The Third Spike: The Michael Turner Historical Mystery Series, #2

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The Third Spike | Randall Christen | Published by Randall Christen at Smashwords | Copyright – 2018 Randall Christen | The Third Spike

The Third Spike

Randall Christen

Published by Randall Christen at Smashwords

Copyright – 2018 Randall Christen

The Third Spike

London, England, 1951.

Ann Pembury stared blankly at the radio as the news report nonchalantly rolled off the BBC broadcaster’s tongue.  For most, the announcement held little or no significance, but for anyone even remotely connected to the rarely publicized field of archeology, this was an announcement that would reverberate through the closely knit community like the thunder of a ten-point zero earthquake.  She slowly moved her index finger back and forth across the rim of her porcelain tea cup, desperately trying to remember the exact wording of the instructions that her recently deceased husband had left her shortly before his untimely death.

Ann was on the top of the world only a couple of days earlier when the exhibit honoring her deceased husband ceremoniously opened at London’s British Museum.  Thanks to the keen detective work of her daughter Melissa and their newly acquired friend Michael Turner, they were able to locate and retrieve the most sought-after religious artifact of the Western World, the Chalice of Christ.  Ann’s deceased husband had put all the pieces together as he traced the movement of the chalice through history from the time it left Christ’s table until it ended up in England in the hands of London’s Right Club.  The only part of the story William Pembury had failed to decode was Turner’s discovery that the dreaded Nazi Heinrich Himmler had managed to find his way to England with the chalice after faking his death at the conclusion of World War II and was plotting with the Right Club to unleash its power.  William Pembury had left just enough clues to allow Melissa and Turner to track down the whereabouts of the sacred chalice and send Himmler to Brixton Prison where he belonged.  Although the chalice was now safely secured within the impenetrable walls of the British Museum’s most closely guarded wing, Ann instinctively felt that the world as she knew it could come crashing down at any moment unless she acted quickly.

Her attention quickly reverted to the radio as the announcer continued his explanation of how the Ark of the Covenant had been found by a group of Italian Archeologists within the old city walls of Damascus and was now on its way to Rome for restoration.

Is something the matter mum?  Melissa asked as she entered the living room and noticed her mother nervously pacing back and forth across the shadow laden rug.  You seem a little bothered.

I am not quite sure, Ann replied.  I was listening to the radio and just heard the most amazing report.  They said that the actual Ark of the Covenant was found at an excavation site in Damascus.

That is amazing.  The Ark would have to be almost four thousand years old by now.  Are you sure that is what they said?

Ann slowly nodded.  Quite sure.  The announcer said that it would be immediately transferred to Rome for restoration.

Melissa’s eyes narrowed.  That still does not explain why you look so bothered.  Are you sure that there is not something else you want to tell me?

Ann paused briefly as she silently pondered just how much she wanted to involve her daughter, and then she resumed her trek back and forth across the huge hand-woven rug that graced the dimly lit living room.  She desperately tried to disguise her nervousness, but as she passed by the mirror that graced the fireplace hearth, she noticed her worried eyes conspicuously darting back and forth between her rapidly cooling tea and her glimmering reflection.

Ann carefully pondered the pros and cons of once again involving her daughter in what might turn out to be another perilous investigation, but the consequences were so great this time that there was really no choice to be made.

Before your father’s death he realized that he was getting close to recovering the Chalice of Christ, which also meant that people with intentions not quite as honorable as his would know of its existence as well.  This was causing some conflict in his mind because even though it would be a momentous occasion when he presented the chalice to the world, it also meant that one of the most powerful instruments of all time could potentially fall into the wrong hands.

Melissa raised both palms.  I am not quite sure I understand what you are trying to say mother. After all, we both know that Himmler tried on several occasions to unleash the power of the chalice but was unable to get anywhere because he was proven to be unworthy.

That is true.  However, I do not think that his concern was about someone trying to unleash the stand-alone powers of the chalice.

Ann slowly stroked her hand across Melissa’s shoulder and then she nodded, signaling that it would be a little more comfortable if they sat on the sofa.

Your father was certain that the chalice possessed great powers, and if it was combined with another powerful religious object the combination of the two might lead to devastating consequences.

And that is where the Ark comes in, Melissa intuitively surmised.

