49

Billy followed Nick and Verity out of Perth International Airport. The Master knew him well: ‘there but not there’. It was a skill picked up from years of pre-assassination surveillance, shadowing IRA leaders through the streets of London, Catholic-American fundraisers around Chicago and Palestinian arms dealers through the souks of Beirut and Tripoli; following Nick and Verity onto an international flight unseen had been a simple process.

He kept a good hundred metres behind them as they drove to a small boutique hotel on Terrace Road, overlooking the Swan River. He planted the GPS tracking device under their car and booked into a budget hotel close by. The Master and Conrad would arrive early tomorrow.

Using the information extracted from the Welshman, Schroeder obtained the same astonishing results from the map: the four-hundred-year secret was revealed. The laboratory also confirmed that the Holy Land sand had no connection to Israel or anywhere in the Middle East, but gave all the geological characteristics of south-western Australia.

For Schroeder, it was hard to fathom why this Lutheran priest, from landlocked Magdeburg, would go to such extremes to hide ‘The Words’ of Jesus, but confirmed to him that the twenty-year search was justified: whatever the Holy Words said, they must have been so important and damaging to the Catholic Church, that they were removed to the other side of the world, to a land undiscovered. For his conscience, it also validated the torture and murders that had been a by-product of the search. There had been no option. They would be shown for what they were: power-crazed idolaters, only interested in perpetuating the subjugation of the masses. This would end it once and for all.

Still, he could not fathom why a Protestant priest would do the bidding of a Pope. Perhaps it was money, or promise of a high appointment in the Vatican, if he returned to the old religion.

Dom Letizia sat waiting in the Abbey Church on the same simple wooden pew as he had the last two days, staring at the Carrara marble tomb of Dom Salvado. With the harsh glare of the day now gentler as the sun lowered in the west, a refreshing, cooling breeze wafted through the empty building. He knew with absolute certainty that it was only a matter of time.

The floor to ceiling Albert Moser organ stared down on him and questioned his resolve, while a kookaburra on a gum tree outside seemed to be laughing at his predicament, almost mocking the Benedictine monk’s Oath of Perpetual Assistance. He recalled the words of the Abbot Primate: ‘Many terrible deeds have been perpetrated in the protection of the Sacred Words. You will be tested, Francesco.’

Salvado, aged eighty-six, had died on a visit to Rome in 1900. Three years later, his body was brought back to the mission where he had spent his life, to be buried according to his wishes. These exacting specifications, hand-written in duplicate, were left with the Abbot Primate of the Monastery at Monte Cassino and the Bishop of Perth, Matthew Gibney. Abbot Primate Bonifacio Maria Krug, a conservative man not known for extroverted activity, left Monte Cassino and accompanied the body back to Australia, this being the only time in his tenure that he left Italy. He personally oversaw the positioning of the tomb according to the instructions left by Salvado.

A West Australian newspaper commented at the time:

It is with some surprise that we are honoured to welcome to Western Australia, Abbot Primate Bonifacio Maria Krug, of the famous Monastery at Monte Cassino, Italy. The Abbot, who is accompanying the body of the late Bishop Rosenda Salvado to his final resting place in the Abbey Church at the New Norcia mission, will be residing at the rectory of Bishop Gibney for two nights, before proceeding to New Norcia.

The Swan and Chittering Valleys surprised both Nick and Verity by the number of vineyards that straddled the highway. ‘I had no idea about this area,’ said Verity, ‘I knew about the Margaret River region south of Perth being famous for wines, but this is stunning.’

The gently rolling hills in the distance provided the perfect backdrop for the numerous orchards, fields and vineyards, not yet scorched brown by the summer sun. However, the beauty of their surroundings could not hide the anxiety they felt.

Nick fiddled around with the radio, picking up a classic rock FM station. Shallow Water’s ‘Road to Nowhere’ filled the car. ‘Great track, this!’

‘What do we say when we arrive at the monastery, Nick? Hey, could you please lead us to the hidden Words of Jesus Christ? Oh, and by the way, there are men willing to murder for them, who are probably on the way.’

