by Des Sheridan
‘Tara, all humans are flawed. It is called Original Sin and that is the purpose of grace – a shot of love, if you like, direct from God - to make us whole again. But something else is at play as well. We are made in God’s image but that doesn’t mean that God looks like us. It just means we have a bit of God in us. But God is Other – fantastically, unimaginably Other from us. The great mystics – Julian of Norwich or St Teresa of Avila - all say that one of the stages of getting close to God is when you experience the Otherness, the strangeness of this almighty, non- human entity. That is why what you felt was not a cosy presence but a discomfiting one. It is nothing to do with you being flawed. Be reassured, nothing coming through Brother Remy or me is evil or ever could be. Think of it this way, God has no need of a small creature like you, and yet he draws near and befriends you. What you experienced was a visit by your Creator and what you felt was the Fear of God, just as the ancients recorded it in the Old Testament. You recall hearing that phrase?’
Chapter 33
Taizé, France, 27 October 2014, 01:14
At Malachy’s request, Brother Remy had agreed to lead an all-night vigil on Tara’s behalf. Remy joined in the group singing but was unable to concentrate, troubled by what he sensed was to come. Remy knew in his bones that a more urgent intervention would be called for. He was not surprised when the door to the chapel opened and, out of the gloom, the figure of the Deacon appeared, walking purposefully towards them. Malachy signalled them with his hands, bishop-like, to remain seated.
The Deacon had arrived at Taizé the day before pleading for Remy’s urgent help. The visitor was self-evidently a Man of God, so Remy had swiftly assembled a support group and spent the last twenty-four hours praying and planning the vigil with them and Malachy. Things had initially gone smoothly, for the Deacon was plainly a Searcher for Truth and inspired a prayerful response from the group. That a ready grace accompanied his thoughts and actions helped greatly but after a time Remy realised that he was not a straightforward man to read. It became plain that some of the things Malachy was seeking were unconventional and Remy sensed that some of the monks were becoming uneasy.
Looking up he saw that Malachy had joined the group and was sitting quietly, watching him intently. Returning the Deacon’s glance, Remy felt sure that the man had read his thoughts. Malachy must know that what he was planning made the monks, Remy included, uncomfortable. In a flash of intuition Remy saw that Malachy often encountered this response and was hurt by it. For some reason, the man could not be at one with the group, as though his role was to stand apart – to agitate or provoke - however gently it was done. Remy thought of the words of Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel. “I did not come to bring peace but a sword. ... and a man’s enemies will be those of his own household.” Remy instinctively knew the quotation to be apt but it offered no comfort – quite the opposite. If his reading was right it meant that Malachy wanted them to journey into the unknown with him in blind faith.
Looking up he saw that Malachy was still observing him with a look in his eyes that seemed at once commanding and pleading. Then the moment passed. The Deacon pulled a bunch of small photographs from his pocket – each one an identical photograph of a man – and passed them around.
‘This is the man whose mind our prayers must reach. His name is Robert. Memorise the face, engrave it in your brain so that you can evoke it at will in your mind’s eye. Soon it will be time to call out to him.’
Brother Remy looked at the image, then spoke, doubt edging his voice.
‘We have never tried anything like this before, Brother Malachy. It is ...so unusual. I really don’t think...’
Malachy cut him off, asperity sounding in his voice.
‘It can be done, in the Name of the Lord, I assure you of that Remy, and it must be done. It will be done’.
The Deacon again stared at Remy, pausing to let the scriptural references sink in then. Then, glancing around the circle, he continued more prosaically,
‘You just need to pray much harder, brothers and sisters, pray with all your heart. That is all I ask.’
Remy saw the hesitation and doubt in his colleagues’ eyes. They knew, like him, that what Malachy was asking was beyond normal practice - a step into no-man’s land.
Malachy must have sensed the mood too for standing up he threw his arms open wide and raised them.