That is correct.  Up until now I had no worries because the chalice was the only religious artifact that anyone could get their hands on.  Now that the Ark of the Covenant has been located, I am afraid that your father’s worst fears might possibly come to fruition.

Melissa rested her hand on her mother’s shoulder.  Tell me mother, what did daddy instruct you to do if a second religious artifact surfaced?"

Knock, knock, knock, suddenly echoed through the row house’s front door.

Ann shot Melissa a knowing smile.  I wonder who that could possibly be?  She rose from the couch and started moving toward the front door of the small dwelling.

Michael is precisely on time as usual, Melissa acknowledged as she glanced at the grandfather clock.  He is picking me up and we were supposed to go to dinner.  I will tell him that something has come up and we will have to reschedule if you would prefer I stick around.

Ann suddenly stopped her trek to the front door and slowly turned to address her daughter, grinning softly as she tapped her index finger on her chin.

Come to think of it, Michael might be willing to help us put this all together.  I suggest that we invite him in and at least see if he has any suggestions.

Melissa shrugged her shoulders, and then casually nodded in agreement.

Mister Turner, Ann said as she opened the door and smiled broadly.  I am so glad to see you.

You are looking ravishing as always Mrs. Pembury, Turner said as he stepped across the house’s threshold and began to remove his overcoat.

Melissa is waiting for you in the living room.  Can I get you a spot of tea?

No thank you.  We have dinner reservations and I am afraid that we are running a little late already.

Hello Michael, Melissa said as she forced a nervous smile.  If you do not mind, mother wanted to ask you for a little advice before we leave.

No bother. I am sure they will hold my reservation.  He handed his overcoat to Melissa.

Please take a seat Mister Turner, Ann requested as she settled into the sofa.  Melissa gingerly folded the coat over the dining room chair and then she returned to the seat beside her mother on the couch.

Turner was not usually the nervous type, but as he meticulously studied the two Pembury women settle into the mid-blue velvet sofa, he could not help but become a little guarded himself.  After all, his ability to read people’s expressions and movements was a skill that had come easy to the well-traveled professor, a skill that had also served him well at the onset of World War II.

Turner’s ability to intuitively interpret the subtle movements of the people he questioned quickly became apparent to his British Intelligence counterparts after the United States Naval Intelligence officer moved to London just before the U.S. entered the conflict.  His unique skill set proved to be extremely useful as he worked his way through the lists of Nazi sympathizers and anti-Semitic groups that were scattered throughout England during the war.  Even after the war, teaching Sociology at Southampton University proved to be the perfect setting to hone his craft as he quietly dissected the movements of his energetic students.  Even though the Pembury women were trying to display a tranquil facade, Turner could see right through it.

If you please Mrs. Pembury, what can I assist you with this fine evening?

Ann’s trust of Turner was not an issue.  After all, he had assisted her daughter in solving the murder of her husband and found the sacred chalice.  And if that was not enough to set her mind at ease, he was now engaged to be married to her only daughter.

Shortly before you arrived, I was telling Melissa about a radio report I heard earlier this evening.  The reporter was talking about how a group of Italian Archeologists had located the Ark of the Covenant near Damascus and how they were transporting it to Rome for restoration.

Turner raised a palm.  Wait a second.  Are you telling me that the authentic, one and only Ark of the Covenant that the Israelites marched behind was found?

Apparently so Mister Turner, Ann confirmed in a hesitant voice.  It appears as if this is turning out to be an extraordinary year.  First the Chalice of Christ shows up in London under the control of Himmler and the Right Club, and then almost on cue, the Ark of the Covenant mysteriously appears without warning?  If you ask me, the odds of this happening must be one in a million!

Turner noticed the leading nature of Ann’s statement.  So, if I am reading your nervousness correctly, you are telling me that you do not think that it is a coincidence.

Ann slowly shook her head.  Unfortunately, not only do I feel that it is not a coincidence, I have a strong feeling that it could possibly lead to devastating circumstances if the string of events my husband conveyed to me before his death should happen to occur.

I am afraid that you have lost me already Mrs. Pembury.  If I were to hazard a guess, I would assume that the powers of the Ark will turn out to be like those of the chalice, which makes it impossible for an unholy man to unleash its powers.

Ann slowly rose from the couch and started to pace back and forth across the modestly appointed living room.

