The Ben Hope Collection: 6 BOOK SET (24 page)

Place du Peyrou, Montpellier

The unmarked van pulled up in the square at one minute to eleven. As arranged, Ben was waiting for it by the Louis XIV statue. The rear doors burst open and four large men spilled out. He raised his arms in surrender as they encircled him. A pistol was shoved in his back and he was frisked. He was unarmed. They bundled him roughly into the van, and made him sit between two of his captors on a hard bench. The rear windows were painted over, and a wooden partition sealed the cab off from the back and hid any view of the outside world. The van lurched away and the clattering diesel engine reverberated in the metal shell. ‘I don’t suppose anyone would care to tell me where we’re going?’ he asked, wedging his feet on the wheel-arch opposite him to keep from sliding across the bench. He wasn’t expecting a reply. As they sat in silence, four cold pairs of eyes, a Glock 9mm, a Kel-Tech .40 calibre and two Skorpion machine pistols were all trained steadily on him.

The bumping, rattling journey lasted about half an hour. Judging by the way the van was bouncing around, they must have left main roads behind and headed out into the country. That was what he’d expected. Eventually the van slowed to a crawl, turned sharply to the right, and crunched over gravel. Then onto concrete. A lurch, and down a steep ramp. Then it stopped and the rear doors opened.

More armed men. A torch shone in Ben’s face. Harsh orders were spoken and he was dragged out of the van and landed heavily on his feet. They were in an underground car-park.

With gun barrels in his back, he was prodded and pushed up a short flight of stone steps. They walked into the darkened building, through dim corridors. Torchlight darted from behind him. At the end of a narrow corridor was a low doorway. One of the guards, the bearded one with the Skorpion, rattled keys and unfastened padlocks. The heavy door swung open and in the flashing light he saw it was iron, riveted, armoured.

A flight of stone steps led down to a cellar. The echoing voices of his guards told him that it was a big space. Torchlight reflected off stone pillars. And something else, a glint of steel bars. At the far end of the room he thought he saw a face peering blinking at the bright lights.

It was Roberta.

Before he could call to her, he was shoved towards another doorway. An iron bolt ground open. A door creaked and he was pushed into the cell. The door
slammed shut behind him and the bolt ground home.

In the darkness he explored his surroundings. He was alone in the cell. The walls were solid, probably double-bricked. No windows. He sat on a hard bed and waited. The only light was the dim green glow of his watch.

After some twenty minutes, around midnight, they came for him, and he was led at gunpoint back through the cavernous cellar.

‘Ben?’ It was Roberta’s voice, edged with fear, calling him from far away. She was silenced by a harsh word from a guard standing near her cage.

Up through the dim corridors. A flight of stairs. More light as they approached the first floor of the building. Through a doorway, and he blinked in the sudden glare of white-painted walls and strong neons. They steered him up another flight of steps, along a corridor and through a door into an office.

At the far end of the office, a large grave-looking man in a suit rose from behind a glass-topped desk. Ben was nudged in the back by a machine-gun barrel, shoving him across the room.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Bishop Usberti.’

Usberti’s broad, tanned face broke into a smile. He spoke with a heavy Italian accent. ‘I am impressed. But it is Archbishop now.’ He motioned to Ben to sit in one of the leather chairs by the desk, opened a cabinet and took out two cut-crystal brandy glasses and a bottle of Rémy Martin. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘How civilized of you, Archbishop.’

‘I would not like you to think we treat our guests badly,’ Usberti replied graciously as he poured them each a generous measure and dismissed the guards with an authoritative gesture of his free hand. He caught Ben’s eye as he watched the guards leave the room. ‘I hope I can trust you not to try any of your tricks while we speak in private,’ he said, handing Ben his glass. ‘Please remember that there is a gun pointed at Dr. Ryder’s head at this very moment.’

Ben didn’t show any glimmer of response. ‘Congratulations on your promotion,’ he said instead. ‘I see you left your garb at home.’

‘I should be the one to congratulate you,’ Usberti replied. ‘You have the Fulcanelli manuscript, do you not?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Ben said. He swirled the cognac around in the glass. ‘Now why don’t you let Dr. Ryder go free?’

Usberti laughed, a deep rumble. ‘Go free? My plan was to have her killed once I had the manuscript.’

‘You kill her, I’ll kill you,’ Ben said quietly.

‘I said my plan
was
to kill her,’ Usberti replied. ‘I have changed my mind about that.’ He swivelled his glass on the desktop, watching Ben curiously. ‘I have also decided not to have
you
killed, Mr. Hope. Subject to certain conditions, I should add.’

