Covenant Of The Flame

by David Morrell

  Gerrard stared, then sighed. 'Of course. That's exactly what I anticipated you to say. By all means, I agree. I was just pointing out the moral complexities.' He glanced at his watch. 'It's late.' He stood. 'I'm pleased that we had this talk, but tomorrow, I have obligations to face. If you'll excuse me.'

  'Yes, we're both exhausted. But before you leave,' Tess said, 'your personal assistant mentioned something about tooth brushes, an overnight kit, a shower-tub, a place to. I'm afraid I have to pee.'

  Gerrard blushed. 'Our flight attendant will take care of everything you need.'

  'Thanks, Alan. And it is good to see you again.'

  'You're the most welcome guest I've had on Air Force Two.'

  Tess waited until Gerrard disappeared through the forward door into his private cabin. Then she spoke to the flight attendant, who escorted her toward a bathroom in the rear of the plane. Ten minutes later, she re-entered the central cabin, buckled her seatbelt, and nestled next to Craig.

  He was still awake. Removing his earphones from which Tess heard muted opera, Craig asked, 'How did it go?'

  'Confusing. Complicated. Disturbing. But I'm too tired to. I'll tell you later.' With her head against Craig's shoulder, Tess closed her eyes and quickly fell asleep, only to waken several times, shuddering from premonitions.

  SEVEN

  The flight to Spain took five hours, but with the added five hours in time-zone changes, it was just before eleven a.m. when the jet reached Madrid.

  Peering down at the airport, Tess was struck by how hazy the air looked. For a moment, she didn't understand why the smog should be worse here than in New York. Then she remembered that in Europe, most cars weren't equipped with emission controls, and that Spain, like the rest of the continent, still hadn't converted to the widespread use of unleaded gas. The dirtier leaded gas was fouling the sky. She instantly remembered something else - Gerrard's insistence last night on the need for international standards to protect the environment.

  As the massive 747 touched down with remarkable smoothness, he noticed the airport's terminal to her right, but Air Force Two did not approach it, instead proceeded to a remote section of the tarmac, and came to a stop, the shriek of its engines dying.

  Several cars rapidly flanked it, armed men scrambling out to position themselves with their backs to the jet, their assault rifles aimed outward to guard it. At the same time, a black limousine with a diplomatic flag mounted and fluttering on the side of its hood cruised toward a boarding platform that an airport crew rolled against one of the plane's forward hatches.

  The occupants of the central cabin burst into motion. Unbuckling their seatbelts, Secret Service agents hurried to enter the forward compartment while the vice president's aides speedily returned to their office in the rear.

  Tess and Craig crossed to the left of the plane. Curious, they peered out a window from which they saw a uniformed chauffeur open a back door on the limousine. Two distinguished-looking, gray-haired, diplomatically dressed men got out, shook hands with Gerrard's assistant, Hugh Kelly, exchanged remarks with him, braced their shoulders, and climbed the boarding steps to enter the vice president's quarters.

  'And now what?' Craig wondered. Earlier, after a breakfast of fresh fruit and then smoked salmon on a whole-wheat bagel that Tess had recommended, he'd brushed his teeth, washed his face, and shaved. Even so, although he'd slept a few hours, the long flight in combination with jet lag had wearied him. He glanced down at his rumpled clothes. 'Not exactly presentable. I hope we have a chance to buy something a little more formal so we don't look conspicuous, given the company we're keeping.'

  Tess squinted down at her own rumpled blouse and jeans, nodding in agreement. Mostly what she wished she had was a change of underclothes. 'I've got a suspicion that when you travel with the vice president, what you ask for, someone delivers.'

  She flinched, an unexpected noise making her turn toward the forward bulkhead. The door to the vice president's cabin swung open.

  Alan Gerrard appeared, wearing an immaculate gray suit, striped tie and white shirt. His black shoes had been polished to a gleam.

