The Alchemist’s Code (41 page)

The speaker went silent and screams of terror rose from the audience in the darkness. People started pushing and attempting to reach the exits, and the security cordon tightened further to prevent anyone trying, regardless of the terrorists's threats, to leave the hall. Father Palminteri noted that the crowd in the foyer had increased and was huddled in front of the security men at the exit.

“Gentlemen, please!” shouted one of the gendarmes, “you heard what they said! Whoever leaves will be killed! Stay calm.”

Suddenly, a man in a suit and tie who, thanks to the darkness, had managed to break through the line of guards, reached the front door.

“Stop!” shouted the policeman who noticed him, but the man, in thrall to total panic, threw himself at the door, opened it and reached the little square in front of the entrance to the Nervi Auditorium, right next to the Basilica of San Pietro. He stopped, turned around and flung his arms open wide, as though to demonstrate that there was no danger.

At the sight of this, other people in the foyer began to push their way past the security men in an attempt to get out. The gendarmes and Italian police restrained them as well as they could, but, inevitably, the line broke and dozens of people ran towards the door. However, those who were at the head of the frightened mob suddenly realised that something like a peculiar kind of lightning had hit the man who had managed to escape. Weird objects like darts struck him in several places, his limbs froze in unnatural positions, and his body began to sizzle and corrode, as though it had been sprayed with acid. A moment later, his horribly mutilated corpse lay sprawled on the pavement of the plaza.

The screams of the people inside the Nervi Auditorium re-doubled in intensity, but this time the flow of bodies ran in the opposite direction.

“It's the end—” murmured Palminteri who had seen it all and, carried along by the crowd, found himself back in the pitch-black auditorium. Suddenly, he heard music. A form appeared in the shadows of the stage, surprising him and all those present.

The Pope had taken to the stage along with the Italian Prime Minister and representatives of the US and Russia, and was addressing the crowd with a megaphone, while security personnel formed a human shield around him. The musicians had begun to play a sweet Renaissance melody.

“Brothers and Sisters,” began the Pope, “my children! Please, listen to your humble shepherd. Do not be overcome by fear – I am with you, and I will not abandon you.”

He paused a moment to allow everyone to settle down, and they strained their eyes and ears to see and hear the Pope's words.

James began again. “Obviously, this is one of the tests we must undergo on the journey towards a more just, more peaceful and non-violent world. We will not shirk –
I
will not shirk. I do not wish to yield to this injustice, but I cannot let you die.”

The Pope paused again and everyone began to understand his intentions. “Brothers and sisters, I will go and kneel before the Lord, if this will help to save your lives.”

The Swiss guards, holding torches, went down into the crowd and opened a way for the Pope, and, to the wild applause of the thousands of people trapped inside, he strode along it confidently.

Palminteri was at the door of the hall, at the point of access to the foyer, just behind the Swiss guard who was keeping the crowds back. As he passed, James nodded to him, paused and muttered, “
Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam.
”

Father Palminteri felt a spark of hope.

Events reconstructed by Lorenzo Aragona

Fosse Ardeatine Memorial Cemetery, Rome, January, 2013 – 19:00

The lights which dimly illuminated the cave lost intensity until they were no brighter than a candle, the chill enveloped everything and silence closed in on us as though we were in a soundproof room. The feeling was that this was the last moment before death passed with his scythe. Only the Baphomet seemed still to possess a spark of life.

The eyes of the idol glowed brightly, as did its twisted mouth, and from those grotesque holes began to emerge a thick smoke in bright colours ranging from milky white to golden yellow, through every conceivable shade of grey and silver. The fumes joined together to form vaguely anthropomorphic figures hovering around those present: larvae, nymphs, bright-eyed ghosts, small smiling children or long strands of ectoplasm ending in the forms of voluptuous women with angelic faces. The crowd of otherworldly beings continued to emerge from the eyes and mouth of the Baphomet with a sound like a gentle breeze.

