Promethea (9 page)

             
Karl Schuster was in his ever-defiant mood, unyielding and unwilling to waste time. He knew that comes dawn, he would probably lose his lead if he did not act now. He contacted the minister of interior, an old friend of his, to rapidly summon an EKO Cobra unit and raid the source of the signal before it vanished. Another two regular police squads followed suit to secure the area’s perimeter.

             
The Austrian Cobra unit was formed in the wake of the attack on Israeli Athletes during the Munich Olympics in 1978. They were easily recognized as one of the toughest, most resilient Spec-Op units in Europe. Forged by a training regimen so rigorous that resulted in them being the only Counter-Terrorism unit ever able to end a plane hijacking mid-air, before it even landed. They were modern-day Spartans, if absolutely anything.

             
A five-man team was all what the minister had spared, and Schuster could not have been any happier. The all-black Kevlar-plated masked men snuck quietly up an old building’s wooden staircase, as their shadows struggled to keep pace, appearing only momentarily under a few flickering fluorescent lights.

             
Their squad leader raised his fist firmly signalling to his officers to halt. They stood soundless in front of an all white wooden door, synchronizing their tactics and confirming the signal’s source before breaking in. Their leader then nodded to one of his team members to proceed. The puffed-up operative took a few steps back, readjusted his posture and bashed the door in with a black solid steel ram that sent its hinges splintering and flying across the room.

             
From this point on, it was all routine. The leader remained watchful by the door as he observed his team split in two groups of two combing the rather large, dark and dank apartment. They paced inside the flat armed with semi-automatic rifles as their attached flashlights and red laser-sights pranced frantically on the peeling walls.

             
The squad leader’s right hand slipped slowly down his gun holster, keeping a perfectly tight grip on his favourite silver American Magnum revolver. This gun was his prized possession. He carried it everywhere, regardless of the strict rules prohibiting the use of non-Austrian weapons during missions. He had always considered this delicately customized pistol as his one lucky charm. Only in this instance, he could not have been any more wrong.

             
It merely took him four steps inside the apartment before feeling a sharp large butcher’s knife thrusting his right side. The blade was pulled swiftly before being lunged again to find refuge between his cracked ribs. The pain was piercing and extremely excruciating that he succumbed and released whatever grip he had on his weapon. His body swayed heavily, almost under shock, as he turned his head slowly to behold a tattooed colossal skinhead reveal himself from between the layers of darkness. His giant foe had snuck up on him aided by the blackness of their surroundings, pulled him violently and put him in a painful headlock while pointing his own revolver to his head.

             
“How did you find me so fast?” The man whispered in German, but the rest of the Cobra team had already heard the clatter and surrounded them both before their leader was ever able to respond.

             
They jointly dimmed their flashlights, fearing the assailant's provocation, and pointed their laser sights to the man’s head. The hulking man twisted the blade even further in the officer’s side looking for thorough answers.

             
“It’s Delić’s phone signal!” The leader wailed.

             
The man’s face paled instantly.
That cannot be!

             
He had left that phone half way across the city at an instructed drop zone, exactly where he was told. He was specifically following orders. Could it be that they are finally getting rid of him? Tying all their loose ends? There was no other possible explanation.

             
The bleeding Cobra leader sensed his attacker’s nervousness, as the goliath’s condensed breath brushed against his masked cheeks. He knew he had to start thinking of ways to pacify his captor, otherwise, he himself would not survive. Flashes of the mission’s briefing and the strict orders he was given to bring back his suspect alive echoed in his head. Yet before he could do anything, the tattooed man released the clutch he had on him, placed the muzzle in his own mouth and pulled the trigger, creating a hole the size of a fist in the back of his skull and splattering fragments of brain and bones on the wall behind him. The deafening shot muffled the officer’s ears. He collapsed to the ground disoriented and in critical condition, reaching for and suffering from his deep stab wounds.

             
Downstairs, Schuster and the rest of his men overheard the one loud bang. They were already looking up when they witnessed a brisk flash through one of the old building’s windows.

