The Revelation Code (Wilde/Chase 11) (16 page)

13

E
ddie reached the end of the Gigantomachy frieze on the altar’s right wing, gazing up at the final panels – displaying a warrior with his face and one arm missing beside an equally incomplete horse – before turning and retracing his steps back around the structure to the same position on the left side. A tall mirror was mounted on the back wall to create the illusion that the building continued deeper into the museum; his reflection regarded him disconsolately.

There were numerous winged figures amongst the carved combatants, which he had immediately thought were angels, but Rothschild and Derrick explained during the group’s examination of the ancient temple that they were actually Greek gods such as Nike and Uranus. It was a sign of his growing concern that he hadn’t made a joke about either name. The German had assured him that the sculptures were solid slabs of marble, with nothing concealed either inside or behind them, and that they long pre-dated the birth of Christ.

‘So where is this bloody thing?’ he asked himself. The balding mirror image had no answer. With a sigh, he went back the way he had come.

The two archaeologists were at the top of the stairs, in the display room behind the facade. Eddie ascended to find them examining another frieze set out along the walls. ‘Have you found anything?’

‘No, I’m sorry,’ Derrick replied. ‘There is nothing I know of on the altar that could possibly be any kind of Christian symbol, not even in the unrestored pieces in storage.’

‘Damn. And there’s no way the gods with wings might have been seen as angels?’

Rothschild shook her head. ‘The early Christians explicitly rejected the Greek and Roman pantheon – they called this place the “Altar of Satan” for a reason. And the modern image of an angel, a man with wings on his back, doesn’t match the Biblical descriptions of them. They generally look indistinguishable from ordinary people, but they can also be beings of fire, or lightning, or even resemble some sort of machine – “a wheel intersecting a wheel” is I think how it’s worded. The angels in Revelation are just as varied, but none are described as men with wings.’

‘How
are
they described?’ Eddie asked. ‘Anything that matches these guys?’ He indicated the frieze.

‘Not that I can think of.’

He turned away in frustration, trying to think of anything to help him locate the angel – and his wife. ‘These arseholes found something in Italy. Nina worked out where it was . . . but
what
was it? How did they know what to look for?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Rothschild. ‘But according to Oswald, they went to a specific spot in the catacombs and smashed a wall open to reveal a cavity. Presumably they took whatever was inside.’

‘The angel?’ asked Derrick.

‘Maybe. But nothing else appeared to have been damaged.’

‘So why did they go to that spot?’ wondered Eddie. ‘This catacomb – is there anything on the walls? Paintings, inscriptions, that kind of thing?’

‘Some paintings, yes,’ said Derrick. ‘I have not been there, but I have seen photographs. Most are decorative, but there are some Hebrew religious symbols . . .’

He broke off, lips pursed. ‘What is it?’ Eddie asked.

‘Hebrew symbols,’ the German replied. ‘I did not think about it earlier, because you told me you were looking for
Christian
symbols. But there is a piece in storage . . .’ He searched his memory, then his eyes widened. ‘Yes, I know which one. Come with me.’

He strode from the antechamber, Eddie and Rothschild hurrying down the stairs after him. ‘What is it, Markus?’ asked Rothschild.

‘There is a panel that we have not yet managed to match to a specific location on the altar,’ said Derrick, leading them into a side room. This was also closed to the public, plastic sheets covering some of the exhibits and scaffolding rising up one wall. Eddie had been married to an archaeologist long enough to recognise that the treasures in this room were Roman rather than Greek. The columned front of a pale marble structure rose almost to the high ceiling. ‘The Market Gate of Miletus,’ the German remarked as he headed up a ramp and through a doorway at its centre. Another barrier beyond blocked the way; he moved it.

‘God, it’s like I’ve stepped through a time portal,’ Eddie exclaimed as he took in his new surroundings on the far side. Roman history had given way to Arabian, the gateway through which they had come a towering blue arch topped by elaborate castellations. ‘What’s this?’

‘The Ishtar Gate,’ Derrick told him, replacing the barrier. ‘Part of the walls of Babylon. We are now in the Vorderasiatisches Museum – the Museum of the Near East.’

Eddie looked down a corridor ahead, the walls of which were lined with more relics. ‘I’m almost glad Nina’s not here,’ he said with a grim smile. ‘She’d never leave the bloody place.’

