A Sacred Storm (18 page)

Grady felt like saying something about teaching his grandma to suck eggs, but refrained as he knew Kandinsky meant no offence.

Jennings looked at his watch. “Come on then,” he urged. “Let's get going. We've only got a couple of hours before dinner.”

In other circumstances they would have split up, but for appearances sake they stuck together, Kandinsky leading the way and the other two tagging along dutifully in their role as minders. The sheik had not exaggerated the extent of his personal collection, and round every corner there was always something new and amazing to stop them in their tracks. It wasn't long before all three of them had almost forgotten the task in hand.

“How rich is this guy exactly?” said Grady.

“I have no idea,” said Kandinsky. “But he makes me look like a beggar. And not many people do that.” He stopped to admire a painting of a wheat field.

“Is that an original?” gasped Jennings, looking at the signature.

“I believe so,” said Kandinsky. “I do not imagine that he would have reproductions lining his walls.”

“But a Van Gogh in the hallway? Surely you'd have it somewhere more protected?”

“This whole palace is protected,” Kandinsky answered. “And besides, I expect it is alarmed from behind.”

They continued to amble around for another hour, taking in the third and fourth floors before descending to ground level. There was nothing out of place, and nothing that indicated anybody being held against their will. The only people they encountered were housemaids and the occasional guard doing a routine patrol.

“Well, it looks like we're out of luck,” said Jennings despondently, as they finished their circuit of the ground floor.

“Maybe,” said Kandinsky. “But maybe not.” He pointed ahead to some tape hung across the entrance to one of the corridors. Behind it was a ladder and a few paint pots. “It appears that there is somewhere we cannot go.”

“Only because they're decorating,” said Jennings. “There's nothing suspicious about that.”

Kandinsky walked up to the tape. “These walls do not look like they need painting to me,” he said. “And look, there are two guards down there outside one of the rooms.”

“Maybe it's the sheik's master bedroom,” ventured Grady.

“Perhaps,” said Kandinsky. “But I have a feeling it is not.”

Jennings closed his eyes and cleared his mind. “She's in there,” he said. “I can sense it.”

“Yeah, okay Skywalker” said Grady. “But whether she is or not we'd better get going, those guards are staring right at us.”

The world was dark and dizzy. The last thing Stella remembered was the car flipping and tumbling down an unseen embankment. Without thinking she opened her eyes weakly and tried to focus. The first thing she saw was a drip feeding into her arm. The thought that she might be in a public hospital caused a brief wave of happiness, but it was soon replaced by despair as her eyes cleared and she realized she was back in her room in the palace.

“How are you feeling?” said a voice beside her.

She turned her head to see a bearded Yemeni smiling at her. She let out a muted groan.

“You will probably be a bit woozy I expect,” he said. “You are very lucky not to have broken any bones.”

Stella stared blankly at him. “Who are you?” she whispered.

“My name is Nuri. I am the sheik's personal physician. He will be most pleased that you are conscious once more.”

Stella grunted and turned away. Her body started to ache. Nuri stated that she hadn't broken anything, but the way she felt she wasn't so sure. As her consciousness grew the pain increased. Even moving the tips of her fingers induced an agonized grimace.

“I can give you some more morphine if you like,” said Nuri.

Stella wanted to say no, but wasn't in a position to do so. “Yes please,” she croaked.

Nuri administered the morphine and Stella drifted away on a fluffy cloud. Perhaps it wasn't all bad, she thought. There were definitely worse places to be in the world. Maybe spending the rest of her life in the lap of luxury would suit her. She could buy anything she wanted, from the finest clothes and jewellery, to the fastest cars and the most exquisite food. What would she be going back to in England? A life of dreary days and cold nights, scrimping and saving just to get by. On top of that there was no guarantee that anyone had survived the jungle except for her. She could very well be the only one left. What fun would life be without any friends to share it with? The sheik might be a bit rough around the edges but with a little moulding he might be made sufferable. She fell into a deep sleep and dreamt of her new life as a princess.