We all watched, enraptured, while the figures, hovering between the rock walls of the quarry, brushed against our faces and shoulders, never quite touching us. It was like being embraced by icy clouds. They seemed harmless enough, but each time a person met their gaze, he fell to the ground as though dead. It was hard to tell whether they were simply asleep or had their life suddenly torn from them.

Seeing what was happening, as one of the larvae passed me, I whispered, “Their eyes are dangerous… Don't look into them! Let them caress you, but don't look them in the eyes.”

In the meantime, the Baphomet had lit up again, and those diaphanous creatures disappeared just as mysteriously as they had appeared, leaving behind them a strange feeling of emptiness followed immediately by a sensation of panic. The light coming from the Baphomet then diminished to the intensity of a small candle, and its eyes grew red and seemed somehow to slowly emerge from the skull of the grotesque idol, rising in a cloud of thick black smoke until they reached the height of a tall man. The smoke thickened around those two burning slits and, falling in heavy spirals, as though it were pitch, formed a sort of gloomy shroud that left only the eyes uncovered.

And those eyes were the most frightening thing that a human being could ever see.

I edged slowly backwards, recklessly keeping my eyes on the supernatural entity, and crawled along the wall to where Camille sat. She had looked at the thing, and now seemed to have lost all control of her consciousness. Her face was expressionless, empty, her mouth hanging wide open.

The being, its eyes full of fiendishness, crept toward me, the black swirls of its dense veil falling to the ground like heavy reptiles before rising again like tentacles, only to then fall once more.

The fiery eyes penetrated my own and seemed almost to dig into my soul in search of weaknesses.

… Be strong, boy, and mind you don't bend to the evil will of that ancient being. You must master him – or he will dominate you!

Sean Bruce's words echoed in my mind, so I tried to concentrate and to resist the deadly allure of those eyes.

“You have entered the dark regions. I am the Guardian of the Threshold, and in you I recognise the Elect of the Nine. What is it that you want from me? You do not speak? Am I not what you were seeking? Mine is the wisdom of countless ages. Do you not wish for knowledge, Elect of the Nine? Why have you freed me from my prison?”

The voice had an irresistible power and each syllable dug a furrow of sheer terror through my mind. My heart was pounding in my chest like a frightened puppy, seeming almost to want to leap out of my body. I was shaking like a leaf in the storm and, even though I knew exactly what I wanted to ask the Guardian of the Threshold, the words simply would not come out of my mouth. I was gripped by fear, and the cold now penetrated every fibre of my being.

The Guardian did not wait for me to gather my wits and, bringing his fiery eyes close to my face, said, “Your hesitation makes of you an imposter, and I shall use my freedom to my liking.”

He raised himself and directing his eyes to the heavens, let out a rattle, like a wild beast preparing to attack its prey. “I feel the proximity of many souls and a place surrounded by many doors. If you want me, O impostor, you will find me between the gates of this city of sinners. I shall take many souls tonight, and I shall make of them my companions.”

And with these words he turned into a black bird which seemed to be made of smoke and tar – a giant raven, with eyes of fire – and flew from the cave.

In tears I watched as he flapped rapidly away, like an arrow shot into the night.

“What have I done? What have I done?” I muttered as I stared mesmerised at the point in the sky where the Guardian of the Threshold had gone.

Suddenly I felt someone shaking me.

“Lorenzo, snap out of it! Lorenzo!”

It was Oscar.

“Come on, brother, it's not over yet.”

“I've failed, Oscar. He overpowered me… I couldn't control him. I wasted my only chance to save Àrtemis and condemned God knows how many other people to an atrocious end,” I said in a faint voice.

“You've done worse than that, as it happens,” said Oscar in gentle reproach, “you've awakened a force that we have no idea know how to control.”

I looked around at the others in the cave. Some of the police officers were helping their colleagues who had been taken by the gaze of the Guardian of the Threshold. They weren't dead, but their eyes were dull and they were unresponsive. I turned to my right, and saw the same look in the empty eyes of Camille, who was still kneeling next to the rock wall.

