Magic Lantern

by Des Sheridan

  ‘But what would a businessman want with a Celtic artefact?’ Robert inquired, puzzled.

  Paul shrugged his sizeable shoulders.

  ‘We don’t know. He has a fine collection of 18th century Chinese porcelain at his home at Weris – collected by his late wife - but we don’t know of any known interest in collecting from older periods.’

  Tara, who had been very quiet, spoke up. ‘You are all being dense. He wants the Triskell. The device can access the future. At least ten people saw it do that last night. I’d call that a business opportunity.’

  Chapter 64

  Guérande, France, 1 November 2014, 13:10

  A trauma evaluation team arrived soon after to evaluate Aoife and Tara. In Tara’s case it was perfunctory, as they were really concerned about the child. Early afternoon Teresa reappeared. Tara noted that her hair was wet and she had changed clothes.

  ‘Tara, I’ve followed up your inquiry about your friend and got some results. Can we talk?’

  Tara nodded assent and with Robert they decamped to the sitting room. Someone had stripped off the dust sheets and put a vase of flowers on one table. The room looked a lot more liveable in and it lifted Tara’s mood a little. Normality – whatever that might be – was beginning to take shape.

  Teresa kicked off.

  ‘Your friend Malachy is proving a bit elusive. Please tell me more about him.’

  ‘There’s not much to it,’ Tara replied simply. ‘I am just worried about Malachy, that’s all. At Taizé we both knew that Pascal was insistent that I come alone or he would kill Aoife. I couldn’t risk that so I made sure we parted. Malachy didn’t challenge that and we agreed to meet once I had exchanged the Triskell for Aoife. He said he would be in Brittany as he was convinced that the action would return there although I have no idea where he got that notion from. Anyhow it meant I could contact him for help if I got the chance. Of course I had no access to a phone after Pascal made us prisoners. So when we escaped last night I asked Alain to get Nico to ring Malachy on his mobile last night but have heard nothing from them. I am just worried Pascal might have cottoned onto Malachy somehow – you know, spotted him following us perhaps....’

  ‘But last night you told Alain, he was there – at La Roche?’

  ‘Yes, I thought I saw him in the tomb entrance at one point.’

  ‘You don’t sound sure. What made you think it was him?’

  Tara hesitated. There was no way she could disclose she saw him with eyes radiating a strange light or it would be back to the fruitcake farm.

  ‘Well it was dark. I didn’t see him clearly. It was an impression I guess.’

  ‘That’s interesting because we can’t locate anyone on our side who saw him. How was he dressed? As a normal priest?’

  Tara’s patience snapped. ‘I don’t know. For goodness sake! I said it was dark. It all happened so quickly.’

  ‘OK, Tara. I am sorry but I have to ask questions. Let’s take this from the other end. We have made contact with the Taizé people who don’t know where he is,’ Teresa responded. ‘In fact, they were reticent in discussing him, claiming they knew little about him. He was just one of many visiting Irish prelates who pass through each year. Anyhow I contacted my people in Ireland overnight and they hit the phones this morning. When did you first meet him?’

  Tara was taken aback.

  ‘Gosh! That is going back. Let’s see. I know that we were in primary school together when I was little. That would have been St Cecilia’s in Foxrock, when we lived in Dublin. And the families stayed in touch over the years.’

  ‘OK, that’s fine,’ said Teresa. ‘We anticipated that line of reasoning and your father supplied the details. We were lucky. The school recently digitised all its records. Let’s have a browse so you can you pick him out in the photos?’

  Tara, astonished that they had obtained such information so quickly, nodded her head and moved around to look at Teresa’s tablet. The images rolled the years back in a flash. She saw herself – a little girl in the mid-eighties - lined up beside her peer group in the yearbook photos. Teresa flicked through the images.

  ‘No sign of him here. Try another year,’ Tara said.

  Teresa pulled up another year and then another. But there was still no sign of Malachy.

  ‘That’s so odd. He was there, I’m sure.’

