Book of JUDAS

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Basle, Switzerland

It was approaching eight in the evening when the plane touched down on the runway at Basle Airport. Twenty minutes later Philip was walking through the exit gate in the terminal building in the direction of the taxi rank. The driver in the cab at the front of the queue jumped out to help him with the suitcases and together they loaded them into the back of the estate car.

“Can you take me to Hotel Central?” asked Philip tiredly, sitting in the passenger seat alongside the driver, who grunted acknowledgement as they nosed into the traffic.

The hotel he had selected was in the Kuchengasse District, between the main railway station and the city centre. The hotel itself was comparatively inexpensive and functional but the location was perfect for his next day’s work. On the flight, Philip had absorbed some of the contents of Bairstow’s folder and he knew which part of town would best suit them. At that time of the evening, the journey from the airport was quick and on arrival, the courteous reception staff guided him to his room. Philip went straight to the window and pulled the curtain to one side. His room was on the eighth floor at the front of the hotel and looking out beyond the flower basket on the ledge, he could see down into the dimly lit square below. Letting go of the curtain, he checked his watch and decided to go down and find the hotel bar. It’s too early to go to bed, he thought, and besides I can use the time to go through all Bairstow’s information.

He picked up the folder and, ignoring the lift, took a spiralling staircase to the ground floor lobby. The hotel bar, which was not very large but truly continental in style, was in a front room off the reception. Philip immediately noticed the plush velvet carpet chintzy, pink-washed walls and dainty tables topped with chequered tablecloths to match, each adorned with a white lace centrepiece. The bar itself corralled off a corner in an arc lined by cushioned stools, while the shelves on every wall were densely adorned by painted porcelain ornaments, mainly dancing figurines. It’s more like a doll’s house than a boozer! he thought.

It was quiet, though. Just a few lone drinkers absorbed in their business papers and airport novels – so the black-waistcoated bartender jumped to attention as Philip approached. Taking his drink, he sat at the table in the corner where he had the most privacy.

Philip placed the folder down on the table and began to examine Bairstow’s documents and the other contents. On the flight he had already ascertained that the two scrolls were housed in a safe deposit box at Bank Ehinger in Freie Strasse. In order to access the safe deposit box a key was required – and the ever-efficient Felix had not neglected to include it. Philip held up the transparent plastic bag and peered at the long metal key inside.

Bairstow’s notes were succinct and comprehensive. He had been very thorough arranging every detail, as Philip discovered as he read on.

Bank Ehinger had already been notified that he and Simon were the registered holders of the safe deposit key. All that was required was to establish his identity beyond question and access would be granted. Philip made a mental note that he would call the bank as soon as they opened in the morning to get the first available appointment.

Philip flicked through the sheets of paper occasionally stopping to register one of Bairstow’s salient details. Apparently, the scrolls are kept in two vacuum-sealed metal tubes about three feet long. He looked up, considering the implications. If I end up flying tomorrow night I’m going to need to repack them somehow, he thought. They mustn’t attract the attention of Customs.

Continuing down the page, he noted that the safe deposit box also contained an old worn notebook that his grandfather had used when tracking down the locations of the bone fragments. Philip paused to imagine the lengths to which the “Satanica” would go for such information. They could possibly be tracing our movements now, he thought anxiously. The prospect filled him with dread and he silently wished for the next day to come as soon as possible so he could finish with the bank and fly out. The more complicated the trail he left for them to follow the better, he considered.

Philip took a sip of his drink and read on. They had both photocopied the next section earlier at London Airport so they could glance through it on their journeys. Flicking through the sheets, he found that they dealt mainly with the whereabouts of Anna Nikolaidis in Greece. According to the notes she was based in a village just north of Athens where she was working on an archaeological site.

Below the details of her location Bairstow had included a brief description of her. Shame there’s no photo attached, he thought as he read the paragraph in the notes: “Twenty-nine years old, single, dedicated to her profession, already considered to be an expert in her field and well educated”.

Philip checked his watch; his brother should have landed in Athens by now.

He recalled his discussion with Simon before leaving Heathrow on the subject of what they should tell Anna and how they should phrase the news. “Don’t waste unnecessary time,” he had repeated to Simon.

“Tell her everything but do it quickly… We’ll both feel a lot safer once we’re out of Europe,” he had added, a little unnecessarily.

Simon had agreed. He would tell her the truth about her own grandfather, Demetri, as well as the story of the Book of Judas. After that she could make up her own mind whether or not she was willing to go with them.