             
The absence of any other gunshots or signs of struggle all pointed to one thing: The suspect was probably dead. The Senior Councillor’s radio crackled with the edgy voice of one of the Cobras explaining the situation, just before they descended. Yet, Schuster’s disappointment did not get in the way of his judgment. He reacted swiftly, giving immediate orders to prepare an ambulance and instructed his officers to go up and locate the missing device upstairs. That would, perhaps, be the only advantage gained from this whole mess up.

***

              Few are the things that can outweigh the burden of guilt. Father Bauer’s guilt-ridden consciousness was buckling under this hefty notion.
Was anything deemed too immoral for what he had considered the greatest of all possible good?
He kept wondering. His brethren and he have been waiting for this moment for over two millennia. This is a moment to rejoice not to dread.
Rapture was finally upon us,
he reassured himself.

             
Night was exceptionally long that evening. The priest kept rolling exhaustingly in bed as his eyes simply refused to give in. His formerly comfortable mattress felt as if it was cushioned with sharp-edged gravel so he reached for his bedside table and grabbed a handful of assorted colourful pills before swallowing them all in.
Comes tomorrow, I must be cleansed of these troublesome thoughts,
he assured himself.

             
Father Bauer woke up especially early the following morning, or was it that he could barely sleep at all last night. His facial muscles seemed to have relaxed however, he had seemingly found a way to shed most of his troubled thoughts overnight.

             
He stood by the mirror admiring his full attire; a black long sleeved cassock covered by a cape of the same colour and violet velvet accents. Thirty-three stitched buttons adorned his costume. They symbolized the duration of which Jesus roamed the earth in his mortal form. His rather large, seemingly heavy, silver cross dangled from a long chain off his neck. His fingers reached for the accessory to hold it away from chest and raise it closer to his forehead, forcefully pressing it between his thumb and index fingers. He knitted his eyebrows, assuming a divine mood as he recited one of his favourite prayers to quell whichever was left of his worries.

             
O my God, I thank Thee for having created me and for having watched over me to this day. Pardon me for the evil I have done; and if I have done any good, deign to accept it. Watch over me while I take my rest and deliver me from danger. May Thy grace be always with me. Amen.

             
He shut his eyes briefly and kissed the cross in complete silence. The prayer had just given him the strength and peace of mind he needed.
No time to waste now,
he thought. His watch was already pointing to that time in the day where he had to be at St. Stephen Cathedral. His long list of routine daily activities was unending. Even if today, there was a much more pressing matter at hand: He was tasked to entice Hélène into playing a vital part in their plot.
The Lord must forgive me
, he thought; it is his will.

             
The Vatican may have done its best to keep one of their most prized assets behind a virtually impenetrable wall of secrecy, but the Vienna robbery was a first step of a neck-twisting diversion, a ruse to shake the Vatican’s confidence in their own security measures.
If we cannot get in, we ought to lure them out
, Bauer kept thinking. All the collective knowledge anyone had about the Holy Lance in Rome was painstakingly scarce. There were no photos, no details and no sightings. It was never on display and only a few people, such as Russo, had an exceptionally limited access to it. From the very beginning, they knew of the magnitude of the challenge that awaited them. It was a harsh road that they took, one that would had always threw them curves and presented them with stern trials.

             
Yet praise the Lord as he, who came forth to hold the mantle to lead us and show us the way, had everything planned in advance
, Bauer nervously smiled. Their master supplied them with much needed wisdom and guidance. He had a contingency for every little nuisance. Without him they would have never gone so far along the way.

             
Russo was also key to their plot. He had close ties to the Pope who deeply trusted him. He possessed a spotless reputation among his peers, a clean slate. That is why he was always tasked to represent the Church in sensitive meetings and nerve-wrecking negotiations such as those held here this past week. The Church had put its absolute faith in Russo’s argumentative intellect and the hair-splitting sharpness of his mind, which was a great asset to the part he is about to play. Bauer did not for a second doubt his friend’s ability to inject reasonable fear in the Vatican’s arched hallways when the right time comes. That is of course especially if the Interpol has officially endorsed it.

