The Temple Covenant

by D C Macey

  He reached the pavement and kept running, heading out across the road and directly into the traffic flow. As he ran, he was aware of the larger group to his right closing from the direction of the Hilton, much closer now. And he could sense those he had already clashed with coming in fast from his left.

  Across the street was an opening, leading into a narrower side road. He took it, passed the less glamorous Oakwood Hotel where, years back, he had stayed on more than one occasion when off-duty in Nairobi. Ahead, the side street made a hard-right turn into Kimathi Lane. The chasing pack was closer now. He hoped he might find refuge in one of the gold and jewellery shops he knew lined both sides of the lane just round the turn, if he could make it that far. He kept going; he would find safety there.

  Turning the corner, he ran towards the line of shops, his sudden approach triggering a flurry of activity.

  ‘No, wait.’ Out of breath, his voice scarcely carried.

  Each shop had its own guard; some had two. All were tasked to stand by the shutters and control access. At the slightest sign of trouble - gold was an attractive target for street gangs - the guards’ job was to step inside and roll down the steal filigreed shutters behind them. Then from their secure vantage points, the guards could fend off persistent attackers and provide covering support to the guards of other shops along the lane.

  In just an instant, to the sound of slamming shutters, the street was emptied and the guards watched cautiously from behind their shutters as Bob ran past. Disappointed, he didn’t bother stopping; trying to force entry would have elicited a violent response. Leaving the shops behind, he put on one last spurt of speed. If he could get back to the main street via the far end of the lane then maybe, just maybe, he could hail a taxi and escape.

  Nearly there, Bob felt a hand on his shoulder, slowing him. He tried to shrug it off, but another grabbed him, and he was bundled to the ground. He struggled, but more and more men piled on, pinning him fast to the ground. Furious, Bob glared at the short plump man who had now caught up with the chase.

  Producing a syringe from the jacket of his safari suit, the plump man pulled off the needle’s protective cap.

  ‘No. Don’t you dare.’ Bob struggled harder against his captors, to no avail.

  In silence, the plump man bent over Bob and plunged the needle into his upper arm, squeezed down the plunger. Then he straightened up, discarding the used syringe and looking coldly at Bob.

  ‘Welcome, Colonel Prentice. Your resistance is over. You are mine now.’

  Bob couldn’t respond, his voice would not articulate the words he wanted. His limbs stopped responding to instructions, then a wave of black swept through his mind and his struggle ended.

  4.

  Wednesday, 23rd October - PM

  Helen and Sam sat in one of the refreshment zones of the Addis Ababa Bole Airport. Each had a bottle of cold water set on the table in front of them and took an occasional mouthful. Their morning flight from Jinka on a little twin-engine Otter had passed uneventfully.

  Once offloaded, they had checked their bags onto the Nairobi flight early and were now waiting in the airy concourse. High ceilings, clever use of glazed internal walls, and white colouring, provided a bright and welcoming atmosphere. They relaxed, just sitting quietly, watching the world go by while getting used to the hustle of humanity after their time in the bush, pausing for a little while before getting in line for the mandatory security checks.

  Their peace was disrupted by a man who approached their table and rested a hand on the back of one of the empty chairs opposite. ‘Sam Cameron?’ he said.

  Sam looked up at the man. He was smartly turned out in a white open-necked shirt and lightweight beige suit. One side of his jacket sagged slightly; weighed down with what Sam guessed would be a phone and keys. ‘Who’s asking?’ said Sam.

  ‘Ah good, I thought I’d recognised you. Rupert Peterson, but please, call me Rupert.’

  ‘And you want to speak with me because?’ Sam was sitting up straight, paying attention, but he did not invite the new arrival to sit. The man’s voice was English and accent free. Sam could not place him at all.

  ‘Ha, good question. I thought you’d ask that one. Now look, old man, I really need a quiet word with you.’ Rupert glanced towards Helen as he spoke, then rolled his eyes towards an empty table some yards away. ‘Perhaps you’ll allow me to buy you a beer?’ He brandished a roughly furled umbrella in the direction of the table and then set off without waiting for Sam’s reply.