Several years ago, my husband was working on an assignment for a very secretive sector of the Catholic Church.  You see, they had stumbled upon several very old scrolls that had been hidden deep inside a vault in the Vatican and wanted William to authenticate them.  He traveled to Rome on that occasion and met with the authorities, where they escorted him to one of the most secluded areas of the Vatican Archives.  William started to examine the scrolls and quickly realized that they were very ancient and dating back to somewhere around the first century A.D.  The scrolls were mostly historical accounts of the time when Christ walked the Earth like those found in the New Testament of the Bible.

Ann paused for a moment as she stopped in front of a photo of her late husband that rested on the fireplace mantel.

Are you familiar with the Council of Carthage Mister Turner?

Turner shrugged.  No, you have me on that one I suppose.

Many of Christ’s followers were forced into hiding after his crucifixion as they hoped to avoid a similar fate.  During this time the Disciples of Christ were writing down their recollections of his teachings to ensure that the fragile religion would live on and hopefully prosper someday.  The religion would lay in obscurity for the next three centuries until the Roman Emperor Constantine legalized Christianity around 313 A.D., and a short time later the Christian Church was off and running.  Constantine also realized that if he wanted his newly adopted religion to grow and prosper, he would have to clearly crystalize its history.  With this in mind, several gatherings of bishops were organized to gain consensus on what the church’s doctrine would be and how the new religion would be administered, with the most important of these being the Council of Nicaea in 325 A.D.  Years of debate and procrastination followed until 397 A.D. when the Council of Carthage was established to determine which of the many accounts of Christ’s time on Earth would form the Canon.  Most Christians are familiar with the 27 books that form the New Testament, but most believers are unfamiliar with the testaments that were rejected at the Council of Carthage and its subsequent gatherings.  Several of the rejected works such as First and Second Esdras, the Epistle of Laodiceans, and the Epistle of Jeremiah had been widely debated amongst religious scholars, but other lesser-known testaments simply disappeared around that time and were never referenced again.  William was relatively certain that the secret testaments presented to him were a series of neglected historical accounts of Jesus’ time on earth that had been excluded from the original Canon, and to authenticate them he knew he needed to do more testing to bolster his assumption.  The material analysis that he performed on the scrolls confirmed that the period they dated to was early first century, making it much more likely that they were authentic.  Another attribute of the scrolls that convinced William of their genuineness was the fact that they were written in Koine Greek, which was the preferred form of writing for scholars during that time.

Is that not a bit odd that the Church would have hidden a group of priceless scrolls that could have further explained Christ’s time on Earth?  Melissa curiously asked.

Your father thought the exact same thing, but as he worked his way through the priceless artifacts, he quickly realized why they may have been excluded from the Canon and hidden for centuries.  Most of the scrolls were similar accounts to the books of the New Testament, with the exception of one rare scroll that really caught William’s interest, the Gospel of Andrew.  What he found most interesting about this scroll was that portions of it were purposely covered to prohibit him from reading the entire document.

What could have been so secretive that the Church would have made such a deliberate effort to hide portions of the scroll?  Turner asked, still not quite sure where Ann was going with her recollection of her husband’s story.

William thought the same thing Mr. Turner, and that is why he decided that he not only needed to authenticate the scroll, he needed to understand its meaning.  As he proceeded with his interpretation, he quickly realized that Andrew was close enough to Jesus to be trusted with some very important information even though he was not one of the primary disciples.  The scroll talked about how Andrew met with Jesus in the garden after the Last Supper and just before the Jewish guards came to arrest him.  On that fateful night Jesus informed Andrew that he would die on the cross the next day and it was imperative he transcribe the process that would be required to save all of mankind when the Antichrist returned to earth.  The reaper of death would be identified by the marking of 6-6-6.

I hope you do not mind me saying so Mrs. Pembury, but this is starting to sound a little like the Book of Revelations, Turner sheepishly inserted.

I do not think that you are too far off with that assessment Mister Turner.  Unfortunately for us, if the prophecy is true, this version of the end of the world does not turn out as good at the end for the Christians as they fare in the Book of Revelations.  You see, in this testament, Christ speaks of three keys that will be exposed to the world in the final days of man.  Christ described the first key as the Sacred Chalice, which will be found and possessed by evil men bent on the destruction of the world.  This gathering of devils will be led by the agent of the Antichrist.  The second key will be signified by the Ark of the Covenant rising from the dust of the Earth.  Once the agents of the Antichrist possess the first two keys, a devastating series of events will be triggered.

