Professor Alex Harker gripped the semi-automatic rifle in both hands and then buried its stock firmly in his shoulder as another round zipped overhead, causing him to sink deeper against the concrete slab that offered him protection from the hail of bullets. He had twisted his ankle during his dive into cover but although damn painful, he was pretty sure there was no permanent damage. Lifting up his gun, he wrenched out its magazine before taking stock, and his heart sank. There were only three bullets left and, with two guards still alive, things were now looking dire. To make matters worse, they had him pinned down and with nowhere left to go… he was trapped.
Harker tapped the magazine back in place and loaded one bullet into the pipe as another four shots whizzed past him in succession. If this was it, then he would go out shooting. He glanced over towards the motionless body of his old friend Tom Lercher, lying face down in the dirt. Tom Lercher – or ‘Doggie’ to his friends – was the Dean of Archaeology at Cambridge University… or at least he had been before taking two bullets to the chest only moments earlier He was more than a friend, indeed he was family, and to think this was how it had ended for the old boy made Harker’s sadness evaporate in an instant, as his blood began to boil.
With a reverential nod to his fallen friend, Harker flipped himself onto his chest and crawled over to the corner of the concrete slab, to quickly steal a glance. He immediately caught sight of the position of the nearest guard, dressed in full camouflage, who was leaning against the thick trunk of a tree off to his right, but he could not detect the other one. That was until a bullet hit the slab’s corner just inches from his face, and in that moment, no more than ten metres away, he caught sight of the other killer to his left, dressed in a black boiler suit and resting on one knee at the forest’s edge. Both men were barely in sight and he had to act fast.
Harker ducked back out of view as a cascade of bullets pummelled the concrete again with a series of heavy thuds. They had him pinned all right but there was still a chance, only a slim one, but given the alternatives he realised it was a chance he had to take.
Harker rolled over to the other side of the slab and peeked out. From here he had a clear shot of the guard kneeling, and then, God willing and with a bit of luck, he could take out the other one by the tree. He sucked in a deep breath and prepared himself. ‘For Doggie’ he growled through gritted teeth and then launched himself upwards and over the concrete slab running forward, with the rifle already pointing where he knew his first target to be. Then, for Harker at least, all the sounds faded away and everything went into slow motion.
The first shot was dead on and ripped into the first guard who, still kneeling and aiming at the other side of the concrete slab, was completely taken by surprise and, with little more than a yelp, dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Two bullets left.
The second guard had now clocked him and was already raising his gun towards Harker, who fired off a shot – but it missed and ended up burying itself into a nearby tree trunk.
Just one bullet left.
The guard meanwhile took aim and fired, but at the last moment the heel of his boot slipped on the muddy ground, sending the shot directly downwards into the earth amidst a puff of dirt.
Harker immediately seized his advantage and, by skidding to a halt with barely a second to spare, he pulled the trigger.
His bullet hit the guard squarely in the chest and the man immediately collapsed in a heap on the ground.
‘YES! I win,’ he yelled as something thudded against his chest and he looked down to see the familiar pink splatter from a paintball.
Harker gazed up in confusion to see Dr Chloe Stanton decked out in full camouflage outfit and face mask, her gun still pointing directly towards him.
‘Actually, I win.’ She smiled, then raised her arms up high and let out a yell of triumph.
‘Hold on, I thought you were dead?’ Harker exclaimed while scanning her for splatter marks.
‘Nope,’ Chloe called back with a proud smile. Then she did a twirl just to prove that her outfit was unmarked. ‘How embarrassing for you.’
Before Harker could reply, an airhorn sounded somewhere in the distance and, as Chloe did a little victory dance, the second guard Harker had taken down sat up and pulled off his mask.
‘I really don’t like this game!’ David Carter complained before letting out a heavy sigh. ‘It’s not much fun.’
‘No, you only don’t like it because you lost,’ Harker replied with a sarcastic smile, as he removed his own mask and helped the portly fellow to his feet.
‘Actually it’s because we all just lost fifty quid,’ a voice declared in an unimpressed tone from behind them, and Harker turned around to see Doggie making his way over while rubbing his back. ‘That was the bet, wasn’t it?’
The only person now grinning was Chloe who beckoned everyone towards her and put out her hand. ‘C’mon, gentlemen, pay up.’
They were all now smiling by know with the exception of Doggie, who focused all his attention on Carter.