On the photocopied notes that Simon had taken, there were details of some confidential phone numbers that Bairstow had provided. If Anna didn’t want to play a part in their search for the Book – and who could blame her, thought Philip – the telephone numbers were organised so that she could access her share of the inheritance without too much difficulty.

Philip put the notes down and scanned the bar – the pink room was now virtually empty. Exhaustion suddenly catching up with him, he drained the dregs of his glass and headed for his room, where he dialled his brother’s mobile phone. Simon picked up after a couple of rings and after swapping details of where they were staying they agreed to talk again the next day when they knew how their plans would develop. Signing off with his brother, Philip hesitated before calling his fiancée Heather in New York. He had no idea how to break the news of his decision to her. She would be annoyed and disappointed at first – of that he was certain. But he also knew he could persuade her it was the right thing to do. In the end he was saved the trouble. The answering machine clicked in and as calmly as he could he relayed the news of his decision to help his brother and finished by promising to call soon.

Before getting ready for bed, he picked up the phone one more time and spoke to the young girl on Reception. She repeated the time of his early morning call in her singsong French accent. Eight o’clock for breakfast should be fine, he thought.

The next morning, Philip arose with the alarm and showered before descending the stairs for breakfast. On the way, he wandered up to the reception desk and asked the man on duty for the banks’ usual opening times. He smiled at Bairstow’s unfailing thoroughness as the attendant confirmed it was nine o’clock, and then ambled across the lobby to where the buffet breakfast was being served.

Pouring himself a coffee, he scanned the faces in the room. He recognised an elderly couple from the night before but saw no one sinister or out of the ordinary. Over pains au chocolat, he stopped browsing through a Swiss newspaper to check his watch. At last, he thought, standing up and making for the telephone kiosk in the lobby. He was impatient to make the call to the bank. What if for some reason beyond the bank’s closed? The sooner I find out the better, he thought to himself.

Philip looked at the section of Bairstow’s notes with the bank’s telephone number and the person to contact – Bertrand Mendy, the manager in charge of the bank’s security deposit boxes.

A few minutes after nine o’clock, Philip put through the call to Bank Ehinger and the receptionist put him straight through to Bernard Mendy. In his competent, if unpolished French, Philip confirmed an appointment time and the documentation required by the bank to establish his identity. Excellent, he thought, exhilarated with the news as he strolled back to the breakfast lounge. Taking a second cup of coffee, he sat at a table out of earshot and called Simon to give him the good news.

The reception on the line was poor, mainly because Simon was travelling in a poorly connected area but Philip still managed to get his points across. He told him the meeting had been set for three-thirty that afternoon at their head office in Freie Strasse. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get an earlier time – the manager had informed him that for security purposes only one appointment was allowed at a time, so everyone had to wait their turn. In return, he heard that Simon was already on his way to meet Anna Nikolaidis before the line crackled and went dead.

Philip decided to use the time he had in the morning to go for a walk and organise his onward flight schedule. Picking up his blazer, he walked out of the hotel’s front door into the bright, crisp morning. The first thing he noticed was how clean and fresh the air was. Taking the directions given to him by the porter, he found the travel agency and checked the timetables to Athens. There was a flight leaving that evening and he reserved a seat before heading back to the hotel.

Shortly before two o’clock, Philip again left the hotel and walked to the nearby taxi rank. Settling into the taxi, he asked the driver to take him to the street where the bank was located. He knew they would be early and once they had found the building, he jumped out, paid the driver and picked a street café whose tables and chairs spread across the pavement under an expansive red and white canopy. From here, he had a perfect view across the busy road of the bank’s impressive-looking entrance.

At the appropriate time, he crossed the road and ambled into the bank’s very imperious, traditional lobby where a smart young lady executive looked up at him, smiling, as he approached her desk. She listened intently as Philip told her his appointment time and whom he had come to see. As he finished, she asked for his passport and disappeared around the back to make the necessary authentication. A few minutes later, Bertrand Mendy crossed the marble-tiled reception hall to greet him with a broad, welcoming smile.

“Philip, I’m Bertrand Mendy,” he said, offering his hand. After a handshake and the usual courtesies, Mendy returned Philip’s passport, confirming that everything was in order.

“Please follow me,” he said, gesturing the way with his hand. “I trust you’ve brought the key?”

