  ‘Ugly little fellow,’ Doggie remarked, having now ventured into the hidden room himself. ‘It looks like a circus midget with haemorrhoids.’

  ‘It’s from the Codex, and goes to confirm how obsessed Lucas was with it.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not the only thing he was obsessed with, Alex,’ Doggie replied soberly, gesturing towards the opposite wall which was covered with numerous photos of Chloe Stanton and himself. ‘Looks like he had you both under his magnifying glass for some time.’

  Harker leant closer to inspect the photos and what he saw only served to fuel his fears, because it was clear that Lucas had been following them both everywhere for months. There was even a picture of Harker on the doorstep of his house, paying the pizza delivery man. It wasn’t the work of some crazy operating on the spur of the moment. This was organized and methodical. ‘Jesus, who was this guy…? And where the hell is Chloe?’

  Still preoccupied with that thought, Harker turned his attention to the final wall straight ahead, and it was here that he encountered the most disturbing aspect of the entire room. A world map had been Sellotaped to its surface, on which eight pins had been placed at various locations. From each pin hung a tag with several pieces of information scrawled upon it, and tiny pictures had been attached to the individual tags.

  Harker moved in closer to inspect this hodgepodge of images, trailed by Doggie, who was looking just as mystified.

  ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Harker replied before pointing to a number of pins, ‘but they all have names, dates and’ – he paused to focus in on one of the attached photos – ‘dead people.’

  Seven of the pins had either photos or sketches of dead people – men and women – and all with something in common. In each case the victim’s throat had been slit from ear to ear, and then the tongue had been pulled through the gap and left to hang like a glistening, crimson neck tie. In addition the bodies had been posed spread-eagled, clearly in an attempt to remove the last vestiges of dignity from the victim. In a final act of grotesquery their eyes had been burnt out, leaving nothing but blackened sockets.

  ‘That’s brutal,’ Doggie murmured, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he now examined all of these vile mementos. ‘Why do you suppose some are photos while the others are drawings?’

  Harker quickly pointed out the details on each pin. ‘Look at the dates of their murders. Photography wasn’t invented until 1827, so these deaths go back long before that. Out of the seven pins only four have photos. Take another look.’

  He gestured to each one in turn, beginning with one dated 1737 and running all the way up until 1977. Whether it was a photo or pencil sketch, each of the victims had been arranged in the same pose along with a few words detailing the location of the murder

  ‘What we have here are seven murders, committed in exactly the same fashion, and taking place every forty years dating back to 1737!’

  The notion already had Doggie shaking his head. ‘But that’s obviously not possible. The killer would have to be almost three hundred years old!’

  It was now Harker’s turn to look at his friend in disbelief. ‘I agree it makes no sense. More important still, what the hell has this got to do with the Codex? Christ, for all I know the bastard Lucas murdered Chloe and then committed suicide as an act of atonement.’

  ‘Don’t ever think that, Alex,’ Doggie replied sharply. ‘Now pull yourself together, young man. Chloe needs you, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and let’s figure this out.’

  Doggie’s berating was just what Harker needed, and he now stood up straight and sucked in a deep lungful of musty, if oddly refreshing, air.

  ‘OK, let’s say Lucas was on the level and there are others in his “gang”, and they’re the ones who have Chloe. Now, they want the seven missing pages of the Codex. Why, I have no idea, but it doesn’t matter because, whatever their reasons, the reality is I need to find them.’

  Harker crossed his arms and focused his attention again on the world map. ‘There are seven murders indicated on this board, and I’m looking for seven lost Codex pages… Coincidence or design?’

  ‘Could be either,’ Doggie replied, attempting to keep his thoughts relevant to the task at hand even though none of this was making any sense to him.

  ‘Could be,’ Harker replied firmly, now finding his stride. ‘But Lucas said this address would be the starting point, and the only thing that stands out on that map is the eighth pin, which is missing the details of any murder.’

  ‘OK…and that means?’

  ‘C’mon, Doggie, use your head.’ Harker was sounding more confident with every second. ‘These murders have been taking place every forty years, to the day, which means the next murder will take place tomorrow night at this location.’ He pointed to the eighth solitary pin and the handwritten time and date scrawled there in red biro. ‘Lucas may have been crazy, but he got one thing right…the timing.’

  This idea definitely resonated with Doggie, but he was still looking doubtful about something. ‘Are you absolutely sure we shouldn’t inform the police?’

  Harker was already shaking his head. ‘And do what? Wait twenty-four hours before I can finally fill out a missing person’s report? No. The police can’t help me…but I do have some friends who can.’

  ‘You mean the Templars?’ Doggie replied, suddenly looking extremely excited at the prospect. With all their wealth and connections, the Templars were seen by Doggie as the ultimate in social hierarchy and power. As a result, of course, he had been pushing to meet them since learning of their existence.

  ‘That’s exactly who I mean and, before you ask, no, you still can’t meet them or mention them to anybody. Not unless you want to end up dead.’ Of course, the Templars would never actually kill Doggie, but this served its purpose in keeping the dean from blabbing about things that were not his to share.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Doggie growled. ‘And thank you for the umpteenth time for reminding me of that fact.’