  'So,' Gerard said. 'I hope you slept well.' He rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm. 'Are we ready?'

  'To do what?' Tess asked.

  'To get on another plane.'

  Tess couldn't help feeling surprised. The funeral isn't here in Madrid? The president of Spain.' She frowned in confusion. 'I assumed he'd be buried with full state honors in the nation's capital.'

  'Well, you're right. The funeral will be in Madrid. But it isn't scheduled until two days from now,' Gerrard said. 'I have several important diplomats to see before then, but I told the Spanish government not to tell the press that I'd be arriving today. There's something I need to do before I begin my duties. In fact, one of the diplomats I need to see, a friend from my former trips here, isn't in town. There's a strong chance that Spain's Congress of Deputies will soon elect him as the country's new president. So we're going to board a smaller, less conspicuous plane, and visit his estate. Don't look so hesitant. His home is a showplace. His hospitality is lavish. You'll enjoy yourselves. Really. With my friend's guards as well as my Secret Service agents, you'll still be well protected.'

  It sounded reasonable, Tess tried to assure herself. But her heart cramped as if ice surrounded it. Bewildered, uneasy, she overcame her hesitation and followed Gerrard into his cabin. Craig put an arm around her while they waited for the vice president and the two diplomats 10 descend the stairs to the tarmac. Below, guards surrounded the group as the three men stood near the limousine and shook hands.

  Gerrard turned and motioned for Tess and Craig to come down. 'The plane's just over there.'

  At the bottom, Tess stared toward her right. She didn't know about planes, certainly not enough to be able to identify a model or its manufacturer. All she understood was that this one was smaller than she expected, streamlined, a two-engine, executive jet.

  'But isn't it dangerous for you to travel in something so.?'

  'Unprotected?' Gerrard said. 'You mean because it doesn't have special shielding and all kinds of sophisticated communication equipment?' He shook his head, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. The one on the right looked less irritated. 'I'm sure you're aware of what the political columnists say about me. I'm so inconsequential. In their opinion, who'd want to kill me?'

  'But a terrorist might not care about what the columnists say. You are the vice president of the United States.'

  'Not to worry,' Gerrard said. 'I've made this side trip before. And as far as security's concerned, only a very few trusted officials know that I arrived one day earlier than I was expected. I guarantee we're safe.'

  Unable to resist Gerrard's hand on her arm - especially in the crowded presence of the numerous stern-eyed guards - Tess allowed herself to be escorted toward the few steps that led upward through the open hatch into the plane.

  She felt assaulted by claustrophobia, seeing only a narrow aisle with a row of single seats on each side. Seized by alarm, she realized that with the pilot, the co-pilot, Gerrard, Hugh Kelly, Craig, and herself, there was room for only five Secret Service agents to join them. Her premonition increased as the security around her began to decrease.

  Inwardly she winced from the clunking sound the hatch made when the co-pilot shut and locked it.

  Again, as she had when she'd entered Air Force Two, she felt trapped. But more so. It took all her discipline to keep her fingers from trembling when she fastened her seatbelt.

  Opposite Gerrard, she snuck a nervous glance back to her right, toward Craig who sat behind Gerrard.

  Craig winked, and that made all the difference.

  Tess smiled in return and realized how much she'd become attracted to him. Whatever was going to happen, no matter the risk, regardless of the possible imminent danger, she and Craig were in this together, and what they felt for each other was great enough that they could survive and defeat any enemy. They had to.
>
  Please God, help us, she prayed. Please, help Father Baldwin. Did he manage to follow us to Madrid? Will he be able to receive the signals from the microphone and the homing device built into my shoes and follow us to wherever we're being taken?

  The pilot was given clearance for take-off. Two minutes later, the jet streaked through the smog toward the sky.

  Tess felt more helpless.

  Trying to seem relaxed, she made herself peer out the window. As the jet reached its cruising altitude, she saw a vast arid plain below her and occasional slopes that rose to low flat plateaus, the soil of which had the tint of copper.

