The Alchemist's Secret

  ‘Where’s Hope?’

  The man grunted. ‘You got the money?’ At Saul’s nod he motioned to the back of the van. Saul smiled to himself as he imagined his rifleman watching this chubby fool in his sights.

  The man threw open the back doors of the Nissan, and Saul approached. Lying on the rough wooden floor inside was a body. Bound and gagged.

  And staring at Saul in horrified recognition. It wasn’t Ben Hope.

  It was his sniper.

  Before Saul could react, Lieutenant Rigault had his gun against his temple and armed officers were flooding out of the building. The red beads of laser sights that were floating all over the back of Saul’s head and jacket belonged to élite police marksmen, trained fingers on hair triggers.

  Rigault threw Saul down onto the floor of the van next to the Gladius Domini sniper and cuffed his hands behind his back as he read him his rights. As Saul was led away to a waiting police van, Rigault called Simon. ‘The fish has taken the bait,’ he said.

  54

  The lift rose smoothly upwards. The guns were still pointing straight at Ben’s head as Usberti led him back to the office. He followed the Archbishop inside, the guards taking up their position outside the door. Usberti motioned to him to sit down, and poured another drink.

  ‘There’s only one Rudolf Hess I’ve ever heard of,’ Ben said. ‘The Nazi.’

  Usberti nodded, smiling. ‘Adolf Hitler’s long-time acolyte and deputy Führer. All his life Hess had a strong interest in the esoteric, which may have been inspired by his early years growing up in Alexandria, Egypt. In his teens his family returned to Europe. Hess pursued his interests, and in the 1920s he learned important alchemical secrets from Fulcanelli’s student Nicholas Daquin. Of course, by that time Hess was also deeply involved in the rising National Socialist Party. Knowing its importance, he immediately passed his new know ledge on to his leader and mentor, Adolf Hitler.’

  Ben’s head was spinning. The Alexandrian-Daquin’s mysterious friend Rudolf–could it really have been the arch-Nazi Hess?

  Usberti went on, pleased at Ben’s reaction. ‘Long before the war, the Nazi Party was very interested in alchemy’s potential to help them build the Third Reich. Company 164 was a secret Nazi research facility whose purpose was to research the alchemical transmutation of matter by altering its vibration frequency.’

  ‘But how could alchemy have helped the Third Reich?’

  Usberti grinned. He opened a drawer, and something glinted in his hands. He laid the heavy object down on the desk in front of Ben. ‘Mr Hope, I give you the secret knowledge of Fulcanelli, as revealed to his student Nicholas Daquin.’

  The gold bar shone dully in the lamplight. Stamped on its side was a small Imperial eagle perched over a Swastika.

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Not at all, Mr Hope. The primary aim of Company 164 was the creation and manufacture of alchemical gold.’

  ‘Out of base metals?’

  ‘Iron oxide and quartz, mainly,’ Usberti replied. ‘These were highly processed according to strict methods that Daquin confided to Hess. You see, it was all thanks to our unwitting friend Fulcanelli that the Nazis were able to gain this incredible knowledge.’

  ‘And they succeeded?’ Ben asked, narrowing his eyes sceptically.

  ‘The evidence is before you.’ Usberti smiled. ‘Suppressed Nazi documents tell that Party members witnessed the making of alchemical gold at Company 164’s plant outside Berlin in 1928. The factory was destroyed in World War Two, under the pretext of blowing up industrial facilities. How much gold they were able to produce during those years, nobody knows for sure. But I believe it was a very considerable quantity indeed.’

  ‘You’re suggesting that the Nazis were funded by alchemical gold.’

  ‘No, Mr Hope, I am stating it as fact.’ He laid his hand on the gold bar. ‘The millions of these recovered by the Allies at the end of the war–and there are many more yet to be found–did not come from the gold fillings and melted-down trinkets taken from Jews in the concentration camps, as the history books tell us. Even six million Jewish prisoners could not possibly have provided that much gold. The whole story was fabricated by Allied governments to conceal the fact that Hitler was really producing alchemical gold. They feared that if the truth were to be revealed, it would threaten to destabilize the entire global economy.’

