ARKANE Thrillers Books 7-9

Chapter 2

2

HISSING FILLED HIS CONSCIOUSNESS, the head of the viper bobbing and weaving as it reared to strike. He tried to back away but he was cornered in the tunnel, the rock trapping him. The snake darted forward and sharp pain blossomed on his skin, setting his blood aflame as he felt the fangs sink into his flesh.

Jake Timber woke with a start, heart racing, sweat on his skin, breath coming hard. He ripped the eye mask from his face with a gasp.

"Are you alright, sir?" An air stewardess leaned over him.

Jake shook his head, clearing the vision of the nightmare. "Yes … I'm fine, thank you."

"Then would you please fasten your seatbelt?"

She smiled and walked on to attend to other passengers as the announcement came over the tannoy.

"Cabin crew, prepare for landing."

Jake looked out of the window as the plane descended through the clouds. He craved coffee, but it would have to wait now. He couldn't seem to get enough rest at the moment, and he knew his body still suffered the residual poison from the snake bite he'd suffered in Israel on the last mission. He rubbed at his arm; the puncture marks had faded, but the memory still lingered. The nest of snakes deep in the caves of Sodom appeared in his nightmares now, mingling with his memories of Africa.

His ARKANE partner, Morgan Sierra, was still in Israel, sitting shiva in mourning for a friend who had been lost in their last battle. Jake pushed down the guilt he felt for leaving Morgan alone, for not being the partner she needed. Instead, he had been medically evacuated from Israel as she pursued the Key to the Gates of Hell on her own. But mourning was something she needed to do alone, and Jake had welcomed the chance to come to New York on what was supposed to be a quick mission – a favor for the local office, which was busy at the best of times.

He needed the distraction.

Jake pulled the smart phone from his bag and scrolled through the files that Martin Klein had sent. There was a special exhibition later today at the Cloisters, part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in northern Manhattan. The central item on display was a cross of curious origin and unique carvings, hidden for generations but now on show. The Cloisters Cross, as it was known, had come up in some chatter ARKANE had detected in an extremist forum they monitored on the dark net. The Arcane Religious Knowledge And Numinous Experience Institute was a secret research center for investigating supernatural mysteries across all religions, but recently it was the rise of Christian fundamentalism that had raised red flags. This cross was supposedly connected to a relic, rumored to be the blood of a dark angel, and it had attracted the attention of a number of fringe groups.

The museum of medieval artifacts was not considered a high-risk location, but the New York office had requested a European agent on the ground, someone who could blend into the medieval academic milieu. Jake had happily volunteered, needing something to keep his mind off Morgan, although he was usually more at home in leather than tweed.

If he was honest, this was also about testing himself and getting his confidence back again. A string of injuries had plagued Jake's last few missions, and he found himself questioning his ability in the field. He was even considering whether he should stay with ARKANE; whether Morgan would be better with another partner. He hoped this time away would help him with that decision.

Walking out of the security area a little later, Jake scanned the rows of people for a sign with his name on it. A little boy rushed from behind the barrier, his arms raised high.

"Daddy!" he shouted, leaping into the arms of a man nearby who bent to embrace his son. Jake couldn't help but smile, despite the pang that clenched his heart. Airports were always emotional places for those without family.

He was supposed to be met by one of the local agents, but he didn't know who it was going to be. Jake knew few of them by name, as he'd been focused mainly on Europe and Africa so far in his career.

This would be his first time working with ARKANE stateside. Although London was the main ARKANE office, New York was a big local hub for the investigation of religious and supernatural mysteries in North America. The public face of ARKANE was academic, a research institute for religious objects, but the reality was more complicated – a battle waged daily between the forces of good and evil that most would consider myth. There were certainly enough cases here to keep the team occupied.

As Jake scanned the crowd, he caught sight of a stunning mixed-race woman, her black hair long and shiny, her dark skin almost luminous. She smiled at him and he couldn't help but return the greeting. He was surprised when she held his eyes, waving as she weaved between the crowds of people and approached him. She wore a navy blue tailored suit that suggested she worked in the halls of bureaucracy, but still managed to flatter her curves.

"I'm Naomi Locasto," she said, holding out a slim hand. "I'm with the ARKANE team here in New York, and I'll be working with you today."

Jake took her hand, shaking it as he tried to stop himself staring. Her unusual features gave her the look of a supermodel, her full lips African American, her dark eyes and arched eyebrows almost Latino and her straight black hair a shade of Native American. Welcome to New York, Jake thought. Perhaps this trip would be more than just a distraction.

"We've had a crazy morning already," Naomi said, as she led Jake towards the pickup area. "A woman was crucified and burned to death on the High Line before dawn. No one has claimed it yet, but the police notified us because of the religious overtones of the murder."

"Who was the victim?" Jake asked as he climbed into the passenger side of the car.

