Helter Skelter

by Des Sheridan

  ‘What did Sarah die from?’ Tara asked, assuming it was a disease or illness of some kind.

  ‘She died from injuries in the July bombings in London in 2005,’ Robert replied. ‘Sarah was on one of the tube trains. They reckon she was seated about seven feet away from the bomber on the tube she was travelling in. She died at the scene.’

  The unexpectedness of the answer caught Tara unawares.

  ‘Oh my God, how awful,’ her voice trailed into silence.

  ‘Yes, it certainly was,’ replied Robert eventually, his voice registering lower than usual. ‘A nightmare that went on for months, then years, if I am honest. Not much point in pretending it was anything else, really. But in the end you come out of the blackness. Or at least I did. Now, mostly, when I look back I just see the good times with Sarah and I rejoice in them. I’m just so glad I knew her, she changed me, helped me grow as a person. And I no longer hate the bastards who did it. Well, at least not as much as I used to. Now I would just castrate them.’

  He looked at Tara and smiled and they both laughed. She liked that about him. The way he could switch from being very direct and serious to shrugging something off with self-deprecating humour. They drove on, silence filling the space between them. She sensed that they both knew that the subjects of Sarah and Newton would no longer be ‘no go’ territory and that was fine. Then he spoke.

  ‘By the way, talking of old comrades, you will meet Nico tomorrow. I have asked him to rendezvous with us at Rennes. You should like him, most women do.’

  ‘In that case, I can’t wait,’ said Tara with mock seriousness and they both laughed again. Inwardly she wondered when he had found the time to make the call to Nico. Robert Grainger could be a dark horse when he wanted to be.

  They stopped overnight at a small hotel near Poitiers. As they parked the car, reality struck home for Tara. Tomorrow they would arrive in Brittany.

  V: The Guardian

  Chapter 74

  Rennes, France, 19 October 2014

  After a good night’s rest Tara and Robert set out refreshed on the last leg of their journey. They crossed the Loire at Les Ponts-de-Cé, a striking sequence of five bridges that linked small islands across the span of the river which here must be a mile wide. Although it was steadily spitting rain they could just about see the great mosaic of flowing waters, reed banks and islets that characterised this stretch of the magnificent river.

  Their conversation tailed off as they made the crossing. Tara thought she understood why. Although neither said it openly both knew that their journeying was coming to an end. The last few days had been theirs and theirs alone. They had operated in a bubble, getting to know each other amid the secure anonymity of constantly moving on, leaving no trace as they passed through many different rural landscapes. But all that was going to end soon. Arrival would mean facing up to the enemy that had killed Shay and Andre, perhaps even facing up to their own deaths. Their trek was a flight from their unknown unseen pursuers. But the irony was that by arriving they would have to face them anyway. Truth told they were running out of road.

  As they reached the walled city of Rennes the sun was shining again. Glancing at the dashboard clock Robert saw that it was almost eleven-thirty: they had made good time in the Audi. As they gained the suburbs of the city their passage was slowed down by dense traffic.

  ‘Why drive into a city, won’t we lose a lot of time?’ Tara asked.

  ‘Well, two reasons. First, Nico has business to do here anyway so he had to come in. Second, assuming one of us might be being followed, there is safety in crowds. You can get lost fast if you need to.’

  When the road widened, Tara saw great city walls on her right, flanked by sunken gardens, like something out of the Middle Ages. Contemplating the last few days she marvelled at how much of France’s built heritage had survived down the centuries. By comparison Ireland had little enough and the US hardly any in her experience.

  Robert parked the car and walked her into the old city through a drawbridge gate, Les Portes Mordelaises, which was flanked by two enormous circular towers, so large that they almost swallowed up the entrance. Winding their way through narrow streets they reached a road flanked by remarkably tall half-timbered houses, the wood painted in a range of colours and set in diamond, diagonal and herring bone patterns. To Tara they looked like something out of Grimm’s fairy tales.

  ‘This is Rue St. Michel, known locally as Rue de la Soif – Thirst Street! So-called because of all the bars on it. Trust Nico to find such a place! We are looking for one called Le Barantic.’ Robert told her.

