The Keeper's Cup: A Controversial Archaeological Thriller Page 5

  “I find it hard to believe,” Fergy spoke quietly. “He was a likeable and enthusiastic person. Wolves roaming around Rome and killing people is a story beyond belief.”

  “I never met him, but he sounded like the sort of person I would have liked. When are we due to meet his replacement? A cardinal, no less. Cardinal Nicholas.” Miriam looked around as if he expected him to walk in.”

  “Another half hour yet and he may have an intermediary with him. A priest by the name of Father Vincenzo.”

  “We’re dealing with a lot of priests nowadays.” Miriam sighed.

  “While we’re waiting, I’ll order another round. I don’t expect our cardinal will want one.”

  They didn’t have to wait long. Twenty minutes later, the cardinal strode in. He was wearing his mohair suit and looking more like a stock exchange dealer. Alongside him walked Vincenzo, but this time in casual attire.

  Fergy stood, recognising them both from the photographs Francesca De Luca had sent him. Great God, they look like something out of Hollywood central casting. “Cardinal Nicholas?”

  “Yes, that is me,” the cardinal replied. “You must be Professor Christie?”

  “Yes, I am, and this is my colleague, Dr. Miriam Sinclair. We’re pleased to meet you.”

  The cardinal introduced Vincenzo and they shook hands before sitting. “I can see from your faces,” Nicholas began, “that we are not what you expected. You must forgive us. We rarely have the chance to live outside our cassocks, collars, and hats. What you see is rare and does not happen often.”

  “No problem,” Fergal replied, but couldn’t help thinking that Vincenzo resembled an Italian used car salesman.

  Both priests ordered coffee and declined Fergal’s offer to pay for them.

  The first point was the death of the bishop. “I find it hard to believe that in sight of Rome, a man like him gets mauled to death by a pack of wolves,” Fergal said, shaking his head.

  The cardinal tightened his thin, leathery lips, and without seeming to open his mouth, responded with a tinny tone of voice. “The bishop had been careless and indiscreet. That attitude contributed to his death, I suspect. God rest his soul.”

  Miriam shot a glance at Fergy and sensed his reaction. He, like herself, had taken an instant dislike to the cardinal. The milk of human kindness does not seem to be with him. She gave her partner a brief nod. He would know what that meant. He always did.

  “I find that a bit harsh, Cardinal. He seemed affable, intelligent, well- informed, and highly efficient.”

  The cardinal’s reply startled them both.

  “Satan has a way of manipulating people. I fear the bishop had been one of them.”

  Miriam quickly interjected. This was not what they were here for. “Let’s get off the subject, shall we? Cardinal Nicholas, I suspect you know far more than we do about religious sensibilities. They have nothing to do with us.” She carefully avoided bringing Pope Adrian into the discussion. “I suspect there’s more to your story then we are being told. Frankly, we are not interested in Catholic politics. We are here to perform a service.”

  That was a small lie.

  “We have expertise that you need and you’re here to purchase our knowledge in diving and archaeology. We’ve read the original brief from Bishop Fisher and I presume it remains unchanged. What we understand is that you are asking us to investigate the degree of Christianity that was found here, and if possible, locate from our Celtic past, any evidence that Jesus had survived his crucifixion, lived amongst us, and possibly had a family. Correct?” She did not mention the cup.

  “Correct.”

  “What we further understand is that details of further gospels allegedly written by Philip and Thomas are the keystone to these stories. The Israelis are holding them in secret, although the bishop had been given full access. In his investigations, it appeared that Mary Magdalene was the dominant force and had supposedly possessed healing abilities. That the Magdalene had two children, and that to this day, their descendants might exist somewhere.”

  The cardinal remained as expressionless as a stone carving. “I do what I am asked to do. What I believe in this matter is of no concern.”

  Fergal’s look was one of scepticism.

  Cardinal Nicholas continued, “Let’s discuss your plan of action and how we will communicate. Father Vincenzo will be your point of contact. Due to my duties, I would be unable to oversee your search at all times.”

