Helter Skelter

by Des Sheridan

  ‘Spain, we go to Galicia first.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Robert simply, curiosity in his voice.

  ‘Because ... I just know it is right, it ... it feels right’.

  Now it was her turn to look embarrassed.

  ‘Fair enough! Female intuition will do fine. Malachy, get that laptop out. Find-Your-Flight.Com here we come!’

  They all laughed at this. Robert’s ability to capture the absurdity of their predicament had broken the tension.

  Chapter 35

  St Moritz, Switzerland, 9 October 2014

  On the fourth day of the Alpine Conference the Circle members concluded that an essential requirement was to establish an intelligence network. They needed a hotline communication channel directly with the scientists who were researching into the climate change issues that showed the most promise as breakthrough topics – which meant chances to create profit. These included aspects of thermohaline oceanic circulation and the impact of sulphate aerosols. The intelligence would be then fed directly into small venture capital businesses, set up by the Circle and charged with delivering smart technologies to fast-track the business opportunity that resulted. Technological investment would not follow the research. Instead there would be a symbiotic cross-fertilisation between them. It would involve a significant upfront investment cost for the Circle but would be money well spent.

  Once they made this breakthrough they were on a roll. A session on scarcity, led by a professor from Geneva University, looked at the probability of profitable conflicts over water resources, living space and cultivation space. War would offer commercial opportunities too. He outlined the likely forms of mass migrations as the destitute mobilised to claim a share of the world’s remaining usable resources.

  The professor also showed how unready international institutions were to cope with the policy challenges ahead, citing the shortcomings of the 2004 Tsunami aid effort. The Circle would be able to seize the initiative in providing services that worked. Major players were barely interested in international cooperation over sustainable developments. China was asserting a monopolistic grip on the international market in rare earth metals which were essential to technological progress. Moreover, without a trace of western-style imperial self-consciousness, it was purchasing vast tracts of land in Africa to grow food, creating a kind of intercontinental market gardening. The Professor reminded them that altruism, or western liberal notions of globalisation, would not feature at all in the policies of key world powers. They were in it to win and that was all.

  The effect of his presentation was electric. In private discussion that afternoon, the Circle agreed to increase their research and development budget on climate change, across the various industries they controlled. They would invest twenty per cent of their turnover. This was an astonishing decision that delighted Evrard and far exceeded his and Pascal’s expectations. The conversation spilled over after dinner, continuing late into the evening, and Pascal played a pivotal role in it. It gave Evrard great pleasure to see his son place behave like a potential future Chair of the Circle, especially after so many years of disagreement with his son and disappointment with his behaviour. The evening’s discussion concluded with agreement of a new strategic business objective. They would redirect the consortium operations so that, within ten years, the prime activity would be to anticipate and manage climate change for Europe’s economic benefit. And in addition they would use that to reverse the recent decline in Europe’s global position. This made more sense than maintaining effort on traditional industries in a deflationary decade where projections were that growth would be largely absent.

  The ultimate aim was to maximise the continuing success of European capitalism and enhance their grip on it. All agreed that the politics of such a scenario were manageable. At some point a formal oligarchy would have to be installed through some sort of bureaucratic coup d’etat within the European Union. But that was not a problem. In 2012 they had installed technocrats at the helm in Greece and Italy to help stabilise those economies during the Euro crisis. Further and deeper union would happen because it was an economic and business imperative. They didn’t see a future coup as a showstopper. It would simply require a bit of stage management from The Circle at the right time.

  Chapter 36

  Glossop, England, October 1658

  William Howard reached a crossroads and looked up at the signpost. For the first time he saw the word Glossop and he recognised with joy the place name of his birth. His steed, which he had purchased at Stranraer, had served him well on the journey. His belongings were accommodated in two side panniers, with the right-hand one, a somewhat outsize satchel, containing the relic of the Triskell. It would not be long now. He would arrive before sunset.

  He had travelled with Bram and Alice as far south as Preston where he had bade them farewell and headed off eastwards towards Rochdale. The journey gave him a chance to join in casual conversation and assess the mood of the populace. The death of the Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell, one month previously seemed in people’s minds to have changed everything and radical change was in the air. Many were eagerly seeking a restoration of the monarchy and the return of Charles Stuart as King Charles II. It looked to William that he had chosen a very good moment to return. He also heard that numerous Catholics remained in the north-west although they were discriminated against. And that further south they had a much harder time. So it would make sense his to lie low at his brother’s Derbyshire farm and bide his time. Walsingham would have to wait.

  As the Peaks came into view he skirted Saddleworth and rode southwards towards Glossop and the Howard estate. Before long the Glossop Farm, a cluster of stone-built buildings set in rolling open farmland, with straight dry grit stone walls separating the arable fields, lay below him. Upslope the enclosures gave way to open common land of boggy moorlands dotted with flocks of sheep. A brisk chill wind was blowing down from Bleaklow and, closing his eyes, he inhaled it. Its touch and the bleating of lamb, took him back to his youth. His eyes misting he uttered a sigh in recognition that after so many years he was home.

