Prophecy. An ARKANE thriller. (Book 2) (25 page)

Morgan delved further into the database to find more information about the life of the artist. The image was from a woodcut print, one of a series that Durer made in his workshop in Nuremberg, Germany, not far from the borders of the Czech Republic. It was from a series about Revelation, each image an intricate portrayal of the events of John’s apocalypse. She pulled up another virtual window and compared the dates of where the Devil’s Bible had been kept. Could Durer have been in the same place?
 

After some searching, Morgan found that the Devil's Bible had been at the monastery of Broumov in the Czech Republic between 1477 and 1593. As one of the largest medieval illuminated manuscripts, it would have been quite the tourist attraction. Durer had also spent four years between 1490 and 1494 roaming Europe in what was known as the 'wanderjahre', a time when artists went to learn from other craftsman in a parallel to the modern gap year. There were no detailed records of his travels but his apocalypse series was made soon after his return. Clearly what he saw on that trip affected him greatly. But did he take the pages, Morgan wondered?
 

She touched the image of the four horsemen and it grew in size so she could gaze into the eyes of death. Durer’s prints were scattered around the world but the original woodblocks and related material were held in the Staatliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe, an art museum in Germany. Morgan turned and walked up the stairs out of the library and into the bright Oxford day which dissolved in front of her as she left the virtual world. She and Jake needed to make another trip.
 

Staatliche Kunsthalle, Karlsruhe, Germany. 5.06pm
 

After some wrangling, Marietti had arranged for Morgan and Jake to examine the original Durer woodblocks in situ at the State Gallery and they arrived just before closing time when only a few tourists remained. The sculptured facade of the gallery was flanked by perfectly coiffed mini trees, the bright green a contrast against cool cream stone as they walked up the front steps.
 

Morgan had been reading about Durer on the plane. It seemed that he may not have made the woodblocks himself but designed the images then handed them over for a master craftsman to cut the blocks. Part of the wood had been chipped away leaving raised sections for the ink. The block was then used to print onto paper or other mediums to form an edition of the design and could be used multiple times. Indeed, Durer had released a number of editions of the apocalypse prints which had brought him fame and wealth in fifteenth century Europe. If they were to find clues to the missing pages, it must be with the physical blocks themselves.
 

At the security check, they were asked to give up their weapons. Jake argued with the guards but they were persistent, and in the end, their guns were stowed in the lockbox for later retrieval. Finally, they were shown into a study room by the Curator. On the table, fifteen woodblocks were laid out, a spotlight overhead giving the ink stained shapes an ebony sheen. Morgan was intoxicated to be so close to the work of a genius craftsman.
 

"You have some time now to examine the blocks and then I will return to answer your questions," the Curator said with a thick German accent. She turned at the door. "Please ensure you wear gloves at all times when handling the blocks. The security guard is just outside."

She walked out.

“This is pretty exciting," Morgan said. "How do you guys have access to such treasures as these?"
 

“One of Marietti's little tricks,” Jake replied. “The job of Director is all about who you know and what secrets you can manipulate in order to gain admission to Europe's finest. Shall we?"
 

With mock gallantry, he waved Morgan towards the table. They pulled on their white gloves and started to examine the blocks.
 

"What exactly are we looking for?" Jake asked, his brows creased in concentration.
 

"If the missing pages were taken by Durer as inspiration for his apocalypse series, then he must have hidden them somewhere. Since these blocks bought him money and fame, perhaps they are the key to finding the pages themselves."
 

"This one is pretty grisly, but incredible detail." Jake pointed down at a block that showed John the apostle being boiled in a vat of oil, a man basting him with a ladle. Flames appeared to crackle under the cauldron and a jeering court looked on from turreted castles as the saint prayed for deliverance.
 

“Incredibly, John survived that to go on and write the book of Revelation,” Morgan said.
 

Jake picked up the block and looked at it more closely.
 

"Perhaps there’s some kind of hidden mechanism in the block itself? They’re thick enough to hold a compartment."
 

Morgan scanned the table and found the four horsemen scene. It was more dramatic in physical form and the relief of the carving made Death and Hades almost leap from the block into the room with them.
 

"This is the one I'm interested in. Why did Durer draw this specifically from the book?"
 

With gentle hands, Morgan picked it up and turned it around against the light, looking for a hidden seam. There was a faint line that ran around the edge of the block but it had been rubbed with resin or a filler of some kind and could barely be seen.

“What do you think of this?” Morgan showed it to Jake. “Could there be something in here?”
 

He traced the seam with his finger.
 

“We’d have to split the block open to get inside. That would just slightly break all the rules of the agreement we’re here under.” He smiled at her, his corkscrew scar crinkling. “But it’s not like we haven’t destroyed things together before.”
 

A flash of memory and Morgan was back in the Iranian church of Mary of Tabriz hacking away at an ancient mural to find one of the Pentecost stones. She laughed.
 

“Maybe there are some tools around here we could use.”
 

Suddenly, they heard shouting in the hallway, then gunfire and screams.
 

“I guess Thanatos did the same research you did,” Jake said. “We need to get out of here. Maybe they don’t know exactly what they’re looking for.”
 

Morgan took the four horsemen block and they quietly ran out of the back door into another gallery behind the workroom. It was high ceilinged, hung with paintings from the great German artists with wooden benches arrayed so people could stop and lose themselves in the art. A darkly crafted fireplace was laid ready to heat the place in a freezing winter. Morgan and Jake ran the length of the room to a staircase, ducking in just before the door slammed open behind them. The sound of running feet could be heard resounding in the gallery as they started down the stairs.
 

