A Sacred Storm (28 page)

Ayres gestured indifference. “I suppose there may be some conflict, but there's far more of us than there are of them. Christianity is the biggest religion in the world. We've got followers all over the globe. We've got the mightiest nations behind us. If you think a few countries in the Middle East are going to overcome us then you're living in cloud-cuckoo-land.”

“It's not about who wins is it?” said Stratton. “It's about the devastation and loss of life.”

“Casualties will be minimal I'm sure. Once this Mahdi has been exposed then they will have no choice but to accept Christiano as God's messenger on earth.”

“Really? And how exactly are you going to expose him?”

“By killing him of course.”

“You'll just make him a martyr.”

“No. We'll be showing the world that he has no connection to God or Allah whatsoever. The true Messiah cannot be killed.”

“A bit like Jesus?”

“No, this is different,” said Ayres. “Jesus sacrificed himself. The new Messiah will not.” He looked at his watch. “Anyway, time is pressing. I've got a meeting with the Pope. I'll be back later. If you want a drink of water, just ask my friends over there.” He gestured to the men at the table. “If you're really nice to them they might even feed you some bread.”

“You're too kind,” said Stratton. He watched Ayres leave and then closed his eyes, his head groggy and exhausted from talking.

Jennings paced up and down the suite wearing out the soft, gold carpet. It was 4.30pm and there was still no sign of Stratton or Cronin. Grady and Stella were sat in the vanilla and green living area, and Kandinsky was out on the balcony making more calls.

“Will you stop pacing about and come and sit down,” said Grady. “I'm getting hypnotized watching you go up and down.”

“Well don't look then,” said Jennings.

“Grady's right,” said Stella. “Come and have a rest. Sip some water, take some deep breaths – that sort of thing. It's what you'd be telling us to do.”

“I think better when I'm on the go.”

Stella rolled her eyes and left him alone.

Kandinsky came in from the balcony. His face didn't inspire hope. “I am afraid I have some bad news,” he said grimly. “Apparently Cardinal Desayer is dead.”

“What?!” said Jennings. “What happened?”

“He died in his sleep last night. Apparently he had a heart attack. The priest who answered his phone said that it was very peaceful.”

“What priest? Why wasn't Cronin answering?” said Jennings. “He was the cardinal's assistant.”

Kandinsky put a large hand on Jennings' shoulder. “Calm down,” he said. “Come and sit for a while.”

This time Jennings did as he was told.

Kandinsky continued his breakdown of the telephone conversation. “The priest I spoke to did not know the whereabouts of Father Cronin, but suggested that he was probably busy with funeral arrangements and the like. He said that he would get Cronin to call me back as soon as he was located. I know it is unsatisfactory, but I am afraid there is nothing we can do but wait.”

“Busy with funeral arrangements,” said Jennings. “What a crock of shit. There's no way that Cronin and Stratton wouldn't have let us know what was going on.”

“Of course not,” said Kandinsky. “But like I said – there is nothing we can do. We cannot go storming into the Vatican making accusations.”

Jennings got back up and went outside to the balcony for some fresh air. He closed his eyes and took some long, deep breaths from his diaphragm, just like Stratton had taught him. He had no idea why he was so edgy. Certainly the situation was bad, but he'd been through a lot worse and survived. His brain was telling him that his reaction was unhealthy, but his body was having none of it. Every time he tried to keep still and calm an internal force would take hold, agitating him and compelling him to move.

Stella came out and stood next to him, putting her hand on his arm. “What's gotten into you?” she asked. “You're a right jack-in the-box today.”

“I don't know. I just can't keep still. There's this whole load of energy flowing through me and I can't control it. If I'm still for more than half a minute I feel like I'm going to explode.”

“Do you think it's got anything to do with the Reiki you gave me last night?” she asked.

Jennings thought for a moment. “I suppose it might,” he said. “The problem is that Stratton's not here to help. He'd be able to tell me exactly why I'm like this. He'd probably be able to calm me down as well. I just wish we knew what was going on. I can't stand all this waiting around.”

Stella gently stroked his back. She wanted to say something comforting, but it would have been a lie. She knew as well as Jennings that something was wrong. As a result of his treatment her senses were heightened like never before. She had woken up feeling alert and in tune, as if she'd been wired into a grid. She felt closer to Jennings than ever.

They stood in silence for a while, gazing out onto the city.

Stella's touch was soothing and Jennings finally began to relax. He wanted to grab her and hold her tight and never let her go. He was still playing with the idea when Grady joined them.

“Right then,” he said. “I'm off.”

“So soon?” said Jennings.

“Yeah. The limo's waiting for me downstairs. It's almost five now and the traffic's bad so I need to make a move. I just came to say so long.”

“Well, I suppose if you really have to go,” said Jennings.

“I do,” said Grady. “I know that things aren't great, but I've already stayed away too long. There's a point where you've got to think about what's really important.”

“I know, mate. You've got to do what you've got to do.” He held out his hand. “Thanks for saving my life – again.”

Grady took his hand and drew him in for a hug. “Not a problem, buddy. Not a problem.”

After he'd gone Jennings sat down at the balcony table and looked sadly up at the sky.

“Are you alright?” asked Stella.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just…I'm fine.”

“You've still got me,” she said. “I might not be as handsome as Grady, but I'll do my best.”

Jennings laughed. “Very funny. I've just got used to having him around, that's all. He's a decent bloke, once you've got through all the macho bullshit anyway.”

“Yeah, he's alright,” Stella agreed. “Although I never though I'd say it. Let's not forget that he was quite happy to leave us to burn in hell last year at the cottage.”

“You know what,” said Jennings. “I'd completely forgotten about that. It doesn't seem like the same person though.”