I approached her and shook her, but in vain: her eyes were open, but they stared hopelessly at something far away in space and time.

“Maybe it's the proper punishment for the evil you've done, Camille.”

I stood up and pointed to her. “It seems that there is no way to stop the plan put in place by Woland, or at least that's what Camille said.”

Oscar, grim-faced, nodded.

“Apparently not. Something's happened in the Nervi Auditorium – Woland's men have attacked the auditorium with some kind of electromagnetic pulse that shorted anything electronic. Only battery-powered torches are still working.”

“There's a mole in the Vatican, a very powerful mole. What do they want? Have they made any demands?”

“From what we know, they seem to have demanded that the Pope comes out and kneels in the centre of St. Peter's Square, in front of the basilica, and asks forgiveness for the sins of the Church.”

“This is madness! I hope he didn't agree?”

“They've threatened to kill all the people inside if he doesn't.”

A breathless policeman appeared, and Commissioner Volta, who had been kneeling beside his fallen colleagues, stood up to hear the news. “Commissioner, the Pope is coming out of the Nervi Auditorium.”

Oscar looked at me. “There's your answer, Lorenzo.”

While the police brought us up to date on developments, I saw Anna, accompanied by Inspector Ferraris, coming towards us.

“So what do I call you?” I asked, “Anna, or agent Vova? Now I understand why you knew how to do all those things, the martial arts and the rest. What a fool I am—”

“Lorenzo, I'm sorry I lied to you,” she said staring at me with her deep blue eyes, “but I did leave the SVR, that is the truth. I left when I realized what they had done and—”

Anna paused and her eyes looked past me, towards the body of Woland, which the police were laying out on the ground. From the right pocket of his jacket peeked a little book.

“That's my grandfather's book!”

I recognized the worn cover of the book that Woland's thugs had stolen from me in Kiev and my mind immediately flew to the second volume that Antonio had given me before he died.

“Why did Woland have it with him?” Anna asked, as she approached the police.

I showed her the book .

“Look – Navarro gave me to it. It's the second volume. He said I would need it.”

“Can we take it?” Anna asked one of the policemen.

“Actually, it's part of the crime scene.”

“Let her have it, Bonetti,” said Volta, reassuring his man.

“Do you think we might need it? What is it?”

“A short essay written by my grandfather, Commissioner, which contains information about the Guardian of the Threshold.”

Anna and I quickly leafed through it, hunting for some clue.

“You're right,” I said as we searched frantically, “if Woland had it with him, he must have known that it contained something important that we missed. And now we have both parts.” But the pages of the essay seemingly contained nothing but folklore about the Guardian of the Threshold, the Baphomet and the Lodge of the Nine. I reached the end without finding anything. Anna looked at me forlornly, but I refused to give up, and began examining the book's hard covers.

“In my business as an antiquarian I've sometimes happened to find letters or messages secretly hidden within the covers of books.”

I pulled back the paper which formed the inside of the cardboard and cloth cover and, in purest Lorenzo Aragona style – that is to say, with a fair bit of luck – I found yet another piece of folded paper.

“I don't believe it—” murmured Anna.

Carefully, I opened the paper and saw that it was handwritten notes, texts and drawings. There was a fairly accurate sketch of the Baphomet, with arrows pointing to symbols which I recognized immediately. They were well-known alchemical symbols. For the text, though, I needed help.

“Maybe you can read it, Anna – it's written in Russian, I think.”

Anna quickly read the first words, then smiled. “It's by my grandfather, written in his own hand. First there is a title in Latin,
Codex Baffometi—
”

“Go on. What does it say next to those alchemical symbols?”

“It's a kind of ritual, it refers to pages of the two volumes. Page thirteen, Volume I.”

I opened the first volume to the page indicated.

“He says first of all to find the door of the
Ruach Elohim
.”

“The
Ruach Elohim
?”

“It is the divine spirit in the Jewish religion – it corresponds more or less to the Holy Spirit. But where is this door of
Ruach Elohim
?”