  ‘Sola Virtus Invicta,’ he said quietly, voicing the motto of the Howards, the Dukes of Norfolk. Virtue alone is unconquered.

  Chapter 37

  St Moritz, 10 October 2014

  Sitting alone at a terrace table to watch the sun set over the magnificent Alpine vista, Evrard treated himself to a cigar. This was a rare indulgence, reserved for special occasions, and one his doctors would not have approved of.

  It was the fifth and concluding day of the Conference. Pascal was earning his keep chatting to the guests in the private dining room, so Evrard could relax a while. He lit up the Flor Dominicana cheroot and, as the flavour of sweet green apples filled his mouth, he relished the inhalation. Although great challenges remained, the Circle’s strategic direction on climate change was now set. This was an astonishing achievement given that it was only eight weeks since Pascal had first persuaded him of the business opportunity that climate change offered. Moreover the conference had worked because it was well-designed and that was down to a joint operation between father and son. He was astounded at how well they had worked together on it. It was a long-cherished dream come true, to work creatively on something with his only offspring.

  And yet a doubt niggled away inside him. Years of angst and argument between them had left their mark and could not be easily erased. His son’s strange interests still baffled him. He tried to imagine a world where he could share Pascal’s extraordinary belief of finding a way to read the future. His latest obsession was in tracking down an obscure Celtic artefact that allegedly had that power. Pascal had not told him as much directly, but he had an informer in his son’s entourage and according to his source this was the real focus of Pascal’s interest in the Rosnaree discoveries. Evrard shook his head sideways in disbelief. The boy had inherited his mother’s fey side and seemed programmed to look for occult solutions, where any sane man would give it a mi
ss.

  Still, thought Evrard, he has my ruthless streak and that comes in handy at times. The previous year an investigative journalist had been closing in on a member of the Circle and Evrard had passed the problem to Pascal. Pascal found out that the man was gay and befriended him, suggesting that they spend the weekend together, starting with a spot of rock climbing. Only one man had returned from the mountain expedition. Evrard chuckled. Pascal’s decisiveness reminded him of his younger self. He remembered how Pascal, at the age of thirteen, had been caught red-handed in every sense by a woodsman on the estate at Weris. He had been torturing a stray dog to death and Evrard was struck by the imaginative detail of the boy’s methods. But what impressed him most was how unabashed Pascal was in facing the music, arguing that he had to learn to kill. Great men, such as Ambiorix, never hesitated when there was a need, he had boldly asserted.

  The recollection brought Evrard’s thoughts full circle. It led him to doubt yet again Pascal’s smooth protestations that he had nothing to do with the Rosnaree killing and beheading. To Evrard’s way of thinking it had all the hallmarks of his son’s teenage attitude. He fitted the profile like a glove. Deep down Evrard realised he still didn’t trust the boy and that was why he couldn’t totally buy into Pascal’s new persona as a business partner. Perhaps he would never trust him, for he was Stephanie’s son. Too much of her survived in him, like a virus passed down in the blood. His soul turned cold at the thought.

  But if one part of the jigsaw fitted what about the other piece? Who knows, Evrard thought, there could be something in this Celtic device. After all, yesterday’s magic was today’s science, once scientists had got around to rationalising it. Unlikely in this case, certainly, but Evrard was a methodical man and he made a mental note to get one of his aides to look into it further. It would be best to keep an eye on Pascal.

  He was chewing the tip of the cheroot unconsciously and bit through the outer leaf inadvertently. It tasted bitter in his mouth. Spitting it out, he stood up and stumped the cheroot underfoot. It was spoilt. Best rid of it.

  Chapter 38

  Maynooth, Ireland, 11 October 2014

  Father Andre made his way home through the College Grounds. He had delivered the keynote lecture at an important meeting on historical responses to natural disasters, starting with the Great Lisbon Earthquake of 1755 and culminating with the Asian Tsunami of 2004. The event was sponsored by the international Catholic development charity, Trócaire, which was based in Maynooth and of which Andre was a non-executive director. The speech had gone down well and afterwards he had enjoyed mingling with guests at the public reception and drank a few glasses of wine. After all it was Saturday night and he didn’t have to drive home.

  The night air awakened his senses as he strolled along the dark but peaceful paths in the quads, when he heard a voice hail him and he paused and turned to see who it was. A tall man with swept-back hair caught up with him and engaged him in conversation on the lecture. The man, who spoke with a foreign accent, was enthusiastic and animated and made flattering comments. After a few minutes’ chat, Andre resumed his walk and let the newcomer accompany him. As they reached the door to the building where his lodgings were, Andre thanked the man for his company and bade him goodnight, when the foreigner inquired boldly.

  ‘Oh, that’s such a shame. I have so much more to ask you. I was wondering if perhaps we could continue the conversation over coffee?’

  ‘I would love to but another time. I have marking to do before I retire,’ Andre replied with a polite smile. It was not true. He meant to watch the late news and see if the short TV interview he had done that evening had been broadcast. As he turned away, pulling his keys out of his pocket, the stranger unexpectedly seized his arm and pinioned him up against the doorway in the dark porch. The keys rattled as they hit the flagstones.