Melissa nervously pressed her mother.  But you spoke of three keys mother.  What is the third key?

Yes, the third key, Ann continued.  William said that he was not permitted to continue his analysis of the scroll beyond the section that detailed the first two keys so he was unable to read the third key’s description.  However, during a discussion, the Vatican’s chief archivists accidentally let it slip that the third key would somehow determine the fate of mankind should the first two be joined together.

A year earlier Turner’s eyes would have rolled back in his head upon hearing a doomsday tale of angels and demons like the one Ann had just conveyed, but after witnessing the chalice save the life of his close friend a few months earlier he was not about to disregard any story touting the unworldly powers of religious artifacts.

Turner slowly nodded his head.  Now I see why you are so concerned.  We know that the chalice has surfaced and is now resting comfortably at the British Museum, and we also know that as of today the Ark of the Covenant has also been found and is probably in Rome by now.  If the prophecy is true, and the agent of the Antichrist gets his hands on both artifacts it could lead to devastating consequences. That is of course, if we are to believe that there is an Antichrist.

Ann looked Turner squarely in the eyes.  Now that the chalice and Ark have both surfaced, are you willing to take the chance that the scroll is not authentic and there is no Antichrist?  The fact that they both surfaced at the same time in history can in no way be a coincidence.  And as for the Book of Andrew, if my husband authenticated this mysterious testament, I am positive that it is genuine.

Melissa nervously twisted her engagement ring.  But mother, with the chalice being safely guarded within the British Museum’s walls, the Ark safely in Rome, and the scroll buried deep within the Vatican there is no way we could convince anyone of the danger.

I think that your mother is right, Turner quickly inserted.  Even though we know that the Ark and the chalice are safe at this moment, it might behoove us to at least see if the prophecy has any merit.  After all, I remember all too clearly how skeptical I was when you first told me about the chalice.

What do you have in mind Michael?  Melissa desperately asked.

Just to be on the safe side, I will make a visit to the British Museum tomorrow to make sure Sexton still has the chalice in a safe place.  If that is the case we will regroup and plan our next step.  Turner glanced down at his watch.  Well, since both the Grail and the Ark are probably safe for the evening, I suggest we hurry and try to make our dinner reservation.  I am starving.

2

Chief Inspector Hardman anxiously awaited the arrival of the caravan that was transporting Heinrich Himmler from Brixton Prison to the British Naval vessel that was tasked with getting him back to Germany in time for his impending trial. The morning sun momentarily blinded him as one of its rays suddenly bounced off an incoming wave and rudely cast him out of his brief daydream.  He nonchalantly stole a quick glance of his inexpensive time piece, and then he nervously stroked his chin after confirming that the convoy was now inexplicably ten minutes late.  Where in hell is that bloody convoy?

Suddenly, a desperate voice blared over the police radio.

Calling all available constables.  We have been informed that the transport convoy has been attacked near the East River Warehouse District on Wembley.

Hardman suddenly felt a sharp pain rapidly intensifying deep within his stomach.  He surely would be the first person blamed if something happened to the transport convoy and Himmler once again avoided his ultimate punishment.  After all, he had planned every detail of the transfer down to selecting the men for the assignment.  On top of that, only a half dozen people were privy to the transfer time and route, and as an added precaution he personally released the details to his team only minutes beforehand.

The roar of his police cruiser’s engine echoed off the warehouse walls as Hardman passed through the Harbor District toward the destination that was clearly marked by a large plume of black smoke that diligently working its way toward the heavens.  As the cruiser turned the corner onto Belmont Avenue, his heartbeat raced as the pile of mangled and smoldering police vehicles came into view.  The tires of his weathered police car howled as he slammed on the brakes, and then he leapt from the rocking sedan and cautiously moved toward the eerily quiet scene.  A small cloud of smoke gently rose from the burning wreckage as a gust of sea breeze gently pushed it inland.  The barrier of slowly swirling smoke blanketed the area and made it difficult for the inspector to see inside of the overturned police cruisers.

