by Des Sheridan
Leandro raised both his hands, palm upwards.
‘Listen to me Robert, you must listen. Stay calm. In Ponferrada, yes there was a follower but he is gone now, no problem!’
It was Tara’s turn to be alarmed, swivelling around so fast towards the Spaniard that she nearly fell off her chair.
‘My God, Leandro, have you killed someone?’
Chapter 66
Dorking, England, 14 October 2014
James Gascoyne-Cribb sat slumped in a corner, his head in his hands, his eyes tight shut, waiting for the sound of the gunshot that would end his life. Instead, to his astonishment, he heard the familiar sound of the front door closing. Opening his eyes, looking about the hall, he realised he was alone. They were gone! His tormentors were gone!
Elation ripped through him. They had gone, maybe it really was over! Beside him on the floor lay a brown envelope so he picked it up. It contained another photo of Ariadne, but this time there was a man close by, watching her. He recognised the thug as the man with the tight set face. Anxiety came crashing back like an aftershock. They were telling him that they could come back anytime, arriving out of the blue to destroy his life again. And that was why he had better keep his mouth shut. James felt himself start to shake, gradually at first but then persistently and strongly. The mental and physical toll of the last eighteen hours was catching up on him. Breaking out in perspiration he felt the bile rise uncontrollably in his throat and he lurched forward involuntarily, vomiting over his deep-pile Axminster hall carpet.
Chapter 67
Santiago de Compostela, Spain, 15 October 2014
Leandro must have realised that he had said too much because he desperately tried to reassure them.
‘Please, please, I am simple, harmless man. I do nothing but haven’t you seen yet? The Triskell protects itself. Things happen! The man drowned. The Santa Compaña, the Night Ones, got him. Just accept. Please!’
Robert was thinking fast. It seemed to him that Leandro was mentally unstable but Robert also recalled the dust devil at Rosnaree. The Triskell had been protected then. Something odd had clearly happened here in the last few days. And if there was one follower there might be another.
‘Tara, we ought to go now,’ Robert blurted out abruptly. Tara looked uncertainly at Leandro, torn between heeding Robert and wanting to find out more. Fortunately Leandro also seemed to have decided enough was enough.
‘Yes, go now. He don’t understand but perhaps that good. Read the papers I give you, all is there. You must have the Triskell and take your journey. Like a pilgrim you come to Santiago so like a pilgrim now you must go too.’
‘But where is the Triskell? Will it take you long to get it ready?’
Leandro’s expression brightened.
‘It is here Tara, waiting for you.’
He went over to an alcove, pulling out a large supermarket carrier bag.
‘Here it is, ready for you, Tara. It travelled much so before and now must travel again. Take it home!’
Tara rose and embraced the man.
‘Thank you, Leandro. I won’t betray your trust. We can talk again.’
The Spaniard seemed alarmed by this suggestion and pulled away from her.
‘No, Tara, I really is just simple man. I don’t want any more. I want to close the book. Please, don’t come back!’
Robert took hold of Tara’s hand and pulled her away towards the stairs, which he started to descend fast.
‘Robert, stop it! Slow down!’
‘No Tara! This is dangerous. We have been here too long.’
He didn’t release his grip. Once they were outside Tara broke away, and headed for a cab that was stationary across the street. Robert intercepted her and frog marched her along the road, flagging down a passing taxi. When it pulled over he opened the back door and pushed her in.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she hissed at him.
‘Rule One, always do the unexpected. So, in this case, don’t go for the first cab. It could be a snatch job.’
‘What? Oh for God’s sake you can’t be serious. That is ridiculous!’ she retorted angrily.
‘Actually yes, I am fucking serious, and unlike your friend I am not planning to rely on the bloody Virgin Mary to keep us safe!’
‘That is just such a pathetic comment!’
The rest of the journey back to the hotel was passed in a furious silence, a cold blast of icy air demarcating the space between them in the small vehicle. When they reached the hotel Tara left the taxi and headed straight in as if he wasn’t there. Robert, tossing some euro notes towards the taxi man, scurried after her.
