The Collectors Book Two: Full Circle (The Collectors Series 2) (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

On the completion of their meal, they wandered back to the hotel. George and Maria dressed in dark blue tracksuits and the men changed into army overalls.

Maria, accompanied by George, headed for reception. As they strolled through the foyer, the young woman behind the desk nodded politely. “If you are going for a walk, take an umbrella. Here take one of these.”

“Thank you,” said Maria.

Petros led his team along the passage. He held the fire door open and jammed it shut with a piece of cardboard over the latch.

In the car park, George unloaded the hydraulic jacks and a sack of stuff for which Petros had asked.

The five men gathered and hoisted equipment onto their backs. Petros was all set. Over the years, he had trusted his gut feelings, those that had guided him through the deserts of Iraq and Afghanistan. “Follow me. If we become separated, stop and I’ll come back for you.” He turned into a dimly lit road and walked approximately two hundred metres. On his left, apartments and offices filled the space between hotels. To his right, a rusted and broken wire fence split the living from the abandoned. They stopped. Petros glanced left and right. “Time to go. Ready?” He ran across the tarmac and stepped over the wire. The others followed on his heels.

The sky was cloud-free and bright moonlight shed its light on the deserted stretch of beach, the lapping of waves the only sound to disturb the silence. Out in the bay the red and green lamps of channel marker buoys moved with the tidal stream.

Concealed by the shadows, listening and watching, Petros walked into the heart of Varosha, followed silently by his team. The breeze increased; a gust rattled the branches of trees, masking nearly soundless footsteps. Petros squinted at the full moon. The light it gave enabled them to travel through the deserted streets, with empty houses abandoned for years. It was quiet apart from the wind disturbing the trees.

He gathered his group in a building opposite the church. “Everyone wait here and be quiet.”

Takis began to say something but Bear pressed a finger to his lips.

Petros ran across the road and stopped at the church steps. He turned his head towards the inside and at once snapped it back. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. Lower than the entrance threshold, he shone the beam from his torch. He frowned. What had he seen? Again he craned his head.
High up in the corners two white motion detectors, their pulsing red lights operating at regular intervals. No wires; he reasoned they were battery-operated and the receiver was more than likely located in the soldiers’ card-playing room. A question filled his mind: do we play their game? With caution, he returned to his men.

“The bishop’s housekeeper told the authorities. The Turks have fitted motion detectors.”

“You’re joking,” said Kyriacos.

“You heard me correctly. It’s time for a bit of fun.
Bear, make your way around and have a gander for any other surprises.”

Bear nodded, charged across the road and dived into the shadows. For two minutes he vanished. In silence he returned.

Petros studied his face. “What did you see?”

“I concur, two movement detectors, nothing else.”

“What do we do now?” asked Kyriacos.

Bear crooked a smile. “Empty that sack and give it here. I’ll not be long.” He walked to the back of the building and disappeared.

“What’s he up to, PK?” said Takis.

“He has a way with animals. I think he has an idea to flush out anyone who’s waiting.”

Five minutes passed before the roar of bedlam erupted. Fighting feral cats screeched, snarled, spat and triggered the sensors.

Without a sound, Bear appeared back alongside the others. “Be quiet and wait.”

“Here they come,” said Petros.

Footsteps raced along the road. Petros smiled; the soldiers had been equipped with rubber-soled boots. Someone was on the ball.

Four armed men, gasping for breath, halted twenty metres away. The sergeant motioned for two to investigate the rear of the building while he and the other approached. At the entrance they stopped. From their backpacks they removed torches.

With his machine pistol cocked, the soldier charged into the building and fired a short burst, sending three cats streaking out like deranged seagulls. He exited with his weapon slung over his shoulder. The sergeant crossed the threshold and reset the detectors.

In spite of the distance and the shadows, Petros noted the disappointment on their faces.

The guards left and Petros motioned for everyone to move to another building. “Now we do it again and again.”

“I’ll add a couple of dead rats. That’ll add to the fight,” said Bear.

Three times Bear captured the cats and the patrol arrived. Whatever passed between them, the movement detectors
ended up in the middle of the road with a large boot destroying their intricate workings.

Their footsteps and laughter died away. In the distance a truck started, its headlights illuminating the street.

“I bet one of them’s going to that cafe to collect their late-night snacks,” said Bear. “Makes me feel hungry.”

The team controlled their laughter. Petros glanced at his watch. Three hours had elapsed.

“We’ve frittered away enough time. Let’s go.”

The five drifted across the road in silence, entered the church and stood around the altar.

Bear removed a can of WD40 from the sack and sprayed the two operating valves. “This will be interesting,” he muttered. He placed his right hand on the water supply valve and attempted to twist the wheel. With a grunt he beamed as it turned. “Gotcha.” Again he soaked the recessed valve before inserting the bishop’s sword, which clunked into place. The main valve squeaked open and the sound of running water filled their ears. A loud thump came from below and the richly carved block jerked itself free of the plinth and rose. Half a metre from its base the noise stopped. Petros strolled to the front of the altar and rotated an inset stone cross ninety degrees. With a gentle push the slab swung away, allowing him the sight of a spiral stairway.

“Jesus Christ,” said Bear, “this hasn’t shifted for forty years and it bloody works.”