             
Their plan was elaborate but its outlines were simple: They were to switch the lance with a well-crafted replica the moment it got transferred to its temporary secret hideout. They were completely prepared. They had even planted a handful of their people inside, alongside those who sympathized with their cause.

             
But again, even the utmost worst of all scenarios was not completely unmanageable. The Vatican’s resistance to this course of action was definitely a possibility, and if that was to happen, they still possessed a secondary plan. Russo would then have an extensive role to play; he would be tasked with convincing the Pope to agree on recalibrating and tightening the security measures around the spear. That would precisely become the window of opportunity they would be looking for, allowing their accomplices to deal with the relic first hand.

             
Bauer was enthused. He reached his renaissance inspired office in jubilation, flipping through some banal reports on his desk and reviewing his daily schedule. He was merely trying to keep his mind busy, supressing his anxiety and wasting time until later in the day. He knew very well that in a few hours he would have to make one of the most important phone calls of his life.

             
Adam spoke very little since I met him this morning. He was still feeling nervous, frustrated and anticipating my backlash over yesterday’s awkward events. Yet, it was not a road that I wished him to tread, I had religiously retained my vows of silence, unwilling to complicate matters even further. In the car, he timidly revealed to me what he had thought of the threat letters. He had been going through them throughout the night. Yet, he had intentionally avoided eye contact and held his defensive position the whole trip. I needed not further drama; I just let him be.

             
It took us slightly below thirty minutes to catch up with the overzealous Schuster back at the station. We ventured steadily on the boring, neutrally coloured ceramic tiles covering the department’s floor, as we gazed well into the cogs and clockworks of his division. The bulk of his team were noticeably young. I suspected that this was yet another way of forcing discipline and control around the office. He had taken the hierarchal high ground, assuming the father figure role.

             
Right across the workspace, yet another novel aspect had sparked my interest. It was the contour of a dark, well-built man, who was also present at Schuster’s office. He had an extended, menacing fuzzy anchor-beard that protruded for inches away from his strong jaw. As for his monstrous biceps, they almost ripped through his black stretched cotton sweatshirt, giving him the allure of an ancient mythological demigod. It looked as if he spent an eternity tooling his physique, chiselling and sculpting it to absolute perfection, which is probably the only reason why he could still bear to stand up in his condition. The gigantic man seemed to have suffered some serious recent traumatic injuries to his right side, a fact that was further highlighted by his constant need to wear an arm support. His deep dark complexion all but pointed to his proud African ancestry even if his flawless German showed how much he had already blended in to the fabric of the Austrian society.

             
“Gentlemen, we were able to track back Delić’s phone signal at a late hour of the night yesterday. This is the leader of the Cobra unit that broke into the suspect’s apartment.” Schuster introduced his injured guest. “Not even stab wounds was going to keep this patriotic monster in a hospital bed.” He paraded him shamelessly.

             
“Where is the suspect now?” we both wondered.

             
“He is dead… He took his own life with a .357 calibre. His head burst like a popcorn kernel, leaving all kinds of mess behind.” Said the anonymous leader in a deep commanding vocal register. “Although… he did act confused when the subject of the phone was brought up.” He then added.

             
His preference to keep his name private was for undisclosed, yet understandable, reasons. He was probably involved in all kinds of sensitive national and regional counter-terrorism operations all across Europe.

             
“But there’s a faint bright side to all of this.” Schuster intervened, refusing to take flak for his failed operation. He stretched his arm, pointing at his desk and presented us with what he claimed to be Delić’s phone.

             
“Did you find anything of value?” Adam asked Schuster who shook his head in negation.

             
“We have extracted the memory chip, but we are still looking if we can retrieve any of the deleted data.”

