22nd February
Bishop Gerald Hunter sat at a desk in the Chained Library within Wimborne Minster in Wimborne, Dorset. He glanced at the books chained to the shelves around him – in the manner of a public library of its time. Some of the volumes dated to the fourteenth century.
These books never failed to remind him of the intelligence of those who had lived in past centuries – indeed in past millennia. Those scholars had not been able to call upon the vast amounts of knowledge available today, but they had been more than able to lay the foundations for all that we now know – perhaps they had been more than able to discover deep, mystical truths that had since been lost.
This notion had certainly been a factor in Bishop Hunter accepting responsibility for coordinating the activities of the group known as ‘Anglican Research for Knowledge’ or ARK.
ARK was a highly secret group of clergy within the Anglican Church. Outside its own number, just the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Queen were officially aware of its existence.
The primary objective of ARK was to investigate claims of mystical, spiritual or supernatural knowledge that had been previously unknown to the Church. It was tasked to ensure that any such arcane secrets that were found to have substance were in the control of the Church and could not be exploited by other than the true representatives of God.
Following an agreement made with Henry the Eighth, ARK acted autonomously and only briefed the archbishop and monarch on the most exceptional discoveries. In the modern day, this meant that ARK could use whatever means necessary to pursue its objective without potential political embarrassment to the Church hierarchy or to Her Majesty.
Officially, ARK did not exist.
The small wooden door to the library was slightly ajar, and Bishop Hunter heard the sound of footsteps ascending the stone spiral staircase that afforded the only access to the room. A hand knocked upon the door.
‘Enter,’ the bishop called.
The Reverend Christian Leadbetter pushed open the door and walked into the library.
‘Thank you for coming, Christian. I trust you had a good journey from Waterford,’ Bishop Hunter began.
‘Yes, thank you, Bishop,’ Leadbetter replied.
‘Please sit down,’ the bishop said, gesturing towards a chair. ‘To come straight to the point,’ he continued, when Leadbetter was seated, ‘can you update me about events in Waterford?’
Bishop Hunter, with Leadbetter’s help, had been monitoring Sam Collins for two years. Hunter knew that Sam, in his day, had been a leading and highly respected archaeologist. Sam had also been a specialist in ancient religions. He had, for example, been involved in the dig at Gobekli Tepe in southern Turkey – in the view of the Church, the most probable site for the Garden of Eden, where God had first walked upon the Earth.
The surveillance of Sam had been due to Sam’s apparent ability to foretell the future. Leadbetter had consistently reported remarkable predictions made by Sam about world and cosmic events – predictions that Sam had attributed to an unspecified book.
ARK had concluded that Sam was in possession of a secret that should rightfully be theirs, and Hunter was determined to discover what it was.
‘You know that Mr. Collins was killed by a meteorite,’ Leadbetter began. ‘That was as dramatic as any action taken by our Lord in the Bible. I wonder if he’d predicted something that should not be revealed and was thus smote by our Lord.’
‘That is indeed possible,’ Hunter replied.
Leadbetter’s conclusion seemed equally obvious to Hunter. He had never understood why other senior members of the Church sought greater complexity in their understanding of scripture and the world around them.
‘Who is responsible for his possessions?’ Hunter asked.
‘In his will, he left everything to his next door neighbour, Swan Morrison.’
‘Is Mr. Morrison a member of your congregation?’ enquired the bishop.
‘No. He has a faith, but he thinks that grass roots Christianity is too literalist and too simplistic. He thinks that the Christian Church is now in such a practical and theological muddle that it’s an impediment to seeking God.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Hunter. ‘Does he have Mr. Collins’ book?’
‘I don’t know. He says that he’s still looking through the books and papers salvaged from Sam’s house. However, I overheard a phone conversation between him and Mrs. Helen Hargreaves, who he’s staying with. He’s hidden something at his brother’s farm. Helen said to him that by keeping whatever it was at the farm, it could be kept secret from everyone until the time was right.’
Bishop Hunter opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a plastic box. It was about the size of a small paperback and had a switch on the top. ‘This is a microphone and transmitter,’ he said to Leadbetter. ‘Do you think you can conceal this in Mrs. Hargreaves’ house?’
‘I think so,’ Leadbetter replied.
‘You can then listen to their private conversations,’ the bishop continued. ‘Hopefully that will reveal what they know. Here’s the USB receiver.’ The bishop handed a dongle to Leadbetter. ‘You can use this to pick up the conversations on a PC within two hundred metres.’
‘Excellent,’ said Leadbetter, ‘Helen’s house is about one hundred and fifty metres from my office at St. Basil’s.’