  Ben laughed. ‘I’ve heard some wild conspiracy theories in my time, but this one’s got to be the best.’

  ‘Laugh all you like, Mr Hope. It will not be long before we can create alchemical gold. Unlimited wealth. Think of it.’

  ‘You don’t seem short of funds as it is. Your operation must cost you a packet.’

  ‘You would be surprised at some of our investors,’ Usberti replied. ‘They come from all denominations, all over the world. They include several of the world’s most powerful corporate players. But my plans require a great deal of funding.’

  ‘Just like Hitler’s plans?’

  Usberti shrugged. ‘Hitler had his grand design, I have mine.’

  There was silence for a minute as Ben pondered the enormity of what Usberti was telling him.

  ‘So now you understand why I want the Fulcanelli manuscript,’ the archbishop went on, strolling up and down by the dark window. ‘Thanks to the destruction of the Nazi gold plant, we are lacking certain details we need to complete the process. I believe that the manuscript holds the key. And this was not the only secret of alchemy that Fulcanelli possessed.’ He paused, looking hard at Ben, then continued. ‘But when the old fool discovered that the secret of gold-making had fallen into the hands of Hess and his colleagues, he panicked. He disappeared. And took with him the second great secret, which he never passed on to his student Daquin and which I believe is to be revealed within his manuscript.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You see, Mr Hope, the two things I most need to build up Gladius Domini are wealth, and time. I am fifty-nine years old. I will not live for ever. I do not wish to see all my hard work pass into the hands of a successor who may ruin everything. I want to stay in control for at least another fifty years, or even longer, to see my goals accomplished.’

  Ben held out his glass as Usberti poured another brandy. ‘And so you’re looking for the elixir of life?’

  Usberti nodded. ‘To make use of it for myself, as well as to protect its secret. When my spies told me how close Dr Ryder was getting to discovering it, I decided to have her killed.’

  ‘Bit extreme, considering she didn’t have all the answers. She was only at the start of her research.’

  ‘True. But she was blabbing about it to anyone who would listen.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have just employed her to work for you?’

  That cold smile again. ‘All my scientists are Gladius Domini members. They fervently believe in our cause. Dr Ryder is an individualist–her behaviour shows that clearly. She is ambitious, and full of resentment against her fellow scientists. She wants to prove them wrong as much as she wants to develop her discovery. She would never have worked for me.’

  ‘Why keep her alive now?’

  ‘She is alive at the moment,’ Usberti said. ‘But whether she stays alive much longer depends entirely on you, Mr Hope.’

  ‘On me?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Usberti nodded gravely. ‘I mentioned before that I want you to work for me. Have you considered my offer?’

  ‘You didn’t say what you wanted me to do for you.’

  ‘I am building an army. Armies need soldiers, men like you. My sources have told me about your impressive background.’ Usberti paused. ‘I want you to be Gladius Domini‘s military commander.’

  Ben laughed out loud.

  ‘You will have wealth, power, women, luxury, anything you like,’ Usberti said earnestly.

  ‘I thought you only recruited believers, not individualists.’

  ‘When I meet a man with exceptional talents, I make exceptions.’

  ‘I?
??m flattered. But if I turn down your offer?’

  Usberti shrugged. ‘Roberta Ryder dies. And you too, naturally.’

  ‘That’s quite a deal,’ Ben said, smiling. ‘But tell me. Why would a Catholic archbishop want to build a private army? You’re already high up in a powerful organization. Why don’t you just do it the orthodox way? With your ambition you could become Pope one day. You’ll have all the power you want then to make reforms, from the inside.’

  Now it was Usberti’s turn to laugh out loud. ‘Reforms? he spat contemptuously. ‘You think I am interested in their Church? What is a Pope? A mere puppet to be wheeled out to please the crowds. A decaying figurehead, like your English Queen. No, that is not for me. I want much more power than that.’

  All in the name of God? Your organization doesn’t seem very pious to me. Espionage, brainwashing, murder, kidnap…’

  Usberti interrupted him with a chuckle. ‘You know little about the history of the Church, Mr Hope. It has always done those things. In fact, the problem is that it has stopped doing them. That parcel of flabby old men in Rome has let everything become weak. The faith of the West is failing. The people have been abandoned. They are like soldiers without a leader. Like a motherless child.’