‘My friends, I know you are filled with doubt but remember the words of your Saviour. “Truly I say to you, if you have faith and do not doubt ... if you say to this mountain, be taken up and cast into the sea, it will happen”. So let us be about our Redeemer’s work and waste no more time in speculation!’
He carries such conviction when he speaks, thought Brother Remy, recognising further words of Jesus from Matthew’s Gospel, but he also caught the impatience in the Deacon’s voice. He was speaking very firmly. Remy knew the moment of truth had arrived and found he could not challenge the visitor’s commands. Whatever the source of his unease, the sheer goodness within the Deacon would not permit him to dissent further. It was time to lead the flock.
Remy stood and bowed his head to the Deacon briefly, then, signalling to his companions, knelt down and they followed suit. But inwardly Remy continued to question or, more correctly, wonder. He wondered who Malachy really was and why he had highest-level Vatican security clearance. He was certainly no ordinary Deacon, of that he was sure.
Chapter 34
Taizé, France, 27 October 2014, 00:22
In another part of the monastic compound, Tara stood for ages under the warm refreshing cascade of a shower. Then, as she towelled herself dry, she eyed the small bed, with its thick blankets. Never had a bed looked so welcoming. When her head hit the pillow there was no room for further analysis of what had happened in the chapel or re-evaluation of her quandary. There were no worries and no guilt, this night. Instead she fell immediately into a deep, healing sleep.
In her hand she clasped a small orange cross, which was unusual in that the arms were curved as though they were melting. Malachy had given it to her. He said it was a symbol of the Crucifixion as the unique moment when the Finger of God touched us all and redeemed us. She should keep it close by her tonight, he had asserted, and made her promise solemnly that she would.
Chapter 35
Buedon, France, 26 October 2014, 23:35
Robert and Nico had been busy for hours, working the phones to implement their action plan, deploying ARAD resources to gain intelligence, before hitting the sack. When he retired Robert knew that he needed to sleep to keep going, but it was the one thing that evaded him. Every time he tried to drift off, his hyperactive brain would kick in again, going over and over the events of the last few days. What signals had he missed? What could he have said or done differently? Why had she not confided in him? At one a.m. he realised he was fighting a losing battle. He got up and poured himself a large brandy. Nico’s harsh comment earlier about his drinking sprang to mind and made him momentarily hesitate, guilt ridden, but he decided to ignore it. His insomnia was dire and he needed a drink.
Feeling restless, he entered the conservatory and recalled Pip saying that the previous owner had installed a glass roof so that he could see the stars. Sure enough, when he looked upwards, there was a star-filled sky resplendent in the darkness of a largely cloudless night. He pulled up a seat and sat down there to watch the heavens, seeking a distraction from his worries. They were of course the same stars, in the same constellations as always, just as he remembered from when he was a schoolboy. It was strange he reflected. They were always there, even if you ignored them or were unaware of them. They unfailingly looked down on us, never ceasing to observe as though someone had charged them with the task.
As he watched an occasional shooting star would flit briefly across the sky before expiring. He thought of Tara and Aoife. Were they destined to be like that? Blips soon to be extinguished forever, just as Sarah had been, seven years ago? Where was she now? Where was the benevolent
presence that had made itself known to him in the church singing at La Romieu a week or so ago as he and Tara had travelled northwards through France? Where was that God now? Willing to sacrifice innocent children to evil? Perhaps he had imagined everything at La Romieu.
With these bitter and despairing thoughts swamping him Robert went back into the lounge and self-pityingly grabbed hold of the brandy bottle, taking it out into the conservatory. He sat there and drank, looking up into the sky. After a time the stars seemed to waver before his eyes, as though an invisible hand was ruffling up the vault of the heavens. Shooting stars were more frequent now – sometimes small showers of them - and as his eyes tried to chase them their trails smeared out into broad smudges. He tracked one as it morphed into an irregular, wavy, cross, blinked to clear his vision and then there were lots of crosses, burning with orange intensity and rushing towards him. As one grew larger and crashed in towards him, he closed his eyes to evade the inevitable collision.
