Andy Mcdermott - Temple of the Gods

‘I told you, I would have to read the text again.’

‘Well, I’m not busy right now, and if you’ve got time to see me you can’t be either. So let’s go.’

‘You want to see the original text? In the archive?’ He appeared horrified by the suggestion.

‘Yep, pretty much.’

‘That was never part of the deal! It was agreed that the Brotherhood could maintain the secrecy of its archives.’

‘I don’t give a damn about your secrets. What I do give a damn about is that somebody else knows about the power of these statues — at least two groups of somebodies, in fact, and they’re already fighting over them. Did you see the news about that skyscraper in Tokyo?’

‘Yes, of course. They said it was attacked by a helicopter.’

‘I was in the penthouse!’ He regarded her in astonishment. ‘I had the statues, all three of them, in my hands. And something happened, something I didn’t understand — but something incredible. I need to know what it means. I think the answer’s in your archive.’

Popadopoulos sat back again, deep in thought. At last, with a decidedly conflicted expression, he stood. ‘Very well, Dr Wilde. But these are exceptional circumstances, yes? I am not willing to have other members of the IHA “pop in”, as you say, whenever they want.’

‘Just show me what you’ve got on the statues and I’ll be out of here.’

For the first time, he liked something she had said. ‘Come with me.’

The Brotherhood’s activities in Rome were hidden behind the cover of a law firm, its offices within sight of the high walls of the Vatican. Popadopoulos led her through the narrow corridors to one particular door on the ground floor. ‘In here.’

Nina eyed the interior dubiously. ‘Seriously?’ It was a closet containing shelves of cleaning products, a tiny barred window high on one wall.

He sighed and entered, waving her inside. She squeezed into the cramped space as the Greek closed the door and reached for a light switch. Instead of flicking it, though, he took hold of the casing and gave it a half-turn. A click, a muted hum from somewhere below — and Nina gasped as the floor began a slow descent down a shaft of dark old bricks.

Popadopoulos chuckled at her uneasiness. ‘Do you like our elevator?’

‘It’s, uh… different.’

‘It was installed over a hundred years ago. The Brotherhood has owned the building since it was built in 1785 — but the archives have been here for far longer. I hope you appreciate that I am actually giving you a very rare privilege,’ he went on. ‘The number of outsiders who have seen them in, oh, the past five hundred years can be counted on both hands. Even members of the Brotherhood were rarely allowed to enter if they were not involved with record-keeping.’

The elevator stopped around thirty feet below street level. A passage led off to one side, dim bulbs strung along its length. Heavier-duty electrical cables ran along the walls. ‘Follow me,’ said Popadopoulos.

After twenty yards the brickwork gave way to older and rougher stone. The tunnel continued ahead for some distance. Nina tried to get her bearings. ‘It’s a catacomb,’ she realised. ‘We’re going under the Vatican?’

‘Yes. The catacombs beneath the Holy See stretch for tens, maybe even hundreds of kilometres — they have never been fully mapped. These sections were sealed and donated to the Brotherhood in the ninth century by a cardinal who was also a supporter of the cause.’

Nina was impressed. ‘Your own version of the Vatican Secret Archives.’

‘Yes — although our records contain material that even the Archivum Secretum does not.’

‘I’m guessing that the scope of your records is more limited, though.’

‘You would be surprised by the scope of our records,’ he said smugly. ‘But yes, Atlantis is its focus. The Atlantean empire, its rulers, its society… and the threat it poses.’

‘ Posed , surely,’ Nina corrected. ‘Past tense. Unless you’re saying there are more genocidal nuts like the Frosts plotting to resurrect it?’

‘You were the one who was attacked over the statues,’ he pointed out. ‘But here we are.’ Ahead, the passage was blocked by a heavy steel door. Beside it was a keypad; Popadopulos, after making sure Nina couldn’t see over his shoulder, tapped in an entry code. The door rumbled open, bright lights shining behind it. The low hum of ventilation machinery became audible.

Popadopoulos went through and called out in Italian. ‘The librarians may be deep in the archives,’ he added for Nina, before shouting again. ‘Agostino!’

An echoing reply came from down one of the other tunnels leading from the large room. ‘He is on his way,’ said the Greek. Nina nodded, looking around while they waited. Two entire walls were taken up by the stacked wooden drawers of a card index system; while there was also a PC on a desk that apparently served the same function, she suspected from the contrast between the lovingly polished old hardwood and the rather dusty computer that the librarians preferred the traditional method of locating a specific document. The electrical cables branched out to power other pieces of equipment: air-conditioners, dehumidifiers, pumps, everything needed to keep conditions throughout the underground labyrinth as dry and stable as possible.

After a minute, shuffling footsteps heralded the librarians’ arrival. Two men emerged from a tunnel — one an old, white-bearded man with a bulbous nose, behind him a somewhat overweight, shaggy-haired youth. The elder didn’t appear pleased to have been interrupted, and his look became one of outright hostility when he saw Nina. He snapped in Italian at Popadopoulos, who gave him a resigned placatory response before making introductions. ‘Dr Wilde, this is Agostino Belardinelli, chief archivist of the Brotherhood, and his assistant, Paolo Agnelli. Agostino, this is—’

‘I know who she is!’ Belardinelli said angrily, jabbing a gnarled finger at Nina. ‘You brought her in here? It is a, a…’ Another burst of outraged Italian as he mimed stabbing himself in the heart.

‘Agostino’s son was also a member of the Brotherhood,’ Popadopoulos told Nina awkwardly. ‘He, ah… lost his life in Brazil.’

‘Did he now,’ she said coldly. That meant Belardinelli’s son had been one of those trying to kill her and the team searching for a lost Atlantean outpost deep in the jungle.

‘Yes, well,’ said Popadopoulos, ‘it would be best if we got this over with. Agostino, Dr Wilde needs to see everything concerning the Atlantean priestess Nantalas and the three statues that she said granted her powers.’

That provoked another highly emotional outburst from the archivist. Popadopoulos listened with growing impatience, before finally cutting in. ‘Agostino! Once she has seen what she needs, she will leave, and then we can discuss this. But for now, let us find it as soon as possible, hmm?’

Muttering to himself, Belardinelli crossed to one of the ranks of drawers. ‘Nantalas, Nantalas,’ he said, finger waving back and forth like a radar antenna. ‘She was mentioned in one of the Athenian annals. Now, was it Akakios, or…’

Agnelli spoke for the first time. ‘It was Kallikrates,’ he said hesitantly. ‘One of the parchments in the fourteenth arcosolium.’

‘Kallikrates, yes.’ Belardinelli had evidently memorised the intricacies of the index, as he went to a particular drawer and flicked through the hundreds of cards within. Taking one out, he donned a pair of reading glasses and peered at it. ‘Ah, his ninth text. I thought so. And it is in the fourteenth arcosolium.’

‘Well done, Paolo,’ said Popadopoulos. ‘It seems we really do not need a computer after all.’