  ‘And you want to be their mother, is that right?’ Usberti stared at him. ‘They must have a strong leader, a hand to guide them. What have they got otherwise? Science? Filthy. Corrupt. Only interested in profits, human cloning, colonizing other planets because they are destroying this one. Technology? Toys to tempt them. Computer games. Television that lets the media control their minds. They need a leader. I am it. I will give them something to believe in and fight for.’

  Ben frowned. ‘Fight? Against whom?’ ‘We live in unstable times,’ Usberti replied. ‘While the faith of the Christian world is failing, a new power is rising. The dark forces in the Middle East.’ The archbishop brought his fist down on the desktop. He had fire in his eyes. ‘The enemy that the Church crushed centuries ago is massing its forces. We are weak, they are strong. They have faith, we have only fear. This time they will win. It is already happening. The West has no idea what they are up against. Why? Because we have forgotten what it means to believe in something. Only Gladius Domini can prevent this rot from destroying the whole fabric of our Western world.’

  ‘And you think that a tin-pot fundamentalist terror organization like the Sword of God can change the world?’

  Usberti flushed. ‘This tin-pot organization, as you call it, is a growing force. Gladius Domini is not restricted to a few agents in France. What you have seen of our strength is like one drop in a whole ocean. We are an international agency. We have agents across the whole of Europe, America, Asia. We have friends at the highest levels of politics and the armed forces. In China, the fastest growing economic power in the world, two million new recruits are joining the fundamentalist Christian movement each year. You have no idea what is happening, Mr Hope. In a few years’ time we will have a fully equipped army of devotees that will make the Third Reich look like the Boy Scouts.’

  And then? An independent strike against the Islamics?’

  Usberti smiled. ‘If we are unable to exert sufficient influence on US foreign policy-makers, our contacts in Intelligence and the military, then yes. Just as the Church once sent its armies to crush the pernicious forces of Saladin and other Muslim kings, we will launch a new era of holy war.’

  Ben thought for a moment. ‘If I understand you,’ he said slowly, ‘you’re talking about starting World War Three. Provoking a jihad between a new Christendom and the united forces of the Muslim world is only going to spell destruction for everyone, Usberti.’

  The Italian made a dismissive gesture. ‘If it is God’s will, then let the blood be spilt. Neca eos omnes. Deus suos agnoscet.’

  ‘Kill them all. God will recognize his own, ‘Ben translated. ‘Spoken like a true murderous tyrant, Archbishop.’

  ‘Enough talk,’ Usberti hissed. ‘Give me the manuscript.’

  ‘I don’t have it,’ Ben replied calmly. ‘You think I’d have brought it here, just like that? Come on, Usberti, you should know better.’

  Usberti’s cheeks darkened to a furious purple. ‘Where is it?’ he demanded. ‘Do not play games with me, I warn you.’

  Ben checked his watch. ‘Right now it’s in the hands of an associate of mine. I told him I’d call around one-thirty If he doesn’t hear from me, he’ll assume something’s happened to me and he’ll burn it.’

  Usberti glanced at the clock on his desk.

  ‘Time’s running out, Archbishop. If the manuscript burns, you’ll lose everything.’

  ‘And you will lose your life.’

  ‘True. But my death is worth less to you than your own immortality.’

  Usberti snatched up the phone from his desk. ‘Use it,’ he commanded. ‘Or you will hear Ryder’s screams before you die. The Inquisitor is a man who knows how to prolong agony.’

  Ben could do that too. He waited a long moment, letting Usberti feel every second of it.

  ‘Quickly,’ the archbishop said. His tanned face was turning to white as he held out the phone.

  Eventually Ben shrugged. He took the phone. ‘OK. And you’ll have my answer to your offer.’

  He punched a number on the tiny silver keys. The number appeared on the screen. Dial? prompted the phone.

  Ben’s finger hovered over the last button in the sequence. There was a quizzical look on Usberti’s face.