‘I’ve no idea.’ replied Nick, shaking his head. I have a really bad feeling about this whole thing, Verity. Anyway, how long before we arrive at New Norcia?’

‘About forty minutes. This is Bindoon we are passing through.’

There’s a road to nowhere, a destination you don’t want,

Pass through the shadows, spare your family,

Turn back, please turn back.

Sweet Jesus knows the way.

Nick clicked the radio off. ‘I am really spooked by this business. It’s all very well that we may have solved a four-hundred-year mystery, but who knows what Pandora’s Box we’ve opened.’

‘Also, have you noticed how little there really is out here, and this is now, not when the monks came here in 1846. It really confirms for me that there had to be a reason for them to travel this far out of Perth. Why else would they do it?’

Verity and Nick, like Dom Letizia a few days previous, were also surprised by the scale and style of the Benedictine town of New Norcia when they arrived at their destination half an hour later.

‘Who would have thought this possible?’ said Nick rhetorically, looking around. ‘We’re miles from anywhere!’

They got out the car, stretched their legs and joined the other tourists wandering around the grounds and buildings in the late afternoon sun, taking in all the history and wonders of the settlement; some in tour groups, some families and even backpackers. Verity could hear a number of different languages being spoken, creating a major tourist-destination atmosphere.

‘Let’s walk to the river,’ suggested Verity. ‘The map says one hundred paces from the river and under the tree of the laughing bird!’

They approached one of the black-robed monks for directions and information before making their way past the Abbey Church and monastery towards the river. Then, at the banks of the Moore, in the dappled shade of a gum tree, with the leaves rustling in the wind, they turned around and stood facing the monastery.

‘Did it really happen?’ asked Nick, ‘I mean … did Heinrich Bunting and Jakob de Jode really stand here, in this spot, over four hundred years ago and then walk a hundred paces to bury something?’

Verity shrugged her shoulders, also questioning the myth-like possibility. By the time they wandered back towards the main buildings, some of the tourist buses were departing the car park. They approached the same monk they had talked to before who pointed in the direction of the Abbey Church.

Nick and Verity entered the church. Dom Letizia knew immediately who they must be, due to their significant lack of interest in their surroundings. They walked tentatively towards him through the older part of the church, along the narrow aisle between the pine-coloured pews, hardly noticing the white plastered sgraffito wall decorations of Jesus, and the Stations of the Cross or the pressed-metal ceilings. He smiled at the two of them as one would to any tourists. Nick reminded him of somebody he may have met in his past, but couldn’t quite remember. He had a pleasant face, perhaps slightly world-weary. Verity, however, looked alert, intelligent and feisty, with a ‘don’t mess with me’ air about her. They stopped at the transept that divided the older part of the church from the newer part, just before the tomb and statue of Dom Salvado. Dom Letizia was sitting only a couple of paces from them on a pew to their left, and could see that they were troubled and unsure of how to approach him.

It was Verity who spoke first, and it was direct. ‘Sir, we spoke to one of the monks and he told us that you were temporarily in charge of the monastery. He said you had recently arrived from Italy.’ She hesitated for a few seconds. ‘We are aware of “The Words” of Jesus, hidden by Heinrich Bunting, somewhere in these grounds over four hundred years ago. We assume that you are also aware of them.’

Dom Letizia remained silent, staring.

Nick then spoke. ‘There are a group of men who are desperate to find these “Words” and will do anything to get them.’ Dom Letizia could see Nick was struggling to express himself. ‘They killed a young woman I knew, only a few days ago. We have no interest in exposing this secret, but have felt compelled to follow the leads, to bring us to the murderers.’

Dom Letizia remained seated but gave them a nod of comprehension before speaking in heavily accented English. ‘Yes, I too have heard of this legend. I am surprised that you know about it, because it is nothing but a myth, occasionally talked about in light-hearted moments by some of the Benedictine community. However, I can assure you that there is no truth in it. I am so sorry to hear about your friend, but it has nothing to do with this monastery. That I am sure of.’