  It was all Tara could offer, although she realised how lame it sounded. With a sinking feeling she continued.

  ‘Anyway, Andrew at the National Museum knows him well and so does my father, Brian. Ask them.’

  ‘I have - I have spoken to both of them this morning,’ replied Teresa. ‘They say they know him of course and what a lovely, learned fella he is. But both say they met him but only recently at Rosnaree and through yourself.’

  ‘What! You must be kidding me?’ Tara asked, looking at Teresa with growing unease. She felt the return of that old, unwelcome feeling of being at odds with reality. Could the madness be starting all over again, she wondered? This felt just like when she was questioned by Bradley Raven Associates last January about Newton in Boston. And, like then, she had no answers about someone very close to her. A horrible feeling gripped her stomach. Where was Malachy? Had he been killed? The image of the Triskell also came into her mind. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to seize it. How could she track it down? A sense of panic took hold.

  Tara noticed that Teresa was also looking uncomfortable and hadn’t responded. Instead she was looking down at her hands. Finally, perhaps sensing she was being observed, Teresa raised her eyes and settled them on Tara’s face. Tara noticed what a fine blue colour her pupils were and how they seemed to dance about nervously. The woman seemed kindly but Tara didn’t like where her incessant questions seemed to be taking them.

  ‘Tara, I don’t quite know how to say this. But your friend is a puzzle. Everyone knows him, but no one knows quite where he comes from or why, or indeed who he is.’

  Tara felt her face flush but held her ground.

  ‘Well, contact the Cork Seminary. He has just done some deaconate exams there.’

  ‘OK, I will. Do you have any details?’ Teresa asked.

  Tara snapped tetchily.

  ‘Oh! For heaven’s sake! You are the detective! How many seminaries can there be in Cork? He may have said a name but I don’t know. We were using e-mail so I will have an e-address.’

  She moved to get up, feeling flustered and worn out. She became conscious of Robert suddenly beside her, close. He intervened.

  ‘It’s OK, Tara I have it here on my smartphone. I was in contact with him too, remember?’

  He called out the e-mail address. Teresa smiled.

  ‘That is very helpful, Robert, thank you. I am sure Malachy will pop up somewhere. Bloody priests – always live in their own world if you ask me. And in my experience prone to hot foot it there, pronto, whenever you ask awkward questions. Disappearing back up into the clouds when it suits, into the Magisterium.’

  For Tara this was too much. She rounded on the police woman, resorting to attack as the best form of defence.

  ‘Actually I am quite worried about my friend, and I don’t appreciate your insinuations. If you knew anything about Malachy, you would know that he is no typical priest. Perhaps you should try looking for evidence instead of stereotyping people. You might actually find out something out for a change.’

  She knew she was being a bitch but Teresa should realise that she had limits. Why should she have all the fucking answers? Of a sudden, with Pascal’s death, the Triskell story had lost its plot and everyone expected her to make sense of developments. It dawned upon her that she would have to track down Pascal’s father and take it from there. But what about the opposition? Kirsten was dead as well but the group of followers was a large one. Would a new leader take over? And what about the Chinese woman? Her behaviour towards Tara had been equivocal. Tara wondered what was her real agenda was. She returned her attention to the present and the DI.


  Teresa visibly blanched and backed away. For a second Tara thought she saw a hurt look cross the woman’s eyes. Then the policewoman regained her poise as best she could.

  ‘Ah yes, well now. No offence intended, Tara. I had better be off and leave you all to it.’

  Teresa turned and left the room. Belatedly a pang of guilt struck Tara. Teresa – and the others involved – had risked life and limb to rescue her and Aoife less than twenty-four hours previously.

  ‘Oh fuck. That wasn’t right, was it?’ she said.

  Robert shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘We are all tired. She will survive. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Let’s go find out how Aoife is.’

  Chapter 65

  Guérande, France, 1 November 2014; 14:50

  They exited the garden through a gate in the back wall that opened directly onto the stony shingle beach. It was an overcast day, quite cool, with a steady breeze. For Tara the walk meant so much. The contrast between the great expanse of the beach and the memory of being cooped up in that awful underground cell represented liberation. With every breath of air she felt better.