Naomi frowned. "We can't seem to trace her. The body was burned beyond recognition. There's nothing at the scene to identify her and no matching missing persons record. All we know is that she was an older woman who hadn't given birth, and that she died horribly. To be honest, we thought about canceling our attendance at the Cloisters exhibition today, but since you're here …"

"I'm happy to go alone," Jake said. "It's just a monitoring exercise as I understand it, and it's a good chance to brush up on my medieval history."

"You don't really look like an academic," Naomi said, glancing sideways as she pulled out into the freeway traffic headed towards Manhattan. Jake could see she noticed his corkscrew scar, just one of the many that knitted his body together. "Can I ask where you're from? Your accent has a hint of something not quite British."

"I'm from South Africa," Jake said. "But I've lived and worked in England a long time now. Archbishop Desmond Tutu once called my country the Rainbow People of God, but these days it's more of a shattered prism. There are engrained attitudes on so many sides that I struggle to be there … plus, there's no one left to go back for anymore." Jake stared out of the window, surprised to be sharing such intimate details about his homeland with a complete stranger. But something about this woman set him at ease. He looked back at her. "Besides, I prefer a culture of blended people, those whose history has allowed for more intermingling over time, and London gives me that."

Naomi smiled.

"That's why I love New York too," she said. "In this melting pot of cultures, relationships naturally happen between people of all walks of life, like my own blended family. My maternal grandparents are Eastern European Jewish and African American, and on my father's side I have Cherokee and Puerto Rican blood." She smiled with pride. "I rise above definable race categories but in this town, that makes me pretty normal. I love that."

"I think you'd like London, too."

Naomi glanced over, her dark eyes holding a hint of flirtation. "Maybe I'll come visit sometime."

A beat of silence and Jake turned to gaze out the window again as they headed into town.

There was a strange sense of the familiar as they drove through the city. New York was one big movie set, where the fire hydrants and yellow taxis immediately made the visitor feel at home, as they had been seen so many times before on screen. The street signs, the accents, the architecture – it was all familiar and oddly comforting.

Jake watched a pedestrian traffic sign shift to WALK and a wave of suits crossed the road, eyes fixed forward in big-city anonymity. Don't look at me and I won't look at you. As in London, you could be anyone in New York, and no one would bat an eyelash. The dwellers of this urban jungle were protective of the unusual and extreme, the right to stand out as sacred as that of making cold hard cash.

Naomi looked at her watch as they drove onto Manhattan Island.

"We'll go straight to the museum," she said. "We don't want to miss the tour before the grand unveiling of the cross."

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the driveway leading up to the Cloisters museum and gardens.

The complex was part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but the Central Park location meant that the latter was always packed and busy. In comparison, this was an oasis of calm at Fort Tryon Park in the very north of Manhattan, a collection of medieval art in a rebuilt monastery overlooking the Hudson River. It was a surprising slice of European heritage in the modern city.

The architects had managed a coherence in the structure even though the buildings were made up of several different cloisters, rectangular courtyards for prayer and contemplation. The strong Romanesque style of the eleventh and twelfth centuries was characterized by round arches and barrel vaults, while the Gothic made itself known through pointed arches and freer ornamentation. It was a kind of architectural Frankenstein, constructed out of bits of history from French and Spanish monasteries, the effect one of unusual style elements blended by a passion for the medieval world.

The bright sun cut through Jake's fatigue and he closed his eyes for a second, letting it warm his face as they pulled into the carpark. In these little moments of calm, it was good to just be grateful for a warm day.

"Stay there a moment," Naomi said, getting out of the car.

Jake opened his eyes to see her walking towards a silver van selling coffee. He smiled. Some of the places he traveled for ARKANE made it hard to get a good brew, but at least here in New York, it was pretty much guaranteed.

Naomi returned with two steaming cups and a couple of pastries in a bag.

"You're a lifesaver," Jake said. He took a bite of the crumbling sweetness and sipped his coffee, starting to feel more human again. "So tell me why you're babysitting me for this little trip?"

"I'm a linguist," Naomi said, her dark eyes fixed on Jake. "There are over 800 languages spoken in New York, and many of the religious and supernatural occurrences require language expertise. Of course, I don't speak them all, but I love a challenge so I tend to get assigned to most cases in one way or another. The cross we're here to see has an unknown script on it that can't be translated. Some say it's a form of corrupted Hebrew, a mistake from the Middle Ages, but I want to see it for myself. To be honest, I'm not usually in the field – I'm office bound, but none of the other agents were up for this assignment."

"The notes I was sent imply the cross was originally British. Is that right?" Jake said. He took a bite of the second pastry.

Naomi nodded. "The provenance has never been proved, and the British government didn't buy it originally because the art dealer wouldn't reveal his source. But one scholar suggests it was originally from the Abbey of Bury St Edmunds, one of the wealthiest monasteries in England."

"Until Henry VIII dissolved them all, of course," Jake said, wiping the crumbs on a napkin. "Let's go see this marvel."