The Babylon Rite
The new high-concept thriller from Tom Knox, which weaves together past and present terrors in an intense page-turnerIf you dig up hell, you uncover evil…Edinburgh: a famous Templar historian dies mysteriously at the Rosslyn chapel, setting journalist Adam Blackwood on a quest for the truth to the Templar sites of Europe. Meanwhile, in London, several young people from the international party set commit suicide in very bizarre circumstances.Peru: Ten thousand miles away, anthropologist Jess Silverton is digging up the world’s most terrifying ancient civilization: the Moche, a people mired in blood ritual and human sacrifice. But it seems that their ancient practices may not be entirely buried and forgotten…The Amazon: Adam and Jess will both be thrown into mortal danger as it emerges that the suicides, the Templars and the sinister rituals of the Moche are all linked by a chilling secret – the secret that, quite literally, kills.
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TOM KNOX
The Babylon Rite
About the Book
The Babylon Rite is a work of fiction. However I have drawn on many real historical, archaeological and cultural sources for this book. In particular:
The ancient Knights Templar preceptory of Temple Bruer, Lincolnshire, England, has long had a reputation for evil and hauntings. In the nineteenth century, a local antiquarian, Reverend Oliver, discovered medieval skeletons entombed in the walls; he concluded that these victims had been tortured, and then buried alive.
The little church of Nosse Senhora de Guadalupe, in the Algarve, southern Portugal, was the private chapel of Henry the Navigator, one of the first great European explorers. The meaning of the sculpture in the ceiling has never been explained.
The Moche culture (pronounced Mot-Chay), which flourished in the deserts of north Peru in the fifth to ninth centuries AD, is perhaps the most peculiar of all pre-Columbian civilizations. One of the stranger aspects of Moche religion was a complex ritual known as the Sacrifice Ceremony.
This book is dedicated to my brother Ross, for his endless good humour, for his stoicism and his equanimity, and for generously sharing with me his very small cup of masato beer, made from chewed manioc and human spit, in Belen Floating Market, Iquitos.
‘It seems that a new knightly order has recently been born in the Orient. They do not fear death; instead, they long for death.’
Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, in praise of the Knights Templar, AD 1135
Table of Contents
4. Pan-American Highway, north Peru
6. The Hinnie Tavern, Edinburgh Old Town
7. The Huacas, Zana, north Peru
10. East Finchley, north London
11. Tomb 1, Huaca D, Zana, north Peru
13. Interview Room D, New Scotland Yard, London
14. Huaca El Brujo, Chicama Valley, north Peru
15. The Inner Circle, Regent’s Park, London
16. Lothian & Borders Police Headquarters, Edinburgh
17. TUMP Lab, Zana, north Peru
18. Rosslyn Chapel, Midlothian
19. TUMP Lab, Zana, north Peru
20. Mornington Terrace, Camden Town, London
21. The Angel Inn, Penhill, Yorkshire
22. The American Christian Hospital, Trujillo, Peru
24. Temple Bruer, Lincoln Heath
25. Outskirts of Chiclayo, north Peru
28. Mercado de las Brujas, Chiclayo, north Peru
29. Thornhill Crescent, Islington, London
30. Canonbury Square, Islington, London
31. Thornhill Crescent, Islington, London
39. The Museo Larco, Lima, Peru
41. Rua Pablo Dias, Tomar, Portugal
42. The Radisson Hotel, Lima, Peru
43. The Embassy of the United States, Lima, Peru
47. MV Myona cargo ferry, Amazon River, Peru
48. Pankarama Settlement, Ucayali River, Peru
51. Le Casa de Carlos Chicomeca Monroy
53. The City Complex of Teotihuacan, Mexico
1
Trujillo, Peru
It was a very strange place to build a museum. Under a Texaco gas station, where the dismal suburbs of Trujillo met the cold and foggy deserts of north Peru, in a wasteland of concrete warehouses and sleazy cantinas. But somehow this sense of being hidden away, this strange, sequestered location, made the Museo Casinelli feel even more intriguing: as if it really was a secret museum.
Jessica liked coming here, whenever she drove down to Trujillo from Zana. And today she had remembered to bring a camera, to gather crucial evidence.
She opened the door at the rear of the garage and smiled at the old curator, who stood, and bowed, as courteous as ever. ‘Ah, Señorita Silverton! You are here again? You must like the, eh, naughty pottery?’ Her shrug was a little bashful; his smile was gently teasing. ‘But I fear the keys are in the other desk … Un minuto?’
‘Of course.’
Pablo disappeared into a room at the back. As she waited, Jessica checked her cellphone, for the fifth time today: she was expecting an important call, from Steve Venturi, the best forensic anthropologist she knew.
A week ago, she had arrived in Trujillo – taking a break from her studies amongst the pyramids of Zana; she’d brought with her a box full of fifteen-hundred-year-old Moche bones. This package had in turn been despatched to California, to her old tutor in UCLA: Venturi.
Any day now she would get Steve’s answer. Was she right about the neckbones? Was her audacious insight correct? The anxiety of waiting for the verdict was increasingly unbearable. Jess felt like a teenager awaiting exam results.
She looked up from the silent phone. Pablo had returned from his vestibule flourishing two keys, one big, one small. As he offered them, he winked. ‘