‘Honestly, David, you had a clear shot so how did you miss?’
Carter looked insulted. ‘At least I didn’t get myself shot first, Tom.’
It was now Doggie who looked insulted. ‘Yes, I did – but I was protecting Alex from the line of fire.’
Harker immediately burst into laughter at this notion. ‘No, you weren’t. You pushed me out of the way while making a rush for cover.’
‘Exactly,’ Doggie replied confidently, ‘and in doing so I got shot while taking the heat off you.’
‘Priceless, Tom, you’re a true hero,’ Carter remarked sarcastically, at which Doggie grinned smugly and took a bow. ‘Now can we get lunch please?’
Carter turned around to go but had not taken more than a couple of steps before a paintball splattered pink all over his backside, making him jump upwards with a loud cry of pain.
‘Oww,’ he yelled and spun around to find Doggie pointing his weapon directly at him. ‘What the hell was that for?’
Doggie lowered the gun and glared at Carter angrily. ‘When I got killed this morning, and was lying on the ground, you walked over and deliberately shot me in the arse. A shot you appeared to take great pleasure in.’
Carter was still rubbing his sore bottom as he took a step forward. ‘Hey, it wasn’t my fault, just my finger slipped.’
Doggie followed suit and took a step forward, till the two men were within inches of each other. ‘Yeah? So did mine.’
‘Guys, this is silly. We’re all friends remember.’ Harker declared, secretly hoping the pair of them were about to shoot it out.
Carter and Doggie continued to stare at each other angrily until Chloe gave a small laugh.
‘Wow, you boys take this game really seriously, don’t you?’
This comment seemed to relax the two friends and they both turned to face her.
‘Of course we do, madam,’ Doggie replied flippantly, placing a hand on Carter’s shoulder. ‘War is no laughing matter!’
Now linking arms with the two older men, Chloe took the lead and dragged them away, whilst Harker lagged behind as many of the other players began to emerge from the treeline and make their way back to the main reception area. Doggie had chosen the location at Paintball Nation centre in Sidcup, not that far from central London and so a perfect venue for all those students catching trains back home to every corner of the UK for their summer holidays.
The University had organised it as an event for both students and professors to spend the day together, bonding, in a world gone mad allowing emotions and feelings to trump logic and facts. Away days were common practice and, even though it had been fun, there were other places Harker would rather have been. Still, despite all that, it had provided a glorious opportunity for him to dispense paintballing justice on some of his more annoying students, which provided a pleasurable bonus. Unfortunately, he himself had ended up being more often on the receiving end than not but, regardless, he had made a few cracking shots and seeing the embarrassment of them being taken down by their professor had been priceless.
The thought drew a smile from Harker and as he watched his friends up ahead still arguing about who had shot the other first, with Chloe acting as referee, he found himself contemplating the varying journeys that had brought them all together.
Since their reunion party back at Mont St-Michel, three months earlier, things had been moving quickly. The final showdown, and complete destruction of the Magi hierarchy, had been received with relief and rejoicing at every level of the Knights Templar, but it had also led to debate on the secretive organisation’s future role. Every yin needs a yang, every hero needs a villain and, without the Magi, many now questioned what the Templars’ purpose was. What do the victors do once they have won?
With the deliberations still ongoing, Harker and the others had instead focused on their own individual situations. David Carter had accepted Sebastian Brulet’s offer to become the full-time curator of the secret vault buried deep within the rocky island of Mont St-Michel, and now he spent his days rediscovering and cataloguing the vast number of relics and historical artefacts that the Templars had been collecting for centuries. The brutal, and rather embarrassing nature of the torture he had received at the behest of John Wilcox and his Magi loyalists had initially proved a serious bone of contention for him. But after gaining his new position within the Templars, and following an intensive course of extra strength pile cream, he had finally put that painful and invasive episode behind him, as it were. Brulet had even presented him with an official badge that Carter now took everywhere with him, and he found great relish in flashing it authoritatively every now and again. In fact the excitement of his work had even encouraged the ex-Cambridge professor to cut down on his heavy drinking; the man had even lost a few pounds and was looking sprightlier than ever. Regrettably his new-found resolve mainly applied during the day only and any phone calls made to him after 7 p.m. were usually met with that slurred and abrasive speech that Harker had come to expect and love. A drunk Carter was always more fun than the sober one.
