Relics Page 6

  Harker jolted the key once more and gave the door a thump, and it swung back to reveal a wooden staircase beyond. ‘Yeah, that helps as well.’

  They headed up to the landing at the top of the stairs, which opened into a small lounge with a tidy kitchen off to one side. The entire space was now empty except for six large cardboard boxes stacked against the far wall with ARCHIE DWYER scrawled on them in black felt-tip. Claire moved over to the first box, opened out its flaps, and lightly browsed the top layer. ‘This is it … everything Archie owned. It’s not a lot, but he never was much interested in material goods.’

  Harker shot her a wistful smile and tapped his collar. ‘It’s the lifestyle, goes with the job.’

  She let out a frustrated sigh and closed the lid. ‘OK, what now?’

  ‘Now, we have a look at Archie’s PC and check his emails.’

  ‘I never even knew Archie used a computer. I thought he was afflicted by a continual bout of techno-fear.’

  Harker found it odd that Archie’s own flesh and blood seemed to know less about the man than he did – but wasn’t that usually the way. ‘Yeah, he used to be quite a whiz with Microsoft Office and used to regularly email me with his day-to-day thoughts.’

  Claire pulled her head out of the box she was investigating and flicked a loose strand of hair from her face. ‘Did he keep a diary by any chance?’

  Harker shook his head firmly. ‘No, he didn’t believe in diaries, as you surely know. He always maintained that you change as you get older and that diaries from earlier years make you sound different from the man you’ve since become. It only confirms a sad human truth we’re all aware of but are unwilling to openly acknowledge: that we’re all hypocrites in one way or another.’

  Claire smiled as she remembered her brother’s tendency towards eccentric points of view, and Harker continued, ‘But he did write down his thoughts on philosophy and spiritualism. He used to email me these, and we’d debate them. But that stopped when I left the Church. Not a bad thing, really. They could be pretty boring discussions.’

  The affectionate expression on Harker’s face drew another smile from Claire Dwyer.

  ‘So where’s your PC, Archie?’ he exclaimed in frustration. ‘Claire, why don’t you finish checking these?’ He pointed to the three unopened boxes next to her, and she immediately began delving into the first one. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll have a look upstairs.’

  Claire didn’t look up but only raised one hand in a thumbs-up gesture before continuing to rummage around.

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ he added before disappearing up to the second-floor landing and heading through the doorway of his old bedroom. It was empty except for the metal frame and a couple of pillows. He then checked the nearby toilet and bathroom before stepping across the landing to his former friend’s room. It was equally barren, and he strode across to the window and gazed out in the direction of the Vatican. It provided a good vantage point, and, from this high position, he could clearly make out the balcony of St Peter’s Basilica where Archie had hanged himself. Suddenly the thought of his old friend standing exactly where he was now and contemplating how to end his life made him feel queasy.

  It was as he lowered his eyes towards the floor, not wanting to continue gazing at his friend’s favourite view, that he saw it. In the corner of the window pane, there was an engraving, maybe representing a word. Craning his head closer, Harker realised it wasn’t a word at all but a mark scratched into the glass, no more than a centimetre in width and height.

  Harker rubbed at a layer of grime on the surface, allowing him to inspect the image more closely. The mark was a symbol he recognised but hadn’t seen in a very long time. The image consisted of an oval, which contained two figures riding a single horse, and, although crudely cut, there was no doubt in his mind what it represented. But what it was doing here in a priest’s house was anyone’s guess.

  ‘I can’t see it anywhere,’ a voice sounded out from behind him. ‘Did you find anything up here?’

  Harker swung around to see Claire Dwyer standing in the doorway, the neckline of her dress now covered in a fine layer of dust. He was about to motion towards the etched symbol when the outline of another image caught his attention. A distinct projection of the marking had been cast by the sun on to the opposite wall of the room but magnified to about a foot in height. It was hazy at first, but within seconds, a brighter ray of sunlight shone in through the pane, bringing the other shadow into focus.