  Sam watched Rupert pause beside a chair at the empty table, saw him use a foot to push out the chair and beckon expectantly towards him. The umbrella in Rupert’s other hand rose high like a signal mast and he waved it languidly in a signal towards the far end of the room. Then he raised his free hand too, making an open cupped hand sign that he tilted rhythmically at the wrist signalling drinks. His gesture morphed into two fingers held prominently aloft.

  Helen and Sam traced Rupert’s direction of gaze and saw a second man, a little younger than Rupert, wave back an acknowledgement, before heading for the bar.

  ‘I’d better go and see what this is all about,’ said Sam.

  ‘Hmmm, must you? It’s all a bit odd. What do you think it might be?’

  ‘I have no idea. But they seem ready to wait us out.’ Sam watched as Rupert sat, crossed his legs and then reached out with his umbrella to prod at the chairback opposite him, pushing it out invitingly. Then he leant back, folded his arms and arched his eyebrow in a slightly quizzical way towards Sam. ‘We’ve got an hour to kill still; I may as well go and see what he wants.’

  ‘Okay, but be careful.’

  Sam stood and walked slowly across to Rupert’s table. He settled into the seat opposite him.

  ‘Well?’ said Sam, fixing Rupert with a blank stare. ‘I asked you why you wanted to speak with me. You’ve got two minutes then I’m going back to my table.’

  Rupert smiled at Sam. ‘You’re quite right to be cautious, I understand completely. In fact, I’m quite pleased to see that’s the case. Unfamiliar places, difficult times, not to be cautious might prove hazardous.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘No, no, nothing could be further from the case. Look, here’s my ID, see.’ Rupert pulled his wallet from the sagging jacket pocket and picked out an ID card. He slid it across the table.

  Sam recognised the diplomatic pass; he’d had one himself for a spell, some years before. ‘Captain Rupert Peterson. Military attaché to the British Embassy in Addis Ababa.’ He looked up at Rupert and handed back the ID card. ‘Good for you. Now if you don’t have anything to say I’ll rejoin my companion, okay?’

  ‘Here’s the beer coming,’ said Rupert, pointing across the room at his colleague who was weaving towards them, carrying a tray with two bottles of beer. ‘You said two minutes, I’ve hardly had that.’

  Sam was silent for a moment. ‘Keep talking,’ he said, focusing on Rupert and ignoring the assistant who placed the bottles of beer on the table and retreated.

  ‘Right. I’ll call you Sam. Unless you object? Good. Sam, I know you are over here on a sabbatical of sorts and you’ve been out of uniform for a few years, but I’m afraid HMG needs you. It has to be said, needs you rather desperately—’

  ‘Save your breath. See her?’ Sam pointed across towards Helen who was sitting watching them. ‘I’m with her; we’re on an archaeological study tour of the Great Rift Valley for my university. It’s a tight schedule. Just finished Ethiopia, due in Kenya next and then we’re scheduled to visit Tanzania. Sorry, I’ve no time and I’m not interested. Anyway, I can’t think what I can do that any one of your people wouldn’t manage in half the time.’ He stood up.

  ‘Please! Sam, sit. We are in big trouble. At least hear me out.’ Rupert’s voice was as smooth as ever, but Sam could see anxiety in the man’s face - he really was worried.

  ‘Just until I’ve finished this beer,’ said Sam, sitting again. He lifted the beer bottle
and began to drink.

  Rupert’s features relaxed just a little. ‘Thank you. Now, what I’m about to tell you is in the strictest confidence. We’ve had something of an upset in Kenya, at the BATUK base in Nanyuki. I know you were there some years ago.’

  Sam gave a little nod. Clearly, Rupert had full access to his old military personnel files. ‘I know it. What’s that got to do with me now?’

