The Revelation Code (Wilde/Chase 11)

  ‘My idea of God never had him as a peeping Tom.’

  ‘Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.’

  Nina eyed him. ‘That’s not a Bible quote.’

  ‘No, but it’s practically the motto of the CIA. The best way to protect your people is to know everything.’

  ‘About their enemies, or about them?’

  ‘In this case, about you.’ He regarded her notes. ‘You’ve found the Synagogue of Satan.’ It was not a question.

  ‘I think I’ve found it,’ she replied. ‘I’ll explain everything to you inside. Assuming you haven’t already read it over my shoulder.’

  Cross nodded to Nina’s guide. ‘I’ll call you if I need you again.’

  ‘Thank you, Prophet,’ Miriam replied. She curtseyed before departing, this time giving Nina a happy smile as she passed.

  ‘So how did you persuade her to join your little cult?’ Nina asked Cross as they entered the church. ‘Tour the Midwest to spread the word?’

  ‘I’m not a preacher, Dr Wilde,’ he said. ‘I’m just a seeker of the truth, by trade and by nature. When people seek the truth, others naturally join their quest. You should know that. You don’t work alone either.’

  ‘No, but I’ve never managed to get my co-workers to pay for my tropical retreat.’

  ‘My followers donate to the Mission entirely of their own free will. All I ask from them is their belief in what we do, and their labour for our community. Beyond that, they’re here to study Revelation and wait for its prophecies to come true.’ They reached the control room. ‘Which I’m hoping will happen soon.’ He took his seat and gestured for her to sit at the table.

  Nina noticed that her chair had been moved closer to him, and pushed it away again as she sat, to his minor but obvious annoyance. ‘Okay,’ she said after laying out her notes. ‘Ancient Rome, according to historical texts, had between seven and sixteen major synagogues at various times. Most of their locations have been lost; they would have been demolished and built over as the city grew. But some left archaeological traces, from their catacombs – their burial chambers.’

  ‘How many?’ asked Cross.

  ‘Three major ones. There have been some smaller hypogea – underground chambers – discovered since the nineteenth century, but none of them are anywhere near as expansive as the ones at Monteverde, Vigna Randanini and the Villa Torlonia.’

  ‘You think it’s one of those? Which one?’

  Nina had intended to explain her reasoning in full, but Cross’s impatience was clear – and besides, he probably already knew to which she had devoted the most attention. ‘Villa Torlonia.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Partly because of its size; it’s the largest network of Jewish and early Christian catacombs in the city. The fact that it is both Jewish and Christian also made it look promising, because it lands right in that crossover period when the Jewish Christians of Rome were still enough of a threat to the orthodox Christian leadership that the apostle Paul went to them in person. Which made me think about that Bible verse you quoted about Paul calling the Jewish leadership together.’

  She had definitely caught his attention, any lingering irritation replaced by intrigue. ‘What about it?’

  ‘Like I said, the Jewish Christians would probably choose the initial meeting place. It’d be somewhere they knew, and large enough to accommodate a lot of people, from the sound of it. So the most likely location would be at Rome’s main synagogue.’

  ‘And was that the Villa Torlonia?’

  ‘The excavations there uncovered a large area that had once been an open-air meeting place. In other words, a synagogue. Although . . .’ She hesitated. ‘Nobody knows for certain.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It seems likely to have been a synagogue, but maybe it was just a courtyard – or maybe it was nothing to do with the catacombs at all. There are even some arguments about the age of the catacombs themselves; some of the more recent surveys suggest they pre-date Christianity by a couple of centuries, but quite a few people still insist that they’re from the first century AD, which would probably be far too late for these Elders of yours to have hidden anything down there.’ A nervous shuffle of her papers. ‘Which is why I’m warning you right now that I can’t be sure I’m correct. I’ve given it my best shot, but I can’t guarantee anything.’

  Cross leaned forward, his cold eyes regarding her intently. ‘Then convince me that you’ve done the absolute best you can.’

  Nina paused, realising her mouth had gone dry. Her captor had been a CIA agent, trained in intelligence-gathering, and also in determining if that intelligence were true. That almost certainly meant he was experienced in questioning his sources . . . and interrogating them, if necessary.