‘This way.’ Derrick brought them to a flight of stairs. The museum had now closed, Eddie realised; there were no other visitors. He went up the steps after the other man, who opened a side door and led them down a passage. ‘This is where we are restoring the Gigantomachy frieze.’

The German showed Eddie and Rothschild into a large room. A faint smell of dust and plaster hung in the air. Lights flicked on to reveal a pair of long workbenches, upon them adjustable lamps and free-standing easels bearing photographs. Beyond the benches was a large piece of machinery that Eddie didn’t recognise, though a sticker displaying the international warning symbol for a laser – a starburst at the end of a horizontal line – gave him a clue as to its function. Past that, running along both long walls, were the movable, track-mounted shelving banks of an archival storage system.

‘How are the restorations going?’ Rothschild asked.

‘Very well. We have a new high-resolution laser scanner.’ Derrick rounded the benches and stopped beside the machine, opening a large semicircular shield to reveal a steel platform within. A gleaming mirror on a rotating base was mounted behind a glazed vertical slot in the scanner’s casing beside it. ‘We can scan a piece over two metres long to a precision of less than half a millimetre. Once we have the scan, we can either send it to the milling machine’ – he pointed out another piece of hardware at the room’s far end – ‘to make a copy, or we can give it to the computer to find a match with other pieces automatically. Like a jigsaw puzzle in three dimensions,’ he added to the Englishman. ‘The computer is much faster than a human being at putting the broken pieces together.’

Eddie regarded one of the easels, which held photos of various sculpture fragments. ‘So it’s worked out that these fit together, and now you’re going to rebuild ’em?’

‘Yes, that is right. Of course, that does not mean that they
will
fit, only that they should. That is why we make the copies, to test them, so we do not damage the original pieces.’ He went to a table by the storage units, on which was a large, heavy book. ‘Now, let me try to find this piece.’

Derrick leafed through the tome. Each page had a picture of a fragment of the frieze, along with a description, and there seemed to be several hundred pages. ‘Hope that thing’s got an index,’ said Eddie.

‘It could take some time,’ Derrick admitted. ‘There is a machine outside if you would like a drink.’

‘You want something?’ Eddie asked Rothschild with a shrug.

‘Coffee,’ she replied. ‘White. Two sugars.’

‘Hemlock or no hemlock?’

Her only reply was a scowl. Grinning, Eddie headed for the door.

He had not only returned with drinks, but had also finished his by the time Derrick called to his guests. ‘Here, see,’ he said, tapping at a picture.

Eddie and Rothschild joined him. The image showed a ragged-edged marble slab bearing the carved relief of a robed man with one hand held out from his side. A ruler beside it provided scale; the piece was about two feet tall and a foot wide.

‘That’s it?’ asked the Yorkshireman.

‘Yes,’ Derrick replied. ‘When I told you about the Hebrew symbols, I remembered this.’ He indicated a marking beside the figure, but it was too small to make out clearly. ‘Now I shall find it.’ He checked a number at the bottom of the page, then went to one of the storage units.

Rothschild put on her glasses and peered at the photo. ‘The sculpting is crude compared to the rest of the frieze. Where on the altar did it come from?’

‘We do not know,’ Derrick told her. He took hold of a wheel on the end of the rack and spun it effortlessly. The shelf unit silently rolled apart from its neighbour, revealing banks of large drawers. ‘There are many pieces that we have not yet found a place for.’

‘So this might not have come from the altar at all?’

‘No, no,’ the German insisted. ‘Everything was brought from the site at Pergamon. The original excavation by Carl Humann was very thorough. Ah! This is it.’

He slid open a drawer. Inside was a bulky wooden box. He carefully lifted it out and brought it to one of the workbenches. ‘Here,’ he said, lifting the lid.

Eddie immediately saw that Rothschild had been right. It was obvious even to a layman like himself that the sculpture was of a far lower quality than those around the Altar of Zeus. The stone was roughly carved, even chipped in places, and the figure’s face was crude and almost amateurish compared to the perfection of the Greek gods. ‘Looks like someone palmed it off on their apprentice. Or their kid.’

‘I can’t imagine that it was made at the same time as the rest of the frieze,’ agreed Rothschild. ‘Where’s the Hebrew symbol?’

Derrick pointed. ‘There.’

