Sanctus

Chapter 99

The Abbot watched the Informer’s trembling hand drift across the laptop, the short chain clinking as he typed in a sequence of remote access codes. The Internet connection through the phone was slow and it took a long few minutes before he finally managed to open the monk’s case file.

‘I’m in,’ he announced to the darkness, sweat dripping from the end of his nose despite the stony chill of the cave.

‘Has anything been added?’ the Abbot replied, leaning closer to the screen.

The chain stretched and coiled again as the freckled hand tapped in a few more codes to open up an email account, then scrolled through an in-box and opened a message sent by GARGOYLE that comprised of just one word: ‘Red’.

‘Look out for anything highlighted in red,’ the Informer explained in a wavering voice. ‘That’s the new stuff.’

He deleted the mail message, opened the monk’s case file and started scrolling through it. The Abbot watched pages flash across the screen, each filled with details of things no one outside the Citadel should ever have seen. It made him sick to think of all the eager eyes that had crawled over these pages, greedily picking at the morsels they contained like ants on a bone. A band of red splashed across the page throwing a crimson light over the faces turned toward it. The freckled hand went still. The Abbot started to read. It was a brief transcription of Liv’s conversation with Arkadian relating the strange account of her birth and why she had a different name and birth date to her brother. The Abbot read through it, nodding to himself. It solved the mystery of why no sister had been discovered in the background checks when Samuel had first entered the Citadel.

‘Continue,’ he said.

The red text rolled away and for long minutes only white pages flitted across the screen as the Informer scrolled through the entire file. It was only at the very end, in the pathology section, that the red text returned and cast its bloody glow back into the cave.

The new section was in two parts. The first was a note recording how a sample of the monk’s liver cells had been flagged as contaminated on the grounds that the cells appeared to be regenerating. The Abbot wondered if this was evidence that Brother Samuel was re-animating, as the prophesy had predicted, or just the latent effects of his close exposure to the Sacrament. As he read the second red section, however, he was seized with a new interpretation and his blood quickened. It was a brief note from a Dr Reis detailing the results of comparative DNA samples taken from the fallen monk and the girl.

The Abbot stared at the red screen, his mind singing with the pathologist’s findings and deductions. They were the same. Not only did Brother Samuel have a sister, she was his identical twin.

This one piece of information made sense of everything. The prophecy was right. Samuel had indeed been the cross. But he had fallen, and now the girl had risen in his place: flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone. The same.

She was the cross now.

She was the instrument that would kill the Sacrament and rid the world of its heresy. She was the key to everything.

‘Destroy the file,’ he said. ‘Copy it to the laptop then wipe it from the police database.’

The Informer paused, clearly reluctant to perform such an obvious act of vandalism. The Abbot laid a hand lightly on the tightening screw sending a tremor through the spike and into his spine. It was enough to send the chain ratcheting back across the arm of the chair as he frantically obeyed, attaching a virus to the original file in the police database that would destroy the contents, the directory, then itself.

The Abbot glanced at the mobile phone connected to the laptop, his mind shining with the light of the new information. He needed to alert Cornelius to ensure the girl was brought back quickly and unharmed; then he could use her to fulfil the prophecy and deliver on a millennia-old promise to God. This was his destiny, he realized that now; it was what he’d been born to do. He thought of the Prelate, lying in the darkness, worrying about God’s opinion of his own life’s work, and pitied him. He would not end his days fretting over missed opportunities. While the Prelate had advised he do nothing he’d had the courage to listen to his heart, and take the action necessary. And now here they were.

He pictured the Prelate turning from him the last time they’d spoken, his skeletal hand waving away his request to act. He was weak, but he was stubborn, and that stubbornness had almost cost them this chance of deliverance.

But he was still in charge.

The Abbot considered this point. The Prelate’s weakness and unwillingness to act could still prevent him from fulfilling his destiny. Going against the Prelate’s word outside the mountain was one thing, but inside his influence was much stronger: people had allegiances to the office if not the man. The Prelate could stop him. Worse still, he could take over. He could rise from his bed and carry out the prophetic sequence, the last act of a man desperate to crown his long, empty life with true meaning. And with the prophecy fulfilled, what then? Would they assume the Sacrament’s power, as many theologians believed? Would they achieve permanent immortality rather than the hint of it? If so, then the Prelate would never die and the Abbot would forever be his lieutenant.

The Abbot looked up, suddenly aware of the silence. On the laptop a progress bar edged its way to one hundred percent then vanished. ‘Has it all been wiped away?’

‘Yes,’ the Informer said. ‘It’s gone.’

‘Good,’ the Abbot said, laying both hands on the tightening screw. The Prelate was an issue. He could still ruin everything. ‘Tabula Rasa,’ he whispered. Then he started to turn.

V Chapter 100

An early spring dusk was already starting to bruise the fringes of the afternoon sky when the bike pulled away from the guardhouse and headed past the row of silent warehouses towards the squat-looking cargo plane by hangar 12.

Gabriel raised his hand and waved back at the guard who’d just let them through. Liv couldn’t believe he’d let her in without any ID. Airport security was no way that relaxed back home — at least, she hoped it wasn’t. Gabriel had told the guard he needed to drop something off at the hangar and introduced her as his girlfriend. She hadn’t contradicted him. In fact she’d kind of liked it.

They coasted under the wing of the plane and in through the open door of the hangar, the sound of the bike’s engine suddenly deafening in the enclosed space. It was stacked high with silver packing cases, the tunnels between them just wide enough for the bike to pass through. They headed down one, towards the back of the building where warm lights burned behind the windows of an office. Gabriel swung the bike to a stop in front of them and killed the engine. ‘End of the line,’ he said.

Liv let go of his waist and slid from the seat. She was just smoothing her wind-whipped hair when the door of the office opened and a beautifully elegant woman stepped out, followed by a sprightly old man in flight overalls. The woman hardly looked at her. Instead she moved to where Gabriel was pulling the bike back on its kickstand. She embraced him, her eyes closed, her silky dark hair bunched against his chest by the tightness of her grip. Liv experienced a sudden tug of confusion and surprising jealousy. She looked away and found herself staring into the attentive face of the old man.

‘My name is Oscar de la Cruz,’ he said, stepping back through the open door of the office, his caramel voice welcoming her. ‘Please, come inside.’

She glanced over once more at the extended hug still binding Gabriel to the elegant woman, then followed him inside. The office was warm after the chilled bike journey and the smell of coffee and comforting low murmur of