Fear of the Fathers (44 page)

“She is very beautiful, yes?” said Kandinsky.

“I've seen worse,” said Oggi. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“No. I do not have girlfriend. No girlfriend, no wife. I have no need for such a distraction. ‘Women weaken legs' as
Rocky's
trainer said. All the females in my life are on my payroll. I have no room for love in my life. As long as my basic needs are met, then I am a happy man.”

Stella nearly choked at the misogynistic implication, but not wanting to appear prudish she kept her thoughts to herself.

“I am sorry if this offends you,” Kandinsky said to Stella, sensing her unease.

“It doesn't offend me,” said Stella. “I just think it's sad.”

Kandinsky shrugged. “Maybe. But each man to his own, as they say. Anyway let us move on. We are not here to discuss my personal arrangements. I expect you are all very tired, after all it must be nearly five o'clock in the morning on your time. You must forgive me – time gets very disjointed when you spend your life under the sea. I just wanted to welcome you aboard the
Marianna
and wish you a pleasant journey. Each of you has their own quarters and their own valet. If you need anything, at any time, you only have to press a button and you will receive assistance. Have you any questions?” Everyone shook their heads. “Good,” he continued. “I shall call for your valets who will show you to your rooms. Have a good sleep and we shall meet again later on for dinner.”

It was eight o'clock in the morning and the traffic into Oxford was chaotic. Grady rubbed his face and yawned and opened the car window. He had been driving for nearly five hours and his eyes were heavy and hurting. He reached for a bottle of mineral water and took a swig. In the back of the car Pat Cronin was snoozing away happily, for which Grady was grateful having had to put up with countless hours of morphine-induced blarney. Unfortunately he was going to have to wake him to obtain directions.

“Pat,” he said loudly, shaking the priest's leg. “Pat!”

Cronin opened a sleepy eye and said, “What's up?”

“We're coming up to Oxford. I need to know where to go.”

“Oh, right,” said Cronin, raising his head. “Let me think.”

After an hour of wrong turns, double-backs, and general bad-tempered mayhem, they freed themselves of the city and headed out on the open road. Ten minutes later they parked up outside an isolated cottage.

Grady helped Cronin out of the car and they hobbled to the front door. When it opened Grady took a step back.

“Morning,” said Marvo cheerfully. “What have we got here? A priest in peril?”

“Morning Marvo,” said Cronin. “Thanks for this.”

“No problem, come in and take the weight off.”

Marvo made a pot of coffee and they sat around the kitchen table. Cronin received another shot of morphine.

“It's good to see you Pat,” said Marvo. “It's been a long time. What's with the religious getup? Is it some sort of disguise?”

“Sort of,” said Cronin drowsily. “But I am a real priest.”

“Sounds intriguing, you'll have to tell me more when I've fixed you up. What about you Grady? Are you part of the clergy as well?”

“No. I'm just a man who should have stayed at home.”

“You sound tired,” said Marvo kindly.

“That's because I've been driving all night.”

“That would do it,” said Marvo. “Listen, if you want to get your head down there's plenty of space upstairs. I'll take care of Pat here.”

“Thanks,” said Grady. “But to be honest I just want to get on the first available flight back to the States.”

“Fair enough,” said Marvo. “But I wouldn't recommend driving any further in your state. Even a couple of hours' kip would do you good.”

Grady sighed. He knew Marvo was right, yet he was loathe to stay any longer for fear of some other disaster getting in the way of his journey home. “You're probably right,” he said, after a brief deliberation. “Maybe I will grab a few hours' shuteye. After all, it's not long in the great scheme of things is it?”

By the time Jennings woke it was 17.00 GMT. At first disorientated, he slowly registered where he was and what had happened. He stretched his arms and yawned with a relaxed grin, secure in the knowledge that, for the time being, he wouldn't be called upon to perform anything more strenuous than lifting a cup of tea. Rubbing his eyes he sat up and took in his surroundings.

The room was about twelve feet square with a double bed in the right-hand corner and an expensive-looking desk and chair in front of it. There was a large plasma screen on the wall above the desk, and to the right as Jennings looked there was a wardrobe and chest of drawers. At the back was a door that led into an en-suite bath and shower room. At the side of the bed, just above a small cabinet, was a button with a sign stating ‘PRESS FOR ATTENTION'. Deciding that he needed attending to, Jennings went ahead and did just that.

“Hello,” said a female voice.

“Hi,” said Jennings. “Can I get a mug of tea please, and maybe a bacon sandwich with a bit of ketchup.”

“Certainly sir,” said the voice. “How would you like your tea?”

“Strong, with milk and two sugars please.”

“Very good sir. Will that be all?”

“Yes thanks.”

After a quick visit to the toilet he got back into bed and switched on the television. The menu gave him a choice of just about every TV station in the world plus a catalogue of what seemed like every film ever made. On top of that there was also an extensive list of video games. Unable to decide what he really wanted he flicked over to the comedy channel and watched a repeat of
Friends
.

His food arrived within ten minutes. It was delivered by a stunning blonde in a French-maid's uniform. As she bent over to set the tray on the bedside cabinet she gave him a cheeky smile. Jennings felt his loins stirring and casually moved his hands down the duvet to hide any embarrassment.

“There you go, sir,” she said. “My name is Sasha. If you need anything else, then just press my button. Anything at all.” She emphasized the last sentence with a knowing glance at Jennings' cupped hands and left with a wiggle of her hips.

