The Temple Covenant

by D C Macey

  Sam appeared at Helen’s side. ‘What’s up?’

  Sam’s presence triggered action, and the three priests, who had been hovering a little distance off, quickly closed in to stand behind their bishop.

  ‘This is Bishop Ignatius. He thinks he knows me. He’s upset I haven’t visited him.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you deny me. Please, like you, today I’m travelling away. To Arusha, in Tanzania, for the Christianity in Africa Conference. I will be back in a week. We must speak then.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we must. It is not my place to initiate this. It is written that the collector will call. You are the collector; you must take the first step.’

  ‘Oh, come on, we’ve no time for riddles today. I’ve got bigger things to worry about, right now,’ said Sam. ‘Helen, we really have to catch our flight.’

  ‘Just a minute, Sam.’ Helen rested a restraining hand on his wrist while maintaining eye contact with the bishop. ‘Explain, why am I to visit you and what am I collecting?’

  Bishop Ignatius leant forward, lowering his voice so only Helen could hear. ‘It must be you. Everything points to it. Tell me, one question, answer truthfully and we will know.’

  Helen nodded slowly. ‘Okay, ask away, but don’t get your hopes up.’

  The bishop pressed his eyes closed for a moment, muttered a little prayer then fixed Helen with an almost imploring gaze while stretching his hand across the table to take hers in what seemed a near desperate clasp. ‘Have you got it? Have you got the ring?’

  Helen held his gaze, not flinching, not giving away any sign of recognition. ‘And what ring might that be?’ She knew what ring he was referring to. It was hanging where it always did, on the end of a chain three inches above the tight knot that, until a minute ago, had been her stomach.

  ‘You know. You must know.’ His hand squeezed tighter. ‘Please.’

  Helen pulled her hand free. ‘Look, I can see this means a lot to you but right now I can’t help.’ She pointed up at the flight information screens that were announcing her flight. ‘That’s our flight.’

  The bishop was silent for a long moment. ‘I must assume you are testing me.’

  Helen knew she would have to speak with this man again. Suddenly, the ring weighed more heavily round her neck. What did he know? What did he want? She thought she had learnt all the ring’s secrets. Had thought wrong. ‘Perhaps, we should meet again.’

  The bishop, composed again, smiled at her and stood. ‘Thank you. Yes, there is reason to meet. But now you must take your flight to Nairobi and I go to Arusha to prepare for my conference. I will be in touch.’

  They shook hands across the table. Bishop Ignatius turned and walked away, followed by his staff. Helen watched him go, wondering whether she had made a mistake.

  ‘What’s that all about?’ said Sam.

  ‘I’ll tell you on the plane. Come on, let’s go.’ Helen fell silent as they hurried for the departure zone.

  They had just reached the head of the queue for security checks when a woman immediately behind in the queue nudged Helen’s arm. ‘Hey, it’s nice to hear a voice from back home, you’re American, right?’ said the woman; a broad and friendly smile crossed her face as Helen turned. ‘Call me Tracy, honey.’

  Helen smiled in return. ‘Nice to meet you. Where are you headed?’

  ‘I’m headed for Maputo, you know, Mozambique. What about yourself?’

  ‘Nairobi,’ said Helen.

  ‘That’s nice, on holiday or are you working?’

  ‘Bit of both, I guess,’ said Helen. Sam had stepped forward to be searched and, next in line, she turned, ready to step forward.

  She started slightly as Tracy closed in behind her. The woman leant forward and whispered into her ear. ‘Don’t turn round. Beyond the security counter, there’s a restroom about twenty paces off, on the right-hand side - be there in five minutes.’ Tracy straightened up, still smiling to the world.

  As Helen was beckoned forward by a security guard, Tracy called out. ‘You take care, Helen. Hope I see you again soon, honey.’

  Standing in front of the guard, Helen chanced a brief glance back towards Tracy. The woman had donned sunglasses and was busy looking in any direction but Helen’s. Who was she? What did she want? How did she know her name?

  Once through the security gates, Helen hurried over to Sam who was waiting a few paces beyond. They walked further into the departure lounge as Helen explained what had just happened. ‘Do you think I should go meet her?’