‘That’s very magnanimous.’

‘Not at all. A man like you can be useful to me.’ Usberti smiled coldly. ‘Though I will confess it took me a while to see it. At first I watched in rage as, one by one, you threw off my men and all my attempts to dispose of you and Ryder. You have proved hard
to kill. So hard, that I began to think that such a man is too valuable not to turn to one’s own advantage. I want you to come and work for me.’

‘You mean work for
Gladius Domini
?’

Usberti nodded. ‘I have great plans for
Gladius Domini.
You can be a part of those plans. I will make you a rich man. Come with me, Mr. Hope. Let us take a walk.’

Ben followed him out of the office into the corridor. The armed guards were flanking the door, and walked a few paces behind them, their weapons trained on Ben. They stopped at a lift. Usberti pressed the button and from somewhere below them there was a whoosh of hydraulics.

‘Tell me, Usberti. What does all this have to do with the Fulcanelli manuscript? Why are you so interested in it?’ The lift doors opened with a whirr and they stepped in, the guards still following.

‘Oh, I have been interested in alchemy for many, many years,’ Usberti replied. He reached out with a blunt finger and prodded the button for the ground floor.

‘Why?’ Ben asked. ‘To suppress it because it was heresy?’

Usberti chuckled to himself. ‘Is that what you think? On the contrary, I wish to make use of it.’

The lift came to a smooth halt and they stepped out. Ben looked around him. They were in a large brightly lit science lab operated by some fifteen or so technicians who were busily attending to scientific equipment, writing up charts and sitting at computer
terminals, all wearing white labcoats and the same serious expression.

‘Welcome to the
Gladius Domini
alchemical research facility,’ Usberti said, with a wide gesture. ‘As you see, it is a little more sophisticated than Dr. Ryder’s establishment. My teams of scientists work in shifts, all around the clock.’ He took Ben’s elbow and led him around the edge of the lab. The muzzles of the machine guns were still carefully trained on him.

‘Let me tell you a little about alchemy, Mr. Hope,’ Usberti continued. ‘I do not suppose you have ever heard of an organization called the Watchmen?’

‘Actually I have.’

Usberti raised his eyebrows. ‘You are remarkably well-informed, Mr. Hope. Then you will know that the Watchmen were an élite group in Paris, formed after the First World War. One of their members was a certain Nicholas Daquin.’

‘Fulcanelli’s apprentice.’

‘Indeed. As you may know, then, this brilliant young man learned that his teacher had discovered something of enormous importance.’ Usberti paused. ‘There was another member of the Watchmen who was interested in Fulcanelli’s discovery,’ he went on. ‘His name was Rudolf Hess.’

At that moment the man known to certain people only as Saul parked his Mazda two-seater convertible outside an old empty warehouse on the outer edge of Paris. The night was cool. The stars twinkled above the city lights. He checked the time and kicked his feet, waiting.

The briefcase in his hand was filled with banknotes amounting to a quarter million US dollars, the sum the caller had demanded in exchange for what he claimed to possess: the Englishman Ben Hope, captured, bound and gagged. Usberti would be pleased when he found out what Saul had got for him.

Naturally, the money was counterfeit, obtained from one of Saul’s
Gladius Domini
sub-agents. The cash was only a diversion anyway. Even though it was fake, Saul had no intention of handing it over to anyone. In a concealed holster under his jacket was a compact .45 auto. He intended to make use of it once he’d picked up the goods. Or if it should turn out that there weren’t any.

Saul still couldn’t figure out this business with
Michel Zardi. They seemed to have underestimated him. First he’d managed to evade assassination, then he’d somehow contrived to lure several of Saul’s best men to their deaths, and now he was claiming to be holding the Englishman Ben Hope? He never would have imagined that a little nerd like Zardi had that much guts and talent.

But if this was some kind of trick, he wouldn’t get away this time. And in case Zardi had friends with him, Saul had already taken care of it. A sniper armed with a night-scoped Parker-Hale 7.62mm rifle had been posted on the roof of the warehouse immediately after he’d got the call.

A minute or two went by, and then Saul heard the sound of an engine. He watched as the headlights wound up through the industrial estate and approached the warehouse. The rusty Nissan van pulled up beside his Mazda. The driver wasn’t Michel Zardi. It was a little fat man with a moustache and flat cap. Perhaps he was one of Zardi’s cronies, Saul thought.

‘You Saul?’ the man asked, getting out of the van.

‘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.

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.