‘Told you they were good,’ Marceau said with a satisfied smile as he wolfed another generous portion of buttered teacake into his mouth and chomped away happily. ‘Better than in the UK, that’s for sure.’
Harker glanced down at his own untouched plate of teacakes and also managed a smile. ‘Honestly, I wouldn’t know. I’m not a fan.’
Marceau shrugged his shoulders. ‘Your loss.’
The short five-minute walk to Cafe Ribe brasserie had been uneventful and Harker had since been counting down the minutes until the meeting Marceau had organised for them both earlier. The small cafe was surprisingly quiet for the time of day but for any customer it seemed a perfect place to watch the world go by. For Harker on the other hand it was rapidly becoming torture. In all the time they had been seated here the doctor had seemed unwilling to explain who was due or why this meeting was necessary. Even though he believed it possible that the recent murders and also the death of his friend Father Davies may have caused a nervous breakdown in Marceau, his sheer curiosity had convinced him to at the very least, give the fellow an hour.
Harker glanced down at his watch to check the time. ‘Well, that’s an hour gone.’ he declared, getting to his feet. ‘Dr Marceau, I’m very sorry to have troubled you but I really must be going now.’ He picked up his own untouched teacakes and placed it on the doctor’s now empty plate. ‘Please have mine and I must bid you adieu, sir.’
At first Marceau looked rather shocked but seconds later his expression changed and a smug smile appeared on his face as behind them the bell on the door chimed. Before Harker had time to turn around, he felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder.
‘You must be Professor Harker?’ a voice inquired in English with a resolutely thick French accent.
Harker turned around to find himself looking into the face of a man in his sixties with a short white beard, steel-framed reading glasses and the kindly expression one would expect from a lifelong friend.
‘Thank you for meeting with us,’ the newcomer continued.
Harker glanced over the man’s shoulder to see two more people with equally affable expressions. One was a younger man with a clean-shaven face, short light-blond hair and wearing a smart suit with a tan mackintosh draped over his forearm, and the other a woman in her mid-twenties with short black hair. She wore a colourful summer frock with distinctive purple and red zigzag patterns, and carried a slender dark-brown Louis Vuitton satchel clasped in one hand.
‘It’s nice to meet you… I think,’ Harker replied, slightly taken aback because he had decided all of twenty minutes earlier that no one was likely to show up.
I apologise for the wait but this meeting was so last-minute,’ the bearded man explained politely. ‘My name is Henri Berger and with me here are Pierre Beaumont and Monique Couture.’
Harker dispensed with any handshakes and offered a nod of his head to each of the new arrivals in turn. ‘Forgive me for looking shocked but I wasn’t expecting you to actually turn up.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Henri continued to smile, ‘we were just as surprised when we got the call an hour ago. Hi, Gérald.’
Marceau pushed his plate to one side, stood up and shook the older man’s hand. ‘As surprised as I was when Professor Harker arrived on my doorstep.’
There was an awkward moment of silence before Pierre gave a wave to the proprietor of the cafe and the man immediately headed away from his post behind the counter and disappeared through a door marked ‘Staff Only.’
‘Let’s find somewhere private to talk, shall we?’ Henri proposed and, with himself and Monique taking the lead, they headed towards and through the same door the owner had used only moments earlier. Harker was still unsure where all this actually was heading but his instincts told him he was in no immediate danger and, despite not knowing of what this group stood for, he was happy to tug on the string and see where it might lead him.
Beyond the door Harker found himself in tight proximity with the others in a small pantry full of restaurant stock, from large retail tubs of granulated coffee to packets of croissants and an assortment of other patisserie items, all packed neatly on rows of shelves. The owner stood furthest in and, with a smile from Henri, he slipped his fingers into a small crevice at the base of the wall and gave a gentle tug. The wall swung backwards with the sound of air pressure being released as the small hydraulic hinges compressed until it lay flat against the adjoining wall, thus revealing what lay behind it.