  ‘Yes, I think I have.’ Harker could feel the bubbling of excitement in his chest as he took her by the shoulder and pointed out the small symbol on the window. ‘Claire, do you know what that signifies?’

  Claire focused in on the icon before she shrugged and made a wild guess. ‘The logo of whichever company made the glass pane?’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s a pictogram, an ancient mark. That, Ms Dwyer, is the emblem of the Knights Templar.’

  Claire stood back and shrugged again. ‘Who?’

  Harker stared at her in disbelief. ‘You’ve never heard of the Knights Templar, the defenders of the Holy Grail? Been featured in scores of books and films.’

  The mention of movies finally coaxed a glimmer of realisation from her. ‘What … you mean from medieval times?’

  Harker almost laughed at her knowledge or, rather, lack of it. ‘The only way you wouldn’t have heard about them in recent years is if you’d been living under a rock.’

  Her look of growing annoyance quashed any further sarcasm in his voice as he cleared his throat to continue.

  ‘Yes, from medieval times, you know, Knights and horses.’ He pointed again to the insignia cast on the wall. ‘And look where it’s shining.’

  She studied the enlarged representation and nodded. ‘Ahh, yes, it’s very nice. It really is.’

  Harker shook his head in frustration. ‘Claire, I love you, I really do, but you would have made a terrible detective.’ He strode over to the projected image and lightly felt his way around the edges of the same wall. ‘Many of the buildings around here date back hundreds of years, and I will bet some still hold a few secrets, but I can’t believe I lived here all that time and never realised it.’

  He pushed at the centre of the now dulling image, and instantly an entire section of the wall retracted inwards and slid neatly to one side, revealing a doorway. He then shot Claire a triumphant smile, his stomach now tingling with butterflies.

  ‘It’s a secret chamber,’ he explained.

  ‘For what?’

  Harker grinned like an excited schoolboy and then pushed the wooden door ajar. ‘Don’t know, but let’s find out, shall we?’

  The musty damp smell from within made him wrinkle his nose as he peered into the pitch-blackness. He automatically brushed his hand up the inside wall in search of a light switch.

  ‘Here we go.’

  With a click, the light bulb directly above illuminated, initially blinding him, but, as his vision adjusted, he could soon make out a flight of stone stairs leading downwards to a rusty metal door ten feet below. The stairway looked worn, and the moss-lined walls with a patchwork of glistening damp gave a clue to its age.

  ‘What’s in there?’ Claire had raised her head over Harker’s shoulder, strands of her silky red hair tickling his cheek.

  ‘It’s a staircase,’ he responded, rubbing at the itch on his face unconsciously. ‘Let’s see where it leads.’

  Fragments of grit and loose plaster crackled beneath Harker’s feet as he carefully made his way down towards the discoloured entrance, visible at the bottom. Close behind him, Claire had a hand firmly clamped on his shoulder as her high heels began to teeter on the hard stonework.

  ‘Not a great day for these fancy shoes,’ she remarked with a laugh.

  Harker’s curiosity at what lay below was becoming overpowering. He placed one hand firmly on the ice-cold metal handle and gave it a pull. It fell aside with ease, the hinges well oiled, revealing only darkness. He scanned the pitc
h-blackness beyond, shapes emerging into view only as his eyes adjusted. His entire body tensed apprehensively, not knowing what lay ahead. A few feet to his right, a small red light blinked at him through the dimness.

  ‘Hold on.’ He gently took Claire’s hand off his shoulder and placed it securely on to the frame of the open door before cautiously entering.

  Harker had only made it a few steps inside when something solid smacked against his shin, and he leapt backwards as his nerves got the better of him.

  ‘Alex!’ she cried out in alarm.

  He reached down and repositioned the offending obstacle. ‘It’s just a chair …’

  Claire allowed herself to take a deep breath, now embarrassed by her skittishness.

  ‘… and a table.’