Doggie had also been given access to the secret vault and now every few weeks he took a trip to St Michel where he was allowed to pore over the wealth of history contained within its walls, although always under the watchful eye of Carter who guarded the place like a bulldog. In a short time, the two men had forged a tight friendship, even if their massive egos ensured a healthy competitiveness between them.
Chloe, on the other hand, had continued in her psychiatric role at Blackwater and when she wasn’t working she was usually flicking through wedding magazines and making preparations for their nuptials in the coming year. She had insisted fervently that Harker stay away from any such planning until the day in question, which was more than fine by him although he was fairly sure it had far more to do with her being a control freak than wanting to surprise him, as she had so far maintained.
As for Harker, the revelation of his own father’s membership of the Templars had gripped him since learning of it and, apart from his busy schedule at the University, these were the thoughts that now preoccupied him. The documentation provided by Brulet concerning his father had been a revelation but had left him with as many questions as answers. For it transpired Liam Harker had indeed been inducted into the Templars and been granted the position of Jarl, which held not only considerable authority within the organisation but also entailed one of the most fascinating roles. Only a single individual could hold that position at any one time and it charged the recipient with ‘determining any and all threats to the Templars and to civilisation at large’. That was the high-sounding brief but in practice it meant scouring the planet for any truths, legends or historical facts that might cause concern for humankind as a whole.
At first glance it seemed somewhat farcical but as Harker delved deeper into the records, it became apparent that it was a truly serious assignment. The position of Jarl had been initially formed soon after the Templars’ divergence from the Catholic Church some centuries ago. In a world of unknowns, and when the exploration of reality was still in its infancy, the concept of witchcraft, monsters and everything else supernatural was still a very real thing. Today those ideas were still engrained in all earthly cultures in the form of legend and folklore, but in days gone by they had been seen as a genuine physical threat to everyone and something which had to be addressed. Accordingly the Jarl was sworn to seek out and reveal the dark truths of the world, either to be dismissed as fantasy or to confirm and remove any genuine threats thus discovered. The historical records Harker had read so far were beyond captivating, including witches’ covens, satanic societies, and even tales of defeating monsters. The last were taken by Harker with a pinch of salt but, in truth, who knew what animals and creatures might have still existed back then. In areas of the world untouched by man for millions of years, who could know what unique species had slipped through the noose of evolutionary extinction to remain in small groups until contact with humans was made. The obvious examples to Harker had been the English legend of St George fighting a dragon and Perseus confronting the sea serpent Cetus of mythology. It seemed extremely unlikely that dragons ever actually existed but who could know for sure, and perhaps there was some truth to such fables that had lasted until this very day.
Harker’s father had been the last ‘Jarl’ in a line of hundreds, which at first had seemed an extremely high number but, upon reading of their dangerous exploits and given the nature of the job, it made sense. Spending your career chasing after everything and anything dangerous was not really conducive to one’s health.
By the time Liam Harker had taken over in the twentieth century, most of these real or imagined dangers had been consigned to history or mythology, and the position had focused more on the dangers human beings posed, whether from cults, secret societies or even war-mongering nations. Whatever the threats, his father had undoubtedly seen plenty of action in his time as Jarl, and the vaults’ historical records attested to this in detail.
What was less clear, however, rested on the fact that his father had not been ‘born into’ the Templars and, even though Brulet considered Harker a Templar by blood, it wasn’t clear why he had not been inducted earlier. Brulet had explained that, due to the nature of his father’s work in dealing with various nefarious groups the latter had decided to keep young Harker removed for his own protection – and Brulet had decided to respect this. Furthermore, the Templar Grand Master had been considerably vague upon the question of how Harker senior had actually joined the Order in the first place or why the position of Jarl had been left vacant for over twenty years beforehand. Harker had not forced these questions because he was now totally concentrated on Brulet bestowing on him the honour of becoming the new Jarl. Besides which, with ready access to all the records and information pertaining to this area of the Templars’ activities, he had no doubt he would discover the details for himself in due course.
For the time being, and especially with the complete annihilation of the Magi, the horizon looked clear and Harker had decided to allow Carter –- with a little help from Doggie – to get to grips with everything contained in the vaults before stepping fully into his new role.
He also had ongoing commitments at Cambridge, and had spent the last three months putting his work in order before leaving his teaching role there for good. This departure from his academic career was difficult to make but the new position within the Templars seemed just too good an opportunity to pass up. He would now have access to aspects of human history and archaeological discoveries that no one else on the planet even knew existed let alone were able to get their hands on.