  If he didn’t accept her assurance, or worse, thought that she was stalling, or lying . . .

  ‘You’ve got my husband. You’ve got me. You’ve got my baby.’ She pushed the chair back, rising to show him the swelling below her stomach. ‘The only way we’re all going to get out of this alive is if I do everything I can to help you. You’ve made that pretty damn clear. Well, I want to be back home and safe with my family. I want—’ Sudden emotion made the words catch in her throat. ‘I want to have my baby. And I want Eddie to be there with me. That’s how you can be sure I’m doing the best I can.’

  Her hands were shaking; she clenched her fists to cover it. Cross maintained his icy stare for a long moment . . . then sat back. ‘I believe you, Dr Wilde. For now. So,’ he said, slightly more casually, ‘you think the angel is in the catacombs of the Villa Torlonia. Where? And how do we find it?’

  Nina didn’t answer him immediately, struggling to settle herself. ‘I don’t know yet,’ she finally told him. ‘The catacombs aren’t open to the public because of the levels of radon gas. They very occasionally run tours, but only for limited periods. Anyone going down there would need specialist equipment – masks, breathing gear.’

  Cross typed something on a touch screen. ‘Okay, noted. How big are the tunnels?’

  ‘There are over nine kilometres – more than five miles – of catacombs. And nothing resembling your angel has ever been found there, so it’s not at the villa’s museum. If it’s down there, it’s hidden.’

  He ran his finger down the pad, then tapped at it. The video wall flicked into life, showing a somewhat pixelated copy of the catacomb map she had consulted on the laptop. ‘These are the tunnels?’

  ‘Yes.’ She realised that he had called up a list of all the web pages she had checked in her research. ‘The burial chambers are predominantly Jewish, although some Christian epitaphs have been found down there too. Depending on which dating scheme you accept, they were in use for between three and six centuries, so there’s a lot of ground to cover.’

  Cross stared at the map as if studying a battle plan. ‘Nothing’s been discovered that looks anything like the temple I found in Iraq?’

  ‘No. Although I saw some photos that’ll give you an idea of what it’s like down there.’

  He swiped back through the menu. The map disappeared, replaced by a photograph of the catacombs. Narrow, damp tunnels wound through the earth, burial niches – loculi – carved into the walls. Some of the rectangular nooks were surrounded by decorative frescoes.

  These in particular caught Cross’s attention. ‘The paintings. Are there more like them?’

  ‘There are more photos; see for yourself,’ Nina told him. ‘Most of the tunnels are plain, but some of the larger chambers are quite ornate.’

  More images flashed up, the seemingly endless passages disappearing into darkness – then Cross abruptly straightened. ‘What’s that?’

  Nina examined the new picture. It showed part of a ceiling, an image inside a circle picked out in grey and reddish-brown painted lines. ‘It’s a menorah. You know, a Jewish candlestick? Don’t tell me they didn’t have Hanukkah where you grew up.’

  ‘I know what it is,’ he snapped. ‘Is that
the only one down there?’

  ‘No, there are quite a few of them. There should be pictures of a pair of menorahs on a wall – it’s the most famous part of the place.’

  Cross flicked impatiently through more photographs to find them. An arched wall bore two large circular paintings of the seven-branched candle holders, a wide mouth-like split in the stonework beneath them making the whole scene resemble a cartoon ghost.

  ‘Why is that important?’ asked Nina, seeing his intense interest in the scene.

  ‘The temple in Iraq – there was the symbol of a menorah right above the angel. Wait, look.’ He stabbed at the pad. The picture he had showed to Nina on her arrival filled the screens. He zoomed in on the niche. ‘There.’

  It was hard to make out clearly through the dirt, but there did indeed appear to be the image of a menorah inscribed on the gilded wall. ‘You think it’s a marker?’ she asked. ‘The menorah’s a symbol showing the statue’s location?’

  Cross stared at the picture, then swiped back to the photos of the catacombs. ‘It could be,’ he said, almost to himself, before turning to Nina and saying more forcefully: ‘It is! I’m sure of it! It tells you where to find the angel; the Elders hid it somewhere in the catacombs.’

