The Silent Pool (38 page)

There was no sound of pursuit. This meant that these guys were good. They could not have failed to see him slip out of the car yet they hadn't made a sound, they were communicating with hand signals and that meant military or ex-military, thought Erasmus.

He ducked and weaved low between parked cars and then slid underneath a car. A quick pat down of his pockets rendered nothing more dangerous than the ballpoint pen handed back to him by the guard on his departure from Strangeways. It would have to do.

There was a noise to his right.

Erasmus held his breath as a pair of black combat boots passed slowly to the side of the car, paused and then carried on. A few seconds later the boots reappeared, doubling back. He waited for the boots to pass and then he quietly slipped out into the space between the cars. A masked man was straight in front of him, maybe two metres away, his head scanning left and right.

Erasmus took a step forward, the man must have heard something, he began to turn and as he did so Erasmus stepped forward and pressed the ballpoint pen deep into the man's carotid sinus at the top of his neck. This caused the man's blood pressure to drop massively and suddenly. He held the man around his neck as he sank unconscious to the floor.

Erasmus looked for the gun that the man had been carrying but there was no sight of it. He dropped to the floor and looked under the cars. It lay under the nearest. Erasmus stretched out his hand but couldn't reach it. He heard footsteps and realised he had to move.

If he broke cover he would be a dead man in seconds. They had would have taken up firing positions covering the exits. It's what he would have done.

He searched through the unconscious man's pockets. He found a mobile phone and pocketed it. He left his own mobile phone on the chest of the man and then crawled under the 4X4 parked next to him.

He pulled out the mobile phone and dialled his own number.

The sound of the ring tone that Abby had installed on his phone, a jaunty pop ditty, seemed so out of place that he almost laughed.

Nothing happened. He rang it again.

Suddenly, from the back of a 4X4 less than thirty yards away a pair of boots appeared as a man dropped silently from the back of the van where he had been clinging.

Slowly, the boots made their way to the row of cars where the body lay.

Erasmus scanned the lot but the second man wasn't falling for it, he must be covering the other.

Damn
, thought Erasmus. That significantly reduced his chances.

The boots were close now, the man would see his comrades body any second now and realise it was a trap. The boots reached the end of the row. If he stayed there Erasmus would be doomed.

He held his breath.

‘Shit!’ he heard the man say. And then there was the sound of footsteps. Erasmus watched as boots became level with his head and then he shot his arms out, grabbed his boots and pulled back as hard as he can. The man collapsed, smashing his head on the side of the car opposite as he did so. He landed with a thud, his head level with Erasmus’. With a look of horror in his eyes he tried to bring his gun to bear.

Erasmus let go of the man's boots and grabbed hold of the exhaust chamber in the 4X4 above him. He pulled up off the ground and swung his right leg up in an arching kick that landed directly under the man's chin. There was a sickening breaking sound as the jaw dislocated. His attackers eyes rolled to the back of his head. He was out cold.

Erasmus squeezed out from under the 4X4 into the gap between the parked vehicles. The man still held his gun. Erasmus prised apart the fingers and took hold of the gun.

The problem was he had given away his position. He waited for the attack. One well-placed grenade and that would be the end of Erasmus.

But the attack didn't come.

For a few seconds there was silence, and then the mobile phone that Erasmus had picked up from the dead man began to ring.

Erasmus answered it.

‘Listen carefully, Erasmus.’ The voice was syrupy, southern American. ‘You will put down your weapon and walk out into the parking lot where I can see you, right now.’

Erasmus said nothing. He began crawling slowly, trying to get an idea of where the man was hiding. Concrete dust exploded in his face as a bullet landed an inch away from his nose.

‘If I wanted to kill you I would have done so when you ran from the car. Drop the weapon and step away from the car, right now.’

‘Why would I do that?’ said Erasmus.

‘I am sending you a message.’

The dead man's phone chimed. A small white message envelope appeared. The message was from The Pastor.

Erasmus clicked it open. It had no subject heading but it contained an attachment. With a sick feeling in his stomach he clicked on the attachment.