Behind his closed eyelids, Tara’s face leapt into view, in jagged silhouette. As he tried to focus in on her, bright lights started to pulsate – creating zigzag bands of alternate light and dark that radiated outwards about the abrupt profile of her face. Her mouth was open, and she was speaking, but there was so much static noise and swishing sounds, like a badly tuned radio, that he couldn’t decipher a word. Her mouth opened wider and wider, evidently shouting to be heard, but still he heard nothing.
Of a sudden Robert felt self-awareness return. I am dreaming, he told himself. It must be the brandy. I will wake up now. But at that very moment, to his consternation, everything distorted before his eyes and Tara’s mouth transformed into a great rotating void that spun into a dark vortex and began to suck him in, like a black hole. He screamed, or tried to scream, but with terror escalating through his psyche, he realised no sound was coming out. Instead the spinning gyre reached enormous speed, and nausea overwhelmed him as he was absorbed at breakneck speed into the spiral.
Chapter 36
Sligo, Ireland, 25 October 2014
The voice on the line was familiar: a chatty voice with a young owner. After a few moments Teresa Flanagan was able to picture him and place the voice. A tall, thin, rangy youth with a spotty face and a cocky attitude. Used to crossing the Irish Border more times than a smuggled pig.
‘So, how is it going Teresa? Are ye lining yourself up for early retirement yet? Sure we are running circles around you. Can’t be long, now, eh? You ought to pack it in and become a physics teacher, or something useful. You are young enough and fit enough.’
Inspector Flanagan took a deep breath. Don’t let the bastard wind you up. This is a game and he knows it. String him along. And whatever you do, don’t mention his name. There was no surer way to end a call like this.
‘Is that who I think it is? How is that poor grandmother of yours? Is that leg of hers any better yet? I hope you are looking after her.’
‘She is doing grand, Teresa, and thanks for asking.’ A chuckle ensued.
‘Well, I don’t suppose this is a social call. Or if it is, the least you can do is meet up and buy me a pint.’
Another chuckle.
‘Ah, come on Teresa. My benefits would never extend to covering that. And it wouldn’t do my reputation any good either. A hard man like me falling for a lady Garda. Jesus, I could end up with broken knee caps.’
‘No question of publicity at all. All very discreet, I assure you. I can sign you up on the books right now and we can just talk on the phone anytime you like.’
‘God Teresa, are you proposing phone sex to me? And me a good Catholic boy? Go on then – tell me what colour your knickers are today.’
They all said that - good Catholic boys. But it didn’t stop them shooting policemen and blowing up cars and whoever happened to be around at the time. And this one was a cheeky little shite, Teresa thought. One of the new dudes on the block, who despised the older generation for the Good Friday Agreement, for selling out to the Brits. Not stupid either – the youngsters saw where violence had got their elders: into ministerial posts and flash cars. Why shouldn’t they use the same ladder?
‘Teresa, are you still there? I hope you’re not going all bashful on me?’
‘You know me, laddo. A nice Irish girl so I don’t play with boys. And anyway I am old enough to be your mother so pack in the sex bit. Now what can I do for you?’
‘Well, with the pittance that HM Government gives me in benefits on this side of the fence, a man has to go out and find work as best he can, doesn’t he Teresa?’
‘Tell me about it. I’m all ears.’
This time the silence was at the other end of the phone. And when the voice resumed the tone was different, confessional. Teresa recognised it straight away. Even gunmen needed to get stuff off their chests. Republican gunmen were human, she had to remind herself, and she knew that men found it easier to talk to a woman. The problem-solver within her was on red alert. When criminals become moralistic something interesting is going to come out of the undergrowth. This was why she was a policewoman. Moments like this were pay dirt and made up for the insufferable tedium of most of the job - these moments when witnesses opened up and she could dive in quietly, worrying away at possible motivations, trying to tie up the loose ends. This was her jungle and she prowled it with the subtle step of a panther.