  ‘Where, though? There were a half-dozen menorahs just in those photos, and they were only from a small part of the whole system.’

  ‘We’ll have to search. We need to find the one with the Akkadian and Hebrew symbols for the twenty-four Elders above it. The angel’s wings are made of metal – once we locate the right menorah, we can use detectors to find it.’

  ‘Assuming someone hasn’t already.’

  ‘You said it yourself: nobody’s found anything resembling it before.’

  ‘The catacombs have been there for a long time,’ Nina cautioned. ‘Someone could have taken it two thousand years ago.’

  Cross shook his head. ‘No. It’s there, somewhere. I know it. I know.’

  Alarm rose within her. Her captor had made his decision based on nothing more than her educated guess – which with the limited time and research materials available was practically only a hunch. ‘And what if it’s not there? What happens to me – and to Eddie?’

  He didn’t respond, which unnerved her all the more. Instead he brought up a new app on one of the pads. After a few seconds, the sound of a dialling tone came over the speakers.

  The call was quickly answered. ‘Prophet?’ came Simeon’s voice.

  ‘Where are you?’ Cross asked.

  ‘We arrived in Athens about an hour ago and met the others.’

  ‘Is the jet still there?’

  ‘It’s ready whenever we need it.’

  ‘You need it. Tell the pilot to arrange a flight plan for Rome, as soon as possible.’

  ‘The angel’s in Rome?’ said Simeon, with clear excitement.

  ‘In the catacombs of a place called the Villa Torlonia. I’ll send you the intel. You’ll need metal detectors and breath masks as well as the usual gear.’

  Anna chipped in. ‘I’ve got contacts in Europe who can arrange that.’

  ‘Good. We need to move quickly,’ Cross went on. ‘What time is it there?’

  ‘Almost twenty hundred hours,’ Simeon told him.

  A moment’s thought. ‘It’ll be around midnight, local time, by the time you’re on site,’ said Cross. ‘That should work for us – security ought to be minimal by then.’

  ‘We won’t have much time to reconnoitre.’

  ‘You’ll have to improvise. I want the angel found – tonight.’

  ‘Yes, Prophet.’ The line went silent.

  ‘Why the rush?’ Nina asked. ‘If the angel’s there today, it’ll still be there tomorrow, or a week from now.’

  Again he didn’t answer. ‘Norvin, take her back to her house,’ he ordered. ‘Dr Wilde, I want you to find out everything you can about the catacombs. My people need an efficient search pattern, and to know what to expect down there.’

  ‘What? It’s a tomb,’ Nina replied as she stood. ‘It’s literally as quiet as a grave. You’re making it sound like it’s going to be a military operation.’

  His silence this time was distinctly unnerving.

  7

  Nina was rinsing a plate in the kitchen when someone knocked on the door. Norvin had paid visits throughout the afternoon to check the progress of her research, but from the sound’s hesitancy she guessed that this time it was Miriam. ‘Come in!’

  She had been right. ‘Dr Wilde?’ said the young woman. ‘The Prophet asked me—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, bring me to him. I know the drill.’

  Miriam lowered her head, abashed, then sniffed the air. ‘Oh, that smells delicious! What is it?’

  ‘Nothing special,’ Nina told her. ‘I just fried up some peppers and onions and things. I know fried food isn’t something you’re supposed to have while you’re pregnant, but screw it – sometimes you just have to obey your cravings. And hey, at least it’s not coal or something crazy like live goldfish.’

  ‘It’s making me hungry, that’s for sure.’ Miriam looked at the countertop. ‘I’ll clean all that up for you.’

  Nina held up her hands. ‘No, it’s okay. I can take care of it.’

  ‘Are you sure? At least let me put that in the garbage.’ She indicated a wooden board on which were the finely chopped remains of several peppers.

  ‘No, I’m going to dry them out and use them as seasoning.’ Seeing Miriam’s uncertainty, Nina smiled and went on: ‘Really, it’s okay. I’m going to be here for a while, so I at least want to be able to cook my way, y’know?’