Verity and Nick looked at each other, not knowing how to continue. ‘Look at this map,’ said Nick, flicking his phone to photographs and showing him the image taken in David Llewellyn’s workshop two days before. ‘Here is the Heinrich Bunting map depicting his great journey and the directions to where he buried “The Words”. You may not know about it, but they were buried here, on these grounds.’

Dom Letizia stared long and hard at the map, the very map that he had spent his whole life discovering and protecting. He remembered all the years of research and worry, the eighty-eight Antwerp editions held in the Cave Library, Roberto, the Abbot Primate … and finally he thought of his oath.

‘I am sorry. I have no idea what this map is, or what you are talking about.’

The laugh of the kookaburra heralded the arrival of more strangers. Schroeder, Jaeger and Billy Robertson stormed into the church. It was obvious to Dom Letizia who the leader was, as Schroeder strode purposefully in front with Jaeger following close behind. Billy hung back a few paces, his eyes darting in all directions, first checking there were no other tourists in the church, before closing the main doors behind him. The three men then gathered at the transept and moved to the opposite side of the tomb from Nick, Verity and the seated priest.

Schroeder looked carefully at the tomb and the sculpted image of Dom Salvado. ‘If only the dead could speak,’ he said to no one in particular. Then, ignoring Verity and Nick, he spoke directly to Dom Letizia. ‘Priest, I assume that my friends here have explained the situation. I have not come this far and spent the last forty years fighting your kind to be thwarted now. One way or another you will tell me where “The Words” are buried.’

‘Señor, I do not know what you are talking about or who you are … what words are they? While the Abbot is absent, I am his replacement for a few weeks. Perhaps you return when he comes back, eh?’

‘Priest, I know exactly who you are and why you are here. I require your cooperation one way or the other.’

He then turned his head towards Verity and Nick. ‘Professor Merton and Mister Lawrance, we meet again, sooner than I had thought.’

‘And I see you have brought Inspector Jaeger and Sergeant Robertson with you,’ said Nick.

Nobody moved or spoke. Then there was the slightest eye contact between Schroeder and Billy. Billy took two quick steps forwards and, in one fluid motion, pulled a wire from his pocket and flicked it over Verity’s head and around her neck. Her head jerked back instinctively, immediately drawing blood. ‘Best not to move, Professor Merton,’ said the Irishman. ‘Any extra pressure and it will slice your windpipe.’

‘Be assured he will kill her if you make one move,’ said Jaeger to Nick.

Nick immediately thought of Sarah and knew that the murderer was a hair’s breadth away from killing Verity.

Schroeder shook his head in a resigned sort of way. ‘Priest, I will ask you one last time. Tell me where “The Words” of Jesus are buried or you will be responsible for her death.’

Dom Letizia slowly stood up and surveyed the scene. His right hand, hidden deep in the pocket of his robes, felt the wooden handle of the Smith and Wesson 357 that Paulo had given him in Queens Gardens. The voice that now spoke was different from before. ‘I am not responsible. You are responsible. I am Dom Francesco Letizia, keeper of the Secret Manuscripts at the Monastery of Monte Cassino. I am now the last living person who knows the location of the Holy Words buried by the Lutheran Heinrich Bunting. The recent death of the Abbot Primate has elevated me to this onerous position. I swore to uphold the Benedictine Oath of Perpetual Assistance first given to Pope Gregory in 1576, and adhered to by the monks at Monte Cassino for over four hundred years. I will not break the Oath.’ He then lifted the revolver out of the pocket of his robes, pointing it at Schroeder.

‘He will kill her if you shoot me,’ said Schroeder in a calm, detached voice.

‘Put the gun down and lead me to the Holy Words. You can stop her death, Priest.’

Dom Letizia, it seemed to Nick, smiled for a split second as if something had become clear, and said, ‘Of course, there is a solution.’ He turned slowly towards Billy and the immobile Verity, took two steps forward … and shot Billy through the throat. The Irishman collapsed to the floor, blood pouring from the gaping hole in his neck. Verity fell with him to release the pressure on her neck from the tightening garrotte.

‘Jesus Christ, the priest has done for me,’ Billy gurgled, the blood now gushing over his shoulder and chest.