He quickly shifted his glance to the van and the second police car, acutely aware that the metal carnage that rested before him had happened only minutes before his arrival.  His revolver was now firmly held in his sweat saturated hand as he cautiously approached the police van that quietly rested on its four wheels.  The open back door of the van was gently swaying in the light breeze and making a repetitive clicking sound as it bounced off the stop with each new gust of wind that hit it.  He now had a clear view into the front of the police cruiser that had been following the van.  Both inspectors lay motionless against the window of the overturned vehicle, sufficiently covered with rapidly drying streaks of deep red blood.  The lifeless eyes of the driver stared blankly back at him, confirming his initial thought that a further review of that vehicle was not a priority.  The smothering level of tension caused his gun to wobble ever so slightly as he trained it on the back of the van, and then he slowly slid around its corner.  As he inched forward ever so slightly, he noticed an outstretched leg lying motionless in the back of the van.  The chief inspector took a deep breath, and then he quickly pivoted and shoved his revolver into the eerily quiet holding compartment of the police van.  He gasped as the severity of the situation hit him with the force of a two-ton weight.  Two inspectors lay dead on the floor of the van and Himmler was nowhere to be found.

The unmistakable piercing sound of police sirens rudely broke through the smoke infested air as two additional police cruisers arrived on the scene.  Hardman slowly turned from the van to signal the constables, and then he was suddenly distracted by a muffled groan that resonated from the front police cruiser.  He quickly circled the van and then rapidly closed the distance between himself and the front cruiser.  Still proceeding with the utmost caution, he gingerly peeked into the partially smashed side window.  His eyes suddenly widened as he noticed movement in the cruiser’s compressed front compartment.  A survivor.  The smoldering hunk of metal teetered uneasily on its side.  Hardman desperately brushed the smoke from side to side with his arms as he searched the recently created wreckage for the source of the faint moaning sound.  Finally, he spotted an arm slowly moving through the shattered windshield.

Over here.  Hardman yelled as the other constables arrived.  Help me get into this car.  It sounds like someone is still alive.

The constables nervously darted back and forth in search of a way to access the smoldering police car as the strong smell of leaking fuel subtly suggested that the cruiser could burst into a ball of flames at any moment.

Hardman tersely pulled one of the indecisive constables to the side, and then he proceeded to kick the passenger’s window several times in rapid succession.  Finally, the stubborn side window split down the middle, sending the shattered glass crashing to the ground.  He forcefully kicked the remainder of the glass to the side and then hastily reached into the hazy interior and pulled the bleeding constable from the cruiser.  One of the policemen helped him pull the injured man away from the smoldering time bomb and then Hardman rested the mortally wounded officer’s head on his neatly folded overcoat.  As the injured constable’s weathered eyes desperately locked onto his, he dejectedly realized that he would not be making the ambulance trip to the hospital.  The blood slowly trickled out of his trembling mouth as he struggled to talk.  Suddenly, a bright flash shot through the disabled cruiser, turning the overturned heap of metal into a blazing inferno.  Hardman covered the constable with his body to shield him from the brief gust of flames and ashes that spontaneously shot in their direction.

Shots coming from every rooftop, the constable said in a quivering voice.  They even hit both cruisers with a bazooka.  Damn towel heads, we never had a chance.

Hardman’s eyebrow curiously lifted as the puzzling choice of words trickled from the constable’s bleeding mouth.  He slowly lifted the constable’s head to allow him to clarify.  Did you get a look at any of them?

Dark skinned with keffiyehs most of them, he choked out as his mouth splattered more blood.

What the hell is a keffiyeh?  Hardman desperately asked.  Before he could speak again, the fading constable’s eyes slowly closed and the final gasp of air exited his lungs.

All the rest are dead chief inspector, the constable said as he leaned down beside Hardman. And it looks like Himmler has disappeared as well.

Hardman slowly rose to his feet as a strong gust of wind stirred from the West, causing the distracted chief inspector’s eyes to dart in the direction of the smoldering police cruiser.  A thick plume of smoke poured out of the rear of the vehicle and steadily climbed higher and higher, slowly twisting as it rose.  Hardman and the two constables watched intently as the plume seem to take the shape of a dark, sinister looking mask, and just as quickly as it had formed it inexplicably disappeared.

The two constables curiously looked at each other as if to reassure themselves that what they had just witnessed was real, but Hardman knew that self-reassurance was the least of his problems.  Himmler was once again on the loose