‘Tara, please stop we need to talk.’ He was almost running to stay alongside, as he struggled with the large carrier bag and she strode ahead.
‘Robert, just leave it. We can talk later. Maybe.’
‘We need to check out now.’
That caught her attention. She stopped and looked at him.
‘What? Now? Why?’
‘We may have been discovered or we may not. But if we stay here we certainly will be.’
‘You are really serious about this spook stuff, aren’t you? Boys’ own games.’
‘Yes. Deadly. I will book a new hire car. Can you pack please?
The expression in her eyes showed she was in two minds. Then she decided.
‘OK Robert I will this time. But quit thinking you can push me around. One more stunt like that and we are history!’
Robert suppressed a smile. She was cross with him and blissfully unaware that her remark might be misconstrued. With a poker face he lied,
‘Yes, you are absolutely right. I apologise.’ Then for devilment he added, ‘It’s just that I am used to being obeyed.’
Her eyes flashed.
‘Huh, fat chance buster. I’m not one of your boy soldiers and don’t forget it.’
She turned away and swept on. Robert grinned. Was she aware that she was lapsing into dime-show Americanisms? Did she really think that she could fend on her own? She strutted up the hallway, as though confident that she had put him firmly in his place. Watching her retreating shapely form, he felt a wave of affection towards her.
Four days in October
IV: No Turning Back
Chapter 68
Pyrenees, France, 17 October 2014
It was good to be out of Spain. It was a beautiful country but the extraordinary Baroque churches, stark landscapes and stories of vicious Civil War massacres served to remind you that it was still a place of strong passions and harsh extremes. Somehow Robert felt more at home in France. He could speak the language passably well and, once they had crossed the border, it felt as though they were putting more than miles between them and their pursuers. Hearing Leandro speak of their being tailed within a day or two of their arrival in Santiago had been sobering. Like a cold shower of reality. Too damned close for comfort. Robert cursed himself for his complacency. They had even booked into the hotel under their own names. He had been so confident that their escape to Maynooth and then Spain had been secret that he had been careless. Mac’s cautions resounded in his ears making him feel like a fool.
Initially Robert had wanted to fly from San Sebastian to Nantes as they would have arrived in Brittany the same day. But on a moment’s reflection it was too visible an option. It meant changing flights in Madrid and it was easy to track people commuting through a major international airport. Then there was the issue of the Triskell. You could hardly carry a priceless metal artefact as hand luggage; you wouldn’t get past the scanners. They could have put it in a suitcase but that meant being separated from it, and Tara was unwilling to run that risk. So road it was.
They had come the long way, by car across northern Spain on the first day. The initial two hours were frosty, following their row, but a stop in a market to buy lunch had moved them on and restored harmony. The following morning, avoiding the busy coast road past San Sebastian, where Robert feared they might pick up a tail, they continued eastwards past Pam
plona, then up into the mountains north of Jaca. They had crossed into France at the Col du Pourtalet, thirty minutes ago, and were now stopped at the border crossing for a rest. While Tara queued for coffees, Robert noticed a free Wi-Fi sign on the wall of the small café so he returned to the car, retrieved his tablet and powered it up. The third e-mail he opened was from Malachy, sent yesterday evening, and the contents hit him like an exocet missile. He saw the words clearly enough, he just couldn’t believe them. “GAA man murdered” it said, followed by a weblink and then a brief message. Robert opened the link which was to the Irish Times online. It was a short piece, under the headline “Maynooth academic found murdered”
Maynooth College was in shock yesterday, following the discovery of the body of distinguished lecturer and researcher, Fr Andre Keane SJ. Dr Keane, 48, who specialised in Irish religious studies from the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries, was a keen sportsman and was well known in GAA circles. He was also a trustee of Trócaire on whose behalf he had delivered a public lecture in the town on Saturday night. His body was discovered in his rooms on Monday and may have been there since Saturday as, according to a source, Father Keane had planned to be away Sunday at a GAA fixture, but had not turned up. A Garda spokesman confirmed that the death was not accidental but declined to confirm reports that the cleric had been shot. An inquest will be held and Garda are conducting an investigation into the circumstances of the crime. They want to establish the identity of visitors to Fr Keane in the days before his death.
