The Key

79

Strong winds over the Atlantic had pushed the white dove on the tail of the DC-9 swiftly on its flight towards the furthest edge of Europe. It landed at Gaziantep International a little ahead of schedule at two fifty a.m.

At three minutes past three, a loader pulled up to the plane and raised its platform to the passenger door. Two things were loaded on to it: a box, roughly the same shape and size as a coffin, and a large, blond man dressed in black, who laid his hand flat on the box, as though he were making a pledge on an oversized Bible. The loader lowered them to a waiting van, its rear doors already open, the key in the ignition. Unassisted, the man slid the box off the loading platform and into the back of the van, then slammed the doors and headed for the driver’s seat. He turned the key in the ignition and the robotic voice of the sat-nav gave him the first direction of the pre-programmed route. Four minutes later he was easing the van through the security gate and on to the service road that ran round the perimeter fence. It took him to the main road leading away from the airport and up into the mountains towards the city of Ruin.

He made it through the mountain pass and entered the outskirts of the city at exactly half past three. The flat voice from the dashboard guided him on to the great wide Eastern Boulevard then on to the inner ring-road that circled the old town and took him to the northeastern section, known as the Umbrasian Quarter. Nine minutes later he had reached his destination.

Dick eased the van into the warehouse built on the lower side of the old town wall, reversed it into a loading bay and cut the engine. Heavy vehicles were not allowed into the old town, so the tons of food and merchandise that had to be carted up to all the cafes and gift shops each day were delivered using the funicular. Resembling a large, slow rollercoaster, the funicular ran directly through the old town wall and up the side of the hill in a concealed stone tunnel that started in the main goods warehouse.

Checking the area was deserted, Dick slipped out of the driver’s seat, grabbed a hand pallet truck and opened the back of the van. He slid the coffin-shaped box on to the truck and wheeled it over to the solitary carriage that had been left lined up by the entrance to the tunnel with its side door open and ready. When he’d loaded the box inside he wedged his large frame into the personnel section at the rear of the carriage and opened an email on his phone to reread the instructions he had been sent.

Flipping open the safety guard on the control panel, he punched the third of three red buttons. The carriage slowly started to move, pulled along the track by a ratcheted chain, the soft rubber tyres and electric engine making hardly any noise in the stillness of the night. It moved into the dimly lit tunnel then started to climb, all the way up to the third and final stop, right at the top of the old town where the embankment encircled the base of the Citadel.

The time was three forty-one.

Dragan clung to the rough wall of the tribute cave and looked down through the hatch like a ragged bird of prey. He saw no movement, only the sodium-lit streets of the old town spreading out below him like a luminous yellow stain.

He could feel the cold of the night seeping into his weakened flesh, but he could also feel something akin to the first hint of rain on the breeze or the sun coming out from behind cold clouds to warm him. Just as the ocean responded to the pull of the moon the cells of his body were reacting to the approach of the Sacrament.

Soon it would be back, flooding the mountain with its cleansing force and radiating through his body, restoring health to the pitiful thing he had become.

Behind him he heard the scuff of a shoe on the stone floor as the two red-cloaked guards waited by the great spindle of the lifting gear. He had played on their fears and appealed to their ambition by promising to elevate them to the ranks of the Sancti in exchange for their help.

Return the Sacrament, he had told them, and everything will be restored to the way it was.

The Citadel, the Sancti — and him.