Chapter 8
Alexis dashed from the cab, ditching the wig and jacket as soon as she entered the shadows of the tree line, continuing northwest, deeper into the busy pedestrian throughway. People were all around her. Some were sitting at tables, eating pastries or drinking coffee. Others were standing idly or walking slowly, talking with one another.
Abruptly, she turned and headed southwest, moving swiftly to a secluded area shrouded in shadows. Here, she stopped to collect herself and catch her breath. Closing her eyes against the pain in her chest, she stood transfixed, her thoughts drawn to flames and wreckage she didn’t see but felt in her bones.
In her mind’s eye, she saw the freckle-faced girl from the dead woman’s phone — the little girl she’d saved from a life of pain and disappointment at her uncaring mother’s hands. Anyone who could leave such a sweet, innocent child behind and alone in such a dark, dangerous world earned what she’d given — and more.
Pushing down the plunger on the needle, she felt the liquid Oxycodone enter her veins and she sighed as pain receded and clear vision returned. Stepping from the shadows, she felt invincible, untouchable, as she entered the crowded square, carrying the black, leather handbag that she’d picked up at the gardens over her left shoulder.
Passing the statue, she glanced up at the stoic figure of a knight on horseback and smiled because of the secret she carried with her. The secret that would terrify everyone in the crowd around her if only they knew.
Her eyes wary, looking for her pursuers, she made her way quickly to the visitor’s entrance of Saint John’s Co-Cathedral from Republic Street and continued through into the main nave, the entire floor of which was covered with marble tombstones that marked the final resting place of some of the most illustrious knights of their time. The Order, known as the Knights of Malta, had built the church in the late 16th century.
The cathedral was considered to be one of the finest examples of high Baroque architecture in Europe and one of the world’s greatest cathedrals, with intricate carved stone walls, painted vaulted ceilings and side altars with scenes from the lives of saints. Inside its walls were seven chapels, each dedicated to a patron saint of the Knights.
She walked quickly past the Chapel of the Langue of Castille, Leon and Portugal, dedicated to Saint James, and entered the Chapel of the Langue of Aragon, dedicated to Saint George, glancing up at the painting over the altar showing the saint on horseback. She continued through into the chapel dedicated to Saint Sebastian, before entering the chapel dedicated to the Madonna of Philermos.
The inner sanctuary of the Chapel of Our Lady of Philermos was enclosed by a silver gate and like others before her, Alexis knelt outside the gate before taking in the majesty of the gilded walls and ceiling sculpted with symbols that told of the Immaculate Conception and other titles of the Virgin Mary. There were tears in her eyes as she stared at the icon of the Virgin and wondered how many before her had similarly knelt and wept and prayed to the Virgin for intercession.
The Knights of Malta knelt and prayed before battle, and they returned afterward to present to the Virgin the keys of the fortresses they conquered. These keys were still present within the chapel, but it was another key hidden in the chapel that she searched for.
“The base of the tree is rotten,” she whispered to the Virgin as she located the key and slipped it in with the other toys and goodies in her bag. “Help me cleanse the tree. Help me cleave the root of all the world’s ills.”
Wiping tears from her eyes, she made her way back to the main nave and into the chapel dedicated to the Immaculate Conception and Saint Catherine of Alexandria, certain that Evers and perhaps others might be in the crowd around her. Here, it wasn’t the altar depicting the mystic marriage of Saint Catherine that drew her eye but the painting showing the martyrdom of Saint Catherine, for she too would soon be a martyr for her cause. She continued past the chapel dedicated to Saint Michael the Archangel on her left, continuing toward the chapel dedicated to Saint Charles ahead of her.
The chapel enclosed by bronze gates wasn’t her destination, however, and she only glanced in passing at the bronze gilt crucifix that stood over the remains of Saint Clement within the altar table. Veering right and ignoring the closed signs, construction tape and cordons, she descended the stairs and entered the crypt of the Grand Masters beneath the main sanctuary.
Although no construction crews were working, signs of the renovations were everywhere from ladders, scaffolding and other equipment that were still in place to thick sheets of plastic hanging from the ceiling that controlled the spread of dust and detritus and divided the crypt into compartments. Nothing in her way slowed her down. She knew exactly where she was going. The secret kept here was one for the ages — one known perhaps only to the grandmasters themselves at one time, if even to the clergy and caretakers of the cathedral itself.
“Forgive me, Pietro,” she said as she moved the engineer’s counterbalance into place and then pulled and heaved at the partially revealed sarcophagus, little by little working the stone coffin out of the wall while perspiration built on her brow. Once the opening was big enough for her to fit through, she got down on her hands and knees and probed the darkness beyond with a small flashlight.
The space beyond was as dark and dank as she imagined such a hidden place could ever be and she coughed from deep within herself as her lungs took in air that had been locked behind walls for more than two centuries. Just as she was about to slide through the opening, she heard someone come down the stairs. Frantically, she squirmed into the opening and sat there listening quietly in the darkness.
Hearing footsteps slip across the hard stonework of the floor, her distress grew. She stood, ran her hands along the wall. Then with the pen light held in her mouth, she took the huge brass key from her purse in both hands and shoved it into the hidden slot of the keyhole.
Mustering her strength, she turned the key clockwise two clicks and pushed inward, then counterclockwise three clicks before she was finally able to pull open the concealed door. As the heavy stone door swung outward slowly but silently on unseen hinges, the footsteps drew dangerously close.
The thin light in her hand penetrated the gloom beyond like moonlight on a cloudy night. No matter, she knew what she must do and where she must go even if she couldn’t see her way clearly. She glanced back over her shoulder in time to see the muzzle flash. The roar of the gun echoed off the hand-hewn walls and in her ears as she dropped to the floor and scrambled away.
Few living knew of the tunnels hidden beneath the Crypt of the Grand Masters, and after her visits to the AFM Headquarters at Luqa international airport and Saint Vincent De Paul Residence to confirm earlier research, she was one of them. Now she had only to get into position and await her final orders.
“Soon we release the dragon,” she said to herself. “Two thousand years in the pit is long enough. It’s time for mankind to know hellfire and be judged for what they have done.”
Though she couldn’t see the sky above, she could see Ouroboros, the serpent of eternity, wrapped around the sun. As she watched, Ouroboros started coughing up the tail, which was his own, from deep within himself, and she knew this was a good sign. A sign that the universe itself was ready to wake from its long slumber.
Chapter 9