  It didn’t take them long to find the place. It was painted in a welcoming blue-green, and a large Guinness harp on the wall caught Tara’s eye. Bypassing the outside tables, they entered and Robert wound his way past the bar to a table by the end wall where a young-looking man sat. He stood up to greet them and Tara was struck by how good-looking he was. Classic Italian looks: short, heavily-gelled, black hair; classic Armani shades and dark, sun-tanned skin. Tall and lithe, dressed in tight-fitting designer jeans and a red check shirt with short sleeves, he looked like a film star. As they approached, he rose to his feet, removing the shades and calling out in a low, musical voice.

  ‘Roberto, mio fratello come stai.’ The two men embraced warmly, comrades in arms reunited.

  ‘Nico, may I introduce you to Tara Ruane. Tara - Captain Nicolo Fabbro, late of the Friuli Air Assault Brigade, and Gentleman of Gerona.’

  Nico laughed and removed the shades. Tara found herself looking into a pair of dark brown irises that contrasted with brilliant whites of the eye. Next she was engulfed by the Italian’s cologne. Tangy, sharp, masculine and expensive. You Italians don’t hold back, she thought.

  ‘Tara, Robert never said nothing about a goddess. Your eyes are so simpatico, I feel we have met before.’

  The patter was over the top, but Tara let herself be flattered, sensing genuine warmth behind the greeting.

  The two men headed for the bar, Nico singing the praises of the choice of eighteen draught beers. Tara opted for lemonade with lime and soda. They returned with the drinks and a plate of saucisson and olives. Lowering their voices they exchanged news about ARAD and Robert brought Nico up to date on the Santiago experience. After about twenty minutes Nico glanced at his watch, a blue-dial Nautica with a stainless steel strap.

  ‘OK, my friends, now is moment of truth. Let’s see if you are being tailed.’

  He explained that wanted them to leave the bar and follow a prescribed route for twenty minutes. He handed them an annotated plan of Rennes.

  ‘So go sight see and enjoy. Do not – and I mean NO WAY– look for watchers. I have three people on the job. They know if you are being followed. I then call you and we can re-unite.’

  Tara was stunned. This flamboyant character acted like a secret agent straight out of a Bourne movie.

  ‘Nico, is this absolutely necessary?’ she asked. ‘I really want to keep moving and get to Mont Saint-Michel.’

  Nico paused in silence for a few moments, the brown eyes alighting first on Robert then moving back to her. Of a sudden the temperature seemed a few degrees cooler.

  ‘Tara, two people are dead from this mystery, so, yes, I assure you it is necessary. It is my job, you see and I am good at it. No? Let me tell you what I see when we scout out Mont Saint-Michel the last three days. Each day a watcher – well, three watchers taking shifts to be exact– keep vigil at the only approach to the island. I don’t know who they are, who pays them or who they wait for, but yes I think it is you and Robert. That may sound crazy but because something is fantastic doesn’t mean it is not true. Me, I’m trained to play safe, so...’

  He showed her the palm of his hands, indicating it was up to her.

  ‘OK Nico, let’s do it your way,’ replied Tara, backing down. She wished Robert had told her about the surveillance.

  When Nico was satisfied that they had not acquired a tail, Tara expected that to be the end of the
matter, but no. He was a very thorough operator. Not far out of Rennes the two cars pulled over and Nico inspected the Audi using a scanner device about two feet long which he waved about under and around the vehicle.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘No sign of a tracking device.’

  They resumed their journey, with Tara and Robert switching to his car and another one of Nico’s team driving the Audi. Tara started to feel uncomfortable. These people she didn’t know seemed to have taken over.

  ‘So what have you laid on for us, Nico?’ asked Robert.

  ‘A base for us in Brittany set in the Forêt de Fougères. A holiday chalet ideal for walking, cycling with a fishing lake thrown in. Isolated and private and at this time of the year pretty quiet. No one to wonder why we are there,’ Nico explained.

  ‘Why Fougères?’