At that very moment Tara returned with the coffees and a couple of pain au chocolat.
‘Any news?’ she inquired breezily, seeing what he was doing.
Looking into her blue-green eyes, Robert wished he could lie to her and make everything well. But she needed to know. In light of this news it was clear that they were lucky to have left Santiago alive. Very lucky indeed.
‘Can we walk?’ he replied simply. Shutting down the computer he rose to his feet and took hold of his coffee. As they walked away from the buildings, he decided to get straight to the point.
‘Some not-so-good news, I’m afraid, from Malachy. Andre is dead. And it looks like murder.’
Tara’s slender frame recoiled in shock at the news as though an electric current had passed through it and she spilled some of her coffee. She stopped and stood in silence as she absorbed the information. Robert, waiting, observed their surroundings. The view from the Pyrenean pass was limited, as it was enveloped in constantly shifting mists. Patches of bright blue sky peered fleetingly through a higher blanket of white cloud. The breeze was brisk and the temperature, compared to lowland Spain, was markedly cool. Winter was coming and snow, which cloaked the rocky summits, could be seen already encroaching downwards on the higher pastures. Robert reckoned the pass would be closed within a month. He saw Tara hunch her shoulders but knew that it wasn’t just due to the montane cold. He sensed the news had chilled her to the bone.
After a time Tara asked quietly. ‘They will come for us then?’
Their eyes met.
‘Yes, they will,’ said Robert steadily. ‘But right now they don’t know where we are. So we are safe. But I will need to take steps soon’.
‘Santiago, I am sorry for being an ass. I didn’t sense any danger.’
‘Well, me neither until we met Leandro and by then it was too late. We were already compromised. But it wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I was careless.’
She was silent a moment. ‘What do you mean, take steps?’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Andre was shot. Any bastard coming after us will have to get past me first.’
‘Jesus! Robert! You can’t get a gun in France or even the UK for that matter. It’s illegal!’
Robert looked at her in surprise, amusement in his eyes.
‘For a passionate Celt you are remarkably law abiding, Tara. Just leave that side of things to me. I know what I need to do.’
She managed a small smile. There was something reassuring about his quiet confidence and right now she needed that.
‘Who do you think they are?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. But we must know some of them. Or rather they know people we know. They seem to find out things pretty damn fast. I will get Mac on to it.’
She took hold of his arm. ‘Come on, Robert, let’s get going. I am starting to freeze’.
He liked her arm resting on his. Liked it a lot. He could have taken her in his arms but it wouldn’t have been appropriate. She was still his client or, more correctly, that was how the world would see it if anything happened to her. And she was certainly vulnerable. Come to that, he felt vulnerable.
Without a further word they turned back towards the car park, leaving whatever spirits resided in the magnificent natural amphitheatre to ponder upon the snatches of their conversation that carried up into the clouds.
Chapter 69
The temperature rose as they descended the northern slopes of the Pyrenees, the mists lifting as though heralding their arrival into the beautiful scenery of the Ossau valley. They followed signposts north and east towards Tarbes. Robert’s plan, he said, was to cut across Gascony and Tara, holding the road atlas, was his navigator.
‘Isn’t that a bit far east?’ asked Tara. ‘Why not head north west?’
‘If someone is expecting us, then that is where they would look. The coast road from San Sebastian through Bayonne.’ He jabbed at the yellow line on the map. ‘So we go up here, find the E9 tomorrow and cut across through Poitiers and Angers. It will take longer but is safer. By then we will be quite far north.’
They drove for about twenty minutes in silence, pondering the implications of Andre’s death and absorbing the dramatic Pyrenean landscape.