Set into the plaster partition was a heavy-looking steel door with chipped green paint and rusting edges and, as Marceau shot Harker a wink, Henri and Monique both produced long black, tarnished keys such as one might associate with an old-fashioned safe.
At this point the proprietor slid past them and headed back towards the kitchen, closing the pantry door behind him. Henri and Monique inserted their keys in two small holes on opposite sides of the metal door, then they glanced at one another and began to count down in unison,
‘Three, two, one.’
Both keys turned simultaneously and, with a click, the entire metal door swung inwards to expose a dark entrance-way. Harker felt a gust of stale air rush past him as Henri reached inside and flicked a switch.
Ahead of them, the grilled covered work lights lining the wall began to turn on one after the other, and Harker watched as they gradually lit up a long passageway with each fresh bulb illuminating it further, eventually showing its full length.
The entire passageway, heading downwards on a shallow incline, was over one hundred metres in length, before it curved off to the left and continued for who knew how much further. Harker was now coaxed forward along with the rest of the group and stepped onto a small platform which offered him his first complete view of what this chamber was all about. The passageway contained a set of small metal tracks running straight down its centre, and at the edge of the platform itself, a pair of mini train carts sat waiting for them though they looked more suited to hauling coal out of mines than offering passengers a ride.
‘What is this place?’ Harker hissed as behind him Pierre pushed the heavy metal door back in place.
‘Abandoned military tunnels,’ Monique explained, and motioning him towards the open-top carts that Henri and Marceau were already climbing into. ‘Built before and during the last war. They run for miles underneath Paris,’ she explained with a certain pride, ‘connecting to exits all over the city, although almost all of them were boarded up long ago.’
‘But not this one,’ Pierre said and, with a gentle shove, he pushed Harker into the back seat of the second cart and sat down next to him. ‘This particular one has a far darker history to it.’
With everyone now seated, Henri pushed a small green button on the dashboard and with a lurch the two carts began to set off down the track until reaching a top speed of around fifteen miles an hour, which was maintained as the glowing wall lights zipped past them.
‘The Nazis made use of this one during the occupation, and then expanded it to serve as a travel hub for high-ranking government officials,’ Henri explained as the carts approached the bend up ahead. ‘It was meant to be a secure way of transporting the fascist elite through the city without fear of being assassinated.’
‘Fear of the Resistance, no doubt?’ Marceau interjected, looking rather proud of that thought.
‘Quite,’ Henri replied, ‘but like many structures the Nazis built using slave labour, they were never finished or even used, as you can now see.’
Harker saw exactly what he meant as the cart finally turned the corner and the tunnel suddenly opened up into an impressive station point, bearing a striking resemblance to a London tube platform except it was only half finished. Another track ran parallel to theirs and led off down another dark tunnel while on the other side, dark grey tiles ran alongside only half of the platform, allowing cracked concrete and strips of rebar to show underneath. Cobwebs hung from the wire mesh covering drop-down cylindrical lampshades above them, and large numerals had been sprayed in sequence directly onto the walls, each with that familiar metal eagle emblem next to it, which the German army was known for.
‘It was supposed to be linked to the main Paris railway so that Hitler’s personal train could make full use of it but, given that the Fuhrer visited the city only once and insisted he travel by car, work stopped on the project and it subsequently became irrelevant.’ Monique smiled at Harker’s look of intrigue as the cart reached the end of the platform and entered another lit-up tunnel. ‘Fascinating, isn’t it?’
It then rumbled over its electrified tracks for another thirty seconds before it came to a stop at the last illuminated wall light, next to a small metal platform similar to the one right back at the entrance.
‘Everybody off,’ Henri instructed.
Harker exited the cart and offered to assist Marceau, whose podgy stomach was getting in the way of him standing up, but his helping hand was batted away. Henri and Pierre meanwhile took up position at a grey metal door with added strips of steel bolted across it for extra strength. They again both produced long keys and inserted them in the locks on either side of the door.