  ‘There’s a lot going on that we don’t know about. I still have to tell you what Rupert said. I don’t think this Tracy means you any direct harm. If so, why bother announcing herself? In any event, I doubt it will be dangerous, certainly not here in public anyway. Look, you go in, I’ll wait directly outside the entrance. At the least sign of trouble, shout, and I’ll be there in a flash, ladies only or not.’

  Helen looked at Sam intently. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got stuff to tell you too. Bishop Ignatius is a very interesting man.’ She looked at the large digital clock set into the departures board, thrust her arm through his and started walking. ‘Come on, I’ve a date to keep.’

  Pushing open the door, Helen stepped cautiously inside. It was a long, quite narrow room. Immediately in front of her were a couple of wall-mounted towel dispensers and four hot air hand driers. Beyond that, a row of around a dozen sinks stretched to the end of the room. The whole wall was mirrored, creating a sense of space where, in practice, there was little. Opposite the mirrored wall was a row of cubicles. Most of the doors were open to varying degrees and Helen guessed they were empty.

  A mother and her two young children were at the first sink, she was lifting the smaller of the children, so he could reach the taps. The only other occupant stood at the far end of the room. In one hand she held a lipstick, in the other a small travel brush with which she was rhythmically brushing her hair.

  Tracy looked back along the line of sinks and smiled at Helen. ‘Hey, Helen, I’m over here, come on over.’ She beckoned enthusiastically, every bit the friendly tourist.

  Helen walked past the mother who was too preoccupied with her children to register anything about the other women in the room.

  ‘Well, here I am, Tracy. Now what’s the big mystery?’

  Tracy had stopped brushing her hair; she looked back into the mirror and pursed her lips. ‘I’m thinking this pink is a little pale for travelling, what do you say? Would red be better? I have one in my bag.’ She finished speaking and turned to face Helen just as the mother and children left; the door swung shut and they were alone.

  ‘I don’t care; I do want to know why I’m here.’

  Tracy let the veneer drop and was suddenly very businesslike. ‘Helen, you’re an American citizen, so am I.’

  ‘Yes, and …’ said Helen.

  ‘Listen, honey, I’ll cut straight to the chase. I work for the United States Government and there is some bad stuff happening in this part of the world right now. Stuff that’s very important to us. But, as I’m sure your friend will tell you soon enough, like the British Government we’re caught up in a political stand-off and our well-known faces are being denied access to the country right now.’

  ‘Which country?’

  Tracy paused before answering; it looked like she was wondering whether or not Helen was trying to wind her up. ‘Kenya.’

  ‘I see, and what has this got to do with me?’

  ‘Your friend, Sam Cameron, has just spent the past little while getting a briefing from Addis Ababa’s resident MI6 man. I’m betting Sam’s now got a job to do in Kenya, something that’s very precious to the British and, as their ally, we have a mutual interest, so it’s just as precious to us.’

  ‘I haven’t got the slightest idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I know, and I haven’t got time to brief you now. I trust Sam will give you the details, speak to him.’

  ‘And te
ll him what? That I’m spying on him for you. You’re CIA, aren’t you?’

  ‘Honey, you tell him what you like, but you’re an American citizen and your country needs you to keep us in the loop. But from what I’ve heard, he’s a solid kind of guy. He’ll understand.’

  ‘I’m not spying on Sam.’

  ‘No, you’re not. You’re representing your country’s interests, that’s all. You have a duty to serve your country any way you can. We need you. And believe me, if there had been no political mess with the Kenyan president, we’d be in country, working on the ground with the Brits right now. We’re on the same side, but everyone’s in the dark here. All I want is for you to keep me posted. Right?’ Tracy smiled her broad smile again and fished a card out of her bag. ‘Call me any time, but only use the satellite phone, it’s a little more secure.’

  Helen glared at her. How did Tracy know that she and Sam had a satellite phone? Before she could challenge her further, an elderly lady pushed through the entrance door.

  Tracy turned back to the mirror, pursing her lips again. ‘You know, honey, I think I’ll stick with the pink.’

  5.

