A Sacred Storm (25 page)

“I agree with you. But I think that it's all part of a circle. We become self-aware and then spend the rest of our lives learning why we shouldn't be. There's a line from
T.S.Eliot's Little Gidding
that sums it up quite nicely – ‘We shall not cease from our exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.'”

Cronin pondered the lines for a moment. “Nice words. I haven't really read a lot of Eliot.”

“Me neither,” said Stratton. “I just heard the quote somewhere and took an instant liking to it. Like all the best poetry it's simple and profound.”

Cronin looked at his watch. “I think it's time to get some rest,” he said. He swigged down the rest of his whiskey. “I'll see you in the morning.”

Stratton didn't reply. His mind was already far away, searching the universe for an answer he might never find.

The euphoria had died down and the streets were somewhat subdued. The town seemed to be suffering from a religious hangover. At least that's what Jenna thought as she made her way to work on Monday morning. Heads were drooped and eyes were pointed sharply at the pavement. It may not have been different to any other start of the week, but there was something in the air that made her anxious. An underlying atmosphere of fear that had taken hold of people's frayed minds. At any moment she expected the sinister silence to boil over into murderous mayhem.

Her weekend had been troubled. After the emotional Saturday evening with Tariq she had gone to her parents' house for Sunday lunch. They had been to church in the morning and had spent the afternoon eulogizing about the Messiah and how he was going to save the earth from the evil that pervaded it. Father Malone had told the congregation that he was truly the Son of God and that the day of reckoning was nigh, and that any false redeemer would have to kneel before him and subject themselves to his will. Already she could feel the animosity towards Islam building. She had decided it was not the best time to mention her burgeoning relationship with Tariq. The visit had been painful, but she had switched herself off and escaped with her sanity relatively intact.

Tariq too had spent the day with his mother and father. He had phoned her in the evening and they had talked for over two hours. His parents were of similar mind to her own but on the opposite side of the fence. They had rattled on about the false Messiah and how the Catholic Church was trying to fool the world with its wicked lies. They were sure that he would be exposed soon and have to account to the Mahdi and Allah.

Jenna strode into work, pleased to find some sanctuary from the outside world. “Morning Pami,” she chirped to the receptionist. “How was your weekend?”

Her greeting was rebuffed with an icy stare.

“What's wrong with you?” she asked.

Pami stared for a while longer and then, as if suddenly remembering her manners, she gave a frosty “good morning”. Jenna shrugged and went through to the office. She knew where the animosity was coming from, but was surprised at its force. Pami was a Muslim, but also open-minded, and they had been on good terms for a number of years. She was taken aback by the overnight change in relations.

She switched on her computer, made some coffee, and then sat down at her desk. Her boss, Bunty Singh, wasn't due for another hour and she took the opportunity to log on to Facebook and catch up with the latest gossip. Unsurprisingly most of the chat was about the revelatory weekend. Everybody had an opinion about what had happened, and most of it was ill-thought-out nonsense. There were calls from the hard-line white contingent to get rid of the “rag-‘eads”, and there were calls from Islam to “kill the lying infidels”. Her inner circle of friends weren't much better informed, but at least their ramblings were focused on the positive side. They were in awe of the whole thing with plenty of “OMGs” and “WTFs” thrown into the mix. She flicked through hoping to find a posting about something normal like boys or drinking.

Singh arrived early and was in sombre mood. He attempted a friendly greeting but it was lost in his world-weary eyes and drawn face.

“Not a good weekend then?” said Jenna.

“No,” said Singh. “Not a good weekend at all. Not good for anybody as far as I can see. The world's gone absolutely crazy.”

“Tell me about it.”

Singh hung up his coat and went to pour a coffee. “I took Alice to the pub for lunch yesterday afternoon, and the amount of abuse I got you just wouldn't believe. It wasn't too bad at first, but then this group of idiots came in and saw me and started making comments about Pakis and Islam and how we should all be deported.”

“Didn't you explain that you were a Sikh?”

“I didn't get a chance. It's absolutely ridiculous. The amount of ignorance in this town is unbelievable. The worst thing was that they weren't exactly thugs – just normal blokes out for a Sunday afternoon drink.”

Jenna laughed. “I suppose it depends on what you define as normal. So – did they threaten you?”

“Not outwardly, but it was implied. I think they were trying to justify their actions on religious grounds. Although I doubt if any of them had been inside a church in their life.”

“That's the thing isn't it,” said Jenna. “Every idiot in the town is going to jump on the Catholic bandwagon. They've got a figurehead now, and a cause to fight for. Their lives and hatred have suddenly gained purpose.”

Singh shook his head. “I just don't understand the sudden surge of animosity. It's not like these leaders have incited any hatred.”

“No, but they've said enough to make people think about it. Neither side has condemned the other as yet, but it's hanging in the air between the lines. And besides, do you really think the pricks in this town need to be told outright? They've seen the news – a white guy proclaiming to be the Son of God, and an Asian claiming more or less the same thing – what do you think is going through their heads? With all that's happened this century - with 9/11 and 7/7 - what do you expect? To them this is just another threat to their liberty. They couldn't give a shit about the religious side of things, it's just an excuse to protect their interests.”

Singh sat down opposite Jenna. “It just all seems so crass,” he said. “I thought we were living in a more enlightened age.”

“You might be, Bunty, and so might your friends. But you're from London and you have a slightly broader view of the world. I've grown up in this town remember, and I know exactly what the people here are like. Most of them are alright, and it's certainly better than it used to be, but there's still a large element of small-minded wankers. The problem is that the good people of the town are a silent majority.”

Singh nodded. “Yes, I suppose that I have too much faith in humanity.”

“I thought you would have lost that long ago in this business. I mean, look at all the people you have to represent in court.”

