Barak frowned. “They were murdered?”

“They went mad—or that was the theory, anyway, at the time. Some killed themselves, some killed each other. This find was in early 1800s. 1833, if I remember correctly. So, in the infancy of archaeology, when the profession was happy to trample over antiquities and raid other countries’ culture.” He shot Harlan and Olivia a narrowed glare as if daring them to contradict him. Fortunately, both remained mute. “It began when a rich Italian was touring the area and heard of an unusual cave that had intriguing markings on the walls. He hired a guide and went to visit it. Apparently, he was so excited by what he found that he harassed The Geographical Society, was given funding that he supplemented with his own money, and headed up there. He hired a group of men to dig. Not locals, you understand. They wouldn’t touch it. A few reports were sent back, saying they had found a vast treasure of jewels. It mentioned a horn that was decorated with gold and silver leaf and had curious engravings on it. And then no one heard a thing. The Geographical Society contacted another group in the area—Turkey, actually—and they were sent to find them. It took weeks, of course, to get there. No planes and trains, like now.”

“Where was the dig?” Nahum asked.

“Sorry! Didn’t I say? The mountains of northern Iran. I can’t remember exactly where. I could find out. Persia, of course, it was called back then. Anyway, when the expedition arrived and finally found the site, the team were all dead. The bodies picked at by vultures, and half rotted at that point. But it was obvious there had been a fight, and that some had killed themselves. One man appeared to have scratched his own eyes out. Evidence of the dig was still there—tools, implements, tents… And yes, there were indeed unusual markings on the walls of the cave. It went back quite a way. An ancient text no one could understand was inscribed on the walls. But there was no treasure, and the Italian man had vanished.”

“How could they be sure?” Barak asked, exchanging a worried glance with Estelle. “Surely, decomposition would have confused things.”

“Many of those there were Middle Eastern. It was obvious from their clothes. There were a couple of Europeans who had gone with the Italian man, but the Italian was older, and it was clear he was not amongst the dead. His body was never found.”

Estelle’s pulse pounded in her ears, and she was sure everyone had the same questions she did. “What was his name?”

“Beneventi. He never returned home, either. Well, at least no one admitted that he did.” Jenkins threw his hands wide. “He had vanished. Poof!”

The group all looked at each other, their expressions saying everything. This had to be the source of Belial’s jewels and his power. Beneventi must have opted to steal the treasure for himself, but the Italian name was unfamiliar.

“The horn had vanished too, I presume?” Barak asked.

“No, that was still there. Probably because of its size.”

Harlan frowned. “How big was it?”

Jenkins held his hand apart. “A good two feet, and made of solid bone, mixed with ivory, pearl inlay, with gold and silver flourishes. It was filthy at the time! It had been covered by dirt for centuries. It took a lot of cleaning.”

Estelle, aware her mouth was gaping open, quickly shut it. “It’s on display somewhere?”

“Heavens no! It was taken to Turkey. That’s where the team was heading back to. They already had an arrangement with a museum there. They hung around only to have the bodies moved, and then the locals sealed the cave.”

It sounded exactly like the dig where the Igigi’s underground home was discovered and the entrance was destroyed, but by the Igigi themselves to preserve their privacy. There, too, the locals had run in fear.

“Surely,” Nahum asked, “The Geographical Society would have records?”

“I dare say they have, but with no one to report the actual events, I doubt that you would learn much,” Jenkins qualified. “Anyway, the museum staff who cleaned the horn reported bad dreams. In the end, it was shoved in a box and packed away. No one wanted to touch it. Rumours were that it belonged to an angel.” He forced himself to laugh. “A little far-fetched, of course.”

The group was mute, fixed on Jenkins with rapt silence. It had to be Belial’s horn. Estelle’s mouth felt dry.

Nahum, however, was the quickest to gather himself. “Where is it now?”

“In the basement of The Oriental Museum in Istanbul. Or so I believe. No one mentions it anymore.”

“So how do you know all this?” Harlan asked.

Jenkins gave a dry, almost embarrassed laugh. “Some digs develop an aura. A sort of myth. They capture your imagination, and the story becomes twisted. Your Templar treasure discovery will get a lot of interest, but when there’s death and mystery, and talk of madness…well, that seals the deal. We curators gossip, you know.” He smirked. “It’s one of those things we whisper about over drinks. I got drunk one night with a Turkish curator who worked at The Oriental Museum. He told me about the rumours of strange whispers in their storage rooms, and how no one will touch the horn, even now. It even has an unofficial name. The Horn of Desolation. I have no idea if it’s true, or whether he was just teasing me over drinks. I don’t think he was, though.” He laughed again, breaking the mood, and the spellbound listeners laughed with him.

Olivia scoffed to mask her probing for more information. “So, it’s what? Just in a locked room where no one goes? Sounds highly implausible.”