  Thank God for that, Fergy thought.

  “Father Vincenzo will contact you frequently and visit your areas of investigations.”

  Vincenzo leant forward and in moderate, accentuated English, spoke. “I am staying nearby but may go away at times. This is the number of my hotel.” He handed over a slip of paper. “I wish to accompany you in the first few days so I may get some understanding of what you are planning. Grazie molto.”

  “Understood. Miriam, dig out our schedule and itinerary. We need to discuss this now.”

  “There is one other point,” the cardinal interrupted. “At times, you may observe another man in your vicinity. He is Father Vincenzo’s helper and guard. He will also help guarantee your safety – from others we know of who might try and interfere with this project.” The cardinal had never been averse to telling lies.

  “What a load of rubbish!” Fergy snapped. “I thought this was a secret project. The last thing we want is some sort of guard tramping around our archaeological digs.”

  “It is a secret mission, but I’m sure you will agree, professor… it is better to be safe than sorry. He will be totally discreet, and rest assured, you will not see him every day. If you wish, you will be introduced later.”

  They spent the next hour sorting out points of reference and ensuring both the cardinal and Vincenzo understood locations and references. They agreed to meet Vincenzo in three days’ time when the mission commenced at the Wookey Hole caves.

  The priests arose and gave their farewells. The cardinal’s smile appeared as friendly as a wet Monday morning.

  They were finally alone.

  “What a pair of creeps,” Miriam hissed.

  “Too right. If it weren’t for the intrigue and of course the money, I wouldn’t want to know.” He gave a deep sigh. “After all that, I could do with a stiff drink. How about you?”

  “Yes, a large Shiraz would go down well.” She grinned.

  Fergal got up and went to the bar to place the order. The barman, wearing a chic, white tunic and black bow tie, began pouring the wine. The professor noticed the barman’s name tag. Strange name, that… Kelvin Stallybrass.

  The barman gave him a polite nod. He had heard every word of their discussion.

  “On holiday here, sir?” he asked politely.

  “Not really,” Fergy replied. “We’re here to do some diving around the caves. We’re part of a scientific exploration. What we hope to find, God only knows.”

  “Well, what d’you know?” Kelvin feigned surprise. “I used to dive these caves years back, before they got taped off for SSS.”

  It was Fergal’s turn to look surprised. “You’ve dived in the caves around here?”

  “Frequently. It’s a hobby of mine. I’ve a current BSCA advanced open water diving certificate, plus underwater photography certificates with cavern diving techniques.”

  “Hey! Hold it right there, Mr. Stallybrass.” The professor turned to Miriam. “Miriam, over here… quick.”

  Sensing his excited tone, she made for the bar counter.

  He quickly made the introductions and repeated what Kelvin had told him.

  “Looks like our man, Prof.”

  “Sure does.” He turned to Kelvin. “Fancy some cave work, Kelvin? It’s well paid and if we plan it properly, you may not have to give up the day job.” Fergal went on to explain that the mission was an attempt to discover if Christianity reached the Celts long before any of the so- called saints arrived to spread the word. He refrained from mentioning the never-empty, mi
raculous cup, or of Jesus or Mary Magdalene.

  He would have been surprised to know that Kelvin was fully aware of what they were hoping to locate.

  They discussed it further and both Miriam and Fergal quizzed him about diving. His answers were correct.

  “Do you know what, Kelvin?” Miriam said, smiling. “I’ve a feeling you know more about diving than we do. So… will you join us?”

  “Without a doubt,” Kelvin’s reply was positive and eager. “Let me just say, it’s long been an idea of mine that there could be more than meets the eye around this area and the caves.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Fergy said, relieved. “I think we could make a great team.”

  9

  The Vatican

  Pope Adrian sat alone in his private chamber. Earlier, he had cast his thoughts back to his early life. His father had been a boatman in the idyllic village of Giethoorn, in northwest Holland. It was called the Venice of the Netherlands, owing to its numerous waterways and bridges. Both his parents had been devout Catholics, and had raised him so, before he left to join the priesthood.