Erasmus felt the floor fall away, adrenaline flooded his central nervous system and the panic swelled inside him like a poison shutting down everything but fear. There were the figures of Miranda and Abby bound, gagged and on their knees in their living room. Standing behind them was a masked man holding a machete.

Erasmus dropped his weapon, stood up and placed his hands behind his head. There were slow footsteps behind him and then a cloth was pressed across his face.

CHAPTER 50

Erasmus awoke to find himself covered in a blanket and sitting in one of the deepest, most comfortable armchairs he had ever sat. He tried to move but found his wrists were strapped to the arms of the chair. The armchair was in front of a large, blazing fire inside a stone fireplace as tall as him and maybe fifteen feet wide. The heat was uncomfortable and Erasmus awoke sweating. Opposite him, sat in an identical armchair watching him, was Kirk Bovind.

There was no other light other than the fire and dark shadows played across Bovind's face. In this light Erasmus thought he could make out slight lines where the surgeons had cut and remade his youthful face.

‘How are you?’ The way Bovind leaned forward, his brow attempting and not succeeding to furrow, made him look genuinely concerned. ‘Not feeling too drowsy from the chloroform, I hope. It's a bit 1930s but they tell me it works. I figure that sometimes you have to just stick with the old ways, even in the face of opposition, they are often the best, you know, Erasmus.’

‘If you touch a hair on Abby's head I will kill you!’

‘Calm down, nothing will happen to your daughter or your wife for that matter. I just want to have a little chat, make sure we are singing from the same hymn sheet and all.’

Erasmus took a breath, tried to remain calm but it almost impossible when the rage inside was so overwhelming. He tried. ‘Let them go. They know nothing about any of this.’

‘I can understand your frustration and anger. I can give you my solemn vow that no harm will come to her if we reach an understanding. My mission is to save children's souls, Erasmus, not to destroy them.’

‘Did you kill Tomas Radzinski?’ asked Erasmus.

‘Well, that's the wrong question, Erasmus, but I'm a straight-talking type of guy so I'll give you my answer. Firstly, this nonsense about Tomas. I told you I was being blackmailed and I thank you for finding out who it was.’

Erasmus was confused.
How did Bovind know about Theo? Who had told him?

Bovind continued. ‘They will be dealt with in due course. But this?’ He held up Erasmus’ memory card, the card that he had given Rachel and upon which Burns’ confession was recorded. ‘This has to go. Shame on you for recording an off the record conversation. Where are your ethics?’

Bovind tossed the phone into the fire. Erasmus watched it start to melt.

‘My people are at your flat now checking your computer but I figure you'll just tell me the truth given the stakes and all. Do you have any other copies of this recording or have you sent any copies to any other individuals?

Erasmus took a deep breath in. ‘That is the only copy I have but it won't do you any good, the truth is out there now, Bovind.’

Bovind leaned forward and tapped Erasmus on the knee. ‘Well, we'll see all about that, won't we. I want you to know I trust you.’

‘Did you murder Tomas?’

There was a pause. Bovind looked away and then back at Erasmus. ‘I certainly did not. That particular honour went to Stephen Francis, his best friend.’

‘I don't believe you,’

Erasmus looked around. He couldn't tell for sure because of the darkness but he thought that they were alone.

Bovind laughed. ‘You don't believe me, huh! I console myself with the thought that he died a Christian but if you were looking for a murderer you are looking in the wrong place. It was Stephen's hand that felled Tomas.’

‘But you killed Petersen, Ford and Wareing. You sent men to Giles’ house, to Jenna's house!’

Bovind looked puzzled. ‘I never killed them. It was Stephen. I wanted, still want, to find him. He and his malicious uncle want to stop my work. They are trying to frame me for those murders. They will stop at nothing to stand in the way of God's work.’

Erasmus was confused. Why would Bovind lie to him now? He had his wife and daughter tied up. What did he have to lose by telling him the truth?

‘You killed Tomas and Father Michael covered it up. Theo was trying to expose you, he didn't kill your friends.’

Bovind banged his fist on the armchair. It was the first time that Erasmus had seen him angry. ‘They don't know what they are interfering with. The past is dead. They will not derail God's plans!’

