PRESENT DAY

Officer Ward Johansson made his way slowly down the dank stone stairs leading into the dusty catacombs beneath the police station. The large box of files in his arms threatening to slip free with every cautious step. The Kartuizerinnenstraat station was based in what had once been a convent back in the 16th century. Ward nudged the light switch with his elbow and headed towards an old steel table in the centre of the first room.

There had been a lot of rain as they headed towards Christmas, and the grey waters of the canal lapped less than a meter below the dirt encrusted windows. The suns pale light filtered through the dust motes that swirled around as he dropped the files onto the table. Ward looked around the dank space and whirled his arms around to drive the chill from his bones. He’d made the move from Brussels to Bruges in the hope of becoming a big fish in the smaller pool afforded by the ancient city. Newly married, and with his wife Mari expecting, he needed to get on the promotion ladder and fast.

He looked at his watch. He’d promised Mari a night in, just the two of them while they still could. She was planning to cook Stoofvlees, his favourite dish. A traditional Flemish stew made with beef broth and beer. He looked down at the big fat G-shock watch on his wrist. A present from Mari when he’d joined the force. She’d seen some Special forces guys wearing them on patrol at Brussels railway station shortly after the terrorist attacks. She told him he needed to look tough out on the streets, and fumbling for his mobile to tell the time wasn’t a good look. Mari was a sweet girl and he was looking forwards to getting home to be with her that evening.

He moved the files around, arranging them in chronological order. During the Procession of the Holy blood extra officers had been drafted in and space in the main office had been at a premium. But now they were headed towards Christmas the space in the catacombs had been freed up. He’d been involved in the Holy Blood procession as a child, and remembered his excitement at seeing the trumpets, the men waving fronds and the sight of a donkey. He’d enjoyed the carnival atmosphere but had no idea of the significance of the parade until many years later. The belief that a reliquary containing a sample of Christs Blood became liquid on Ascension Day pulled in thousands of tourists each year. He could still remember how annoyed his parents had got when, as a small child, he demanded proof of the miracle. Looking back, it was probably the first signs of what was to become his journey into the police force.

There was the sound of distant thumping from further along in the catacombs. It was his boss, Detective Inspector Jochum Hoog on his drums. It seemed that anything with a rhythm was of interest to him. If he wasn’t out learning a new dance, he was banging away on his battered old drum kit.

He looked at the pile of files spread out in front of him. Chief Pieters had given him what he called ‘an opportunity’ this turned out to be a massive pile of unsolved cold cases going back years.

The implication was that if he could clear up some of the backlog it would improve his chances of joining the fast track detective program. Looking at the amount of cases Ward had a suspicion that the chief had given him the task just to keep him quiet. He went over to one of the leaded windows and wiped a circle of dust clear from a grimy pane. The streets outside were busy with tourists. Queues for the canal boat tour stretched down the road. Ducks and swans bobbed along the canal and the tour guides patter was audible from the passing boats. He began flicking through the files on the table.

They were mostly petty thefts, assaults, house burglaries, pickpocketing and the odd car theft. Ward felt a wave of despondency wash over him. None of the cases he’d seen so far would produce a big enough splash to raise his profile and improve his chances of promotion, even if he could solve them. He moved to the next row of files. Outside there was the low throb of an approaching canal boat and the sound of water slapping against the ancient stone walls of the station. He flicked through another file, and something caught his eye.

A tourist had reported that his son had been offered drugs in the Market at the skating rink. He skimmed through more files and found three other reports, all logged during the Christmas season. There was no real evidence, other than the dealer had long blonde hair. Ward smiled. This ticked all the the boxes. Drugs, children at risk and more than one complaint. He moved the four files into a neat pile and rubbed his eyes. The flickering fluorescent and the deep throb of the approaching boat’s engine was giving him a headache. He heard a dull thud and a woman screamed. Something smashed through the window, sending bricks tumbling into the room. He just had time to register the prow of a canal boat before the water enveloped him, sweeping him into the stone wall behind. Knocking the breath out of him He lay there stunned as the water poured in.

The boat’s engine roared as the driver threw it into reverse… tearing it free from the gaping hole. With the obstruction removed another surge of water slammed into him and he was dragged beneath the surface. The lights flickered and went out. Something was pining him down. Something heavy. His lungs burned from holding his breath as he fought to free himself. His air started to run out and his vision dimmed. A shape drifted past him in the dark water. Sodden sheets of paper clung to his face.

And then it all went black.

CHAPTER 2

ONE MONTH EARLIER

Marsha Brochell drove the dark blue Range Rover out of the Euro shuttle carriage before leaving the docks behind at Calais and heading for Bruges in Belgium.

It had taken Marsha a week by ship to travel from New York to Southampton. Once there she’d picked up a hired car before heading to the Eurotunnel terminal at Folkestone. Her license plate was scanned and the machine spat out a ticket which she hung on her rear-view mirror before driving to passport control. There was a moment’s hesitation as the man studied her picture and details. Satisfied, he moved on to check the pet passports.