Philip held up the key and Mendy nodded. He led the way to a sturdy-looking lift, which descended slowly into the basement of the building. Stepping out, the change in surroundings was so extreme it felt as if they were in a totally different building, the old traditional wood panelling replaced by a functional, hospital-like corridor. Philip matched Mendy’s purposeful stride as the bare, immaculate white walls turned to the right and they approached an enormous safe door extending from floor to ceiling. From where Philip was standing, he could see that all the angles were covered by close circuit televisions that fed the information back to Security and recorded their every movement.

Mendy secretively entered the safe’s code on a touch-screen panel on the wall and the heavy door slowly revolved open. Inside, a metal staircase led down to the security deposit room floor, which was the height and size of a squash court. As Philip followed down the steps, Bertrand Mendy delighted in detailing the safety features they had incorporated in the room, making it impregnable even from a heavy artillery attack. The concrete reinforcement surrounding the chamber was over thirty feet thick in places and fitted with electronic sensors that provided an early warning system for any underground tremors.

“This way,” said Mendy, as he led him down the outer, right-hand aisle. Below their feet, as an extra security precaution was a see-through metal grille elevated a couple of feet above the true floor level. On either side of the aisle were the deposit boxes. Like the front of an apothecary chest, the wall was covered in square metal drawers. Locating the identification number belonging to Sir Lawrence Trenchard, Mendy inserted his key, and Philip’s, into the outer flap. The metal shutter opened and he pulled out a long metal box over three feet in length, which Mendy carried to a small box-like chamber that served as a viewing room.

“Take your time,” he said, placing the box on the table. “I’ll be waiting outside the door.”

Philip lifted the lid to reveal two long metal tubes and a box at one end. Opening the latter first, he discovered his grandfather’s brown paper-covered notebook, presumably containing information on the whereabouts of the missing “arkheynia”. He flicked the pages and saw that it was indeed full of his grandfather’s handwriting.

Philip picked up one of the cylinders, checking each end to see where it opened. Carefully, he twisted what seemed to be a screw-top. At first it didn’t budge, but with steadily applied pressure something yielded with a sudden pop and hiss… Air invading the vacuum canister as he broke the seal. He tipped the tube and then stared, mesmerised, as the ancient papyrus parchment fell on to the table.

This is what it’s all about, thought Philip, as he unrolled the ancient scroll. This is what he found all those years ago. It was the scroll containing the map of Judea and the bible lands. The detail was incredible but the written names and references in early Hebrew meant nothing to him. I wonder how the “arkheynia” point to the location of the labyrinth, wondered Philip, as he traced his finger across the map; it had a “Hessian-cloth” feel about it. Alongside him was the other tube, which hissed again as he punctured the seal and the rolled up parchment flopped on top the map. As he had imagined this one was the scroll telling the story of the Book of Judas, and how to negotiate the final steps of the labyrinth. He unrolled it over the top of the map and, though conscious of the need to be quick, he paused to look at it in silence and wonder for a moment. There was something ominous and darkly foreboding about the unintelligible black script.

Time to go, he thought, snapping out of the trance. He rolled up the scrolls together and placed them in a single tube. Pushing the worn brown notebook into the inside pocket of his jacket, he turned to leave.

“Thank you for your help, Monsieur Mendy,” said Philip, stepping outside. “I have all I need. The metal tube on the table’s no longer required.”

Mendy nodded and entered the room. It took the bank executive a few moments to replace the empty security box and then lead the way back through the safe door. Once they were back upstairs in the more conventional environs of the reception hall he thanked him for his help and walked out into the street. Philip, carrying the metal cylinder under one arm, hailed the next taxi that passed.

Back in the hotel, Philip walked into his room and put the tube on the bed. On the way back in the taxi, he had been contemplating ways to store the parchments for the onward journey. There were very few options. The scrolls had to travel with him and there was no way he could use the metal tube – it would attract far too much attention from the Customs officials.

This is no way to treat such ancient relics, he thought, as he folded the parchment, but what choice do I have? His concern was that the creases could easily become tears but he was pleasantly surprised to find out how malleable the material was. Pressed flat, the ancient manuscripts fitted neatly into the pocket lining of the suitcase.

That’ll have to do for now, Philip looked down at his handiwork. I’ll have to find something more suitable when I get to Greece, he thought… Maybe Anna will have some ideas.

It was approaching late afternoon as he settled his hotel bill. The flight was not for a few hours but he decided it would be better to get to the airport early.

Marching across the airport concourse, he felt pleased with his work and glad to be leaving Basle so soon. We may have a head start now but for how long? he thought. They’ll be on our trail soon. He knew it wasn’t always going to be this easy. Three hours later he was flying over the Adriatic Sea on the way to Athens.