  Harker proceeded carefully towards the blinking light, his vision now adjusting to the dimness. He could make out the dull images of the chair and the desk, with a side lamp positioned on top of it. After fumbling around for a few moments, he managed to switch it on. Again, the sudden brightness made him curse, and it took a few seconds for his vision to return to normal. Finally, the entire room came into view. In truth, it wasn’t so much a room as a converted basement, with a circular red carpet covering most of the stone-flagged floor. Standing upon it was a plain wooden writing desk and a chair. In the centre of the desk was a PC, its red power button flashing.

  ‘What is all this stuff about?’

  Harker turned back to see Claire checking out a variety of posters covering the whitewashed brick walls.

  ‘Well, that’s a Salvador Dali painting called the Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory.’ He was pointing to a poster displayed nearest the door. ‘The one next to it seems to be a portrait of Sir Isaac Newton …’ Harker glanced back to the desk ‘… and this hidden room must be your brother’s private study.’

  He slid into the chair and pressed the power button, the monitor immediately flashing into life. Claire joined him as the Hewlett Packard ran through its start-up procedures.

  ‘This is all very secretive, Alex. Hidden doors, concealed rooms … what was he hiding?’ Her voice had acquired a shrill excitement to it. ‘Either he was some kind of secret agent …’ she forced a smile through quivering lips ‘… or he’s been hiding something he was ashamed of.’

  Harker reached up and patted her shoulder. ‘If you’re talking about anything nefarious, I don’t believe it for a second.’

  Claire nodded woefully; her eyes began to mist, and she pointed to the flashing monitor. ‘Well, there has to be some reason he committed suicide. If there are pictures of naked children on that computer, I want you to destroy it.’

  Her words caught Harker by surprise; after his meeting with Brulet, he’d not even entertained the possibility that Archie was a paedophile, even if Claire had considered it.

  ‘Archie was no child molester, and I know that for a fact,’ he said firmly. ‘No, this is something else altogether.’

  Claire dabbed beneath her eyes with a fingertip so as not to ruin her make-up in her effort to compose herself.

  ‘And as for the secret agent part, you may be closer to the truth there than you think.’

  Claire was now kneeling beside him, her eyes fixed firmly on the screen. ‘What do you mean closer than I think?’ She grabbed Harker’s face and turned it towards her. ‘Alex, what aren’t you telling me?’

  The incipient tears were now gone, quickly replaced with anger as she tightened her hold on his cheek.

  ‘You’d better tell me what’s going on, Alex Harker. I’m his sister, so I have a right to know.’ Her grip was becoming uncomfortable, so he gently pulled away her hand and placed it in her lap. He knew he was going to have to come clean eventually.

  ‘OK, you know the charity I told you about – the people who paid me to snoop around?’

  Claire gave a grim nod.

  ‘Well, I didn’t contact them initially. Archie did that because he had information about another group he’d had dealings with. It’s a group connected with the Vatican.’ Harker pulled out Archie Dwyer’s hand-written letter and handed it to her. ‘He sent me this.’

  Claire delicately opened the envelope and read the contents out loud, ‘Alex, my time remaining is short. Follow the path of the old world. Follow the path of the master’s name from J–A. Maddocks 23-45-64. Trust your logic, not your faith.’ She paused at the end of the last sentence. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  Harker watched the muscles in her face morph from frustration to curiosity, and he almost gasped in relief. He pointed back towards the staircase and tapped the first line of the note.

  ‘Follow the path of the old world … the shadow image on the wall that led us down here. The Templars were of the old world, and they no longer exist. Don’t you see it’s a trail for me to follow? Archie’s laid out a trail.’

  Claire stared at him, her expression full of doubt. ‘And the numbers?’

  At that exact moment, the monitor finally burst into life, displaying a page that was blank except for a log-in window in the middle. Harker gently retrieved the note from her and turned to concentrate on the screen.

  ‘I think it may be a password for use on this computer.’ He pulled the keyboard closer, tapped in the seven digits, and pressed Enter. The screen went black, and a message in large italics appeared.

  ‘Incorrect answer: 2 attempts remaining before deletion.’

  The monitor then reverted back to the log-in window.

  Harker sat back and let out a disgruntled sigh. ‘Your brother’s put an encryption lock on it. Two more tries, and we’ll lose all the information it contains for good.’ He shot Claire a glance. ‘Not bad for someone with techno-fear.’