  Wednesday, 23rd October - Evening

  The sun was just dropping beneath the horizon as Helen and Sam exited Nairobi’s Jomo Kenyatta Airport. He was pushing a trolley with their bags on, she was walking close beside him. It would have been an audacious thief who tried to snatch bags from under their noses, but they weren’t taking any chances.

  The heat hit them like a wave as they left the shade of the airport’s covered foyer and stepped into the pickup zone. Almost instantly, they were hit by another wave, this time human. It seemed they were approached from every direction by taxi touts, all clamouring on behalf of their particular driver. Sam waved them away and pulled back slightly from the taxi queue, looking around for his ride. For a moment, he thought they’d been stood up, and then he spotted a hand waving from beyond the row of parked taxis.

  ‘There’s our lift,’ he said. ‘Come on, the sooner we’re away from here the better.’

  Susan Curtis was middle-aged, brisk and confident - the epitome of the middle class, post colonials who popped up in many parts of Kenyan life. She had grown up in the country and her parents and brother still lived on the family farm in the south, near the Tanzanian border. After university in England, she had returned to the country she loved. Not particularly career driven, Susan had been happy to take a job as assistant to an up and coming academic. Now, twenty-five years later, he was a senior professor and she was still his assistant. Assistant was a deceptive job title; in the professor’s absence, she ran things. Clever and with a bark that was matched by a steely bite, nobody, neither staff nor student, wanted to cross her.

  ‘You may as well both squeeze into the front with me. The aircon’s great so you won’t get too clammy. Got to keep my eyes on the road all the time hereabouts, so I can’t be twisting round to speak to you. Incidentally, I understand you will want to get settled after your journey, but Professor Ngure is very keen to see you, Sam. He suggested we stop off at the university on the way to your hotel, only for an hour, he promised.’

  Sam glanced at Helen, knowing she was not going to be interested in what the professor wanted to discuss. ‘Perhaps we could drop Helen at the hotel first?’

  ‘Of course we can,’ said Susan while swerving to avoid a dog that had run onto the carriageway. She blasted her horn; the dog seemed unconcerned but several of the surrounding drivers hooted back in defiance of some assumed slight to their driving. ‘Lunatics!’ Susan braked again and flashed her headlights at the little van that had just cut in front of her. A futile gesture, the van was so overloaded the driver couldn’t use his mirrors even if he’d wanted to. Amidst a stream of colourful language, she implied that he clearly needed glasses.

  ‘The traffic is a bit high pressure here,’ said Helen.

  ‘This is nothing, wait for the morning rush, then you’ll know all about it. By the way, madmen aside, you should be safe enough driving in the city. But if you’re out on the highways, especially the coast road to Mombasa, don’t stop if you’re flagged down for an accident or such; there’s always a chance it’s a set-up and you’ll be robbed, or worse.’

  ‘Thanks for the tip,’ said Sam, ‘but I’ll be okay. I’ve been a frequent visitor to Kenya in the past.’

  ‘Really? What were you doing here? Work or pleasure?’

  ‘Oh, work.’

  ‘I don’t recall you ever visiting the university before.’

  ‘No, it was in a previous lifetime, before I took up archaeology.’

  ‘Oh? What line were you in?’

  ‘British Army,’ said Sam, and then looked purposefully out through the side window, ending the conversation.

  • • •

  It was nearer three hours later when Sam finally joined Helen in the hotel room. She had soaked long in the bath, eaten a good meal and was now lounging on a sofa trying to make sense of the day’s events. Sam’s missing friend Bob Prentice, the slightly mysterious Rupert Peterson who Sam believed was MI6, Tracy who openly admitted to being CIA and, weirdest of all, Bishop Ignatius - what did he want from her? And he knew about her ring. By the time Sam arrived, she had not made much progress with the problem but had made a start on the bottle of rosé wine that room service had delivered.

  Helen stood and crossed the room to meet him; a greetings kiss was followed by an anxious look. ‘Sam, what’s the plan?’