Then there was silence behind them. Jake held up his hand and they both stopped, careful not to make a sound that would give away their position. A woman’s voice spoke stridently into the quiet. She had a faint American accent but as someone who had learned English as a foreign language.
 

“I have the curator and five other hostages here. If you give yourselves up now and bring the block to me, they will go free. I will count to ten and then the curator dies if you’re not here to take her place.”
 

A muffled scream and then the thud of a weapon against flesh. Morgan immediately turned to run back up the stairs. Jake grabbed her wrist.
 

“This is bigger than just those people,” he hissed. “We have to get the block away from here.”
 

She pulled her hand from his grip.
 

“We put those people in danger, Jake. It’s our duty, and you know that. We’ll work something out. We always do.”
 

Jake shook his head with resignation but followed her back up the stairs. Morgan walked into the gallery with her hands held up in submission, one clutching the horsemen woodblock. Jake followed close behind. A tall slender woman with copper curls tumbling around her shoulders stood surrounded by men in black, their weapons raised. Six people knelt on the gallery floor, hands behind their heads. The woman walked towards them, her spike heels clicking on the parquet floor. In tight red leather trousers and a sheer lace black top that covered her arms to the wrist, she oozed sexual confidence with an edge of unstable violence. A handgun was tucked in her belt.
 

“I’ll take that.” She plucked the woodblock from Morgan’s hand.
 

“I’m Natasha El-Behery and you must be Jake Timber,” she said, stopping in front of Jake. In her tall heels she was eye level with him. She rested her palms on his chest and then ran them slowly down to his waist, unbuckling his belt, holding his eyes the entire time. Morgan could hear Jake’s breathing become rougher at her flirtation. Then she stopped.
 

“I think I’ll save you for later.” She turned and walked back down the gallery towards the hostages. “Hold them,” she commanded and several of the men stepped in to restrain Jake and Morgan. Natasha pulled her gun, walked up behind the gallery curator and with one shot to the back of her neck, executed her.
 

“No,” cried Morgan, straining against her captors as the body thumped to the floor and the other captives groaned and wept in fear. The stink of emptied bowels flooded the room. Natasha stepped to the next hostage.
 

“Please,” said Morgan. “What do you want from us? Just leave them alone.”
 

“I want the pages. Where are they?”

“I think they’re in that woodblock,” Morgan replied. “We didn’t get far enough to be sure before you arrived.”

Natasha tucked the gun back in her waistband and looked down at the block. She turned it over.
 

“Go and find some tools,” she said to one of the men. Natasha placed the woodblock on one of the benches. She looked at Morgan. “You will open it and find the pages. I will kill another person every five minutes and if you’re wrong, then they all die. I will not go back empty-handed.”

“Did you take the Devil’s Bible from us in Palermo?” Jake asked.
 

Twisting a lock of hair around her fingers, Natasha replied slowly.
 

“I should have come and taken it personally from you, then we might have had this little meeting earlier.”
 

Morgan felt a flash of anger at Jake as he seemed transfixed by this woman. Could she seriously be jealous at a time like this? The man returned with several chisels and a hammer and one of the guards pushed Morgan forward to the bench.
 

“Five minutes.” Natasha clicked a button on her watch. She raised her gun and fired imaginary bullets at the hostages. “Or bang, bang.”
 

Morgan tried to calm her breathing and push the anger aside. Her hands were shaking. She could hear the labored breathing and quiet weeping of the hostages. Natasha’s heels clicked backwards and forwards as she paced. Morgan smoothed the back of the woodblock, feeling the seams. Selecting one of the chisels, she began to tap at the slender crack, trying to coax it open. It wouldn’t budge. She hit it harder, at an angle, trying to drive a wedge in the gap. It moved a little, demonstrating that there must be a cavity inside. It was agony to try to prize it open without damaging the block. Over five hundred years of history; it seemed sacrilegious to be breaking it open like a common object.
 

“One minute left,” Natasha said, walking towards the hostages. “Now which one do I choose next?”
 

Her voice was almost a caress and in that second, Morgan’s anger grew white hot. Nothing mattered except finishing this. Her eyes darted around looking for something to use. Next to the fireplace was an axe in a glass case. Morgan leapt for the axe and broke the glass with the woodcut. Natasha spun around, her weapon raised as the hostages screamed in terror. A guard fired at Morgan defensively, but Jake pushed him aside and the bullets went wide, thumping into the fireplace. Morgan threw the wooden block down and with a blow of the axe, split it open as Jake punched the guard and was dragged off him by another.
 

“Hold your fire. Silence.” Natasha shouted into the chaos, authority ringing in her tone. She walked with gun outstretched to Morgan’s side and held the snub-nosed weapon against her temple. Morgan’s breathing was fast from the exertion and she closed her eyes waiting for the shot.
 

“Well, well. It seems Dr Sierra has found the pages,” Natasha said.

Morgan looked down at the block. The axe was still embedded in it, but the crack had opened enough to show a sheaf of parchment folded tightly into a space inside. She looked over at Jake and saw his relief reflected her own. She had known he would act to protect her, trusting her partner even as she knew she had acted rashly. But it had paid off again. How many more chances did she have?
 

“Open it,” Natasha said, standing further back out of direct reach.
 

Morgan bent and wrenched the handle of the axe out.