Marsha had assumed there would be an alert out for her and was using her backup identity details and passport. The man handed back the passports and waved her through. She drove up to the parking area outside the terminal and after feeding the dogs took them to the small dog area and made sure they were comfortable for the short journey beneath the channel. There was a man already there with a small poodle on an extender. He shot them a nervous look when he saw the size of her charges. She said ‘It’s alright, they’re harmless.’ The man gave a tense smile and hurried his dog out of the enclosure. Marsha walked back to the car and gave them a chew bone each before heading into the terminal.

The large electronic boards in the car park indicated her train was boarding in twenty minutes. Ample time to freshen up, grab a bite to eat and have a cup of coffee. Fifteen minutes later, refreshed and with her appetite sated she walked back to the car park. The departures board indicated that it was time to board. She left the car park and drove towards the boarding area following the instructions on the overhead signs. She needed to make sure she was in the right lane because of the height of her vehicle.

She didn’t want to draw unwelcome attention by ending up in the wrong queue. Within twenty minutes she was driving up the ramp and into the claustrophobic confines of the train carriage.

With the one-hour time change she would be in France by lunchtime. As the carriage doors closed and the train gathered speed she could finally relax.

On board ship Marsha had passed the time amusing her fellow passengers with palm and Tarot card readings in the various bars and restaurants. They had no idea she was soaking up their credit-card and bank details as she smiled and dealt their cards along with tales of imaginary futures full of tall dark strangers and knights in shining armour. By the time they disembarked at Southampton her account held over a million Euros.

The authorities had frozen Roman’s business accounts along with hers, and she’d barely made it to New York with his precious dogs in time for her departure. They were Dogos Argentino, brother and sister. He’d named them Argos and Laelaps after the mythological Greek dogs, but they never responded to anything she called them. Marsha had spent a long time tracking them down after they went missing in Spirit’s Swamp. They’d been terrified by the flames and explosions in the swamp and run away from their master’s car. Eventually she’d found them cowering at the side of the causeway, and managed to coax them into her vehicle with pieces of raw meat.

She travelled through the featureless countryside of France letting the Sat Nav do the work. And after leaving Dunkirk behind was soon crossing the border into Belgium before picking up the E40 motorway to Bruges. An hour and a half later she reached the R30 ring road on the outskirts of the city. The medieval city of Bruges was known locally as ‘the egg’, because of the shape formed by the canals surrounding it. It had a fiendishly complicated one-way road system set out in a loop arrangement. There was only one way to access each specific street and if you got it wrong you had to circle back round the city on the ring road and start again. Luckily, she had been accompanied by Roman the last time she came and was prepared for the nerve wracking level of attention one had to pay to the route. She peeled off the ring road, headed up Zuidzandstraat into Steenstraat, past Sint Salvator’s cathedral before circling the market square and heading off towards the canal and her final destination.

The dogs sat in the back, sniffing at the insulated oblong container that gleamed with moisture despite the fierce air conditioning that blasted out of the vents surrounding it. Marsha turned to look at them. ‘You won’t be seeing him for a while yet, so you may as well settle down.’ The dogs whimpered and pawed at the chest, muzzles flecked with drool, their eyes a glistening deep mahogany brown. It was if they could see into the container at the essence of what would soon become their master once more. Marsha wondered if the reverse was true and the spirit of Roman was aware of their presence. In the same way that the relatives and wives of coma victims were encouraged to sit by their beds and talk to them. Maybe there was some strange symbiotic connection of the souls. After all, she was infinitely aware of the spirit world, and could both pass through and co-exist within it. But she had always believed that as animals first walked the Earth they must possess as much, if not more of nature’s power within them. Maybe the Dogos superior eyesight, speed and sense of smell might also have an elevated spiritual sense. As if aware of her thoughts the dogs settled down and stared mournfully at the container.

CHAPTER 3

It was dark. Like the pitch-black night of a starless galaxy. He felt an oppressive weight bearing down on him, as if he was being held fast by an inert mass—a cloak formed from the myriad consciousness of countless human beings from the past, present and future all fighting to surface within him. He tried to move. But his body had no form as yet. “Try not to panic, just let it happen,” Marsha had told him.

The darkness slowly lifted. Flashes of light flickered at the edges of his peripheral vision. He knew it was his mind creating the light, millions of nerve endings, synapsis firing as they spidered across his neural pathways. Pathways without direction as yet. Pain lanced through him. Like the bite of a thousand fire ants as the rawness of his feelings swept over him. He knew the framework of his very being was being formed from his thoughts. And then the memories rolled in.

Dark, thick waves swamping his mind. The pain of birth, and more fragmented pain as his network of cerebral consciousness began to spread further; encompassing his life and more. It crowded in, layering minute by minute, filling the void, and as the fragments coalesced other memories occupied the empty spaces—memories from further back. A time inhabited by those that came before.

Flashes of interlinked thoughts flared like blazing comets across his evolving cortex, snatches of conversation with the woman, the one that had guided their evolution through the years. Conversations between her and his father while they were both linked through the transfusions carried out beneath the house in the swamp. The knowledge accrued through the bloodline. Knowledge that would never be lost. As long as their lifeblood was passed down through the generations, from their forbearers and into their future. All he had to do was let his mind float free, while the time passed.

And when the time was right he would emerge into the light to begin their work again. As the streams of previous memories flooded into him, he became aware of their presence, the very essence of their souls… the creatures that he had held so dear in his previous life. His precious Dogos.

Next Chapter: CHAPTER 2