  ‘I’ve agreed with Professor Ngure to postpone things for a day or so. That leaves us uncommitted tomorrow at least, so I can do a little digging into Bob’s abduction. Then we’re meant to head out of Nairobi, to see some work that’s being done in the south of the country, and after that we will cross the border to link up with some of the Tanzanian academics he’s working in partnership with. You know, what they’re doing here is really interesting, only I can’t focus on it just now.’

  ‘I’m surprised you can be bothered with it at all right now.’

  ‘I know. I’ve managed to avoid fixing a start date today but he’s quite insistent I go back later tomorrow and make a plan. I’ll do it because we daren’t risk anyone in authority questioning the validity of my visas. Getting kicked out now would be a total disaster.’

  He went to the fridge, pulled it open and lifted out a bottle of beer. Then he crossed the room to settle onto the sofa beside Helen. ‘It seems we’re in demand right now. Everyone wants a piece of us. But Helen, I want you to be careful. This can be a very dangerous place, and it’s not your fight.’

  She laughed at him and play punched his shoulder. ‘Dangerous? Remember what we’ve been through in the past few months? You and I are always on the same side, Mr Cameron. If there’s trouble, I’ll be with you. Anyway, I spent three years in West Africa. Believe me, I know what dangerous Africa really means.’

  Sam raised his bottle to her glass and they clinked together. ‘Here’s to trouble then,’ he said.

  ‘And don’t forget I have to stay around; the CIA has demanded I do my patriotic duty and spy on you.’

  They clinked glasses again. ‘Okay, I can’t argue with that Agent Johnson, you’d better do your duty.’

  The phone rang. Sam answered it, identified himself, listened for a short while and then agreed to be collected at 09.30 next morning. He hung up.

  ‘That was John Guthrie, Rupert Peterson’s counterpart here. He’s collecting us in the morning. We’ll see what he’s got to say, though, like Rupert said, he sounds a bit inexperienced. I want to make a start by visiting the scene of Bob’s abduction.’

  ‘I still don’t understand what was stolen when your friend Bob was taken.’

  ‘The events occurred several hours and nearly two hundred miles apart. So, they are linked but separate incidents. What it shows is great coordination, and nerve too. But that’s the weird thing, Rupert Peterson wouldn’t tell me what ACE is other than it has some sort of bio-security key built in that’s lin
ked to Bob Prentice. You know, I don’t think he knows any more himself.’

  ‘Is this John Guthrie likely to tell you anything more?’

  ‘Perhaps, but I’m not convinced he will. It’s a secret project and the whole system is in lockdown, which makes it hard to understand anything that’s happened or predict future moves.’

  ‘Why would they do that? Your friend needs rescuing.’

  ‘Self-preservation. If this becomes public, there will be repercussions, and somebody will be left to carry the can. As sure as hell, it won’t be the top brass. By locking it down they limit spread and can focus blame.’

  ‘Surely, they’ll want the ACE back, whatever it is?’

  ‘Of course, but probably not at the expense of their own reputations. The Kenyan president’s blocking of official movement provides our leaders with a perfect reason for their inadequate response. And sets up the fall guys nicely.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I’m guessing that novice who just phoned and—’

  Helen sat up straight and looked at Sam. ‘And what about you? Where do you fit in?’

  ‘You know what I think? I’m doing two jobs. First, I’m what your American brethren would call a patsy. Rupert sets me up, he demonstrates he did what he could from outside the country, and as and when it all goes wrong, he’s shown initiative and been proactive in getting me on the ground. And it’s me that’s blown it, not him.’

  Helen scowled. ‘That isn’t right.’

  ‘No. And I think the top brass are letting him do it, so they can legitimately delegate responsibility to the man making decisions in the field. When it all goes wrong, they can point to Rupert as having the lead role, and he can point to me.

  ‘And if we do defy the odds and save Bob and the ACE, they’ll all be quick to step forward and take credit for great problem resolution skills. Probably get promotions out of it.’

  ‘But what about Bob? Is nobody actually trying to get him back?’

  ‘Remember, all Rupert could tell me was, whatever ACE is, it includes some sort of direct bio-security link to Bob. Try to activate it without him and the system completely fries, self-destructs. I’m guessing there are one or two top brass hoping Bob didn’t make it. That would fry the kit and wipe away all their security breach problems in a stroke.’