  He remembered the heady days as a seminarian, and how inspired and driven he had been. That drive had led him to become the leader of the Catholic Church. It seemed like a fairy tale.

  His drive had been shaped by a powerful spiritual experience. While on a silent retreat, he had heard a voice whispering to him in the Dolomite mountains. It wasn’t Christ or God. No, it was The Magdalene telling him that she was the instrument of Jesus – the Sophia, the embodiment of Holy Wisdom, who had been present with God during the creation.

  Since then, the vision had stayed with him, changing him forever. He had revealed it to nobody, knowing it would be rejected by his peers and he would be shunned.

  He believed that one day, that truth would be revealed and patriarchy would falter. The true light of the world would then shine across the entire planet and humanity would finally know the truth.

  The ancient Hebrew word for God was YHWH or Yahweh. It was said that the name had been revealed to Moses and YAH, the first part of the name is feminine. Indeed, he had found that in the books of Proverbs, Genesis, Exodus and others, there were certain clues given which reinforced this vision.

  He had read the gnostic beliefs and the Gospel of Philip which maintained, via the Valentinian Theology, that God was SYZYGY. In one sense, God was unknowable and androgynous – depicted as a male and female dyad. There can be no concept of maleness without femaleness, just as there can be no darkness without light. The division into opposites was ultimately an illusion. God was Sophia. She was the SYZYGY, the divine female twin, and the Holy Spirit of the Trinity.

  These were thoughts and ideas that had forever bothered him and caused long bouts of doubt. It was his abiding secret. The God he loved was neither female nor male. God was of spirit, an amorphous element.

  Adrian frequently reminded himself that in recent years, the Episcopal Church had dropped all references to God as male – such as He, Father, Lord, and King. ‘Our Father who art in heaven’ has been replaced by Our Parent who art in heaven. He smiled at the thought. This may seem strange to most people, having been taught the former version. He wondered about their tolerance of gay sexuality and their willingness to integrate with other faiths. Indeed, he contemplated the impact of that to his church and faith if such principles were ever adopted by the Catholic faith.

  It was these thoughts, coupled with his early vision, that had prompted him to secretly fund the Society of Truth in Archaeology. If they could uncover something buried in the past, then it would go a considerable way to alleviate or confirm his doubts. He knew that he was not alone with these thoughts.

  It had been a disturbing day for him. He had prepared himself for bed but was guessing he would not sleep easily. Beside him was a detailed report handed to him by the office of the Santa Alleanza – also known as L'Entità. Its motto, Cum Cruce et Gladio – “With the Cross and Sword” – was highly indicative of its intent. Established in 1566 by Pope St. Pius V, the office represented part of the Vatican’s highly sophisticated intelligence agency.

  They had received the report directly from the Dirigente Superiore of the Polizia di Stato. The report concerned the death of Bishop Fisher and the circumstance surrounding it.

  The document contained several factors that eliminated the wolf attack reports.

  The bishop’s DNA, taken from his blood, hair, and saliva, were consistent as his. There were two other examples that were clearly not his, nor were they from an animal, but from some other people. There was no record of them on the police database, so these were noted and placed on the appropriate files for future reference.

  Earlier examination had revealed that the bishop’s skull had been fractured. Deeper analysis revealed no animal DNA, no fur, nor any recognisable teeth or claw marks. This was inconsistent with an animal attack. They concluded that the torn clothing and flesh were not caused by a wolf as initially claimed.

  Forensics had revealed microscopic traces of metal and wood. The team indicated that hooks and spikes likely caused the mutilations. The park was a busy place during the day and many people passed through it on a regular basis. Microbial forensics revealed that the body had been dead for at least forty-eight hours prior to being discovered. The conclusion was that it had been dumped there.

  The pope offered up a silent prayer for the soul of the dead bishop.