The visitors leaned closer. Inscribed next to the standing figure was a coarse but recognisable representation of a menorah. Above it Eddie saw letters, barely a centimetre in height. ‘What does that say?’

‘Some of the characters are Akkadian – not my speciality, I’m afraid,’ said Rothschild. ‘But these others are Hebrew letters,
dalet
and
kaf
– although they can also represent numbers. These would mean twenty-four.’

‘So this guy’s the Jewish Jack Bauer?’ Eddie said with a smirk.

Neither archaeologist responded to the joke, both deep in thought – and reaching the same conclusion. ‘The twenty-four Elders?’ said Derrick.

‘It could be,’ Rothschild replied, intrigued. ‘We should find out if the spot that was broken open at the Villa Torlonia had the same symbols. If it does, this might also be a marker.’

‘A marker for what?’ asked Eddie. ‘One of these angels?’

‘Maybe. But if it is,’ she went on, ‘we still won’t be able to figure out where it’s hidden unless we can identify where this piece of the frieze belongs.’ She turned to Derrick. ‘Markus, you don’t have
any
idea where it should fit?’

The German shook his head. ‘No. We have not yet matched it to any part of the altar.’

‘So maybe it
isn’t
part of the altar,’ Eddie suggested. ‘Can you stand it up? Let’s see the rest of it.’

‘There is nothing on the other sides,’ Derrick assured him.

‘Humour me.’

‘What are you thinking?’ Rothschild asked as the German started to lift the piece. ‘I know that attitude – I’d expect it from Nina.’ Her own attitude was not exactly approving.

‘Guess I’ve picked up bad habits from her. But you know what one of her other bad habits is? Usually being right. About archaeology, anyway. Kids’ names, not so much.’ A brief smile, which vanished in a flare of anger at the thought of her still being a prisoner.

That in turn hardened his resolve to do whatever it took to get her back. Derrick had by now stood the thick block on its end; Eddie took hold of it. ‘Wait, you should not—’ the archaeologist protested, but he had already pulled it around a half-turn. ‘This is a valuable artefact! Only museum staff are allowed to touch it.’

‘Report me to the boss. Oh, wait, that’s you,’ Eddie replied, switching on the bench’s lamps. ‘Hey, look at this.’

The back of the block appeared plain. ‘Look at what?’ said Rothschild.

Eddie ran a fingertip over the surface. Large parts felt rough to the touch, like a fine sandpaper – not at all like marble, even though it was the same colour as the rest of the piece. ‘The front and sides are all lumpy, like the sculptor was a bit cack-handed – but this is almost flat. And it feels different.’

Derrick gave it an experimental stroke with a fingertip. ‘He is right,’ he told Rothschild. ‘It is like . . . like a
patch
, where a flaw was repaired.’ His hand moved back across the blank face. ‘But this is too big to be a simple fix. I think . . .’ He trailed off.

‘You think there’s something inside it?’ Eddie finished for him. ‘Like this block’s hollow – they chiselled it out, stuck the angel in the hole, then filled it in again?’

‘It can’t be,’ said Rothschild, though with some uncertainty.

Derrick bent down to scrutinise the surface. ‘It is possible,’ he admitted. ‘Look, here – with the light at the right angle, you can see where the repairs were made.’

He withdrew, letting the woman take his place. ‘Yes, I see it,’ she said, almost reluctantly.

‘If this angel’s inside, we’ve got to get it out,’ Eddie said.

‘And how do you suggest we do that?’ demanded Rothschild.

‘I know a way – worked fine last time I tried it.’ He hefted the lump of stone, turning as if to dash it on the floor.

Both archaeologists simultaneously shrieked, ‘
No!
’ Derrick darted to clap his hands around it before Eddie could let go. ‘You cannot do that!’ he yelled.

‘We’ve got to find the angel or they’ll kill Nina!’ the Englishman replied.

‘There are better ways than smashing it to bits!’ protested Derrick. ‘We have an ultrasound scanner. I can see if there really is something hidden inside. If there is, then I will consider –
consider
– drilling into it. But this is a valuable piece!’

‘The patch is at the back,’ Eddie pointed out. ‘Even if you open it, the bloke on the front won’t be damaged. Once you work out which part of the altar it comes from, you can stick it where it belongs and nobody’ll know anything happened to it. That’s if it’s even actually part of the altar,’ he added.