Jennings took a few deep breaths and fanned his face before reaching for his drink.

The tea was perfect as was the bacon butty, and he polished them off with relish. After watching another episode of
Friends
he took a long shower and put on some jeans and a white T-shirt. He decided to take a wander around the submarine and find out where everyone else was. But before he made it out of the room there was a knock on the door. It was Stratton.

“Hi Stratton,” he said, showing him in. “What's up?”

“I thought I'd come and say hi. It was all a bit rushed last night wasn't it? Didn't really get a chance to say a proper hello.”

“No. It was a bit mad. How's Titan by the way? Has he progressed?”

“He's good,” said Stratton. “Oggi's been giving him a bit of Reiki, and it seems to be pulling him through. The doctor says he was lucky to survive at all.” He pulled out the chair and sat next to the desk. “I see you've taken advantage of the excellent room service,” he said, pointing to the empty mug and plate.

“Yes, I have,” said Jennings, sitting down on the bed. “But only for comestibles. I'm not sure exactly what was on offer, but there was a strong hint of ‘extras', if you know what I mean.”

“I think you're right,” laughed Stratton. “The girl who brought me my breakfast certainly wasn't shy in coming forward. They live in a different world, these billionaires. A different set of codes. It never ceases to amaze me what money can buy though.”

“I know what you mean,” said Jennings. “All the girls on board are jaw-droppingly gorgeous, they could have any man they want. And yet they seem to be happy traipsing around as high-class waitresses-cum-prostitutes. They must be getting paid an awful lot of money.”

“I dare say,” nodded Stratton. “But never underestimate the aphrodisiac of power. Not all women think the same way as Stella.”

“No, they don't,” said Jennings avoiding Stratton's gaze.

“Anyway,” said Stratton. “How have you been keeping? I hear you've been looking after our beloved Prime Minister.”

“Yes. Well, I was until someone framed me for murder.”

“How did you find him?” asked Stratton.

“Very pleasant actually. He was always very complimentary. It was at his request that I got transferred. He seemed to like me for some reason, and I liked him. He was easy to talk to – not up his own arse like most politicians. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just curious.”

Jennings looked across at him suspiciously. He didn't know Stratton that well, but he knew there was always a point to his questions.

“What about Stella?” said Stratton. “She's putting on a brave face, but I expect it's been tough for her.”

“Yeah, it has, but she seems a lot happier now that you're back.”

“Does she? She doesn't seem that overjoyed to me.”

Jennings opened the door to the bedside cabinet, anxious to distract himself from the uncomfortable conversation that was looming. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss Stratton and Stella's love life. He found that the cabinet was in fact a small fridge containing mineral water, various sodas, juices, beers, and a bottle of Smirnoff Blue Label vodka. “Do you fancy a drink?” he asked Stratton.

“Why not?” Stratton replied. “I'll have a vodka and orange juice.”

“Me too,” said Jennings. “Now where are the glasses. There must be some here somewhere.”

“I think they're in the draw above the fridge,” said Stratton.

Jennings poured out a couple of large measures and added juice in a two-to-one ratio.

“It's no accident that you're here you know Jennings,” said Stratton as he accepted his drink.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I've been calling for you. Have you not heard me?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said a mystified Jennings.

“Have you not thought about me? Maybe I've popped into your head occasionally, like when you're half asleep or dozing.”

“Maybe, I guess. Yeah.”

“Well then, you have heard me. I knew you would. You've got an extremely sensitive psychic antenna. Although you don't use it enough.”

“I didn't know I had it.”

“Well, you have. What about that incident at Cheltenham when you fainted? Didn't you have some sort of vision then?”

“How do you know about that?” asked Jennings defensively.

“Stella told me.”

“Yeah, it was really weird. But it didn't feel like it was me having the vision. It felt like someone else. I don't know how to explain it really. It was me, but it wasn't me, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. You were outside yourself.”

“I guess so,” said Jennings. “That's about the best way to describe it. It was scary though, there's no doubt about that. I'm not sure I'd want it happening as a regular occurrence.”

“You'll get used to it after a while. It's all about conditioning.”

“Like I said, I'm not sure if I want to get used to it.” He took a long gulp of his drink. “Anyway,” he continued. “The only reason I'm here is because I'm a fugitive, so it is an accident really. Unless you helped to set me up that is?”

“Of course not,” said Stratton. “But I wanted you here, and you are here.”

Jennings thought about this last statement for a moment and then let it pass, uncertain as to its connotations. “What do you say we have a wander round the sub?” he said, finishing his vodka.

“Why not. Dinner's at nine by the way. It should be interesting. Kandinsky's a fascinating character.”

“You can say that again.”

A grey light penetrated the edge of the curtains forming a bottomless rectangle. Grady opened his eyes and immediately knew that he'd slept for too long. Still fully-clothed he leapt off the bed and grabbed his watch from the sideboard. It was 5.30pm and the day was all but lost. He cursed himself for not setting the alarm.

After slipping on his shoes he went downstairs to find Marvo. His host was busy in the kitchen. “Hello there,” he said. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“Too good,” said Grady. “I should have been gone hours ago. Forgot to set my damn alarm.”

“Oh well,” said Marvo. “On the plus side – if you stay another half hour you can join me for some food before you go. I know Pat wants to see you before you leave.”