“Have you seen our basement? It’s huge. I can assure you that it can happen. Half the time, museums even forget what they have. Or don’t know. They obtain things in bulk, and no one ever goes through it for years! According to the curator, whose name I forget, it’s on the lowest level and the furthest room. It’s an old museum, set in an amazing building, so a warren of rooms in its basement is perfectly feasible.”

Estelle’s thoughts whirled, unsure of what to believe, but it was clear the story was beginning to fit together. The question was, did they find the horn, or leave it safely buried in a museum? One thing was sure. She didn’t want Barak to have anything to do with it. She hated the effects that the jewellery had on him.

Jenkins addressed Barak. “Does that answer your question? No other discoveries quite like that one spring to mind.”

Barak stood and reached over the desk to shake Jenkins’s hand. “That does answer my question, thank you. It relates to another story we’ve been looking into. Unless anyone else has other questions, we’ll leave you to it. I appreciate that you’re very busy.”

“It’s been a pleasure.” Jenkins smiled and walked to the door to see them out. “I felt left out of meeting all of you this morning, so it’s great to have a private chat. I’ll escort you to the lift.”

After a few hurried thanks and reiterated goodbyes, they entered the lift alone. As soon as the doors shut, Barak heaved a long sigh. “So, who’s going to steal the horn?”

Gabe pulled a chair close to Lamberti, glad the old man seemed to have composed himself after being shoved in a wardrobe, and then coming out of it to find dead bodies strewn around his house. He needed to resume their earlier conversation that had been interrupted.

Lamberti regarded Gabe with large, frightened eyes. His hands still trembled as he held a glass of deep red wine. “You have made enemies who won’t rest until you are dead.”

“That’s okay. I aim to kill them first. But you need to get out of this house.”

“No. This is my house, and I will die here. Either by their hands or God’s. I will not be chased from my home. Those men,” he nodded to the dead who had been dragged to the corner of the room, “come from big families. Powerful families. It is a miracle I am still alive after all these years.”

Only Ash was still with Gabe. Niel and Shadow were watching for newcomers, either by water or land, and one of them was keeping an eye on Romola. Gabe wasn’t planning on waiting around much longer. In fifteen minutes, they would be out of there. They had promised to dispose of the bodies first, as a courtesy.

Ash leaned forward, adjusting the rug over the old man’s legs. “Did you know your housekeeper was working for them?”

“No, unfortunately. She was loyal at one point, I’m sure of it. But with our declining wealth and influence…” He shrugged. “Some people are easily swayed.”

“Who are the other men?” Gabe asked. “I presume they were from the family you sold the ring to?”

“No, not these. Two families are represented here today. Arizzo and Carlucci. But there is a third. Marco Beneventi’s family.” He laughed dryly, and it set off a bout of coughing. “He leads all of it.”

“Too big to dirty his hands with blood?” Ash asked.

Lamberti almost spat his wine out. “No. He has plenty of blood on his hands.”

“I want details,” Gabe said impatiently. “These dead men are in The Brotherhood?”

“Yes, along with the rest of their families, and Beneventi’s, as I said. Four families set the whole thing up over one hundred and fifty years ago.” He sighed. “My family was the fourth. They called themselves The Consortium then. I don’t know why they changed the name. They exist to spread the word of Belial. The Angel of Death and Destruction. They are all consumed by him.” Lamberti shrugged again. A pitiful gesture with his thin shoulders. “My father was obsessed with the whole thing. But me? I never saw the value of it all. I never touched the jewels, and I refused to be initiated. I distanced myself from it. My father was furious, but I didn’t care. Beneventi has never had power over me. When my father died, I gave the jewel—the ring you asked about—to him. There was no sale. I wanted it gone from the house, and my obligation to The Brotherhood ended.”

Gabe stopped him. “What kind of initiation was there?”

“You become eligible at the age of eighteen. There is a ceremony where you swear fealty, are draped in his jewels, and marked by him forever. It changes you. I see it in others. A sort of cunning behind the eyes.”

“So they don’t wear his jewels all the time?”

Lamberti shook his head vehemently. “No. It sends you mad. You touch them just once. That is enough. Only the truly devout wear them more often.”

Ash exchanged a worried glance with Gabe. “How are you still alive?”

“I told Beneventi to kill me if he didn’t like my ultimatum, but I warned him I had insurance. I said that if I died, information would get out about his deal with the devil.” He smiled at Gabe’s startled expression. “I know Belial is not the devil, but he’s close enough. I also know he’s behind the treasure that Beneventi’s family and the others have spread across Europe over the last hundred years. I made it my business to know.” He tapped his nose, a spark of malice in his eyes. “I have lists of where the jewels went, and where they could be now. I also have information on many of their dubious business dealings. That is what they are more worried about. I am the black sheep of the family, and glad to be.”

“So Beneventi left you alone,” Ash said, admiration in his eyes. “Well played.”