The Illuminati Sanctum (The Relic Hunters 6) David Leadbeater (new reading .txt) 📖

A few men stood on the walls. Most were scattered around the courtyard or guarding other doors. Three were flanking what appeared to be an arched, wooden entry gate.

With a portcullis.

They appeared to be standing inside an old castle, perched like an ancient dragon on the summit of a sheer, jagged range of cliffs, overlooking what was probably the Mediterranean. Still, that knowledge didn’t help their situation.

They were led across the courtyard, through a wooden door and along a narrow passageway hewn out of black rock. They walked up one set of steps, switching back to ascend another before finding themselves in a much wider corridor, this one lined with arched, stained-glass windows. Bodie slowed, taking the chance to look out.

But every single window was opaque, even those without stained-glass panes.

The silent procession continued for another two minutes, ending at an imposing, metal-sheathed wooden door above which Bodie saw writing in some ancient text.

He didn’t recognize it. A quick glance at Lucie told him she didn’t either.

The door swung inward. Bodie readied himself.

The room inside was vast, probably taking up the whole northern side of the castle. A major meeting hall, it was festooned with draperies, its walls almost entirely covered with paintings of all shapes and sizes. Even the floor was decorated.

But these adornments were not normal, and stopped Bodie in his tracks. He’d never seen anything like them.

The draperies were made of black silk, the paintings depicting scenes of ritual sacrifice, murder and the worship of something terrible. Bodie looked away, seeing scenes so torturous he couldn’t take them in.

Upon the floor was a huge pentagram, not simply painted on, but carved and grooved into the stone floor.

He sensed his team to either side of him, breathing shallowly, trying to stay upbeat in the face of all this horror.

They were led through the room, around the edges of the pentagram and past a stone slab that looked like a mortuary table. Soon, they reached a wooden dais where eight wooden stakes had been erected facing eight plush chairs, the center one of which was an actual stone throne.

All eight seats were empty.

Bodie and his team were tied to the stakes with thick rope, their hands behind them, the hooded men giving the bonds an extra tug so that their skin chafed, close to drawing blood. In a moment of what Bodie considered overkill, handcuffs were also ratcheted around their wrists.

Their ankles were also tied, and then a noose of thin wire wrapped around their necks, holding them rigidly to the wooden poles. Someone was taking no chances.

Five minutes passed. Finally, as Bodie felt his muscles harden and complain about the inflexible position, a door opened to admit several figures. Bodie was able to look down at them as they took their seats, facing the relic hunters. The man that took the throne was a fit-looking, long-haired man in his later years—Bodie guessed sixties—and was flanked by a much younger, red-haired woman and two middle-aged males. All wore robes and carried themselves imperiously.

When the older man took his throne, he waved the hooded guards away. “Welcome,” he said. “I am Bacchus d’Orléans.”

When Bodie and the others didn’t react, the man shook his head in resignation and sighed. “I see the name means nothing to you, and that’s good. It means our secrets persist. Well, some of them at least. I am the true Grand Master of the Illuminati.”

Despite himself, Bodie shivered. The Illuminati were one of the most evil, deadliest organizations on earth and had persisted through the centuries, flourishing even. In their first mission for the CIA, the relic hunters had located their treasure lair and captured the man they thought was in charge of the secret society, but it later transpired that he was merely an underling.

Bodie said nothing, wondering where this was all going.

“But perhaps you’d figured that out already,” Bacchus went on. “Our guards, the Hoods, have already pursued you across Europe and more recently England. We have failed to apprehend or kill you on every occasion, which is why I decided to lend every resource to this latest attempt.”

Bacchus turned to the woman seated at his side. “This is Adelaide, High Minerval. And these two men are Cronos and Discord, also High Minervals of the Great Order. And this is our home.”

He spread his hands, Bodie already seeing the significance of his words. Revealing their names, this place and the fact that it was their lair, meant only one thing: The relic hunters were about to die.

“You people, you and your team, set us back hundreds of years when you tarnished Olympia train station and the riches beneath with your presence. Everything we had built, attained and collected was lost. Everything. The riches, the objects of power, the historical items that kept entire countries in check. You destroyed our seat of power.”

Bodie allowed a smirk to cross his face. “I won’t apologize for that.”

Bacchus nodded. A Hood appeared from behind Bodie and drove a fist into his ribcage. Bodie gasped, pain exploding along his right side, but it wasn’t just the punch that bothered him, it was the way his throat pushed against the thin wire that encircled it when he jerked forward, choking him. It took a long moment to relax and catch his breath.

“Wanker,” he panted at the Hood.

Bacchus went on: “You people stole our relics, killed many Hoods, and captured Xavier van Gothe, one of my assistants and a learned member of the Order. From that moment, you were lifelong targets, the walking dead, if you like. There would only ever be one outcome.”

“You’re gonna kill us,” Cassidy said. “Yeah, we figured that one out.”

Bodie took a moment to scan the room, especially the paintings. Many depicted sacrifice or depraved rituals involving nakedness, fire and power.