The Alchemist’s Code (31 page)

“Well? Place it on the ground. Carefully,” Woland urged them.

Vorjas walked over to his friend and they inspected the artefact together.

“Finally,” he muttered, but Woland's enthusiasm was muted, and a doubtful expression crept over his face.

“There's something peculiar—”

He lifted the lid – and received an unwelcome surprise. The metal cube was empty. He grabbed it with both hands in a gesture of annoyance and threw it onto the floor of the mithraeum, where it rolled away. A small piece of paper flew out from inside it and fell at Woland's feet.

He picked it up, gave it a quick look and handed it to Vorjas. It was a short poem written in Italian, a language that the prelate knew better than the President of Nanotech:

“What the hell does that mean?” asked Caesar.

Woland tore the paper from his friend's hands, crumpled it up and tossed it aside, then kicked the metal cube along the floor. “It means that those sons of bitches are playing games with me even from beyond the grave.”

He strode towards Anna, who was standing in the threshold of the temple along with Bastian, and grabbed her face with one hand, squeezing it with great force.

“It also means that you will come to a nasty end for having led me down this blind alley!”

He released his grip and nodded to Bastian. Anna, with a grimace of pain at the old man's harsh grip, looked at him in terror for the first time. “I've told you what Lorenzo and I found. Perhaps my grandfather had foreseen all this.”

“You have too high a regard for your grandfather, you silly deluded girl – I met him, and he wasn't as brilliant as you seem to think. I met him and all those idiots of the Lodge of the Nine.” With a sinister light in his eyes, he walked back over to the girl and grabbed her by the throat. “None of them realised what they had in their hands. But that isn't your concern: you have made me waste enough time, and rather than sending the video of your torture to your dear Lorenzo Aragona, I'll send him the one of your death. I should have concentrated my efforts upon finding him, instead of listening to you.”

“We still can, Doctor Woland.”

The voice was that of Camille, who had walked up to the old man as he was clasping Anna's throat with increasing strength.

“Give me a few hours. I'll find Lorenzo Aragona, Herzog is still on his trail and we have many connections who can help,” Camille continued as she watched Anna thrash about helplessly. “And who knows, maybe the Russian beauty here could still be useful as a bargaining chip.”

Woland shifted his fierce eyes to the sensual French woman, then looked at Anna for the last time and let her go. The girl collapsed, choking and gasping for breath. She rolled over on her side and, as she coughed again, her hands, tied together behind her back, brushed against something on the floor. It felt like a piece of crumpled paper. Still coughing, and hoping no one would notice, she tried to put it into her back pocket.

Unfortunately, her movements were spotted by Camille, who grabbed her arm and twisted it, taking the slip of paper from her. Anna resisted and Camille noted with astonishment how strong she was.

“I'll take that. And you would be wise to calm down.”

An enraged Woland walked towards the exit, passing Caesar and Camille, then stopped for a moment. “No matter that the Baphomet isn't in our hands yet. Carry on with your plan, Caesar, I want to show them what we are capable of.”

“We'll change history, Raymond, you'll see. In two days time, the world will never be the same again. And when we have the Baphomet, we will dominate it.”

Woland nodded, his expression as hard as granite, then turned to Camille. “I'll give you the chance to earn the prize of prizes, Camille. Let's see if you can find Lorenzo Aragona, because he seems to do nothing but elude me. Find out if he's gone on with the search and come close to the truth.”

Then, casting a quick look at Anna, he added, “If he knows more than we do, we will use every means at our disposal to get him to collaborate.”

Camille gave a devilish smile and nodded.

It was the middle of the night when Woland and his men arrived back at the villa on the Aventino. Camille set to work immediately, proving herself once again more capable than the other minions: she had valuable connections and an uncommon intelligence on her side, and within a matter of hours had managed to discover that Lorenzo was somewhere in Rome together with the police commissioner Oscar Franchi and another person. The hardest part was getting hold of the commissioner's phone number.

That of Lorenzo Aragona, or at least the one they knew of, wasn't active.

At mid-morning, she knocked on Woland's office door, waited a few moments, and, since no one answered, went inside. The office, furnished with the same art deco elegance as the rest of the Villa, was enveloped in shadows. In front of her, on the other side of the large room, was a roaring fire, in front of which Woland was sitting, slumped in an armchair, his legs covered with a large blanket. He was with the grey-haired doctor and Caesar Vorjas. Caesar was wearing his cardinal's robes and looked ready to leave. Camille took a few steps and froze in surprise. Woland's appearance was similar to that of the previous morning, before he had undergone the doctor's treatment. An old, frail and ailing man, his face wrinkled.

“Caesar, my friend, good luck. Keep me informed of events,” he said in a faint voice.

“Don't worry, Raymond. I will wait for the green light to begin the operation and then we will spread the word.”

Woland coughed and laughed at the same time. “The Eternal City will know hours of suffering and… Camille! Is that you? Come over here.”

Looking tired but determined, the woman stepped forward. She regained her self-possession and announced the result of her inquiries.

“Lorenzo Aragona is in Rome, together with Oscar Franchi and another person. I have the commissioner's phone number.”

The two looked at one another for a moment, then Woland turned to the doctor.

“I need another treatment, right away. I want to be ready for my final meeting with the Chosen One of the Nine.”

The doctor left the room and Camille waited for Woland to speak again.

“Stay here, my dear. I know you are tired, but I want you to see the miracle that we've been able to accomplish, even though it must still be perfected. That is why I need the Guardian of the Threshold, because he can do what my technology cannot.”

The doctor re-appeared wearing a lab coat and stood in front of one of the two doors which led into the study.

