The Armageddon Protocol

FIFTEEN

And Lucia knew she was right. Just a few inches in front of them was Bosch’s masterpiece — a tangled mess of misunderstood symbolism painted into the actions of dozens of naked figures, but there the trail seemed to end.

“Where do we start, Harry?” Lucia said. “We don’t have much time. It can’t be long before they work out where we are!”

“We start with what we already know. Pablo left us a coded message — beauty is in the eye of the beholder — this was highlighted in his copy of the Epistola.”

“In which he’d left a handwritten note to Anton Liška, remember.”

“Yes, and that might be important, but for now we focus on the clue, which we rearranged into the right order to give us a grid reference for the Prado — and so far so good. He had also singled out a sentence about the woods, which led us to Bosch, here, and his most famous work.”

“But there are no more clues.”

Harriet harrumphed noisily to get their attention. “So we start at the beginning of the painting,” she said.

“What do you mean, the beginning?”

“Paintings of this era were stories, and they’re read from left to right, in the way we read books today. In this case, the painting starts with Adam in the left-hand panel as he looks across the rest of the painting, or story. Most people in those times were completely illiterate, so they learnt about the world by reading paintings instead — if they could get close to them of course, which was hard because most were owned by royalty and kept in private collections in palaces and so on.”

Lucia listened to the way Harriet talked about the art. It reminded her of the way Pablo used to talk about things — art and science — even the Spanish football leagues — whatever was on his mind. Now she watched Harriet as she was taken over by her obsession — in this case fine art.

“I wish I was there now,” Harriet said with a sigh. “Must make a note to fly to Madrid soon.”

Lucia continued to study the painting too, following Harry’s avid gaze as he searched all over it for some kind of clue.

“This panel is unique in the world of art history,” Harriet continued. “Even just in the context of Bosch’s own body of work, it’s one of a kind, and where the mystery of this painting begins. Do you see the owls?”

Harry and Lucia’s eyes flicked all over the three panels — now she had mentioned it there were owls everywhere. This is why he had called her. “Yes — what’s their significance?”

“They’ve always had symbolic significance to various secret societies, including the Brotherhood of Our Lady.”

“Who are they?”

“They were an elite secret society back in Bosch’s day, and both he and other members of his family were in it. Some theorize it was through this society that he got so many important commissions for his work. This group was a highly elite affair, with a very secretive inner circle — they called themselves the sworn brothers and numbered only and exactly one hundred — Hieronymus Bosch was one of those hundred members along with other much more important people — powerful people — including princes and dukes.”

“Sounds like he knew how to get ahead,” Lucia said.

“Exactly. The contacts in this brotherhood got him important donors that enabled him to carry on painting and seeking commissions.”

“And how did he get into this circle?” Harry asked.

“He was only accepted into their ranks after he married the daughter of a very wealthy merchant. After that everything changed for him.”

“Nothing changes,” Lucia said, and gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders.

“His donors weren’t acting out of pure altruism of course — many of them wound up in his paintings, and you can tell who they are because they’re often wearing lilies.”

Harry smiled as he listened to his sister do what she did best. Since she had taken over the business she’d had so little time to spend on her love of art, and in a way he felt guilty. When he walked away from it all and joined the army he had robbed her of that life. “Why lilies — were they some kind of code?”

“You could say that. Lilies were the symbol of the Brotherhood, but by this painting — The Garden of Earthly Delights — there were no longer any donors being painted into his pictures, so the figures painted into this landscape are much more of a mystery.”

“Do you think this Brotherhood has anything to do with Pablo?” Lucia said.

“I doubt it. The Brotherhood of Our Lady was essentially repeating ideas that came from the Catholic Reform Movement — Devotio Moderna — a simple lay movement dating from several hundred years before Bosch’s time. It was very popular in the Low Countries — including Bosch’s home country of the Netherlands, and was a major influence on Erasmus, but came to an abrupt end during the Protestant Reformation. As far as I’m aware there are no remnants of it at all today, nor have there been for many centuries.”

“So what has it got to do with all these crazy owls?” Lucia asked, starting to feel exasperated by the whole thing. In maths you were right or wrong, but this was just an insane muddle.

“Look in the center of the left panel,” Harriet said.

“Here, you mean?” Harry said, pointing to a strange pink fountain where his sister had guided them.

“Exactly,” she said. “That’s the Fountain of Life — that’s why it’s painted this vivid pink color, the color of flesh — but you see it’s taking the form of a plant, so it symbolises life, yet there in the center where you see the monstrance you would usually expect to find the Holy Eucharist, but instead is another owl.”

“You’re losing me, Hattie.”

He watched his sister’s face on the iPhone, her eyes staring at the image. She reached out her hand as if she could touch it with her fingertips.

“For Bosch, this does not symbolise wisdom — the standard interpretation of the presence of an owl — but seduction. In Bosch’s time, owls were trapped and used to lure songbirds — so this is why owls signify seduction and songbirds signify desire. Look there — peacocks — ancient symbols of vanity, and here — apples — of course these signify the loss of innocence. All the people in this painting are perfect… their nakedness is absolute but they are without shame… but I just don’t understand what your man was trying to tell you.”