  ‘And here’s my answer,’ Ben said.

  Usberti stared at him in sudden horror as he realized that something had just gone very, very wrong.

  55

  Ben didn’t take his eyes off Usberti’s as he pressed the button and heard the fast bleeps of the speed-dial sequence.

  Six remote receivers scattered around the Gladius Domini building responded instantly to the phone signal. They were wired to six miniature Instantaneous Electrical Detonators, which in turn electronically activated their six fist-sized packages of PBX plastic-bonded explosive.

  Less than half a second later, the massive combined blast rocked the building. Masonry ruptured into pieces, walls burst outwards. Fire tore through the underground car park, turning every vehicle into an incendiary device in its own right. The plush reception area was ripped to pieces as a huge fireball unfolded itself and poured down corridors like a sea of blazing liquid. Men staggered screaming, ablaze. On the first floor, every window exploded in a lethal burst of flying shards as the blast destroyed the laboratory, hammering science equipment and computers into scattered debris.

  Upstairs in his office, Usberti was transfixed with terror as the floor under their feet lurched with the deafening explosion. The shockwave knocked the air out of the room. Ben was up on his feet and rushing at the panicked Italian. But then the guards burst into the room from the smoky corridor, waving their machine pistols. Ben grabbed one of the tubular steel chairs and killed the nearest one with a thrust that drove a leg through his soft palate and into his brain. His Skorpion clattered to the floor. A burst of fire from the second guard shattered the glass top of Usberti’s desk. Ben rolled and threw out his arm for the fallen machine pistol. He fired, slashing 9mm holes across the wall and the guard’s body. The man crumpled, his face contorted.

  Usberti was gone. Behind a curtain, a glass fire door was still swinging. Heavy footsteps rattled down the steel fire escape outside.

  Ben tore himself away. Roberta was what mattered. He ran out into the corridor and headed for the lift, punching a second number into the phone as he went. As the lift glided downwards to the basement he jumped up and hooked his hands around the steel frame of the hatch in the middle of the ceiling. He hung there for a moment, then flipped up the hatch cover. The small kit-bag he’d left was still there. He dropped down to the floor, opening the bag as the lift juddered to a halt. He stepped out and pressed the call button on the phone. At the other end of the building a smaller charge of PBX took out the main fus
e. The whole building blacked out.

  Ben took the Browning out of the bag, cocked it and switched on the underbarrel LED torch. He headed for the cellar, sweeping the light this way and that in the darkened corridors.

  It had all happened exactly as Ben Hope had said it would. The simultaneous explosions had been over in an instant. Suddenly they heard a smaller blast, no more than a muffled thump, and the building went dark. Only the orange flicker of flames could be seen from the ground below.

  At Simon’s signal the police tactical units emerged from the cover of the wooded grounds and stormed the building. In their black entry vests, hoods and goggles the armed units swarmed through the chaos. A few scattered men fired blindly at them in their panic. The police shooters were much faster, much cooler and much more accurate. They only shot the ones who were an immediate threat. Those who tried to run or threw down their weapons were quickly trussed up on the floor with their wrists and ankles bound together and MP-5 machine carbines pointing at the backs of their heads. Down in the science lab, technicians crawling dazed, blackened and bleeding among the smoky wreckage were jerked to their feet and marched out at gunpoint. In less than five minutes the police had secured the whole place.

  Usberti thought his heart was going to give out. Explosions rattled the building and he could hear yelling and the crackle of small-arms fire from inside as he ran around the side of the wall. His chest heaving, breath rasping, he staggered into the grounds. He leaned against a tree, bent double with wheezing, trembling with shock and rage.

  Ben Hope had pulled the rug out from under him. For all his appreciation of the man’s skills, and for all his own cunning, he’d managed to underestimate him disastrously. He still couldn’t understand what the hell had just happened.

  ‘You there,’ said a voice. ‘Put your hands behind your head.’ Usberti rolled his eyes up to see two men in black uniforms standing a few metres away in the darkness pointing guns at him. A radio fizzed. Slowly, he moved away from the tree and lifted his arms. To be caught, like this…