It was midnight in the palace, and Jennings and Grady were busy assembling their weapons. The gate guards had taken their guns earlier, but Kandinsky had anticipated this and equipped them both with hidden pistols. A large plastic pen and an innocent-looking aftershave container slotted together neatly to form a compressed-air shooter. Silent and accurate, they were modified to fire high-strength tranquilizer darts at distances of up to two hundred yards.

“We never had these in Special Branch,” said Jennings.

“No?” said Grady. “Plastic guns have been around for ages. Except they usually fire bullets, not these pussy darts.”

“You know why we're using them Grady.”

“Yeah, I know – no killing, no violence. But if you think we're getting out of here without hurting anyone, then you're living in dreamland, brother.”

“Maybe,” Jennings agreed. “But we've got to try.”

The connecting door opened and Kandinsky walked in. “Are you all set?” he asked.

“I guess so,” said Jennings. “I just hope we can pull it off.”

“So do I,” said Grady. “If we don't we're toast.”

They went through the plan one last time. Kandinsky was going to make his way to the 4x4 on the pretence that he had left some important medication in the glove compartment. Meanwhile Jennings and Grady would stalk their way down to the closed-off corridor, going from blind spot to blind spot in the CCTV. Once there the aim was to disable the two guards and get Stella out as quickly as possible, rendezvousing with Kandinsky out in the courtyard. It was fraught with flaws and pitfalls but it was the only way forward.

“What if she isn't there?” said Grady.

“Then we'll follow the plan, and just escape without her,” said Jennings. “But she is there, so don't worry.”

Kandinsky looked at his watch. “Right then,” he said. “I am going. We meet in the courtyard in exactly twenty minutes.”

Grady and Jennings both checked their timepieces and nodded.

Once they heard the main door to Kandinsky's suite shut they were up and out of the room. The camera opposite followed the big Russian as he walked towards the stairs. Grady took a quick look around and led Jennings in the other direction.

The passageways were unnervingly quiet and they crept softly along, painfully aware that one misplaced footstep would echo loudly and give them away to any guard in the vicinity. Jennings could feel tiny trickles of sweat running into his eyes. He wiped them with a handkerchief before they started to sting. Grady, who'd been in similar situations throughout his working life, kept calm and concentrated, his pulse barely rising above normal.

At the far stairwell Grady stopped and thrust his hand back to halt Jennings. Down below two guards were deep in conversation. Grady poked his head around and watched them. Although he couldn't understand a word they were saying, it appeared from their body language that the talk was of a friendly rather than professional nature. It briefly crossed his mind to put a dart in each of them, but decided the risk of alarm was too great. Instead, he and Jennings waited like statues, willing the guards to finish socializing and go their separate ways.

After an eternity the chatter finally stopped, replaced by disappearing footsteps. Once all was quiet again Grady led them down the stairs and onto the ground floor. They moved swiftly along the dimly lit passageways arriving at the closed-off corridor without any further encounters. They could just make out the shapes of two guards outside the farthest door.

“Fucking hell,” Jennings whispered. “It's further than I thought. I'm not sure I can hit at this range.”

“Don't worry,” Grady whispered back. “You'll be fine. You take the nearest one and I'll take the other. Okay?”

Jennings nodded and pulled out his weapon.

Grady moved across to the other side of the passage to get an angle for his shot.

On a muted count of three they both fired into the gloom. Jennings saw his target's hand fly up to his neck and then watched as he dropped to the floor. Grady's guard duplicated the movement.

“See,” said Grady. “I told you it'd be fine.”

They raced down the corridor and Grady leapt up and yanked the cord from the CCTV camera. Jennings opened the door and burst into the room. The lights were on and the first thing he saw was Stella lying on a glorious, sweeping bed with a drip connected to her arm. Next to her a man shot out of his chair and started shouting in Arabic. Without thinking Jennings lunged and pinned him to the ground, silencing him with a hand over his mouth.

“Be quiet!” he ordered. “Stop struggling and you won't come to any harm.”

The man immediately relaxed and let himself go limp. Jennings got up and pulled him to his feet.

“Please do not hurt me,” said the man. “I am only a doctor. I do not wish to cause you any trouble.”

