Sanctus

V
Chapter 100

An early spring dusk was already starting to bruise the fringes of the afternoon sky when the bike pulled away from the guardhouse and headed past the row of silent warehouses towards the squat-looking cargo plane by hangar 12.

Gabriel raised his hand and waved back at the guard who’d just let them through. Liv couldn’t believe he’d let her in without any ID. Airport security was no way that relaxed back home — at least, she hoped it wasn’t. Gabriel had told the guard he needed to drop something off at the hangar and introduced her as his girlfriend. She hadn’t contradicted him. In fact she’d kind of liked it.

They coasted under the wing of the plane and in through the open door of the hangar, the sound of the bike’s engine suddenly deafening in the enclosed space. It was stacked high with silver packing cases, the tunnels between them just wide enough for the bike to pass through. They headed down one, towards the back of the building where warm lights burned behind the windows of an office. Gabriel swung the bike to a stop in front of them and killed the engine. ‘End of the line,’ he said.

Liv let go of his waist and slid from the seat. She was just smoothing her wind-whipped hair when the door of the office opened and a beautifully elegant woman stepped out, followed by a sprightly old man in flight overalls. The woman hardly looked at her. Instead she moved to where Gabriel was pulling the bike back on its kickstand. She embraced him, her eyes closed, her silky dark hair bunched against his chest by the tightness of her grip. Liv experienced a sudden tug of confusion and surprising jealousy. She looked away and found herself staring into the attentive face of the old man.

‘My name is Oscar de la Cruz,’ he said, stepping back through the open door of the office, his caramel voice welcoming her. ‘Please, come inside.’

She glanced over once more at the extended hug still binding Gabriel to the elegant woman, then followed him inside. The office was warm after the chilled bike journey and the smell of coffee and comforting low murmur of a TV set made the place feel almost homely.

‘Would you like coffee?’ Oscar asked, his dark eyes twinkling within his deeply tanned face. ‘Or. . maybe something a little stronger.’ He shot a look towards the door. ‘Between you and me, I’ve got a flask of whisky in my jacket.’

‘Coffee’s fine,’ Liv said, sitting on a chair next to a desk containing a stack of paperwork and a computer.

She turned slightly as Gabriel came in. He had his arm round the beautiful woman and his head dipped low. He spoke softly but rapidly, a look of earnest concentration on his face. The woman closed the door as Gabriel finished speaking, then looked up at Liv and moved round the desk to sit down opposite her, a smile softening her face. ‘I’m glad you’re safe here with us,’ she said. ‘I’m Kathryn. I left you the warnings. My son’s just been filling me in on what’s happened.’

Liv’s eyes flicked between her and Gabriel.

Her son?!

Gabriel pulled two chairs over from the far desk and sat on one of them, slipping the black canvas bag to the floor as he settled and opening it up. Seeing them side by side Liv could now see a strong physical similarity between them — though the woman hardly looked old enough to be his mother. Gabriel pulled something from inside the bag and handed it to her. It was her holdall. She smiled, feeling such gratitude for his simple yet thoughtful act. It was like being reunited with a piece of normality. She found the paper envelope in the outside pocket, lifted the flap and looked at the top photo of her and Samuel.

‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ Kathryn continued. ‘And for the trials you’ve endured since you learnt of your brother’s death. I would not have chosen for you to be caught up in our ancient struggle, but fate had other plans.’

Oscar appeared by her side and placed a mug of black coffee on the desk by Liv before sitting in the last remaining chair. As his face lined up with theirs Liv noticed he too resembled them.

‘Your brother was a member of an ancient brotherhood of monks,’ he said, leaning forward in his chair. ‘Their sole purpose, to guard and protect the Sacrament. We think his death was an act of supreme self-sacrifice to send a message revealing its identity.’ He fixed Liv with his bright eyes, the deep wrinkles surrounding them suggesting a lifetime of laughter. ‘We think he sent that message to you.’

Liv stared at him for a moment then slowly lifted up her notebook and laid it on the desk between them. She looked down and turned to the second page where she had copied the symbols from the seeds.

‘This is what he sent to me,’ she said, sliding the notebook across the desk towards them. ‘I’ve re-arranged them every which way to try and make sense of it. Then I met Dr Anata, and found this on the spot where my brother fell.’ She slipped the card from between the pages and showed them the cryptic message:

T

MALA

MARTYR

‘From that I managed to re-arrange the letters into this — ’ She pointed at the last thing she had written:

T +?

Ask Mala

‘That’s when you arrived,’ she said, glancing up at Gabriel and discovering he was already looking at her. He smiled a small smile that travelled all the way to his eyes. She looked away, feeling the heat of a blush rising beneath her skin. ‘So,’ she said, looking instead at the old man. ‘You’re the Mala. I guess I’m asking you — what is the “T”?’

Oscar looked at her, his eyes suddenly tired and sad. ‘It was ours once,’ he said, ‘and is sometimes referred to as the Mala T. But as to what it is — I’m afraid we don’t know.’

Liv stared at him for a beat, not trusting what she’d heard. ‘But you must,’ she said, ‘my brother staked his life on it. Why would he send me to find you if he didn’t think you’d be able to help?’

Oscar shook his head. ‘Maybe this isn’t the message.’

Liv stared down at the phrase at the bottom of the page. She’d pulled every combination of words she could from the letters. This was the only thing that had made any sense. She reached out for her notebook and flicked to the first page. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing at the rough drawing of her brother’s body where the T was burnt on to his arm. ‘He had the same thing branded on to his body as well as these other scars. Maybe the message is in them!’

A sudden ripping sound made her look up. ‘The scars are not the message,’ Oscar said, pulling open another Velcro fastening on his flight suit, ‘they are merely a badge of office. They are part of the ritual associated with the Sacrament, but they do not reveal what it is.’

He shrugged his arms out of the green one-piece and rolled it down over the white turtleneck sweater he wore underneath, then pulled his shirt up over his head. Liv stared at his body beneath. It was the colour of mahogany and covered with the dark, puckered lines of old scar tissue. Her eyes traced the familiar shapes they made. All of them precise. All deliberate. All of them identical to the scars she had seen on the body of her dead brother.