  ‘I’m afraid Father that I must insist. Coffee won’t wait tonight.’

  The voice was low and harsh and at that moment Andre felt something hard and cold rest against his temple. He also became aware that two other people had joined his assailant from the shadows. Recalling Robert’s angry comment about lives being at stake, Trócaire vanished from his mind and he thought of the tomb at Rosnaree. At that moment he realised he was in trouble, very big trouble.

  III: The Spaniard and the Historian

  Chapter 39

  Santiago de Compostela, Spain, 10 October 2014

  The breeze in the cloisters of the Hostal Reis Catolicos, in Santiago de Compostella, was welcoming in its warmth even though it was past seven p.m. They would go down to eat late, in the Spanish fashion, at about nine, thought Robert. In the meantime he was sitting alone, with his iPad, sipping a glass of chilled sangria, pondering the ups and downs of the last few days.

  They had got two cancellations on a cheap Iberia flight from Dublin to Lavacolla airport. The flight was certainly entertaining. It was crammed full of pilgrims, off to visit the shrine of St James, who spent the time alternating between group recitations of the Rosary and spirited bouts of hymn singing. Robert had never experienced anything quite like it.

  ‘Remind me to book business class next time,’ he wisecracked to Tara.

  ‘Rubbish, you love every minute of it,’ she replied. ‘I can tell that our eccentric Irish ways are starting to charm you.’

  Robert smiled for there was a grain of truth to the remark.

  He had booked them into the Parador, located in the heart of the medieval city, and wasn’t disappointed. Their rooms were large, airy and very comfortable. Robert was a man who would happily put up with the most basic facilities when in the field but if stuck in a city he valued his creature comforts. The five-star accommodation was in a former Royal Hospital, built to accommodate the numerous pilgrims arriving in Santiago in the sixteenth century and laid claim to being the oldest hotel in the world. He wondered if Donovan Lally had stayed here. It was quite possible as the building dated from 1499 and Lally arrived some sixty year later. If he came, thought Robert, with a touch of desperation. They had been here two days now and so far their search had proved fruitless.

  They had combed the main buildings, starting with the Cathedral of St James, using a hired guide, named Luis, a young student with a fair command of English. Luis recounted how, according to legend, the apostle James brought Christianity to the Celts of Spain within a few years of Christ’s death. When James was beheaded in Jerusalem in 44 AD, his Spanish companions supposedly brought his remains back to Galicia and buried them. The tomb was abandoned, during Roman persecutions in the third century, only to be rediscovered in the ninth century by a hermit who was led to the spot by strange lights in the night sky.

  ‘When the King heard of this,’ Luis explained, ‘he ordered a chapel to be built and the growth of Santiago as a place of pilgrimage commenced. The original church was sacked by the Moors but in 1075 the building of a new cathedral started which has, over the centuries, culminated in the great baroque structure we see today.’

  Luis was very patient as Tara led an exhaustive search of the vast interior for a clue that might lead them to their goal. Not a nook or cranny was missed as she insisted they survey each room using a consistent approach. She would assign each of them a space – the floor, wall, roof or whatever – to examine using a grid-based approach. Tara was relying on using a standard methodology to reduce the chance of missing something. Robert began to appreciate how thorough an auditor she must be and her techniques reminded him of the patient and painstaking methods used by archaeologists at a dig. He also was impressed by her ready skill in adapting to and leading a quite novel type of search. This was a woman who quickly evaluated a situation, took decisions and handled situations.

  The search was so thorough that it took a second day to complete it. They found scallop shells all over the place but when they showed Luis a drawing of the three spirals he had not seen anything like it. Nor had any of the expert historians in the administration block that Tara had insisted they con
sult. By the end of the second day they were both weary from the intensity of their search and the unaccustomed heat of the day. Tara was very silent as they walked back to the hotel and, stealing a side glance, Robert saw disappointment etched in her unsmiling face.

  Chapter 40

  Atlantic Ocean, December 1650

  Murrough, Baron of Inchiquin, clung to the low rigging with one hand as he leaned over the side of the vessel. For the third time his stomach heaved and, retching miserably, he threw up what was left of his breakfast. Guion Bihan stood by his side, ready to grab hold of his master if it looked as though the man might slip overboard. The irony of protecting the life of the murderer, who had killed Theobald Stapleton and thousands of other Catholics, was not lost on Guion. But the truth was that in times of war, exigent need called the shots, and the Breton knew exactly what he was doing and why he was accompanying Murrough.

  Guion thought back to that June day eighteen months since, the last time he had seen Áine Lacey, Donovan Lally and William Howard. He recalled the mix of emotions registered in their faces when the event at Labbacallee came to an end and doubt was not one of them. The journey back to Ormond had been quiet. Rain had set in from the south west and the horses plodded on slowly through the downpour, the riders retreating into the solitude of their own thoughts. Further discussion or debate was not necessary. They were all believers in the power of the Triskell after what they had witnessed. Each would do his duty and take charge of a part of the sacred object, removing it abroad for safekeeping until the current madness engulfing their homeland had passed into history and the components could be safely reunited.