“Good,” said Grady, entering the room with his gun raised. “Now tell us – what's the score with her?” He gestured towards Stella.

“She has extremely bad bruising and maybe some internal injuries. She is heavily sedated.”

Grady rolled his eyes. “That's all we need. Haven't you got anything to sharpen her up a bit – maybe an adrenaline shot or something?”

The doctor shook his head. “I am afraid not,” he said. “And anyway it would be most dangerous.”

Jennings gazed at Stella and felt his heart stir. She looked so happy and peaceful that moving her was the last thing he wanted to do. And with her bruising and internal injuries, would rescuing her do more harm than good? He briefly wrestled with his conscience before deciding that there was no way he could leave her at the mercy of the sheik.

“What are you waiting for?” said Grady, sensing Jennings' apprehension. “Wake the girl up and let's go man. Time's ticking away here.”

Jennings went to the bed and shook her arm gently. “Stella,” he said quietly, so as not to startle her. “Stella, wake up.”

Stella remained motionless.

“For God's sake man!” Grady hollered. “Stop fucking about and give her a good shove.”

Jennings shook her again, this time more harshly. “Stella!” he said urgently. “Stella. Wake up!”

Stella opened her eyes and smiled dreamily. “What is it?” she croaked. “What's going on?”

“We're here to rescue you.”

Stella eyed him drowsily. “Tommy, is that you?”

“Yes, it's me. Now pull yourself together, we've got to get a move on.”

Stella pulled the covers up to her neck. “But I don't want to go anywhere. I'm going to marry the sheik and live like a princess for ever and ever.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” muttered Jennings.

Grady strode over to the bed and attempted to take charge of the situation. “Listen, Stella,” he said firmly. “We've risked everything to come and get you out of here, so I suggest you get your pampered little ass out of that bed and come with us like the man said.”

“But I don't want to. I want to stay here.”

“Right,” said Grady. He pulled the tube from her arm, removed the bed sheets, and lifted her out onto his shoulder.

“Ooh, Gravy, you're so strong.”

Grady gave Jennings an earnest glance. “Come on, let's get going,” he said. “You take the lead. I'll carry this bundle of fluff.”

Jennings quickly tied the doctor's hand to a bedpost, and then headed out into the corridor. Grady followed close behind with Stella swinging from his shoulder. They jogged through the palace making a beeline for the side door that led to the front courtyard. Fortune appeared to be smiling on them, and as they drew closer to their exit point Jennings began to pick up the pace even more.

“Hold on a second,” gasped Grady.

Jennings stopped and turned back. “Sorry, mate,” he said. “I forgot. Do you want me to carry her the rest of the way?”

“No,” said Grady proudly. “Just slow down a little bit.”

Jennings carried on and rounded the corner into the next passage, then stopped in his tracks. The sheik was walking towards them with one of his bodyguard's in tow. There was no time to turn back.

The Lear Jet touched down lightly and taxied round to the large hangar where Pat Cronin was waiting by a black limousine. Stratton deplaned and walked over to meet him. Cronin looked worn out; his bespectacled eyes heavy and bloodshot, and his face craggy and pale. It was as if he'd been up all night administering the last rites to an entire congregation.

Stratton smiled and shook the priest's hand. “Good to see you, Pat. How's it going? Or shouldn't I ask?”

Cronin grunted a laugh. “It could be worse,” he said. “But not a lot. Everything's happening a little too quickly. I don't even know what day it is.”

“Nor do I,” said Stratton. “But who cares.”

They hopped into the limousine and Cronin instructed the driver to take them to the Vatican. Stratton picked a mineral water out of the mini-fridge and made himself comfortable. “You seem quite sprightly for someone with a snapped Achilles,” he said.

“Yes, I am. It was practice for this ‘Messiah' of ours,” said Cronin. “I'm really glad you're here, Stratton. I'm at my wit's end with all this. I'm supposed to be Desayer's assistant, but I feel more like his carer at the moment. I don't know if it's old age or what, but just recently he seems to have lost all power to make a decision.”