              Adam was unconvinced. He wrapped his hands around the plastic evidence bag containing the device, inspecting it more closely. He had this gut-wrenching feeling that under no plausible circumstances could this be the victim’s phone. Someone like Delić would have owned a state-of-the-art handset, not a cheap six-year-old Asian replica. If his apartment was any indication, he would not have settled for anything less, even if he had to borrow money to make it happen. Yet, Schuster remained adamant, he asserted that he had no doubt that this was the device broadcasting Delić’s SIM card signal. They had found it when they raided the suspect’s apartment just the night before.

             
The file on the suspect was well prepared considering the short notice and hectic circumstances. It revealed his association with an Austrian Neo-Nazi group, one that branched outwardly to many other similar communities across Europe, most notably the Greek Golden Dawn and several other societies in Germany. It was not his first charge either; Schuster handed us some of the suspect’s older mugshots. Apparently, he already had a longstanding record of vandalism as well as taking part in numerous street fights and gang wars, but was never convicted with anything as serious as murder before.

             
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time for a Nazi to be interested in the spear.” I smirked.

             
Out of the many farfetched conspiracy theories surrounding the stolen artefact, was one that actually doubted its much-publicized return to Vienna after the Second World War. Instead, some have speculated that the relic, on display here, was in fact a counterfeit. They had suggested that the Führer had smuggled his most prized possession on a U-Boat heading to Antarctica alongside other Nazi treasures fearing his imminent defeat as a fail-safe measure. The absurd idea had even sparked a bizarre treasure hunt funded by an eccentric wealthy Danish businessman, which despite it finding the U-boat, had failed to verify those unusual claims.

             
My input did little to stir the underlying cynicism spreading across the office. Doubt was contagious. It was uncannily present, settling and leeching itself to Schuster’s psyche. The eerie silence that muffled his voice was nothing but an indication of the concern that had finally seeped in. It was one of those few times where he had actually felt his authority threatened. His foes were potent, anonymous and well connected. So much that perhaps severe caution was, after all, warranted. Schuster’s dominating figure was put to the test. His pride was dented and his mind was distressed. He was unable to fathom viable reasons for his suspect’s behaviour.
What would have scared such a behemoth in a whim? What sort of leverage can one possibly have upon him?

             
My partner was unmindful of this struggle, however. He was a self-proclaimed pragmatic.
The hammer to the nail
, I have always called him. He was more vested in the short-term, pursuing leads rather than worrying about the unknown. He stood there unaware he was doing that thing again, whispering to himself, shutting his eyes and visualizing all the leads floating around him, as he had once explained. It was an unintentional tick that I had always found fascinating, when others considered it odd.

             
“It’s not his phone. I’m certain.” Adam snapped out of his trance-like state. “What if the killer was partially set-up? Presented to us, knowing that he would rather take his own life than to be locked up in prison?” He was suggesting a scenario where this was a series of tying loose ends. Where a hidden leverage was undeniably present:
a hint of torture, a threat to his family perhaps?
Adam was not certain, instead he leaned to the idea that whatever was on Delić’s real phone would never be retrieved now. It had probably been already disposed of.

             
As our debate reached a methodological impasse, a familiar hesitant junior officer loomed closer. His face shone with promise, as he approached with jade-tinted gleaming eyes, full of eagerness to uncover his breakthrough.

             
“Sir, we have found a way into Delić’s data storage.” He said excitedly. Yet, his excitement turned to confidence when the rampant Schuster finally gave the young man a rare nod of approval. The first I have seen since I got here.

             
We followed the technical officer’s trail down a long bright, all-white, space-age-like corridor leading to the Viennese cyber security department. Inside, only the youthful prevailed. The median age of those working here must have not passed a quarter of a century, which made me feel like a Stonehenge in a skyscrapers’ age. Those who worked here were extremely proficient with absolutely anything that had to do with technology. To them, it was almost second nature.

             
In the midst of this nirvana, people tended to be more relaxed. They shone and acted more naturally away from Schuster’s mind-boggling influence. However, all this changed the moment we stepped in. As we edged closer, I saw them younglings scattered and pacing back to their workstations. They acted like nervous students who fled their principle.