Erasmus realised with a shock that he believed him. The murders of his former friends were a nuisance to Bovind, nothing more. There was another game afoot and Erasmus was about to become a player in it whether he wanted to or not.

‘The question you should have asked, though, is why have I kept you alive? Before I tell you and to pre-empt any sudden actions on your part that you may regret, I think you better have a look at this first.’

Bovind picked up a remote control from the arm of the chair and aimed it somewhere in the darkness behind Erasmus. He pressed a button and a beam of light from a hidden projector shot across the room and illuminated the wall opposite Erasmus. The image was of Miranda and Abby bound in their living room. The man holding the machete stood behind them. It looked like a scene from an al-Qaeda execution video.

‘I'll fucking kill you, let them go!’ Erasmus’ chest tightened, pins and needles of anxiety shot along his arms and infected his chest.

‘Please be calm and listen to how you can save your family.’

Erasmus sank back into the chair. His eyes never left the image of Abby, she had been crying but he recognised a determined look in her eyes that made his heart flutter and leap. He felt sick and helpless.

‘What do you want?’ he heard his voice say from a million miles away.

‘Very good. That's the spirit. Do you know the fastest growing religion in the world is not the Third Wave, we have maybe 100 million members, mainly lapsed Catholics but it is not enough.’

Bovind's face was animated and he spoke with passion.

‘Who commits the worst atrocities of our time and yet paradoxically is the largest and fastest growing religion in the world? Islam. People respect fear. They gravitate towards certainty and strength. In the West our liberal democracies are too weak, too fat and indulgent to defend themselves against the death by a thousand cuts of Islamic rights and immigration. The West is succumbing to Islam. But, Erasmus, I do not blame the Muslims, they are doing what the faithful do. It is clear where the blame lies, it lies with secularism. Professor Cannon and people like him have gradually destroyed all Christian life in Europe and are making inroads in America. They think this is progress but they don't recognise the need for God in people's lives. But the Islamists do and they are winning! We need a war on the secular, they need to understand our passion and anger. Liverpool will become the symbol of a resurgent, defiant and, yes, because it is needed, a violent Christianity! People will awaken from their slumbers!’

‘Bovind, you are nuts.’

Bovind shook his head and smiled. ‘I pity you. You will never know God's love.’

‘What do you want with my family?’

‘Your family are a guarantee of your actions.’

‘My actions?’

‘You are to be a Christian soldier, Erasmus. You have my word that your family will be released, unharmed, tomorrow afternoon at 5 p.m. providing that you carry out a task for me.’

‘How do I know that you will let my family go if I do what you want?’

Bovind laughed exposing gums that looked much older than his brilliant white teeth. ‘You don't, you have to have faith.’

Erasmus suddenly saw it with absolute clarity. There was no internal debate about what needed to be done. This man was insane and there is no reasoning with such people. All choices were gone. He had to fight him and destroy him or he would die. It was the same strange sort of mental peace he had felt in Afghanistan when he was involved in a firefight. The narrowing of focus brought him calm. He felt the anxiety recede, his breathing returned to normal and deep inside something broke, he lost part of himself but it was necessary for what he knew he had to do.

Bovind raised his right hand.

The Pastor appeared from the shadows, his sharp, white face seemed to be floating in the blackness of the room. He had been standing the whole time, watching, waiting to be called.

The Pastor was holding a large knife that glinted in the firelight. He took hold of Erasmus’ arms and sliced the ties that bound him to the chair.

‘You want me to kill Professor Cannon?’

Bovind laughed.

‘Certainly not! We have executed one of their baby killers and now they wish to strike back. I want the world to see how the secularists react to the rising power of the Third Wave. Tomorrow you will be like the Angel Gabriel and you will deliver death to the unbelievers. You will detonate explosives when you get close to the Mayor as he walks amongst the faithful. We will mourn our leaders, oh yes, but we will return stronger, borne from fire and blood. We will have the country at our back as we strike back with mighty fire and fury at the unbelievers. Tonight Father Michael was killed by unbelievers and tomorrow they take our beloved Mayor, sacrifices that will be long remembered by us.’