Doggie had been unusually understanding about his decision, which probably had something to do with his own new honorary membership of the Templars. For the Dean loved nothing more than being right in the middle of things, be it as host at a fundraiser or just engagement in the inner workings of the University. It was also this ensuing goodwill that made Doggie campaign for Harker being appointed a permanent member of the University’s board of trustees, which meant he would always retain ties with the academic institution he loved so very much.
With all that said, however, there was still a very important question – perhaps the most important one – which was yet to be fully explained. And that was what the hell was the role, or the point, of a Jarl in this day and age? The last time he had seen Brulet himself was at Mont St-Michel during the celebration party, and since then his main point of contact had been with Carter. As Harker ran this through his head, he realised how little he actually knew when it came to ‘Jarling’ – if that was the right term for it. For now, he was focusing only on getting his affairs in order at the University and subsequently he was about to gain access to a hitherto unrevealed library of unwritten history and artefacts more impressive than any of the top museums and private collections in the world had to offer.
As Harker now caught up with his friends, they were already commandeering a table and chairs outside the reception building. Letting his recent thoughts fade, he couldn’t help but release an excited chuckle. ‘Not bad for a wee boy from Belfast.’
‘Beer, Alex?’ Carter yelled as he placed his paint gun down on a spare plastic seat and rubbed his hands together.
‘I thought you normally abstained during the day?’ Harker teased.
‘I have, but beer is not a proper drink… Whisky’s a drink. Besides…’ Carter subtly pulled open his jacket to reveal the glinting badge that Brulet had presented him with. ‘…I may be able to get a discount if I flash this thing.’
‘For God’s sake why are you still wearing that?’ Doggie exclaimed, dropping into his adjacent seat with a thud.
‘Because, Dean Lercher,’ Carter replied unashamedly while tapping the metal shield, ‘it means something.’
‘Yes, it does David, it means you’re an idiot.’
Carter let go of his jacket and dismissed the insult with a wave of his hand. ‘Chloe, would you allow me to buy you a drink?’
‘Thank you, David, that sounds lovely,’ Chloe replied, and with a wink at Harker she took Carter’s arm and they both began walking towards the reception building, and the small corner bar inside it.
‘Do me a favour would you, Alex?’ Doggie asked, settling into his chair and enjoying this chance to relax his aching muscles, ‘I left my wallet in the car. Be a good fellow and get it, would you? You’ll find it in the glove compartment.’
He was already throwing his keys in Harker’s direction before receiving an answer.
‘Yes, your majesty.’ Harker caught the keys and began to stroll towards the car park on the other side of the building, whilst Doggie called out to him again.
‘You really are my best servant. Now hurry before I become impatient.’
Harker didn’t even bother to reply.
The distance to the car park was no more than several minutes’ walk and, on reaching it, Harker could have spent a few seconds scanning the entire car park in search of Doggie’s Maroon S4 Volvo. But instead he made a beeline for the main entrance and sure enough, squeezed tightly between a filthy blue Mini Cooper and a silver Peugeot 205 stood the vehicle he was looking for. Harker knew that the Dean had an uncanny knack of always getting himself the most convenient space in any car park. For a while he had surmised that his friend enjoyed better luck than most, but he had eventually discovered that Doggie made it a rule to always arrive at an engagement at least one hour before he was due, therefore ensuring the best place. Whether a result of OCD or just severe egocentricity, Harker wasn’t sure, but who the hell hangs around somewhere for an hour beforehand just to secure bragging rights for gaining the prime parking position. And, furthermore, who anyway has the time to spare? Dean Tom Lercher, that’s who.
Harker unlocked and opened the passenger door, reaching straight for the glove compartment. He found the thin black leather wallet immediately and scooped it out in one hand, then slammed the car door shut and made sure it was locked.
A voice called out from behind and Harker turned around to confront a young man in his thirties, with short-cropped black hair and wearing a blue cashmere pullover and a pair of tanned chinos.
‘Excuse me?’
The man extended his hand and thrust a £10 note towards him. ‘It was lying on the ground, and I thought it might be yours.’
Harker offered a shake of his head. ‘No, not mine, but I’m sure you can hand it in at reception.’
The man smiled and then, with a nod, he pointed to somewhere directly behind Harker. ‘How about that?’