‘No, you did for yourself. May God forgive me for what I am about to do.’ And before Jaeger and Schroeder could react, Dom Letizia lifted the gun to his temple and fired, collapsing in a flowing heap of black robes and blood over the tomb and statue of Dom Salvado.

Nick lunged at the dying Irishman, ripping the garrotte from between his clutched fingers, releasing Verity from its macabre embrace. Seconds later she lay curled and crying, gasping for breath, holding her scarred throat. Schroeder, now screaming hysterically, threw himself onto the dead priest, shaking the body violently. ‘Where are “The Words”!? Where are the Holy Words!?’

Dom Letizia and Dom Salvado, now joined in death, maintained their silence.

Only the kookaburra answered, laughing about the folly of spirit men.

‘Master, Master, we must leave now. The police will come. There is nothing we can do. The Holy Words could be buried anywhere in this place,’ said Jaeger, dragging Schroeder away from the carnage, shoving open the church doors and pulling his master towards the car park. Nick, now blind to his safety, leapt up from Verity and the dead Irishman and ran out of the building, pursuing the fleeing men.

The sound of gunshots and the sight of people running had created panic amongst the visitors still wandering around the grounds of the monastery. Nick sprinted along the north wall of the Abbey Church towards the Mission Cottage and car park, hardly noticing families cowering behind buildings and trees and parents protecting their children with their bodies. As he drew closer to the two men, they stopped suddenly and turned towards him.

‘Lawrance, you have no idea what you’ve done. It was within my grasp,’ bellowed Schroeder. Nick came to an immediate stand-still, noticing a gun in Schroeder’s outstretched arm. He stood gasping for breath, twenty paces from the men.

‘I could have exposed them. So much could have been achieved!’ Schroeder screamed, now pointing the gun at Nick.

‘For God’s sake what are you doing? Drop the gun.’ shouted a stranger from the side. Nick turned his head to see a tourist screaming at Schroeder. ‘Drop … the … gun!’

Schroeder, surprised, swivelled towards the voice and without hesitation wildly fired three shots. The bullets thudded into the Abbey Church, causing plaster and glass fragments to explode from the wall, showering the petrified and stunned onlookers, hiding below. Simultaneously, the tourist tumbled over and rolled to his right, taking cover behind a palm tree.

Nick, rooted to the spot and unable to react, stared at Schroeder and Jaeger as they walked towards him, stopping two paces away.

‘You had no right to meddle,’ grunted Schroeder, mad-eyed. ‘You have ruined everything. They were finished.’ And with these words he lifted the gun to Nick’s head.

… and it seemed to Nick that he had known it would come to this; that it had all been his choice.

‘No!’ A scream.

Shots rang out, reverberating between the buildings. Nick went down. Schroeder jigged up and down like a puppet on the spot, his gun in the air, then jolted up … and collapsed backwards.

Jaeger, in shock, fell on top of Schroeder. ‘Master, what have I done? I have failed you, forgive me. I have failed you.’

Nick, confused, struggled to his feet, blood covering his face and chest. He stared down at the two men. Jaeger was now crying, cradling his master, who lay flat on his back with two gaping wounds in his chest. Schroeder’s eyes stared at Nick, with either hatred or pity, Nick was not sure. Distraught and lying over his master’s body, Jaeger reached out and clawed Schroeder’s gun from the gravel. Then, without any hesitation or words, he placed the nozzle in his mouth and fired, leaving them both in a bloody, life-less embrace.

The brave tourist rushed over to Nick, mouthing words. It took Nick a while to understand what he was saying. ‘Are you okay …? He was going to kill you. I don’t understand … what happened?’

Nick, still reeling, wiped Schroeder’s blood from his face.

They both turned and looked behind them. Verity, head down, stood forlornly, motionless, her arms hanging at her side. Then she dropped Dom Letizia’s gun to the ground.

‘Nick … I had no option,’ she stuttered. ‘Jesus Christ … I’ve killed him.’ Nick wrapped his arms around her as she let out a wail and started to sob. They held on to each other, oblivious to the sound of police and ambulance sirens in the distance or the tourists and monks gathering around, staring in shock.

Nobody noticed, in all the noise and folly, the kookaburra flying off.