  ‘Look, there’s a lot to cover, and a lot that can’t be said, but the key points are these. You know HMG and the Kenyan president have been at loggerheads for some time, over various threatened international corruption cases, crimes against humanity, the works really. You name it; he and his cronies seem to have done it. You’ll have seen the stories bubbling along in the newspapers. Well, relations have taken a turn for the worse recently and the Kenyans have put significant restrictions on our staff moving in and out of Kenya.

  ‘We’ve just suffered a significant loss in Kenya and can’t do anything about it. We are not allowed to fly in the people we need who might be able to sort it out, and even my counterpart in Kenya, who between you and me, is a bit of a greenhorn, has just been restricted to Nairobi so he can’t do much either. We’re stuck.’

  ‘I’m not a policeman. If you’ve had kit stolen, tell the Kenyans. They have a police force too; let them fix it for you.’

  Rupert gave a short intake of breath. ‘If only it were that simple. Look, Sam, we can’t tell them what was taken since its presence in Kenya would have breached the terms of our land-use agreement. That would turn our current political dispute with the Kenyans into a nightmare and probably result in our being kicked off the land and out of the country permanently.’

  ‘I’m sorry; I haven’t got time for this. I’ve got places to be and certainly no time to go running around a foreign country searching for a piece of kit that I know nothing about …’ Sam stopped talking, distracted by a movement at Helen’s table. She had been approached by a smartly dressed man. They were talking; he couldn’t make out what was being said but she was smiling, so at least that didn’t seem too threatening. Two or three paces behind Helen’s visitor waited three men, one middle aged, two young, all dressed as priests. He turned his attention back to Rupert. ‘Can’t help, I’m afraid. No, won’t help, to be more precise. I’m not a recovery agent; you need to hire a bailiff.’

  ‘This is not about the stolen kit. Well, yes, it is, it’s top secret and half the countries in the world would like to get their hands on it. But there’s more—’

  Sam finished his bottle. ‘Time’s up, sorry, got to go.’

  ‘They’ve taken one of our people. We need to find him.’ Rupert’s voice lost a little of its composure as he hissed out the words in a desperate attempt to keep Sam’s attention.

  ‘What do you mean taken? Kidnapped? Just pay the money; you’ll get him back soon enough, job done.’

  ‘It’s not a ransom; he’s been taken, because he’s part of the kit. Somebody you know,’ Rupert’s voice had returned to its normal control.

  ‘Who? And stop talking in riddles. What do you mean, part of the kit?’

  ‘Colonel Bob Prentice. He’s been snatched.’

  Sam sat down. He was interested now. Colonel Bob Prentice had been his commander, then mentor and finally friend. ‘Snatched?’

  ‘Yes, snatched. I thought that name might catch your attention. Now it’s not a riddle. The army’s been developing a new piece of kit called ACE. I can’t say what it does, but it’s been taken from up at Nanyuki and the whole test team killed, all of them except Colonel Prentice who had been airlifted down to Nairobi for a meeting just before the attack.’

  ‘If he wasn’t there, how’s he missing?’

  ‘Abducted off the street in Nairobi later in the day. Whoever did this has a big team and is very organised to be able to pull off two strikes, well over a hundred miles apart, on the same day.’

  ‘So, they needed Bob alive?’

  ‘It would seem logical to assume so and hence we are not simply asking for your help to trace a piece of kit, rather to help find your friend, before whoever’s got him manages to get him and the kit away to wherever.’

  ‘Are you sure he’s still in country?’

  ‘We think so. Certainly been no unscheduled cargo flights out and our American friends have a little monitoring station at the port in Mombasa, so we know nothing’s gone out by sea as yet. We just don’t know where ACE or the colonel have gone.’

  ‘Why have they taken Bob?’

  ‘A lot of this is above my pay grade, I’m afraid. What I do know is ACE is miles ahead of the game and its operation is controlled by bio-security. The lead operator is pre-programmed for the equipment and his life signs are integrated into the system. None of the old iris scans or thumbprints. You can’t dig out an eye or chop off a hand to work around the security anymore. This is based on an individual’s life signs. Try to access or operate the kit in their absence, and the whole thing auto-fries into a mess of junk. Whoever has the ACE, has Bob Prentice alive.’