  ‘Hey,’ Harker responded with upturned hands, ‘just trying to keep you alive, my friend, which is I why I need you to stay here in the UK.’

  ‘What…why?’ Doggie complained, not happy at the suggestion.

  ‘Because I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, and if it does all go pear-shaped, then I need to know I’ve someone I can trust to help me. And anyway, with Chloe’s life on the line, I’m going to need all the help I can get.’

  ‘Well, you would perish without me so that part is true,’ Doggie said, and then he thought about it for a moment before offering a grudging nod. ‘Fine, I’ll be waiting for your call.’

  ‘Thanks, Doggie… Sorry, Tom.’

  The correction received an appreciative smile from the dean, who then pulled out his mobile. ‘I’ll call a cab. Where exactly are you going anyway?’

  Harker leant over to extract the eighth pin while noting its exact location on the map. ‘Berlin. I’m going to Berlin to stop a murder… And I have absolutely no idea how or why!’

  Chapter 5

  The sun was just beginning to rise as Bishop Esposito traversed the narrow side street and headed back towards his parish. It was a strange thing but, for the life of him, he had no idea where he had just been or how he had got here, but he felt no panic despite the fact that his recent memory seemed patchy at best. His mind felt numb as if it were wrapped in cotton wool, and this same sensation was now spreading into his chest and throughout his entire body. The feeling was surreal, like being in a dream even though he knew that he was still awake.

  Off to his left, a local tradesman was in the process of rolling up the metal security shutters of his small coffee shop, and Esposito raised his arm and politely waved to him but the gesture was met with a grimace and the shutters fell back to the floor.

  How rude, the bishop thought, and then he noticed his hand was filthy black and the tips of his fingers covered in small, bloody cuts.

  Had he been involved
in an accident? Is this why he couldn’t remember anything?

  Despite the damage to his hands, he continued on along the picturesque winding streets of a village whose name he should have known but which now escaped him. He was definitely in Italy, somewhere near Rome, that much he was certain of… Or was he? For some reason it didn’t seem to be that important.

  Esposito continued until he reached the small town square and then, as if on autopilot, he crossed over to the other side and came to a stop outside a small stone church. The modest building was splendid in its rustic beauty and, since it was so early and the streets were deserted, he found himself revelling in the sounds of birds cooing in the distance.

  So peaceful, Esposito thought, turning his attention back to the church entrance. He was glad to have now reached his destination, although why it was his destination he couldn’t really say. Because he was a bishop? Or was he really a bishop?

  These questions seemed insignificant and they melted away with a soothing numbness as he pushed open the small wooden door and then headed inside with a real sense of peace and tranquillity in his heart. What a wonderful day to be alive.

  The church was dark but not gloomy and the sun’s first offering of light shone through the stained-glass windows above the altar, casting a wondrous multitude of colours onto the red stone tiling of the knave. The colours had a particular glow to them this morning, an almost golden tint to their edges, and Esposito stood in awe, enjoying them – until, at the other end of the building, he spotted a young man kneeling in prayer. The familiar black and white vestments of a priest were unmistakable; the cleric was surely offering his morning thanks. Esposito raised his arm and called out to him, but no words came out. He tried once more but still nothing… Strange.

  Unconcerned as yet, Esposito glided down the aisle with the unique sensation of walking on air, enjoying this so much that he stopped, turned around and did another tour up and down the nave before joining the still-kneeling priest.

  He then reached down to place his hand lightly on the young man’s shoulder, and the contact made the priest jerk backwards. He jumped to his feet and spun around quickly, clearly caught off guard by the interruption to his prayers.

  Esposito attempted to offer him a friendly greeting, but again nothing came out. However it was not this that concerned him; it was the wide-eyed expression of abject terror on the priest’s face as he raised a hand to his mouth and stumbled backwards before collapsing on the floor at the base of the altar.

  Esposito looked on in confusion as the priest stood up and headed back to the vestry doorway until he was out of sight.

  What the devil? he thought, and was just about to pursue the grief-stricken man when he caught a reflection in one of the shiny silver plates displayed upon the altar. The face he saw there made him jerk back in utter terror as he took in the disgusting image of a man – and, when he realized this was his own reflection, he almost threw up. The top portion of the face was entirely devoid of skin, revealing the dark-red lines of muscle beneath, and one of his eyes was completely missing, leaving nothing but a gaping black socket. What skin there was left hung from the skull like an ill-fitting jumper, and it drooped from his cheek so as to warp the shape of his single remaining eye on the other side of his face. Such gory features paled into insignificance, though, compared to the lower half of his face, and it became clear now why the priest had not heard him call out upon first entering the church. The entire lower jawbone was missing, exposing the back of his throat and the white bone of his larynx, while an oversized tongue hung downwards where the muscles had stretched apart.

