Darsan closed that file and opened Jade Zewinski’s. She boasted a remarkable career for someone her age with no family connections. She ranked in the top ten of her class at the military academy and did commando training, foreign intelligence, and two operations in the Middle East, followed by security in Afghanistan for visiting media and politicians. After that, she had been sent to Rome.
He went through another ten or so pages before a press clipping caught his attention. Her father had committed suicide after his business failed. Smiling, Darsan read the article twice. Apparently Jade Zewinski had at least one good reason to dislike the Freemasons. He closed the file and called his secretary.
17
A breeze carried the scent of the sea, which mingled with the fragrance of the pine trees. Five men and two women walked slowly, taking time to contemplate the beauty of the Croatian landscape just below the Hvar fortress. The tallest of them, a gray-haired man with a buzz cut, pointed to a small headland jutting out toward the sea, flanked by two crumbling stone walls rising from the rocky soil. To the left, near the cliff, a small chapel surrounded by three majestic yew trees bore a pale mineral sheen in the bright sunlight.
The group headed in the indicated direction, following an uphill path lined with aromatic herbs. It ended at a natural belvedere.
They sat down on a wooden bench facing the Adriatic Sea, which shimmered in the bright morning light.
One of them, a short sweaty man with a red face, turned to his neighbor and nodded toward the chapel, which was padlocked. “What a fabulous view. I’d love to live here. It’s perfect, an ode to the glory of nature. Why, then, did you leave that Christian building? We’ve owned this land forever and can do what we want with it.”
The gray-haired man sitting next to him smiled and patted his shoulder. His steely eyes were bright. “Patience. I assure you it is no longer in use, and I have set it aside for a rather special purpose. You will see, but first, let’s talk about what has brought us together. We now have the Tebah Stone, or at least it is in good hands. Sol should pick it up in Paris shortly. Unfortunately, the Rome operation was a failure. We don’t have the documents.”
Nobody reacted. Finally, a thin balding man with light brown eyes spoke up. “That’s regrettable. I remind you that we need three things to solve this mystery. The first has always been in our possession. The second is engraved on that Jewish stone, and the third, which you failed to get, remains in enemy hands. And now they will be on guard. The murders in Jerusalem and Rome bear our signature. That was your idea.”
“We will get them. I’ve already given the orders.”
“He’s right,” the short man chimed in. “I told you this operation could be dangerous and draw attention to us. What for? You and Sol have been leading us on a ghost hunt. Don’t forget that our enemies are powerful and have a sprawling network.”
“Enough. Let me remind you that the ritual surrounding their deaths fulfills a promise made by our ancestors.”
“I still think we are losing our focus with this folklore. We have more important goals. This is a minor operation.”
The man with the buzz cut glanced at the chapel, stood up, and softened his tone. “You’re right. I don’t know what came over me. The weather is excellent. Let’s not argue. I suggest we go commune in the chapel.”
The others stared at him, as if he had gone mad. He burst out laughing.
“Come with me. Let’s enter the house of Christ and his mother. It was once called the Chapel of Our Mother of the Passion.”
The group walked over to the chapel. The man with the buzz cut unlocked the door and opened it. The smell of wet stone and something indefinable struck them. The gray-haired man flipped a small switch, and three lights went on.
The inside of the church was simple, with whitewashed walls and restored stained-glass windows. A large wooden crucifix with Jesus wearing a crown of thorns reigned over the altar. It would have been a classic religious setting, were it not for the metal structure planted in front of the altar, a sarcophagus over six feet tall and shaped like a woman. Her body had generous breasts and hips, and flowing hair graced her serene face. The group immediately recognized what it was.
“The Iron Maiden!” they exclaimed, almost in unison.
Their guide led them to the strange object.
“Yes, my friends. One of our companions found this in the cellar of a castle near Munich. It was built in the fifteenth century and has been fully restored.”
A man with a British accent interrupted. “I saw something like that in a horror movie. I thought the filmmaker made it up.”
“Not at all. The maiden dates from medieval times in Germany, when Sainte Vehme’s courts were responsible for executing bad Christians and criminals. The jurisdiction behaved like a secret society with strange rites, a remnant of which stands before you.”
He pressed a hidden button on the side of the sarcophagus. With a click, the front, with the woman’s face and body, opened slowly, revealing rows of iron spikes.
“Amazing, isn’t it? The judges would place the sentenced soul in the sarcophagus and shut it, and the spikes would pierce the victim in precise places, including his vital organs. As you can see, two of the spikes are positioned to penetrate the eyes. The name ‘Iron Maiden’ pays homage to the Virgin Mother. These were very religious people.”
“Ingenious.”
“Does someone want to try it, just to see?”
They tittered. As hardened as they were to other people’s pain, they were sensitive when it came to their own.
The leader turned to the red-faced man. “You, perhaps?”
“No, thank you. I think I’ll pass. Let’s get out of this dreary place.”
“I don’t think we will. At least you won’t.”
There was the sound of footsteps in the entryway. Two strongmen appeared. In a matter of seconds, they swooped down on the small man, immobilizing his arms. He seemed tiny next to the square-jawed giants.
“Are you out of your mind? Let me go!”
“Shut up.”
The leader’s voice rang out. “Sol checked the accounts for our activities in northern Europe. You cooked Orden’s books, and you’ve been stealing from us.”
“That’s not true.”
“Quiet. You embezzled more than a million euros. What for? To build a villa in Andalusia! That was a big mistake!”
The accused tried to fight back but was helpless.
“Put him in the maiden.”
“No!” the man shouted, still trying to free himself from the clutches of the giants. One of the strongmen struck him in the head with a club and shoved him into the metallic structure, partially closing the front. The spikes were just inches from him.
“Please, have pity on me. I’ll give it all back. I have a family. Children.”
“Now, now. You know full well that to enter our order you abjure pity and compassion. At least try to die like a man of the Thule. Fear is foreign to us.”
The man’s sobs bounced off the wooden crucifix — Christ suffering for humanity — and filled the chapel.
The man with the buzz cut and steel-colored eyes pressed another button camouflaged in the maiden’s eye. The whirr of a small motor resonated.
“I added a motorized system with a timer to control the speed. If I set it at ten, your agony will last ten minutes. It can go as long as two hours.”
“I’ll give the money back.”
“You’ll have to forgive me, but I’ve only tested this contraption on a few guinea pigs. Weight and height also play a role. Perfection is not of this world.”
The front closed a bit more, and the iron stakes tickled the victim’s eyes, stomach, knees, and genitals.