             
Our journey concluded by a large ceiling-hung 3d screen, where multi-layered blueprints and chat logs were displayed. “The whole scheme is there!” The young man revealed, as he disclosed elaborate three-dimensional printable models of the crime scene.

             
Delić had flagged some areas of interest: the planned target, the culprits’ infiltration points and their eventual escape. Adam’s earlier hypotheses were spot-on. They were fully consistent with the on-screen evidence. Schuster ordered the marked plans printed immediately to be inspected more closely.

             
The screen then switched to extensive chat logs. Delić seemed to be in contact with a woman named Lucy who was acting on behalf of an alleged client. Lucy04 she called herself as she spoon-fed Delić her orders in elaborate detail and offering him a ridiculous sum of money. From the looks of it, it was certainly a large enough amount that would have made even the most lucrative dreams within reach.

             
Schuster rolled his eyes in discontent when my Star Wars Imperial March ringtone broke everyone’s line of concentration; it was Bauer calling me. I found it rather hysterical that, at that very moment, the music fitted both the situation and my conception of Lucy’s character. I glanced to the side, noticing my companions’ irritation and crankiness as I excused myself, taking the bishop’s phone call.

             
To my relief, our conversation was brief. It would seem that both clerics had finally entertained my suggestion to relocate the spear. They wished to hold the Church’s reputation intact, conceding no further smears. All they required was my cooperation to ensure the issuance of a simple letter endorsed by the Interpol.

             
Their request was sensible. After all, few could argue against the trove of evidence Schuster just acquired or Adam’s gloomy review of the cryptic threat notes. Everything pointed to another imminent threat, one that could seemingly be avoidable. I took my time, waiting a quiet moment to articulate my arguments and taking the liberty of championing the idea to my partner who was disappointingly a tad sceptic.

             
“Was it really necessary?” He argued. “Unlike the stolen relic, this one was already well-protected, perfectly concealed. It was as if the Vatican had already wished to keep it well beyond reach.”

             
“It is not like the Hofburg was not well-secured… This is where they’ll strike next. I’m certain. You have seen both the bloodshed ensued and the threat notes.”

             
I may have laid some strong arguments to support my case, yet I was no fool. I found no shame in admitting how my reasoning, alone, could have faltered on its own. Crumbling under its very own weight. I was also well aware of how much I had relied heavily on the support of Adam’s long withstanding infatuation with me. To approve of my suggestion was nothing short of another attempt to appeal to me.

             
Schuster was not happy when he learned that, by the end of the day, he would have no choice but to let us go. After all, our real job laid in synchronizing between regional authorities rather than helping him personally solve his case. The Austrian dreaded seeing his partnership with Adam dissolved. They seem to have formed some sort of a strong alliance during those last couple of days, one that may not be so easy to break. Yet there was so little he could actually do, this was one area where all his authority just broke and shattered. He spared us two of his assistants before giving us his back and simply walking away. It was the last we have ever seen of him.

             
Schuster’s assistants saved no effort helping us cruise through some of the more tedious bureaucratic procedures, during those last few hours we still had in Vienna. They were tasked with summarizing and reformatting all the case files according to our own set of standards, as an unavoidable prerequisite, before we could actually share them with the rest of the authorities. Thankfully, the Austrians had fully understood the power of synergy with a higher entity such as the Interpol. We provided them with just the right cover, a commanding geographical reach. Mostly because if similar cases were the norm, valuable art pieces, such as this one, were always bound to be smuggled and traded well beyond one’s jurisdiction.

             
Yet patience was just another virtue that they had to endure. There was no doubt in my mind that the rate of breakthroughs, made thus far, was terribly deceiving. In any given case, one should not expect similar advances for weeks if not months, that is of course unless luck intervened or suspects unpredictably slip. Yet, the introduction of the alluring Lucy was a definite game changer. It gave authorities a purpose, a carrot at the end of the stick, even if her identity and how she fitted in the whole scheme of things still remained in shrouds.