  My suspicions were correct. I never believed that news report. Clearly, he was murdered. I now have no doubts it’s connected to the work he was doing for SOTA. Someone had discovered its existence – and that means they know of my part in it. Cardinal Nicholas could be in grave danger, as could I.

  He is due back here soon. I must talk to him. The archaeologists could also be in peril.

  He bit his bottom lip, an old childhood anxiety trait. He wondered if God was punishing him for his secret doubts about much of the Bible – anxieties which had grown of late.

  Above all else, he was determined that the church should not fall into the hands of the ultra-hard-line cardinals and priests. He knew they were many.

  Adrian bowed his head and asked for guidance. For once in his life, he felt powerless.

  10

  Wells, Somerset, England

  Vincenzo sprawled his portly body across the hotel bed. He was making sure his compact Vektor CP1 ceramic handgun was working correctly. He didn’t wish to use it, but with the cardinal and Cracker about, the stakes had been raised. It didn’t seem a bad idea. He was pleased with the trust the cardinal had placed in him. His own reputation back in Rome was that of a rogue priest. He was aware of the name other priests called him behind his back – Il Cacciavite Cardinali – ‘The Cardinal’s Screwdriver.’ When the going got hard, he would keep on turning. He was what the English referred to as a ‘rough diamond.’ Rough he may be, but he was in total agreement with the cardinal and his extreme vision of the church’s role on the planet. He had no problem with extreme tactics and the use of weapons to uphold the word of God. It was his duty, as was that of the Crusaders of old. In his secret heart, he found he enjoyed that aspect of his work.

  The sound of the phone ringing startled him. He grabbed at it. “Si?”

  “Hello. Father Vincenzo?”

  The sound of Professor Fergal Lars Christie’s voice reminded him he was in England. “Ah, yes I am. You are the professor, no?”

  “Correct, Father. We are preparing to go to the caves. Please meet us there in thirty minutes. We will wait for you.”

  “Si, I will be there.” He hung up.

  For a few moments, he allowed himself to revel in a sense of gratitude toward the cardinal. Many years back, it was Cardinal Nicholas who had persuaded him to embrace the religious life. At that time, he was but a homeless drug addict living in the many parks that adorn and surround the city of Firenze, Florence. He had little money, was unwashed, and faced a bleak future. He had one talent. He was tough, and when aroused,
what he was capable of knew no boundaries.

  One time, a gang of three minor criminals who were determined to rob anybody of anything they could find had confronted the cardinal, who had been a bishop at the time. For some reason, Vincenzo went to his rescue and set about the men with considerable ferocity. They took a heavy beating and fled. The then bishop, Nicholas, took pity on him and offered him shelter and food. They had understood each other.

  Vincenzo had realised the advantages of a priestly life – especially under the now cardinal’s all-embracing wing – and had entered the seminary. In no time, he learned the ways of the religious.

  The life offered hauled him from the gutter, and he was forever grateful to Cardinal Nicholas. Vincenzo would do anything the cardinal asked of him. Everyone knew this and he soon became known and feared. Who would have believed his progress? Now, here he was in England helping to safeguard a top-secret assignment,

  He would do whatever the cardinal required. Bloodletting in God’s name was perfectly acceptable. Cardinal Nicholas had convinced him of that.

  * * *

  Dr. Miriam Sinclair and the professor, both in their neoprene dry suits, began checking their equipment for their expected dive. It would also be their chance to see how well Kelvin could perform. He said he would be bringing his own equipment. Their checks were routine and one they knew by heart. They made sure they had two of everything, in case of any equipment malfunction. They had about fifteen items listed, and these included essentials like oxygen tanks, fins, flashlights, underwater cameras, knives, pressure regulators and timers.

  The plan was to examine the shallower depths. They knew that in the past, near the water’s edge, items had been found. They’d start there before going further.

  Whilst doing a double check, the tall figure of Kelvin Stallybrass appeared. He looked similarly attired and complete with identical equipment.

  “Greetings.” His loud voice echoed around the cave entrance. “I’m all ready, how about you two?”