  ‘The location is perfetto. You know Roma is built on seven hills? Well, there are seven roads that enter and leave Fougères. If we leave in hurry we have the widest choice of routes. As we pass the town you will see the château, molto gradioso. It sits on a hill at the centre. Anyway we get you to the chalet, you eat subito, and then we talk about tomorrow.’

  ‘You make it sound like a military operation,’ commented Tara, inflections of both anxiety and irony colouring her voice.

  ‘Yes, that is exactly so,’ agreed Nico, cheerily oblivious to the nuances of what she had said.

  Chapter 75

  Forêt de Fougères, France, 19 October 2014

  When they arrived at the chalet in the woodland just after five, they were greeted by an al fresco spread of barbecued and cold meats with accompanying salads and breads. It was a welcoming touch and an opportunity to relax and talk. An hour later Nico clapped his hands like a school teacher and chivvied them indoors.

  The interior was very Scandinavian, lots of polished pine but it was well equipped and comfortable with double-glazed windows and even an internet connection. Although it was still daylight Nico locked the doors and commenced the briefing. He kicked off with a twenty-minute illustrated PowerPoint about the Mont Saint-Michel, its key features and visitor attractions. Reading from a pre-prepared text his English suddenly became well-nigh perfect.

  ‘Mont Saint-Michel is a remarkable Benedictine Abbey built on a lump of granite that rises out of the English Channel just off the coast of Normandy, where it abuts Brittany. Occupied by the Celts and then later by Romano-British communities, the complex of buildings as we see it was built in stages between the eighth and eighteenth centuries. According to legend, the Archangel Michael appeared in a vision to St. Aubert, the bishop of Avranches, in 708 and instructed him to build a church on the rocky knoll. Mont Saint-Michel is portrayed in the Bayeux Tapestry and Norman patronage funded the spectacular expansion of the abbey in subsequent centuries.’

  Nico pressed the button to move to the next slide.

  ‘And so, my friends, on to five key facts that you need to know about the Mont ahead of our visit tomorrow. Una! There is only one landward approach to the rock, the permanent causeway we see today, built in 1879. Duo! The sands around the rock are altamente dangerous, treacherous quicksands that shift location day to day. So whatever you do, no run away across the sands! Bad idea! The tidal race is spettacolare, moving in at a metre a second and at high tide the water level rises by as much as fifteen metres. Now high tide tomorrow is at about midday so we arrive you see the sands but not for long.’

  Tara noted the broken English reasserting itself.

  ‘Tre! The genius of the place is that in the eleventh century cathedral was located at the level of the summit. This obliged all the successor builders down the centuries to hold it up with molti supporting crypts and chapels on the slopes up to the sommita. The result is the great soaring edificio we see today. And this daring cathedral was designed of course,’ Nico paused and bowed to his audience, ‘By Volpiano, an Italian.’

  The remark was greeted by a mixture of cheers and hooting.

  ‘Quattro! There is only one main street up the hill and it involves nine hundred steps. It is narrow and a hard place to hide if you are being looked for. So you keep off it at all times and use the back lanes. Cinque! In 1874 the Mount was declared a National Monument and in 1979 a World Heritage Site. It attracts over one milione visitors a year, so expect to get lost in the crowds tomorrow.’

  Nico paused to sip a drink and answer a few questions they raised before moving onto the logistics of their planned incursion.

  ‘Our first problema is how get you onto the island.’

  He stabbed with a pointer at a photograph of the approach to the island.

  ‘Here is the causeway, the only way in by land. And you see car park goes to the foot of the fortifications, so you have to pass here to get in. But now there is building works so the visitor walk half mile before getting on the shuttle bus. A right mess! But I have a solution for you, no worries, you see domani! Now we have other problema. Have a good look at these faces; they are the watchers.’

  Three faces, two men and one young woman, flashed in turn across the screen.

  ‘OK, Tara, let’s see how ready you are. What colour are the woman’s eyebrows?’

  ‘Red,’ said Tara.

  ‘Wrong! Black. Have another look.’

  The image returned to the screen. The woman had dark red hair but her eyebrows were indeed black.