“Help me up,” said Woland, addressing the woman. Camille took his arm and, when he was standing, the old man turned his gaze on Vorjas. “Your Eminence, as you can see I'm in good hands. You can go.”

Vorjas nodded, not without throwing a cold glance at Camille.

With stealthy steps, he left the room, while Camille and Woland walked towards the other door where the doctor was awaiting them. They went into a room which was completely, almost blindingly, white.

Camille half-closed her eyes, while Woland put on his dark pince-nez.

Over the last two days, the room had been set up as a small operating theatre, equipped with electronic devices and two cabinets containing vials and other glass containers. In the centre of the room stood an operating table with an IV pole and a small table with a monitor next to it bearing a number of syringes and metal containers of various sizes.

“This, Camille, is the modern version of the fountain of eternal youth,” Woland said with evident satisfaction, “and it represents the cutting edge of Nanotechnology research.”

“What's that?” the woman asked, casting a doubtful glance at the apparently simple equipment.

“Its name is
BIO –
Bot Injector One. It's a primer of nano-machines, a kind of super IV. But it doesn't inject medicine or anything, just… this.”

Camille looked at the screen and gasped. The monitor showed the image of a liquid dotted with bubbles and in a window in the upper left an enlargement of the same.

“Appearances can be deceptive, my dear,” Woland said indicating the smaller pane. It showed the contents of the bottle: thousands, maybe millions of microscopic machines in the shape of cells or tiny insects fluttered like living creatures.

“We call them
Healing Bots
, or
Hbs –
the healers. Doctor Höffnunger, here, is the head of the research group that has developed them on behalf of Woland University.”

The doctor finished the preliminary operation, then turned to Camille and Woland. “The
HB
are injected in the blood like a regular medicine and, thanks to their programming, they reach any part of the human body in need of repair in a few seconds. They arrive there immediately and get straight to work. Within minutes, the subject is completely healed, their energy returns, and, in the case of elderly people, they are to all intents and purposes twenty years younger.”

Woland raised his eyebrows. “Of course, you can program the
bots
to produce the opposite effect. They can get into the bloodstream, destroy everything, and then be absorbed by the body without leaving any trace.”

Camille was shocked. “The universal medicine—”

“Or the perfect killer,” Woland said, and then gave a wry smile as he lay down on the operating table and the doctor inserted the needles into his veins. “Thanks to
HB
s we may be able to cure many diseases. The pharmaceutical companies, however, pay me handsomely to keep that fact a secret, and that is fine with me. I'm a businessman, not a philanthropist. Unfortunately, as you have seen, their effect is still limited to a few hours at a time. Thanks to the
HB
I suffer from no illness but old age… which I cannot halt completely, and I cannot stop death.

That is why I need the Baphomet.”

Doctor Höffnunger injected the techno-liquid and a moment later the nano-machines began to circulate in Woland's body. What happened next was incredible: in a matter of seconds, the old man's skin seemed to smooth itself out and regained colour, his muscles bulged, his eyes, dull before, became dark and intense. Once again, Woland had become at least twenty years younger. He lay still for a few seconds, then Doctor Höffnunger removed the needles, checked that everything was as it should be, and helped him to his feet.

The new Woland took a few steps toward Camille and his malevolent expression, now more intense than ever, was accompanied by a diabolical smile. “Now, while we prepare the apocalypse in Rome, let's hunt down Lorenzo Aragona. I feel he's much closer to the truth than we may think.”

Events reconstructed by Lorenzo Aragona

Villa Gondemar, Rome, January, 2013

“Commissioner Franchi?”

The deep, husky voice of a man with a thick foreign accent emerged from the tinny speaker of Oscar's phone.

“This is me, who's speaking?”

“All in good time, Commissioner. Look, I know you're with Mr Lorenzo Aragona and that you're probably helping him look for an object that is also of interest to me.”

“Ok,” was all Oscar said, surprised by those words.

“Yes, Mr Franchi, I urgently need to recover this
thing
and since I know that I can't buy it, I'm forced to obtain it via methods which are – how shall I put it?
Unorthodox
.”

Oscar's expression grew even more uncomfortable, but he was in no mood to be played with.

“First of all, tell me how you got this phone number.”

“Commissioner, please let's not waste time. Right now, my men are placing a bomb in a very crowded area of Rome and the only way you can prevent an explosion is to listen very carefully to me and follow my instructions.”

At these words, Oscar froze and gave me a worried look.

“I'm inviting you to take me seriously,” continued the man on the phone.

“What do you want me to do?” said Oscar, almost surprising himself at these words.

“Let me speak to Mr Aragona.”

Oscar handed me the phone, as though hypnotized.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Lorenzo.”

At the sound of that hoarse, eerie voice I was immediately overcome with a familiar distress and anguish.

“We haven't had the opportunity to meet yet, except through my staff.”

“Who are you?”

“You can call me Raymond for now. Listen to me, Lorenzo – I am sure that you and I are looking for the same thing. I've known it since you re-awakened, thanks to your new friend from eastern Europe. By the way, I wanted to let you know that the lovely Anna is my guest for the time being. I shall send you a short video in a moment so you can see for yourself. If you care for her at all, you'd better listen to me and do as I say. Above all because, as I said to Signor Franchi, if you don't, many people will die.”

“What do you want?”

“Everything you've found out about the Baphomet. You are the last Chosen One of the Nine, and your illustrious grandfather must have left you precious information in addition to that you carry in your mind which, unfortunately, we didn't manage to prise out of there, despite the sophistication of our hypnotic techniques.”

“I don't—”

“Oh no, Lorenzo, let's not get off on the wrong foot, because that would make me want to send you a piece of Anna's ear and pay my – how shall I put it – personal tribute to the city.”