‘I’m afraid, Robert, I’ve never been so afraid. Aren’t you?’ she asked suddenly, half turning so she could watch his reaction.
He took time before answering.
‘I see it this way, Tara. The murder of Shay was so bizarre, that it seemed like a one-off that we had stumbled upon. The killing of Andre, however, confirms a pattern. It would be very foolish to fail to see that. So, yes, I am afraid.’
He fell silent, then, seeming to sense her need for reassurance, added,
‘As a soldier you get used to fear, Tara, you have to. You don’t like it any more than the next person but you learn to live with it, in a sense you make it your friend, your companion. Put another way, you have a choice. You have to learn to master fear or you might as well just bolt, leg it away from the threat. There isn’t another option, really. But I don’t want you to worry, I have experience of violent men and I know what to do and I have friends who are the same. I can’t stop our enemies closing in but no one will get near you without dealing with me first, you can count on that.’
His right hand stretched out and took hers, squeezing it for a moment, before returning to the steering wheel.
The words made Tara feel safe and his touch was reassuring. She knew that he meant it. He would protect her. The old Tara would have cynically asked what was in it for him. But the new Tara had no illusions left. She was vulnerable and way out of her depth. She had spent months fearing for her sanity and now she feared for her life. Fear of their enemy had her by the throat, and she was simply terrified of dying. What if their enemies were waiting for them at the next place they stopped for petrol? And Robert doing his best might not be enough. A sniper might shoot him and then they would still get their hands on her. Her fears were running amok.
She watched Robert as he negotiated the hairpin bends during the descent, his bronzed forearms constantly moving as he played the steering wheel attentively and expertly. He was such a capable presence, she realised, and one that until now she had largely taken for granted. Arriving out of nowhere, he had attached himself to her, a bit like a limpet but in the nicest possible way. His presence, it dawned on her, was entirely an act of will on his part. She didn’t deserve his presence, she wasn’t paying him a
nd she had no right to expect it. Yet here he was and, by God, she was glad of it.
Relishing the surety of being in his company, exhausted by the emotions of her predicament and warming under the sunlight that was beaming in through the car windows, Tara fell asleep.
Chapter 70
Robert drove on, past Tarbes, heading north along country roads towards Auch, then on past Lectoure. As the light started to fade he looked out for an auberge where they might stop for the night. But, as is the nature of these situations, he drove for long stretches without seeing one, only to fly past one when least expecting it and at a spot where the narrowness of the road made turning around a difficult task. So he kept going although he recognised that he was getting tired and his attention lapsing. He could do with Tara waking up to help spot a place to stop but he didn’t want to disturb her sleep. She needed her rest. Stress often hits people that way.
After a time, on the horizon to the west a large building loomed up and caught his eye. At first he thought it was a castle but as they drew nearer, he realised it was like a church but with two towers, one at each end, neither of which was a steeple. It was very oddly shaped. Beside him Tara stirred, waking up from her snooze.
‘Look Tara, that place seems interesting. We need to stop soon.’
It took Tara a couple of minutes to come to and locate where they were on the route map. Robert gave her some place names that they had recently passed to help her identify where they were. Still the twin towers stood to the west as though the road was taking them on a curved path eastwards around it.
‘OK, let’s try it,’ said Tara. ‘According to the map it’s called La Romieu. There’s bound to be an inn, surely.’
Slowing down, Robert soon picked up a left turn signposted to the place. As they slowly entered the small village they found it was dwarfed by the great church building, and were relieved to find an auberge in the square, underneath an old awning. They had both had enough of travelling. The inn looked lazy and laid back and would suit them fine, so they pulled round to a yard at the back. They were in luck. There were two vacant rooms and within an hour they were tucking in to a cassoulet - a pork stew with white haricot beans, topped with croutons. It was hearty and delicious and accompanied by pain de campagne, and a bottle of local wine that made up in fruitiness what it lacked in finesse. They ate with gusto. It was so good to have stopped driving.