‘It takes all three of us, each with a key, to gain access to this place.’ Henri explained.
‘As it should be,’ Pierre added then they both turned their keys at exactly the same time and swung the door backwards.
‘You don’t have a key, then?’ Harker asked Marceau with a hint of sarcasm, but the doctor didn’t look put out.
‘Oh, I do have a key, but it doesn’t open doors,’ he said ominously.
As Harker was led inside, he felt the first pang of concern arise in his chest and he very slowly clenched his fists just in case they might soon be needed.
The interior was pitch-black but, to Harker’s relief, the air smelt far cleaner, He watched with growing apprehension as Henri reached up towards something dangling above him and, with a small tug, the overhead lighting flickered on.
If Harker had been having misgivings about taking this trip into the bowels of Paris, they were immediately dispelled by what he saw. And, as Marceau closed the door behind them, he stepped forward and took in his new surroundings.
The room was large, about half the size of an Olympic-sized swimming pool, with smooth concrete walls and the height of a two-storey house. The ceiling was supported by two thick concrete pillars positioned halfway along each wall. Directly in front of him was a long granite table facing the rest of the room and thirteen stone chairs set around it, six each on facing sides and a single one at the head. The far end of the room looked like the chancel end of a church, with a magnificent carved arch rising above a white limestone altar with two wide marble steps leading up to it, while behind stood sculptures of three haloed saints gazing down on a box about half a metre by half a metre which was crafted of yellow amber panelling.
‘What is this place?’ Harker asked as he now took note of the beautiful paintings hanging on the walls, seemingly displaying the images of a range of saints from St Peter through to John Pope Paul II, and above the altar itself two stunning oil paintings of the Virgin Mary hung beneath one of Jesus Christ himself.
‘We’re currently almost directly underneath the northern leg of the Eiffel Tower. The Gestapo used this as a place to torture and kill anyone they deemed to be an enemy of the state, and it remained very much a secret until the US army discovered it soon after the liberation of Paris. Goes without saying therefore, it was a place few ever got to talk about,’ Henri explained solemnly.
‘Charming history it has,’ Harker said with a wince. ‘I’m surprised it wasn’t demolished.’ His comment was made with no malice and he stepped forwards to the granite table as Pierre now began to speak.
‘We’ve been aware of you for a while now, Alex, but it was only in the last few days that you truly came to our attention, with particular interest. Your uncovering of the location of the blessed candle has been timely to say the least, but many of us – as I do – believe that fate has played a hand in it.’
‘I told him the truth,’ Marceau insisted and looking offended, ‘but he thinks I’m crazy.’
This received a warm smile from the others and Henri moved closer to Harker, clasping his hands together piously. ‘I’m afraid Gérald’s interpretation of events is a bit more colourful and elaborate than our own. Father Davies and he were able to track down the original blessed candle that I believe is now in your possession and perhaps its origins are as exactly as Gérald claims, but I’m afraid our own involvement and knowledge comes from a far more recent period in history.’
Marceau continued to look offended and Henri sought to soothe his friend’s irritation. ‘But it’s no less worthy and there’s truth in it I’m sure… on some level. Please allow me to now show you something that might offer some perspective.’
‘That would be nice,’ Harker replied. ‘I’m guessing the glowing oval rock we found is this blessed candle you’re referring to?’
Henri merely smiled then he and the others began to make their way towards the altar at the other side of the room. ‘Let us show you.’
With Marceau close behind, Harker followed them past the granite table towards the altar and up the marble steps rising behind it, to the yellow amber box, whereupon they all came to a halt.
‘St Paul, St Peter and St John,’ Harker decided, pointing out individually the three sculptures facing the amber box from each side.
‘That is correct, for who else could we ask to watch over such an important item,’ Pierre replied, crossing his hands respectfully, and then glancing up to the image of Christ gazing down on them. ‘After him of course.’