  ‘If you’re sure . . .’

  ‘I’m sure. Okay, let me wash my hands and we’ll go see what His Prophetness wants.’

  They left the little house, Miriam striking up a conversation about cookery. Nina had to bluff her way through it; she was far from a culinary expert, Eddie generally handling anything more complicated than scrambled eggs. They passed one of the poles topped by the black spheres of the security cameras, and she realised that she not only had a chance to change the subject, but that it was the only time she would be able to talk without being overheard. ‘Listen, Miriam,’ she said in a low voice, ‘you told me before that you wanted to help me.’

  The young woman nodded. ‘What can I do?’

  Nina chose her words carefully. Their earlier exchanges had made it clear that she would not be able to persuade Miriam to act directly against Cross, but if she could appeal to her caring nature . . . ‘Miriam, I like you – you’re a sweet girl, and I know that you care about what happens to me.’

  She smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Then you care about my baby, too. Don’t you?’

  The smile became a little laugh. ‘Of course I do!’

  ‘Because the thing is, I was brought here against my will. That’s put me under a lot of pressure, a lot of stress – and that’s not good for the baby. It can really hurt it. Do you hear what I’m saying, Miriam?’

  Miriam’s expression became one of concern, but conflict was also clear on her face. ‘I . . . I know that you want to go home, but I can’t help you do that. I’m sorry. I really am.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to get me on to the next flight back to New York. All I want you to do is phone my obstetrician and ask her the best way that I can keep my baby safe. I’ll give you her number.’ She had other numbers in mind; friends, former work colleagues, anyone who could realise the significance of the message and pass it on to the authorities . . .

  But it was not to be. ‘I’m sorry,’ Miriam repeated unhappily. ‘But I’m not allowed to make any phone calls without the Prophet’s permission. I really, really want to do everything I can to help your baby,’ she added, eyes wide in reassurance. ‘But . . . I just can’t do that. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Then you’re not really any help at all, are you?’ Nina snapped. But despite the situation, she couldn’t feel any anger towards the shy, sincere young woman. In a lot of
ways Miriam couldn’t have been any more different from Macy, but she shared the same openness of personality, her heart right there on her sleeve. ‘Hey, it’s okay, I didn’t mean it,’ she said, seeing the stricken look on her companion’s face. ‘You’ve done fine, you really have. I just wish you could have done more.’

  ‘So do I,’ Miriam replied.

  They arrived at the church. Norvin was waiting at the door. ‘What, I don’t get a personal greeting this time?’ Nina said in mock complaint.

  ‘The Prophet’s been busy. He’s waiting for you,’ was the big man’s reply.

  Nina shrugged and followed him inside. ‘See you later,’ she said to Miriam, receiving a smile in return.

  Cross really had been busy, she saw as she entered the control room. The two touchscreens on his chair apparently weren’t powerful enough for whatever he had planned, as a pair of laptops were set up on the table before him, a large printout of the catacomb map mounted on a stand nearby. The entrance to the system had been circled in red. Beside it was a smaller map of the Villa Torlonia’s grounds. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘Looks like you’re set up for a really intense session of Dungeons and Dragons.’

  He gestured impatiently for her to sit as he adjusted a headset. ‘Comms check,’ he said into the mic. ‘Come in, Simeon.’

  Nina heard Simeon reply through his earphones, but couldn’t make out the words. ‘Do I get to listen, or are you going to have subtitles?’

  ‘Norvin, get her some headphones,’ Cross said with annoyance. The other man gave her a wireless headset. ‘Your mic is switched off, Dr Wilde. I don’t need you distracting my people with chatter and’ – a sidelong glare – ‘snide comments.’

  ‘As if I would!’ she replied with paint-stripping sarcasm.

  ‘You’re trying my patience,’ was his warning response before he turned his attention to the laptops. He typed commands, reading the results with satisfaction, then said: ‘All team members. Camera check.’

  The video wall lit up, individual screens showing different images as they had when Nina first saw it. But instead of CCTV footage of herself, this time unfamiliar faces appeared in the sickly green glow of night vision. All had small cameras mounted on their headsets, the images twitching with every slight movement.