Inside the suite Kandinsky's phone rang. Stella and Jennings jumped out of their seats and listened at the balcony door, trying to get a handle on who the caller was and what they were saying. But Kandinsky's face and tone remained impassive. After a two minute conversation he hung up.

“Who was that? What's happening?” said Jennings excitedly.

“That was the priest I spoke to earlier – a Father Panduro. He said that he has located Father Cronin and that he has passed on a message for us to meet him at the Vatican later this evening.”

“Well that doesn't sound suspicious, does it?”

“Of course it does,” said Kandinsky. “But I do not feel we have any choice other than to accept the invitation. What else can we do?”

“Nothing I guess,” said Jennings. “But if we go to the Vatican we're playing right into their hands.”

“And if we don't we could be waiting here forever,” said Stella. “If we go we'll at least find out what's happened to them.”

“We will,” said Jennings. “But walking into a trap may not be the best way forward. If we go then they've got all of us in one neat little package. There'll be no-one left who knows the truth.”

“I thought you wanted to find out what'd happened to them?” said Stella.

“I do. But I'm trying to think objectively like Stratton now. Would he want us going in there blind?”

“Perhaps not,” said Kandinsky. “But there is no doubt that they have been found out, and are either dead or being held captive. We have to do what we can. If that means putting ourselves in danger then so be it. Without Stratton the whole cause is lost. None of us can compete with the power at the Church's disposal.”

Jennings sat down on the settee. He knew that Kandinsky was right, but he also knew that going to the Vatican was suicidal. Once they were through the doors it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that nobody would hear from them again. And what could they achieve even if they weren't captured? Nobody wanted to say it out loud, but the chances that either Stratton or Cronin was still alive were slim, bordering on non-existent. What was the point in risking everything just to satisfy their curiosity? He racked his brains for a solution. A few moments later an idea came. “I'll go on my own,” he said.

“What?” said Stella.

“I said I'll go on my own. There's no point us all walking into the lions' den, is there? If we all get caught then the truth is going to be lost.”

“No it won't,” said Stella. “Grady will still be around.”

“Grady's got his own problems,” said Jennings. “And besides, by the time he got round to saying anything it would be too late. He'd be one voice lost in a multitude.”

“You are right,” said Kandinsky. “And I think your plan is a good one. There is one small change that we should make though – it is I who should go to the Vatican. They know my name and are expecting me. And, no offence Jennings, but I am far more likely to come out alive than yourself.”

Jennings looked up at the giant Russian and knew the truth in his words. If anyone was going to survive it was him.

Seeing that his statement had hit home Kandinsky continued. “I will get my people up here and have them inject a transmitter under my skin. Then you will be able to track my every move. I will also let them know that in my absence Jennings here speaks for me. Then if anything happens you will still have a huge network at your disposal.”

“But without you…” Stella started.

Kandinsky held up his hand. “There is nothing more to discuss,” he said. “I have spoken.”

It was almost an hour after Pat Cronin came round that his senses finally returned to something resembling normality. His head was still throbbing, but he could see and hear, and that was a good start. Next to him Stratton was either asleep or dead, he couldn't tell which. He called to the men at the table and asked them to bring him some more water. The bigger of the two wandered over with a bottle and put it to Cronin's lips. He glugged down as much as his weakened system could hold.

When he was done the man rejoined his companion at the table and carried on their game of cards. They had talked between themselves, but had said nothing to Cronin apart from offering him water and bread. He had tried to engage them in conversation without success. All he could tell was that they were English and professional.

Beside him Stratton stirred and opened his eyes. Cronin was hit by a wave of relief. “I thought you might be dead,” he said.

“No,” said Stratton. “Well, not yet anyway. Although from what I remember death's a lot more pleasant than this.”

“Any idea where we are?” asked Cronin. “I've tried speaking to Tweedledum and Tweedledee over there, but they're not the most communicative.”

“I've got no idea where we are,” said Stratton. “But I do know we're here as guests of the Church and the British Prime Minister. We had a little visit from him when you were still out for the count. I'm afraid we've been found out.”

“How much do they know?”

“Just about everything. They've been onto your boss, the cardinal, for ages apparently. I guess they were waiting to see if he turned anything up before they did. It wouldn't surprise me if they've had him watched for years. Probably bugged his chambers and his phones. I can't imagine there's a lot they don't know about.”

“Fuck it!” said Cronin. “We were so careful. I've lost count of the amount of times I've swept that place for bugs. But I guess with all the money at their disposal they can always keep ahead of the game. Technology just moves on far too quickly.”

“Yeah, it does,” agreed Stratton. “There's no way you could have kept on top of it. In this day and age if somebody wants to keep tabs on you there's no way to stop them.”

“So where is the cardinal?” asked Cronin.

Stratton fell silent.

“What?” pressed Cronin. “What's happened?”

“He's dead,” said Stratton. “They killed him.”

Cronin bowed his head.

Stratton continued. “For what it's worth I don't think he suffered. The official line is that he had a heart attack in his sleep, and it's probably not far from the truth. A quick injection I expect.”

“It doesn't make me feel any better,” said Cronin. “I was responsible for him. He paid me to look after things. I should have been more alert to the danger.”

“You couldn't have stopped them.”

“I could have at least tried. I should have been more cautious. I mean, what sort of fool allows himself to be drugged in his sleep?”

“I've been asking myself the same question,” said Stratton. “But we've both been caught napping and there's fuck all we can do about it.”

The sun was setting and the streetlights were starting to flicker on. Tariq walked down the Middleton Road with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched nervously, his face covered by a hood. The traffic was unusually sparse and the air was heavy with intent. He hadn't wanted to leave the house, but when Jenna had called him his heart had been unable to refuse. There was no gauntlet he wouldn't run just to see her heavenly face.