  She shook her head as if shocked at how little she knew about her own brother. ‘So what now?’

  Harker turned back to the screen. ‘I’m not sure.’ He looked down at Archie’s note and read out the second part again. ‘Follow the path of the master’s name from J–A …’

  As he mulled over this sentence, Claire stood up with a jerk and clicked her fingers.

  ‘I’ve got it. One of Archie’s friends here in Rome is an expat he mentioned a couple of times. His name is Justine Ashhule.’ She pointed to the note. ‘Look J–A, Justine Ashhule. I remember the name because it sounded so comical: Ashhule … Asshole. That has to be it?’

  Harker shook his head. ‘No, that’s fourteen letters, and the password only has six.’

  Claire, looking defeated, resumed her kneeling position, just as Harker let out a snort of amusement.

  ‘Asshole! No, I don’t think so. He’d hardly choose that.’

  He had just finished saying this when a fresh idea popped into his head. ‘Hold on! Follow the name of the master? What if the master represents God?’

  Claire butted in, eager to prove herself useful. ‘But that’s only three letters, and it starts with a G not a J.’

  Harker raised his eyebrows in excitement. ‘You’re right, of course, but in the Old Testament, the master isn’t known as God. He’s called Jehova.’

  Claire tapped her forehead. ‘The amount of Sunday-school classes I went to, I should have twigged that.’

  Harker smiled. ‘Yes, indeed you should have, but, if I remember rightly, you spent most of your time playing doctors and nurses with the boys, much to your brother’s horror.’

  Claire rubbed the side of her neck in embarrassment. ‘Yeah, there was that.’ She looked over at the note still in Harker’s hand, with a renewed sadness in her eyes. ‘From my earliest memories, Archie was always very protective of me.’

  Seeing where this conversation was going, Harker attempted to reverse it a notch. ‘That’s why I never asked you out. Because I know he would have killed me.’

  This admission drew a smile from her, and she rubbed his arm appreciatively. ‘OK, let’s try it then.’

  Harker turned back to the keyboard and typed in ‘Jehova’. The screen again went blank, and again the war
ning in italics popped up.

  ‘Incorrect answer: 1 attempt remaining before deletion.’

  ‘Damn, I felt sure that was it.’ Harker stood up and rubbed his temples in frustration. The answer had to be here somewhere. He began running the clue through his mind again and again as he got up from the chair and commenced pacing up and down the room. ‘The master … The master … J to A …’

  He was on his third lap of the room when a name on one of the wall posters caught his attention, and suddenly everything fell into place. ‘Of course … That’s so simple.’

  Claire practically lunged forward, eager to see what had caught his eye. ‘What … what have you seen?’

  Harker returned the note to his inside pocket and moved over to a poster depicting the crucifixion of Christ. ‘There!’

  Above the poster, and imbedded in the stonewall, sat a small light-blue tile no more than an inch across, carrying the letter A in fine italic script.

  He tried to contain his excitement but totally failed as his breathing began to quicken. ‘There’s an A and then tiles marked with a C, next an E, then G, I …’ Harker followed the wall posters around the room, settling on the last one. ‘And finally, J.’

  Claire moved in closer to that poster, and, sure enough, just above it hung another small light-blue tile with the letter J in italic script also. ‘I see it, so does that mean there’s another secret door?’

  Shaking his head, Harker moved over to the poster below the J tile. ‘The “master” in Archie’s note doesn’t refer to God. It refers to the creative masters like artists, inventors, and composers.’ He directed her attention to each of the posters in turn. ‘Look, Archie’s note read J–A, so if we take the first poster, under the J tile, which is Salvador Dali, and the next is a portrait Sir Isaac Newton, and that one’s by the French painter Nicholas Poussin, Fredrick Chopin the composer, Ulysses the famous Greek warrior, and finally Leonardo Da Vinci’s “John The Baptist” … Six posters, indicating six masters. Take the first letter from each name, and we’ve got a six-figure password.’