“If I didn't have faith then I couldn't represent them. If you don't give people a chance then you will never combat fear and ignorance.”

Jenna was just about to speak when a loud smash burst through from the front of the building. It was followed by a scream. Bunty Singh leapt from his chair and tore out into reception. Jenna followed him.

The front window was destroyed, and the dark green carpet was covered in shattered glass. Pami was cowering behind her desk in tears. Jenna went to comfort her. Bunty surveyed the mess open-mouthed. Without thinking about evidence he picked up the large brick from the floor beneath him and unwrapped the message tied to it. It simply said: MUSLIM SCUM.

A stray shard of glass had hit Pami in the head and she was bleeding from her right temple. Jenna mopped the cut with a tissue and went to the cupboard to find the first-aid kit. She returned swiftly and set about cleaning the wound more thoroughly, picking out slivers of window with a pair of tweezers.

“Thank you,” said Pami, when Jenna had finished. “I don't deserve your sympathy though.”

“Don't be stupid,” said Jenna. “Of course you do.” She turned to her boss who was absentmindedly picking glass off the floor. “What did the note say?” she asked.

He was about to answer when his partner Robert Harris walked through the door. “What the hell's happened here?”

“Someone chucked a brick through the window,” said Jenna.

“What the hell for?” barked Harris. “Did you see who it was?”

“No, but they'll be on the CCTV,” she said.

“Have you called the police yet?”

Jenna shook her head. She picked up the phone and dialled the local station. She watched as Singh dropped the pieces of glass and put his head in his hands. He looked broken, and this was just the start.

Stella hobbled her way to the submarine's dining room with Jennings obliging as a prop. She was still in pain, but felt that the sooner she got back on her feet the sooner she would make a recovery. She'd worked hard to get herself fit at the palace, and didn't want the effort going to waste by lying in bed for days on end. Also, she didn't want the men making plans without her.

“Are you sure about this?” said Jennings. “I mean, it'd be a lot easier having some food brought to you in your room.”

“I'm fine,” she said. “Stop fussing. I need to be up and about. I'm not going to get better slobbing about in bed am I?”

“That's not what the doctor said is it? He told you complete bed rest for at least three days.”

“Doctors don't know everything. Sometimes the patient knows best. It's my body after all.”

Jennings knew better than to continue the argument.

They entered the dining room and he helped her into a chair and sat down next to her. The waitress brought them some water. Kandinsky and Grady arrived moments later.

“It is good to see you up and about,” said Kandinsky. “Although I thought that Dr Vashista had told you to stay in bed.”

“I was bored. I felt like some company.”

“And of course you do not want us making plans behind your back,” Kandinsky grinned.

Jennings and Grady stifled a laugh.

Stella felt her insides burning, but instead of biting she brushed his comment aside with a simple, “Whatever.”

The food as ever was excellent with a delicious bisque to start, followed by lamb cutlets, and a raspberry pavlova for pudding. Jennings wondered if it might be possible to forget about everything else and just spend the rest of his days floating around under the sea in luxury. He had everything he wanted right now: good food, good drink, and of course the woman he loved sitting next to him. As he sat there with a full belly and a comfortable smile, helping to save the world seemed like an awful lot of trouble.

After dinner Kandinsky lit a cigar and started to discuss their immediate future. “Tomorrow we will leave the submarine and take a launch up the Tiber to Rome,” he said to Jennings. “I have spoken to Pat Cronin and we will meet him and Stratton at the Parco dei Principi tomorrow.”

“Fair enough,” said Jennings. “But ultimately what are we going to achieve? The Vatican already has the symbols, and the whole world already knows about the Messiah.”

“I do not know what we can achieve,” admitted Kandinsky. “But there are only a few of us who know the truth, and therefore only a few of us who can stop this madness. I promised Desayer and Cronin a long time ago that I would help them as far as was possible, and I see no reason to go back on my word. Even if we are fighting a futile battle I am honour bound to do what I can.”

“Of course,” said a suitably guilty Jennings. “And I'll do the same.”

“What about me?” said Stella. “Am I invited to this little gettogether?”

“I had not thought you would be well enough to travel,” said Kandinsky. “But I suppose there is no way of stopping you now. If you do not come with us you will probably try and swim to Rome.”

Jennings laughed. Stella punched him on the arm.

“What about you, Grady?” said Jennings. “You've been pretty quiet. What do you think about it all?”

“I don't know. But I do know that things are looking bad, and that I'm needed back home. If anything does happen I want to be there with my family. Brooke needs me right now.”

“So you're going back to the States?”

“Yes, buddy, I am.”

Jennings felt suddenly deflated. He understood Grady's need to go home – in the same position he'd be doing the same thing – but for all his faults he'd grown used to having him around. “I guess you've got to do what you've got to do,” he said.

There was brief silence, then Stella yawned. “I think I need some sleep ,” she said.

“Do you want some help back to your room?” asked Jennings.

“Sure.”

They said goodnight and made their way slowly back to Stella's quarters.

“Never mind,” she said. “You've still got me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you're upset about Grady going back home.”

“Not really,” said Jennings. “He's a good man and he's helped us a lot, but we'll get by without him.”

Stella shook her head. Whatever she said there was no way Jennings was going to admit to anything. She could tell he was depressed though, it was only his male pride holding it in.

Jennings opened the door to her room and helped her in and onto the bed. “I'll see you in the morning,” he said. “Have a good sleep.”

“Aren't you going to stay for a while?”

Jennings shrugged. “I thought you were tired.”

“I am a bit, but you can sit with me for a few minutes can't you? And I thought maybe you could try out your healing hands on me.”

“My healing hands?”

“Yeah. I thought you said that monk attuned you when you were in the jungle.”