  'Where are we headed?' She hoped she sounded casual.

  'Toward Spain's northern coast,' Gerrard said. 'A district called Vizcaya. We'll land in Bilbao.'

  'Bilbao?' She strained to make conversation, hoping that Father Baldwin was listening. 'Wasn't there a song about.?'

  '"That Old Bilbao Moon"? Yes, but that goes back quite a while. I'm surprised you know it. I'm not sure that this Bilbao is the one in the song.'

  'Is it far?'

  'Just an hour or so.' Gerrard shrugged. Time enough for a nap.'

  Craig leaned forward. 'Why didn't the president himself come for the funeral?'

  'Normally he would have.' Gerrard turned. 'There'll be many European heads of state here, a chance for an unofficial summit. But his schedule's too complicated. He'll soon be leaving on a trip that he planned long ago and he can't postpone - to Peru, for a major drug-control conference similar to the one he went to in Columbia last year. You feel nervous, so imagine how he feels with all those drug lords determined to assassinate him. That's why he can't postpone the trip. The president refuses to make it seem as if the drug lords scared him off. His bravery's remarkable. No matter how much he and I don't get along, I hope to heaven that nothing happens to him.'

  They settled back as the jet sped onward. Tess closed her eyes and, despite her uneasiness, tried to follow Gerrard's advice and nap. If her premonitions were justified, she knew she'd be needing all her strength.

  EIGHT

  The bump of the wheels touching down awakened her. Tess rubbed her sleep-swollen eyes and peered outside. Compared to the airport in Madrid, Bilbao's was small, its air less hazy. Perhaps a breeze from the nearby ocean dispersed the exhaust fumes of cars, she thought. Again they avoided the terminal and stopped at a remote section of the tarmac.

  Outside, Gerrard spoke as enthusiastically as he had when they'd left Madrid. 'Are you ready for another flight?'

  'Another? But I thought our destination was Bilbao.' Tess continued to hope that Father Baldwin was listening.

  'Just so we could change to another aircraft. We'll be heading east now, past Pamplona.'

  Tess repressed a cringe, remembering that Pamplona was close to where Priscilla Harding had said that she'd found images of Mithras hidden in caves, less sweated, wanting to run, but again Secret Service agents flanked her..

  'My friend's estate doesn't have a landing strip,' Gerrard explained, 'so now we'll be using this.' He pointed.

  The sight of the helicopter made Tess feel light-headed. Powerless, weak-kneed, disturbed by her lack of control, she was led aboard, and now with increasing panic, she discovered that there was space enough only for a pilot, Gerrard, Hugh Kelly, Craig, herself, and two Secret Service agents. Her protection kept dwindling, her isolation increasing. No matter the confidence that her attraction to Craig had earlier inspired in her, she suddenly felt doomed.

  The helicopter's blades whined, turning, spinning, increasing speed until their sound was a whump-whump-whumping roar. With a mighty surge, the helicopter lifted straight up, and Tess, who directed a despairing glance toward Craig, noticed that his expression was equally intense.

  He didn't wink this time, and she didn't smile in return. What she did was swallow something hot and bitter.

  She forced herself to pay attention to her surroundings, knowing that every detail was important and that she had to regain her discipline.

  Study the landscape, her mind insisted. If you get in trouble, you'd better know where you are.

  In contrast with the arid, flat, middle portion of Spain, this area along the country's northern coast was lush and hilly. The valleys below her were occupied by farms in which stoop-shouldered men and women wielded scythes to cut tall grass. The men wore trousers, long-sleeved shirts, and wide- brimmed hats. The women had long dresses and handkerchiefs tied around their heads. The absence of motorized farm machinery, combined with the slate roofs and stone walls of the buildings, made Tess feel as if she was experiencing a time warp, that she was witnessing a scene from a previous century.