  ‘Her hair is dyed - henna. OK? Tara and Robert, meet your watchers and burn their images into your skulls. If these people are nearby you need to know fast. Here are printouts of the photos. Learn them and I test you later on the recognition. Now another matter. We have scoured the monument in the last few days. We cannot find any link to someone called Guion Bihan nor any sign of a Triskell symbolism. A vicolo cieco. How you say? Dead-end? You see, the site was stripped of all its furnishings, records and artefacts in 1792, following the French Revolution. So have a quick look tomorrow if you want but don’t take too long.’

  ‘Then why go?’ interrupted a puzzled Tara.

  ‘Why did you go to Santiago? Because going is important and things change as a result. In situations like this you just, you know, andate avanti con convinzione.

  ‘What is he saying?’ Tara asked Robert.

  ‘It means something like “believe and you will progress”.’

  Tara was astonished to hear a message that was so close to Leandro’s words “go forward in faith”. Like an echo, as though someone was putting words into Nico’s mouth.

  Nico, oblivious to the look on her face, carried on.

  ‘And for two other reasons, Tara. Memories, oral legends, personal experiences; these things carry vital information lost to official records but to find them you have to find the peoples who know, the cogniscenti. You go talk and you learn. Remember that tomorrow, Tara. I am a soldier and when soldier is in a fix and doesn’t know which way to turn, what does he do? He gathers intelligence so that it can inform his next step. Now there is a man tomorrow who may be able to help. His name is François Lavale. He is Abbot of the small community of monks that live in the Abbey House. They came back here in 1966 and the word on the ground is that he knows the history of the Mont like the back of his hand. I spoke with him this morning. He is a very private man but eventually he agree to meet you Tara. I tell him what good Catholics you and I are, so in the end he relent.’

  The white teeth flashed at her like a beacon.

  ‘And the second reason?’

  Nico paused and looked embarrassed, his brown eyes darting to Robert for support but Robert was looking studiously down at the floor.

  ‘You and Robert have to flush out your pursuers. We cannot deal with an invisible enemy. Tomorrow is key part of that. We have to see them. But of course it puts you both at risk. I think long time of just sending Robert but we think it is you they really want. You are the link to Rosnaree and the Triskell.’

  The brown eyes looked uncomfortable but the voice remained cool and unruffled.

  ‘I am sorry but I c
annot see another way, Tara.’

  A silence fell on the room. Tara turned to Robert and their eyes locked.

  ‘Nico, can we take ten please?’ Robert suggested.

  ‘Sure, sure, of course, you go talk,’ said Nico. Then he clapped his hands.

  ‘Let’s have some Peroni’s, prego!’

  Chapter 76

  A light breeze whistled through the birch trees, rustling the leaves. Robert didn’t know whether to be reassured by the sound or take it as a first murmur of unease on the part of nature.

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ he said simply as they strolled along a path through the whispering trees towards the lake.

  ‘That’s just not true, Robert, not for me anyway. I am afraid of what may happen tomorrow. In fact I am scared shitless. But everything tells me that I have to go.’

  ‘Tomorrow I will go to the Mont but believe me, Tara, you are wrong. You should stay here. You still haven’t had a third dream, so there is more to come. We can’t risk you in this way.’

  ‘So off you go tomorrow and they kill you? Will that make me safe? Will they give up and go away? I don’t think so and neither do you really. Wanting me to be safe won’t make me safe, Robert. It’s what Nico was hinting at. I won’t learn anything unless I step forward into my fate.’

  Robert sighed.

  ‘Well, I just don’t agree Tara but if you mean it we will just have to carry weapons and hope for the best. Nico will show us when we get back...’

  Tara pulled away immediately.

  ‘No way! Are you fucking crazy? You want to give me a gun to take into one of France’s most popular tourist sites? That is insane, I could kill someone. At the very least can’t we talk to the police and get licences? Or maybe they can help us?’

  ‘For goodness sake, Tara, this is France. The gun laws are very tight. You have to be in a gun club for six months before you can even apply to get a permit. Nico picked up our guns in Rennes this morning. That was his other errand there.’