  ‘Okay, I get it. Your people on the ground are unable to move about, you can’t get anybody into the country quickly, and you want me to find Bob.’

  ‘And ACE, of course. And let’s face it; your file says you are the man for the job.’

  ‘That was a long time ago; I’m a lecturer now.’

  ‘Exactly so. A civilian with all the pre-issued visas you could wish for. Able to buzz to and fro around these East African countries looking at fossils and such. Perfectly legitimate. Nobody is going to turn a hair when you go past. Now, let’s get more beers and I’ll tell you what I can.’

  For his friend’s sake, Sam nodded agreement to Rupert, who promptly raised his umbrella to signal for more beers. Sam glanced over to Helen; she seemed to be managing fine with her stranger. He half raised an arm, waving towards her.

  Helen spotted the movement and gave a little wave back, mouthing a word of encouragement before turning to address the man who still stood next to her table, she smiled. ‘Please do sit down. This is a surprise but you’re most welcome, your, your’—She hesitated for a moment, wondering desperately what form of address would be correct in his Church—‘your Grace.’

  Bishop Ignatius sat and waited for a moment, his assistant remained standing.

  ‘Well, I’m glad Fana got my reply to you. It’s just a pity that we’re leaving Ethiopia today. Otherwise, I would have been very happy to visit you next week. But I’m a very small fish, I’m sure you could have found far more significant church ministers travelling through your country than me. Tell me, why me?’

  Bishop Ignatius smiled gently at Helen. ‘I think you underplay your status somewhat.’

  ‘Not me. I’m just passing through on private business.’

  ‘I wonder what that private business might be? We were very pleased when you came to Ethiopia, though more than a little worried when you vanished into the hinterland. I must say we wondered what you were doing. Then we learnt you were out in the bush at the Omo National Park. You can imagine we were very confused.’

  Helen looked at the bishop, confused herself. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t understand. Why were you expecting me?’

  The bishop gave a smile of understanding. ‘Quite right, it’s important to be careful.’

  ‘Look, I really have no idea what you are talking about.’

  ‘Come now, Miss Johnson. Here in Ethiopia we are far away from Europe but not so far that a news broadcast can’t reach us. My colleagues and I have been watching events with some interest. The awful, awful things in Edinburgh and in Kefalonia too. And what exactly happened in Crete? That was a mystery, but our ecumenical contacts talk of some great success for Rome.’

  Helen was suddenly on her guard. Her natural predisposition to give a stranger the benefit of the doubt had been tempered by recent events. She gave an involuntary shiver as the bishop’s words drew back the thinnest of veils that she was gradually learning how to keep c
losed.

  She thought of John Dearly, the parish minister of St Bernard’s, Edinburgh, whose assistant she had been before his brutal death. Remembered the promise she had given John, even as he died; thought of the signet ring and the heavy gold chain he had begged her with his dying breath to take from around his neck.

  It now hung around her neck. She recalled his desperate warnings to be careful with the unexpected inheritance and secret responsibilities that had accompanied the ring. And she shuddered again over all the subsequent deaths. Feeling uncomfortable, she looked across to Sam, but he was deep in conversation with Rupert, suddenly as if they were the best of buddies.

  ‘What exactly are you getting at, your Grace?’ said Helen.

  ‘I just wonder, it seems your interests and ours might coincide.’

  ‘How so?’

  Bishop Ignatius looked around; making sure nobody was paying any attention to their conversation. ‘I know you have to be careful, but we must speak now. It has been a long wait for your visit.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Bishop Ignatius gave a forced chuckle. ‘Please, do not play a game with me. Your secret is our secret. We must come together now. It is why you came, I know this, it must be.’

  Helen stood up. ‘Your Grace, I don’t know you; I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now I’m feeling uncomfortable, please can we let this drop, yes?’