The Black Sun Conspiracy

Chapter Sixteen

Ghent’s medieval center was bustling with tourists. Any worries that Sam had about being recognized were quickly assuaged. In crowds like these, amidst the stag nights, loving couples, and swarms of elderly coach travelers it was easy to become lost.

They wound their way through the twisting streets. The sight of Gravensteen castle struck Sam with a sharp, sudden pang of homesickness. It was smaller than Edinburgh Castle and tucked in amongst the streets rather than sitting proudly above them, but still memories came flooding back. ‘No time for that now,’ he told himself, pushing the melancholy feelings aside. ‘Focus on getting this done. It’s the quickest way home.’

They went past the canal and across the busy square, until they saw the dramatic grey outline of Saint Bavo’s Cathedral standing out against the clear blue sky. Its Gothic architecture and towering belfry dominated the entire area, dwarfing all the buildings surrounding it.

The heavy arched doors stood open, welcoming in the church’s many visitors. Its interior was cool and calming, its serenity only a little tarnished by the throng of people wielding cameras and staring slack-jawed at the array of artistic treasures — Rubens’ St Bavo Entering the Convent at Ghent, Justus van Gent’s Calvary Triptych, Caspar de Crayer’s Martyrdom of Saint Barbara… but of the famous altarpiece there was no sign.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Sam asked. “It hasn’t been moved somewhere else?”

“This is definitely where it’s kept. I remember reading about it; it was the painting Hitler wanted as the centerpiece of his Führermuseum. ” Nina looked around in frustration. “There’s got to be someone we can ask. Stay here. I’ll go and do my German tourist routine.”

She was gone for no more than a minute before returning with an exasperated look on her face. “It’s not here. Not at the moment. The man at the desk said that some of the panels are on loan to an exhibition and the others are gone for conservation and won’t be back for nearly two years. What do we do?”

“Fortunately,” said Purdue, “we do not need to find the painting itself — only the place it ought to occupy. I believe it’s a joke on Mr. Fabian’s part, since the altarpiece is among the most frequently stolen works in the world. Who knows whether it will be there at the time when someone attempts to find it? If we search in the vicinity of the altar, we should still find the reliquary.” He glanced at the thick red rope keeping them at a distance from the altar itself.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said with a smile. “You get in there and find that thing. Come on Nina — we’ll keep the staff busy.”

Near the main entrance two cathedral staff hung around the desk, one seated and one hovering nearby to chat while he kept an eye out for anyone in need of help or reprimand. Sam greeted them warmly as he approached, Nina following hard on his heels and waiting to find out how he wanted to distract them.

“Heeeeeey! Could you guys answer a question for us?” Sam’s choice of a broad American accent surprised no-one more than himself. ‘I sound like Jefferson,’ he thought. ‘Well… it’ll do.’

“Certainly, Sir,” the attendant replied. He was a tall, broad-shouldered young man who could not have looked more bored, although he was making an effort to conceal it. The name badge pinned to his lapel indicated that he was called Niklaas. “That is what we are here for.”

Sam flung an arm round Nina. “Me and my wife here, we’re having a little disagreement about something, aren’t we honey?”

“It’s so stupid…” Nina opted to stick with her German accent, certain that a German and an American would not match any descriptions that may have been circulated of two Scots. “I can hardly believe that we are even troubling you with this, but he will not take my word for it. I am trying to tell him that Saint Baaf and Saint Bartholomew are not one and the same, but he does not believe me. Perhaps you can confirm it for me?”

“Sweetie, how likely do you think it is that they’d give two completely different saints identical names?” Sam felt the muscles in Nina’s shoulder tense under his hand. He could almost hear her teeth grinding. Even knowing that they were both just playing roles to create a diversion, being patronized pushed her buttons hard.

Niklaas gave them a bland smile. “I am sorry, Sir, but the lady is correct. Saint Baaf, whom you can see depicted here by Rubens, is the patron saint of Ghent and indeed of Belgium. He lived in the seventh century, founded an abbey and gave away all his money and possessions. In English his name is pronounced Bavo. Saint Bartholomew, however, was one of Christ’s Apostles and was martyred by crucifixion and — I am not sure how you say the word — removal of the skin.”

Sam grimaced. “That’s kinda grim. But you’re sure they’re not the same guy? Cuz I’m sure I saw somewhere in our guide book that they were…”

“Quite sure, Sir.”

“He says that he’s certain,” Nina said. “Why can’t you just accept that? It’s always the same with you; you simply will not accept that you might be wrong, even when you hear it from someone whose job is to know these things!” As she told Sam off she kept half an eye on Niklaas, whose attention had been captured by something over by the altar. He took a step back, extricating himself from their argument, and made a move in the direction of Purdue’s search. Nina shot out a hand and grabbed Niklaas’ arm. “I am so sorry,” she said. “You really must allow me to apologize for my husband. Foreign travel brings out the worst in him… I ask him again and again to be polite, at least, and to accept that you do know what you’re talking about…”

Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw Purdue stepping neatly over the rope and casually sauntering up the aisle. He walked straight past Sam and Nina without making eye contact or giving any sign that his mission had been a success, and disappeared through the doors and onto the street.

“Honey,” Sam said loudly, “I think we’ve taken up enough of this gentleman’s time, don’t you? Come on. If you stand here talking all day we won’t get to see the castle.” He steered her, still protesting, out of the door.

As soon as they were outside Nina turned to him, one arched eyebrow raised in amusement. “American? Really?

“It worked,” Sam shrugged. “Now where’s Purdue?”

“I am here.” Purdue appeared at Sam’s shoulder. They kept walking, Sam and Nina together, Purdue a step behind them so that to the casual observer they looked like they simply happened to be going in the same direction rather than walking together. He quickly configured his tablet to the size of a phone and held it to his ear so that he could talk without appearing to converse with Sam and Nina. “I found what I was looking for,” he said casually. “It was not too difficult, sharp eyes were all that was required. It’s very beautiful; I think you will appreciate it. The design is quite intricate. Now, I believe we are supposed to be meeting at the Museum voor Schone Kunsten? I am on my way.”

He suddenly increased his pace, stepping round Sam to overtake him. As he passed, he slipped a small box into Sam’s jacket pocket. Once he was a little way ahead he slowed his pace again, just enough to remain visible and lead the way. Too curious to resist, Sam waited only a few minutes before taking out the box and examining it.

It was a small rosewood box with a long, rectangular base and a pointed lid. The condition of the wood made it clear that it was not an antique but simply made in the style of a Gothic reliquary. It would not open. The surface was covered in carvings so precise and detailed that Sam was sure they could only have been done with a laser. They showed what looked like a map of central Ghent, with a line marked with arrows winding through it and coming to an end in… a cave?

‘That can’t be right, can it?’ Sam was mystified. ‘A cave? In a city? Why would there be a cave right next to a building that looks like that?’ Sure enough, the illustration showed an elegant building with a tall columned façade, with the letters “S.K.” in curling script above it. As discreetly as he could, he showed it to Nina.

“The gallery sounds about right,” she said, handing it back to Sam. “As far as I know S.K. is Schone Kunsten or the Flemish equivalent which is probably very similar.”

“And the cave?”

She shrugged. “Seems a bit weird. But hardly the weirdest thing we’ve seen. I suppose we’ll find out when we get to the museum.”