Harker instinctively looked behind him and, as he did so, the man snatched Doggie’s wallet from his hand and took off at a run towards the car park’s front entrance.
‘Hey.’ Harker yelled, immediately bursting into a sprint after him. Cheeky bastard were the words that rattled in his head as he sped like a maniac. Besides this being bang out of order he himself would never hear the last of it from Doggie if he allowed the fellow to get away.
The wallet snatcher was far slower than his athletic form suggested and Harker was already catching him up by the time they reached the entrance. The thief continued around the corner and disappeared from sight for a moment and, pursuing him, Harker was met with a sight that brought him abruptly to a halt.
Catching his breath was the thief, standing next to another man, dressed in a grey suit and tie, who held out a Metropolitan Police badge towards Harker. ‘I’m Detective John Owens; could we have a word, sir?’ he asked politely before slipping the badge back into his inside jacket pocket.
Harker’s hands dropped loosely to his sides and, before he could ask what the hell was going on, the thief threw him Doggie’s wallet and then flashed his own detective’s badge, clipped onto his belt and previously concealed under his pullover.
‘Is it normal for detectives to rob members of the public?’ Harker asked them, still taken aback by the bizarre charade.
‘No, it’s not, sir,’ Detective Owens replied. ‘We’d planned to come in and fetch you but, when we saw you in the car park, we decided a ruse was preferable. Pure luck on the timing, though.’
Harker was still looking doubtful at the detective’s explanation, which was noticed by the other officer right away.
‘We figured the last thing you’d want is to be taken away in a police car right in front of all your students, wouldn’t you agree?’
Harker glanced over at the unmarked black BMW 530d parked next to them, and then back to the detectives. ‘It’s not exactly recognisable as one, is it?’
‘That’s true, sir, but we’d have had to enter the building and start flashing our badges, and that would have resulted in the same predicament.’
To Harker this was a sound explanation, but that was about all. ‘OK, then, what can I do for you?’
‘Actually, it’s what we can do for you, sir. We’re here to give you a lift, as there’s someone who wants a word with you.’
The answer had Harker frowning and he glanced back and forth between them, with understandable mistrust. ‘That’s extremely vague, Detective.’
‘I’m afraid it is, sir, but it’s of the upmost importance, and I assure you we’ll have you back here within the hour.’
Harker eyed the two men suspiciously, which was picked up immediately by Owens who now leant closer towards him. ‘We have a serious situation developing sir, and it’s one that the top brass believe you can help with.’
The officer looked sincere but it did little to shake off any of Harker’s scepticism. ‘And what would that be?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say I’m afraid,’ the detective continued politely, ‘and you have every right to refuse, but I can tell you it’s extremely important.’
For a few seconds Harker stood silently contemplating his response and then he nodded his head. ‘OK, I’ll bite, but can I at least change?’ he asked, and pointing down at his paintball-stained camouflage trousers. ‘And also let my friends know?’
‘Afraid not, sir, as time is of the essence,’ the detective replied. ‘But my colleague here can let your party know that you’ll be back soon, and who you’re with… discreetly of course.’
Chloe would be a bit put out over him simply disappearing for an hour – but, seeing as this was official police business, she could hardly take it out on him, could she? Of course, she could and she undoubtedly would, but this matter sounded important. ‘Yes, please. Be sure to let them know I’ll be back within the hour, or my fiancée is going to throw a total wobbler.’
‘A wobbler, sir? Not sure I know what you mean.’
To be fair it was more of a northern saying, so Harker wasn’t wholly surprised by the man’s ignorance. ‘It’s when someone gets so furious that they literally shake and wobble in anger. I suppose you could also say throw a shaker, but that wouldn’t make any better sense now, would it?’
Neither man said a word, but just stared at him blankly.
‘Just forget it,’ Harker said in despair, and he tossed Doggie’s wallet to the detective who had snatched it earlier, ‘The owner is Tom Lercher, so tell him my travel plans, will you. He’ll pass it all on.’
Detective Owens opened the BMW’s back door and Harker slid inside, waiting for the officer to occupy the driving seat. Within minutes they were speeding along the A20 and heading north towards the nation’s capital. Harker slowly became aware of a bulge in his camouflage outfit trouser pocket and it only then dawned on him that he still had the key to Doggie’s Volvo.
Still it didn’t really matter. He’d be back within the hour.