  A plain clothes operative followed at a discreet distance. Paul was taking no chances, she noted, recalling how he had tried to dissuade her from leaving the compound. Then he had worked on Robert.

  ‘Think of last night, Robert. For god’s sake - you need to lie low.’

  ‘The opposition is in turmoil and divided – divided by spilt blood. They will have scarpered and gone to ground. We will be safe. Tara needs some normality, Paul. It’s important. Fresh air, a walk - it will do her good,’ had been Robert’s firm response. You tell them, she had thought. Paul had got the message and given up.

  As they strolled along they kept the conversation light: how lucky it was that Aoife was unharmed; news that Niamh and Neil were planning an early morning flight to join them; what Brian had said when Tara had spoken with him. Tara relayed his news that removal of the trees at Rosnaree had revealed a processional avenue of stones leading to the long-buried main entrance to the tomb. There was speculation as to whether the entrance had been deliberately buried and if so why, when and by whom. Before they could explore this further Robert’s smart-phone rang and he took the call. The conversation was brief. Putting his phone away, he turned to her.

  “That was Teresa. She has drawn a blank on Malachy at the Cork Seminary.”

  ‘Christ! Just what I need! What the hell is going on, Robert? Where the hell is Malachy? Who is Malachy?’

  ‘I really am stumped, Tara. I have no idea but I’ll bet my life Malachy is on the side of the angels, whatever he is up to. I just know that in my blood. By the way, he was in my dream.’

  ‘What dream?’ Tara asked in surprise.

  ‘I had a dream. One of those dreams! You don’t have the exclusive franchise anymore, Tara. That’s how we found you. Or, the way I see it, something – but not your Bishop - found me and left a message.’

  Their eyes met and, in that moment, Tara understood what he meant - that her madness was his madness now. And she realised what that signified. Someone else had experienced it which meant either it was real or they were both crazy. Whichever it was, she need never be alone again, at least not in the way she had been in recent months.

  ‘Go on then. Let’s hear it.’

  He recounted the dream as it had unfolded - the stars, the Taizé flag, the tomb, Malachy and Sarah. As he finally fell silent Tara commented,

  ‘You are right. It has the same signature as my dreams. The prophetic aspect too. Odd that Malachy should be your guide to Sarah. They are from two totally different stages in your life. Did he speak?’

  ‘No he just gestured and the odd thing was his eyes. You know how amazing dreams can be – CGI is no problem! Anyway this weird electric blue light seemed to beam out of them.’

  Tara stopped dead in her tracks.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Robert asked.

  ‘That’s it. I couldn’t tell Teresa earlier but last night that is exactly what happened. I was going to just grab Aoife and run straight out of camp when I had this overwhelming sensation I was being watched. I looked around and Malachy was standing there, in the dark portal. He gestured and his eyes – his eyes were just as you describe – electric blue! What is going on?’

  ‘I know one thing. I doubt either you or Aoife would be alive now if you had run forward. There were hostile forces all around you. Either you would have been detained or shot. If you ask me, Malachy seems to working through our minds from a distance. Like a kind of hypnotism or influencing. I’ve been thinking it over. Why, after meeting you at Taizé, did Malachy not contact me? You had been left alone to walk into Pascal’s trap. But think about it – the dates! I reckon I had the dream the night you must have arrived in Taizé. Malachy must have sent me that dream!’

  They had resumed walking, trudging over the shingle. The pebbles shifted position under each tread which made for hard going. After a minute or so Tara asked another question.

  ‘Will we hear from Malachy again, do you think?’

  ‘Who can say? This thing is not over yet. The coincidence of you being at Taizé with Malachy and my receiving the dream that featured Malachy is too great. I think he was working through us to protect the Triskell. Now Evrard, Pascal’s father, has the Triskell, so we need to approach him, although with caution in case he is anything like his son. But first things first. What exactly happened at Taizé?’