  But those impressions were fleeting - brief, ineffectual attempts to distract herself from her terror.

  'That's Pamplona past those hills on the right,' Gerrard said matter-of-factly. 'You can just make out a few tops of buildings. Northeast of us is the French-Spanish border. We're now in a district called Navarra, and those mountains ahead are the Spanish Pyrenees.'

  Tess wondered fearfully how close the helicopter was to the Pyrenees in France, to the burned-out ruins of the heretic stronghold on Montsegur, to the site of the slaughter that the European crusaders had inflicted and from where more than seven hundred years ago, after a group of determined heretics had escaped with their precious statue, this insanity had begun.

  The mountains were spectacular: high, rugged, limestone cliffs, their deep gorges churning with narrow, swift rivers, their slopes thick with pines and beeches.

  The helicopter thundered nearer. The peaks seemed to grow, their outcrops more jagged, their steep drops more wild. How high must they be? Tess wondered. At least seven thousand feet, she concluded - not as tall as the ranges she was familiar with, those in Switzerland and Colorado where her father had sometimes taken her to ski. But these had sharper inclines that made them seem taller, and their ravines were more forbidding. Rugged, she'd thought earlier. Wild. The words gained emphasis as she stared at a rapidly looming gorge, feeling dizzy as she lowered her gaze.

  Below, amid tangled woods, a narrow dirt road wound past random gigantic boulders, entering the gorge. Abruptly she glanced up and stiffened as the helicopter also entered the gorge, the whump-whump-whump of the rotors intensified by their deafening echo off the craggy wall of rock on each side, the passage so seemingly narrow that she feared the blades would collide with an outcrop.

  At once, the gorge ended. She exhaled, relieved, then exhaled again when the helicopter began to descend. A small valley appeared. Dense forest encircled grassland, and at the center, surrounded by a maze of fenced enclosures, small buildings flanked a commanding structure toward which the helicopter quickly dipped.

  The structure had stone walls and a slate roof, the same as the farmhouses that Tess had seen in the fields near Pamplona. But that was the only similarity. Because those farmhouses had been small and modest. But what she stared at now, her uneasiness aggravated by the increasing downward tilt and thrust of the helicopter, was so wide and tall, so impressive.

  'It's a castle,' Gerrard explained. 'Not the kind you see in England or in France or for that matter, anywhere else in Europe. This is Spanish castle. In the south, they used a Moorish design, but this type that's common in the north. It doesn't have the turrets, the parapets, the moat, and the drawbridge that you'd expect. It's more like a cross between a manor house and a fortress. The stone and the slate are barriers against an attack by fire. The only exterior wood is...'

  'At the windows.' Tess strained to make herself heard above the roar of the sharply descending helicopter. 'Shutters. Even from here, they look thick.'

  Gerrard nodded. 'And inside each room, there's a set of doors. Equally thick. A farther barrier to keep flames from reaching inside. But in theory, no one could torch the shutters because as we get closer, you'll see narrow slits in the five-foot-thick stone walls. The slits are so narrow that an outside archer couldn't cross the open area around the castle to s
hoot flaming arrows without being hit by archers within the castle, and those defending archers, concealed behind those narrow slits, were impossible targets.'

  As the helicopter slanted lower, approaching a landing pad, Tess noticed animals in the fields, horses in some while in others there were. 'Your friend's a rancher?' she asked.

  Gerrard looked puzzled. Then the wrinkles in his forehead relaxed. 'Ah, I understand. You think those are cattle. They're not. They're bulls. My friend breeds them as a hobby. Some of them will be used next month in the famous bullfight festival of San Fermin in Pamplona. I'm sure you've read descriptions of it, the skyrocket each morning, the frantic bulls being forced to run through the streets, the villagers testing their bravery by trying to race ahead of the frightened herd, some of the young men falling, being trampled and often gored. Eight days and nights of parties. Eight afternoons of ritualized death.'