Andreas tapped him on the shoulder. “My friend, please do not blaspheme in a house of God.”

Petros peered into the gloom. The men, torches in hand, descended the staircase into the ancient chamber.

“At least the air’s fresh and here’s the door the bishop mentioned,” said Petros.

“More signs,” said Bear. “I know they’re the marks of masons.”

Petros chuckled as he lifted the heavy steel bar that fastened the entrance and pulled the handle. The metal hinges, stiff with rust, groaned. “First time this has opened for a long while.”

He wandered on, going deeper towards what the bishop called the holy of holies. The powerful beam of his torch illuminated the roof.
“The red ceiling and vaulted chamber. Start searching. The icons are around here somewhere.”

“Over here,” said
Takis.             

Petros stopped, while Andreas,
Kyriacos, and Takis knelt before the icons. Each brother gave the sign of the cross and prayed.

Petros, although not a religious man, sensed the hairs on the back of his neck tingle as if a presence filled the chamber. He remained silent respecting the brothers’ devotions. Moved by a whim, he rubbed his right hand over the cross painted in gold on one of the icons. A slight chill travelled along his spine.

“Hedging your bets?” said Takis.

“Doesn’t hurt.”

With the utmost care, he studied the craftsmanship.

“Exquisite,” said Petros. “Look at the detail. This one alone must be worth a small fortune.”

Takis stroked them with reverence, aware that the slightest damage would reduce their value. For a big man he appeared surprisingly gentle.

“Where’s Bear,
Takis,” said Petros. He glanced at his watch; they had stayed too long.

“No idea. He wandered off into one of those passages a few minutes ago.”

“Takis, go and keep a lookout. Those guards are stupid enough to come back.”

“No problem, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”

A glimmer of light gave Petros direction as he traversed a slight incline. He found Bear shining his torch at the roof of a cavern.

“What are you staring at?”

“A reproduction of the heavens a long time ago.”

Petros shrugged. “We haven’t a lot of time. What the fuck’s that?”

Bear stared at him. “The altar dropping into its slot.”

“What?”

They joined Kyriacos and Andreas at the base of the stairs.

“
Takis must have closed it for a reason,” said Andreas.

“Nobody’s questioning that. Have a look around and find out if we can shift the bloody thing from this side, but be quiet,” he whispered.

With the limited light from their torches, they searched for a valve or operating lever.

“Nothing,” said Bear. “Let’s face it. Why would priests want to close or open it from here?”

Fifteen minutes elapsed before the sound of running water came and the altar raised.

“Sorry,” said
Takis as he peered at them. “The guards returned, sat having a chat and a cigarette on the steps before they cleared off.”

“You did right,” said Petros. “Where did you hide?”

“In the graveyard. I got a weird feeling as if someone was watching me.”

“Nerves,” said Petros. “Thankfully we’re dealing with conscripts and not professional soldiers. Bear, let’s go and check out what you found. I don’t want to be here longer than necessary. Andreas, verify the water level in the tank.”

Petros and Bear descended into another chamber.

Bear shone his torch into one of the many alcoves that contained stone coffins. “What’s in front of you is worth a king’s ransom. Give me a hand with the lid.”

Holding the torches in their mouths both men eased the heavy slab clear. They staggered under its weight and lowered it carefully to the ground. The light exposed a Knight Templar in full armour. He lay in the pose of death with his hands crossed and resting on his chest.

Petros’s
expression was one of wonder as he let his eyes wander over the Templar. “We don’t rob graves.”

“PK, these men fought against Saladin at Jerusalem. I have no doubt they died in Cyprus. History tells us that when the Ottoman Turks overran this island they destroyed anything and everything associated with the Templar system. This was a devastating loss to the Templar organisation.”

“What do you want us to do, carry all these coffins out of here and back to the south?”

“That’s impossible but we should take what we can before the Turks find it and it’s gone forever. Remember these knights fought in the Crusades killing Muslims in the name of Christianity. Even today, many hate them. There’s bound to be a Grand Master of Masonry on the island. I’ll leave it up to him and his officers to make the ultimate decision.”

“Okay, but I’ll let you select the most important objects. What’s he holding in his hand?”

Bear removed what appeared to be a scroll. “It’s a rolled brass sleeve sealed at both ends with wax. This could be the knight’s own personal history.”

“I’m not an expert but if you open those and let air in, couldn’t it destroy the contents?”

“Let’s check the others.”

Fifteen minutes elapsed before all the lids were removed and they found that each knight held a similar tube.

“Bear, you tell me what you want to take. I definitely believe I’m a grave robber but I understand where you’re coming from.”

“What’s going on?” said Takis.

“Haven’t the time to explain. Just lift and shift everything I place on the ground.”

“I’ll get the others,” said Takis.

Bear removed the swords, jewel-encrusted daggers, metal seals and rings. He repeated the process at every coffin until the grisly task was completed.

“Bear, in that I accept why you’re doing this, I think we should at least honour the dead and replace the lids.”

“You’re right.”

With the caskets sealed, Bear cast his gaze around the chamber. “It’s a pity about the present political situation.”

“Time we left,” said Petros, “and drop the altar once you’re clear.”

“A silly question,” said Andreas, as he scratched his head. “But why don’t we take the icons now?”