  Tara laughed anxiously.

  ‘I am not sure I can put it effectively into words but I will try. I think .... I think Malachy saved my soul!’

  Chapter 66

  Guérande, France, 2 November 2014

  The following morning Niamh and Neil, with Brian in tow, arrived from Nantes Airport to be reunited with Aoife. For about an hour there was nothing but happiness and tears of joy. Niamh threw herself around Aoife as though she would never let go. Eventually she did and Robert observed that she embraced Tara warmly. Nonetheless after a time the atmosphere became strained with Niamh looking increasingly ill at ease. It took Robert a while to figure out what was afoot. He wondered whether Niamh, after the first flush of joyful reunion, was embarrassed by the vitriol she had flung at Tara a week ago. Then he noticed how demonstrative Aoife was being towards Tara. Put plainly she was clinging on to her a lot. Niamh, he guessed, must resent the closeness that had grown up between her sister and her only child during their recent ordeal. He saw where this might lead – to Niamh having another go at Tara. That would be the last thing Tara needed right now. As he weighed up his options on what to do to remedy the situation, it seemed Tara twigged what was going on too. She began distancing herself from Aoife and eased up on reciprocating all the child’s embraces. Minutes later she looked Niamh directly in the eye and announced.

  ‘Look, you must be exhausted after the flight and Aoife is only getting over things. You need some family prime time. Come on, Robert, let’s give them some peace.’

  As they left the room, Aoife suddenly raced after them. By the door she grabbed hold of Tara’s hand and whispered.

  ‘Tara, I want you to know. I am not just a child. I realise what you did. You didn’t have to come to me but you did. And you knew what they were like. So you knew there might be no way out. I will always love you for that’.

  Tara smiled at her niece and tousled her hair.

  ‘I love you too, Aoife Delaney. Now go on with you, back to your Mum and Dad. They need some loving-up too!’

  But Aoife wasn’t quite finished. She offered her hand awkwardly to Robert.

  ‘Thank you too Robert. You and the others saved us.’

  He grasped her hand in his.

  ‘No sweat, Aoife. You’re welcome. We do that all the time. Next weekend it will probably be a lost dog or something.’

  They all laughed and Aoife rushed back to her parents.

  ‘Great kid,’ observed Robert, ‘and what she said was true.’

  He didn’t add that he
sensed wariness in her towards unfamiliar men. Not surprising in the circumstances.

  ‘Well, she is worth it,’ said Tara. ‘It shows she has insight into what happened but what a way to gain it. Doesn’t it worry you? The horror of what we saw at La Roche? It’s like a terrible stain or smell I can’t get rid of. I worry about the effects on Aoife. Long-term I mean.’

  Her face wasn’t smiling now. Following her into the hall, a thought crossed Robert’s mind. Yesterday Tara had tongue- whipped Teresa but this morning she was magnanimous and thoughtful, and concerned about others. He realised afresh why she fascinated him: she had that capacity to surprise, and when she did she revealed a new aspect of her character. The fucked-up, brittle, self-critical person who had accompanied him from Spain two weeks back, seemed a creature of the past. Tara was stronger now, much stronger, and metamorphosing afresh before his eyes, revealing new depths to her character. But she was still burdened by what had happened.

  ‘I’ve been thinking. There is someone I would like you to meet and somewhere special to see. How does a day out tomorrow sound to you, Tara? A change of scene?

  Chapter 67

  Golfe du Morbihan, France, 3 November 2014

  They set off after breakfast, heading towards Vannes. Robert was pleased when he disclosed their mystery destination to Tara – she was delighted at the prospect. The weather conditions were much like their last boat journey at Mont St Michel, but the trip from Larmor-Baden to Gavrinis was a shorter and smoother affair. The ferry taking them across the choppy waters of the Gulf of Morbihan was a substantial craft that could carry about thirty passengers although, as it was Monday and not the weekend, there were only nine tourists on board. Robert invited Kireg to accompany them and was delighted when he said he was free and would love to be their guide. The Breton was in his element.