‘It’s like this, Teresa,’ - the mocking tone was gone - ‘Last week I did a bit of free lancing down south. Just a quick job to top up the wallet. A ’napping. Was meant to be straight forward but....’
‘But what?’
Another silence, then.
‘I can’t be traced to this, Teresa, you’ve got to see to that. Nothing! No way any link to me on this!’
‘That’s not a problem, laddo. I can claim all sorts of sources. You know that. It’s a big sea but I protect my fish. There will be no trail to you, don’t you worry. Look, I can see you need this sorted. Just tell me and I will help. Once I know then you are free to swim away. OK?’
A further silence, then eventually he told her.
‘It was just something. The woman was fucking strange. European and a bit psycho like. And we kidnapped a child. That’s OK I thought – just a ransom job. But now I’m not so sure. It was kinky somehow. I think they might be paedos.’
Chapter 37
Buedon, France, 27 October 2014
When he came to, Robert was in darkness. He felt something damp against his head and a familiar smell reached his nose. It took him a moment to register what it was – the scent of grass. Opening his eyes he struggled at first to focus. Then he could see it, great green blades of grass, like giant fronds, waving before his eyeballs. It was close, very close and he realised he was lying on the ground, his face buried in damp turf. He wondered if he was drunk and had gone outside into the garden and fallen over.
Blinking, he took in the setting, slowly pulling himself up onto an elbow. In the dark he could make out large curved shapes. At first he though they were hills then realised they were closer than that. He was looking at great boulders of rocks, like the shoulders of giants which had pushed their way up through the soil. And they were aligned in a sullen, brooding row with great cross slabs making the roof an elongated structure. Or perhaps he should say the thing, for although it was made of solid rock, there was something organic about the whole entity, as though it was a great segmented worm burrowing its way up through the earth and breaking out onto the surface. The thing was motionless now, he thought, but he felt sure it was more than capable of striking out should it need to.
Struggling to his feet, Robert faced the edifice. It lay there silent, yet aware of him, its dark mouth calling to him to enter. Part of him, the curious part, wanted to explore it but another part recoiled in fear for there was something utterly sinister about the place and the stones. He turned to run, but the effort of lifting his knees was too much. His feet seemed to be stuck in treacle and it was almost impossible to
raise them clear of the springy turf. As a result he made little progress. Looking over his shoulder, he realised that the entrance was faring better, moving in on him, getting closer by the second, the great mouth ready to devour. Again he tried to run but with scant success.
Turning to face his fate, his eye locked onto a new element of the picture. The leafless stem of a small tree seemed to move behind a rock to his left. Then Robert saw it wasn’t a sapling. It was a tall scarecrow-like figure, advancing rapidly towards him, emerging out of the darkness and into the moonlight. Terror invaded every nerve of Robert’s body as he took in the detail. The man’s head was like a hideous distortion of the crucified Christ, flanked by long, unruly hair and a thick pointed beard, and the face was utterly ghastly, ashen white with streaked blood flowing down from his hair. The visage was pure evil. As the apparition advanced upon him it raised its arms. They too were streaked with blood and the creature wore spiked wristbands, each adorned with an array of blood-spattered thorns, long enough to cut through a man’s thigh.
Robert turned and ran, channelling his entire being into a bid to escape. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that he was succeeding and his spirit soared. It was then he sensed a pressure on his right hand, propelling him forward. Turning, he glimpsed a blurred face close alongside him, which seemed familiar but that he couldn’t quite place. As the head swung around towards him, and the countenance sharpened into focus, Robert recognised that it was Tara’s friend, Malachy, but there was something changed about the man. His eyes were a dark purple-blue of extraordinary, penetrating, brilliant luminosity. Malachy smiled and stretched a hand out before him, pointing downwards. Robert realised he was not progressing horizontally anymore and that his body, which was flying through the air, was starting to descend.