That comment drew a smile from Harker who now began to examine the unique-looking box positioned in the alcove beyond the altar. All sides of it were constructed of a light amber resin, almost honey-like in colour which was interrupted by darker shades and textures just below the surface, making it impossible to see clearly inside. There was no latch or lock on it that he could make out, but at one side two gold hinges revealed which way the box would open.
‘We four belong to the order of Tharmis, and our associates have protected what lies within this box for centuries. Until very recently our role was simply one of vigilance, but as of today it becomes one of war.’
Henri then reached over and gently pulled back the amber panel at the front and although he was still mystified as to what it all meant, Harker now understood how he himself was connected. There in the middle of the box an oval crystal stone perched on top of a red velvet cloth, but that’s where any similarities ended. For this stone was not transparent but instead a dark red colour and with no engravings so far as he could tell. There was no light emanating from it either but whoever had created this one must surely have created its sister.
Although the others all gazed at it in reverence, it had little effect on Harker and he shot Henri a blank look. ‘Sorry to burst your bubble but, like I told Gérald and as you know, I’ve already seen one of these.’
Everyone else but Henri looked shocked by Harker’s seeming indifference, and the older man lifted the stone from its resting place and held it up with both hands.
‘But do you actually know what it is?’
‘Unless it’s some piece of alien technology that opens portals to a parallel universe then no,’ Harker replied. He glanced back towards Marceau, who was tutting away unhappily at the lack of respect their guest was showing. ‘What I do know is that Father Davies had secured the other one before he went – frankly – batshit crazy, and there are other people out there who are prepared to kill for it.’
Harker was getting close to the end of his tether and apart from the impressive room he found himself in – and it was impressive – so far nothing he had seen was anything to be astonished by.
‘If you don’t believe I’m telling you the truth, then perhaps you will take more seriously those others that do believe,’ Henri said coldly. ‘I believe you’ve already met the Red Death… long dreadlocks, brutal disposition and a heart as cold as ice.’
Finally, here was something Harker could take rationally. ‘Yes, we’ve already met. She killed an acquaintance of mine and tried to kill me.’
‘Trying to get hold of the candle, no doubt.’
‘As a matter of fact, yes.’ Harker replied, now keen to know more about her. ‘Who is she?’
‘Well, as you now know, she’s come to be known as “the Red Death” due to her unsavoury willingness to leave everyone she meets in a bloody mess, but her real name is Avi.’ Henri replied, and it was clear he was encouraged to find Harker was at least listening to this part with interest.
‘Avi?’
‘Yes, Avi Legrundy. But where she comes from I have no idea,’ he glanced over at Marceau, ‘unless you believe Gérald’s theory. That woman first appeared on our radar a few weeks ago when she paid a rather unpleasant visit to Gérald while looking for information on the candle in Father Davies’s possession. Suffice to say she left an impression.’
‘She left more than that,’ Marceau interjected now rolling up his sleeve to reveal a deep scar on his forearm in the shape of a swastika. ‘She told me this was a sign of good luck… but for her, not me.’
‘That same symbol was left on the boy Father Davies killed,’ Harker said grimly. ‘And it was also on the other candle, but there were fifteen swastikas instead of just one.’
‘That we didn’t know, but it goes without saying that she obviously likes to mark her prey,’ Pierre contributed, patting Marceau reassuringly on the back.
‘Why she uses this mark I don’t know,’ Henri continued, ‘but it confirms her relationship to the candle in some way or another.’
Seeing the mark disfiguring Marceau’s arm had brought a certainly reality into the discussion, and Harker’s mind became flooded with questions. Could he really even contemplate that this Avi Legrundy was possessed by a demon – or was a demon herself!
Henri now held the stone out in front of him where it began to glow bright red, as he fixed Harker with an empathetic stare. ‘It’s a lot to take in, I know, but I need to justify to you the importance of this blessed candle because in less than twenty-four hours, the lives of over four billion people will be snuffed out otherwise, from the face of this earth… and that is just the beginning.’