Harry scratched his jaw and stepped back from the painting. His eyes narrowed and he tipped his head to one side to view the giant image from another perspective. “Pablo lost his life protecting a secret and it had something to do with this painting. You must have an inkling, Hattie?”

“Give me a break, Harry,” his sister said. “You just woke me up in the middle of the night to fire random questions at me about Hieronymous Bosch for heaven’s sake.”

“Sorry.”

Harriet took the apology and rubbed her eyes to get a fresh perspective. “The whole painting is beautiful, so beauty in the eye of the beholder could mean anything, and — wait a minute!”

“Hattie, what is it?”

Harriet cursed herself and ran her hands through her hair in a sign of sheer disbelief. From her London home, hundreds of miles away, she stared hard at the painting and slowly Harry and Lucia watched a broad smile cross her face.

“Hattie?”

“How could I have been so stupid?” she said. “I feel like kicking myself — the sodding clue has been staring me in the face the whole time.”

“Go on.”

“This man Pablo has certainly been frugal with his clues. The reference to beauty being in the eye of the beholder wasn’t merely a way of transmitting the grid reference of the Prado to you, but it was also a direct clue referring to eyes — eyes in the painting.”

Lucia suppressed a scream. “Please tell me what’s going on!”

“It’s perfectly simple — it’s about the eyes in the painting.”

Harry looked confused. “I don’t understand. I thought the clue about beauty being in the eye of the beholder was a way Pablo could give us a grid reference to this place?”

“He was cleverer than that — not only was it a grid reference to the Prado, but it was also a direct clue pointing our attention here to this painting, specifically something to do with the eyes.”

“So the clue refers to their eyes?” said Lucia. She seemed more excited than scared for the first time this evening.

Harriet nodded. “I believe so — look in their eyes.”

Lucia stepped back in awe as she stared at the dozens of people, animals, birds, angels, demons and monsters in the enormous painting. “There must be hundreds of eyes in this picture!”

“Thousands, but I think our search is over,” Harry said.

Lucia turned to face him, eyes wide and expectant. “You found it?”

“I think so — I was thinking about what you said about Adam in the left-hand panel, Harriet, and how he seems to be looking directly across the whole painting until his sightline meets with this character’s eyes.”

“He’s the Tree Man,” Harriet said. “A very complicated piece of imagery — some argue the Tree Man is a future Adam — but hollowed out.”

“Nice,” Lucia said.

Harry nodded. “And he’s looking right back at Adam. I’m not big on art symbolism, but it strikes me that if that theory is correct then they are beholding each other.”

“You do listen to me, brother!”

Harry ignored her comment. “As I was saying, the young Adam is beholding an old, hollowed-out version of himself while the old, hollowed-out version…”

Lucia gasped. “…while the older version is beholding the younger, beautiful version — in other words beauty is in the eye of the beholder!”

“And not just beauty either — take a close look in his eye.”

Lucia stood on tiptoes and peered into the painting. “Ay dios mio! There’s something in the eye under the paint.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Harry said.

“What do you see?” Harriet said, her voice full of excitement. “Damn, I wish I was there!”

“You wouldn’t think it’s possible,” Harry said, “but there’s something under the paint.”

“It’s very possible,” Harriet said. “Bosch was notorious for working very fast and using very thick blobs of gloopy paint, especially in small, fine detail like eyes and so on.”

“Well, we’ll soon get to the bottom of it now,” Harry said, pulling a coin from his pocket.

“Wait!” Harriet cried out. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing what’s under the paint.”

“You cannot vandalize this painting! This is one of the most famous works of art in the world.”

“Just watch me.”

“Yes, just watch him!” Lucia said with a smile on her lips.

Harry pushed the coin into the paint of the eye and hooked out a small black square.

Lucia leaned in and stared at the tiny object in his hand. “What is it — plastic?”

“I don’t believe it,” said Harry.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake will someone tell me what is going on?” Harriet said.

“It’s not plastic — it’s silicon. It’s a NAND chip.”

“A what?”

“Negative-AND. It’s a logic gate that performs a Boolean function in electronics.”

“Are you still speaking in English, Harry?” Harriet said.

“Now he’s speaking my language,” Lucia said.

Harry said, “It’s a chip, probably from a mobile phone, and Reyes didn’t go to these lengths to hide it because he was bored.”

“But why would he hide it here?” Lucia asked. “When anyone could find it?”

“Because he was a genius,” Harriet said.

“I don’t understand,” said Lucia.

“Your man Pablo chose this painting not only because of its symbolic value, but because it was totally restored in the year 2000. He knew it wouldn’t be touched again for decades, perhaps centuries.”

“And being a security guard he could see it every night, just by looking at the painting,” Lucia said, tears coming to her eyes.

“Whatever it is,” Harry said, “someone took his life for it, and now we owe it to him to…”

Lucia cried out, “Harry!”

He moved to turn in her direction but before he was halfway there a heavy hunting knife slammed into the center of the painting a few inches from his face.