  Esposito prodded tentatively at each of the blood-filled clots that had formed into dark black nodules where the skin had been tugged away, and he began to feel faint. He toppled forward and collapsed before the altar, tears flowing from his one remaining eye stinging his exposed facial muscles, and his whole body began to spasm. The previous numbness was now replaced with complete and unmitigated pain, which surged over him like a burning flame and singed every one of his nerve endings with crippling agony.

  Esposito clawed his way up the side of the stone altar and then threw himself on top of it as the pain intensified. He stared up at the crucifix and into the eyes of the sculpted image of Jesus.

  ‘My Lord, why have you forsaken me?’

  Chapter 6

  Through the pitch darkness the lights of central Berlin glowed in the distance as Harker made his way cautiously through the dense undergrowth of the Spreepark amusement park. The park itself had been abandoned for years, and any amusement these days was surely only had by the animals who might be prowling the abandoned rides.

  On the plane trip over, Harker had googled everything he could find regarding this once famous entertainment park, and everything he had learnt about it was pretty depressing. Built in what was then Soviet-controlled East Germany, during the cold war the park had served as the only one of its kind in the entire GDR and had drawn over a million visitors a year. When the Berlin Wall had come down the park had reopened with a new and more Westernized look, but by 2002, and with declining visitor numbers, the place had finally been abandoned.

  To make things even worse, an act of arson had destroyed many of the buildings, only adding to the park’s woes. Recently a bid had been made to rejuvenate the site to its former glory but, except for some clearing of the trees, it was unquestionably still a work in progress.

  With the front entrance securely gated and the grounds regularly patrolled by a security guard with the biggest Alsatian dog Harker had ever seen, he had opted to find another way in and a gap in one of the chain fences had provided this.

  The pin in Lucas’s map had provided a rough location but, without truly knowing what he was looking for, Harker’s task was proving difficult. Before departing the UK he had left a voicemail for his Templar contact, John Shroder, in the hope of getting some assistance, but so far he had heard nothing in response. The message he’d left had been deliberately short, stating only that he was attempting to gain access to the park, but said nothing concerning Lucas’s suicide or Chloe’s disappearance. The Templars, understandably, had a strict code of practice regarding communications, one that every associate of the order, and Harker was no exception, was required to follow rigorously. Still, it was strange that Shroder had not yet returned his call. Since the events involving HAARP, Harker had maintained a close relationship with the Templar and MI6 agent, and no doubt his delay in responding had been unavoidable. ‘If you ever need me, I’ll be there,’ Shroder had once assured him and, as Harker approached a clearing and the eerie sight of abandoned and burnt-out buildings came into view, he found himself murmuring, ‘Well, you’re not here now, are you, John?’

  Harker cleared the last thicket of undergrowth and entered a sparsely wooded clearing containing what must have been, at one time, an open-water ride, the abandoned white plastic swan boats being a dead giveaway. Long-stemmed reeds stuck up through what little water was left, and most of the swan boats were still tied to a rotting wooden dock that in its day must have seen many an excited child waiting to catch the next ride. Sadly, and judging by the number of used condoms floating upon the pond’s surface, the only thing anyone was likely to catch here these days was hepatitis B. Still, at least the park was continuing to bring joy to the teenagers who ventured here looking for a safe place to fool around.

  Not having received a tetanus shot in years, Harker warily made his way around this ‘lake of love’ and on through the soggy grass towards the only landmark that had been visible from the park’s outskirts. The large rusty Ferris wheel soared about one hundred metres into the air, and even though it was a dark night the full moon provided excellent illumination.

  Not surprisingly, there was no sign of anyone anywhere, but with dense woodland beyond the clearing, if there were anyone lurking nearby he would be the last to know it. Harker was genuinely considering, maybe foolishly, climbing up onto the Ferris wheel in the hope of get
ting a better look over his surroundings. He was still mulling over whether to traverse this huge metal deathtrap when a series of dim lights began to flicker in the distance.

  Whether car lights or torches it was impossible to tell, but Harker eagerly began making his way towards them. He moved swiftly at first but a painful collision with a fallen signpost convinced him to slow down. It was not until he was passing through the treeline that he found a small dirt track hidden within. It was then that he began to pick up the pace with a jog towards the only visible lights in the area.

  The route took a few minutes, and by the time Harker reached his destination the lights had disappeared, but by then he no longer needed them. Set off the muddy dirt track, and buried in the forest skirting the park, he came across a large red-brick building.

  The house covered two floors and was large enough to support a small clock tower with broken windows on all its visible sides. This rose up from the centre of the roof, and Harker was at first certain the dilapidated building must be deserted. That was until he got nearer still and, from the right angle, he could see the glow of light shining through the cracks of the boarded-up windows, confirming there were visitors.

  Harker ventured further around the side of the building and, as he passed the next corner, he came upon a group of cars, seven in total, parked tightly together outside the front entrance or along a connecting road leading off in the opposite direction from which he had approached. Three Mercedes-Benzes, three BMWs and a one white Range Rover made up this expensive collection; he doubted these belonged to teenagers frequenting the park to indulge in some nocturnal mischief.