Helter Skelter

by Des Sheridan

  They were retracing their steps when Robert heard Tara let out a gasp behind him. Looking around he saw the long bony fingers of the housekeeper clutching Tara’s arm and refusing to let go. The older woman’s forehead was wrinkled in anxiety.

  ‘S’il vous plait, madame et monsieur, attendez moi un moment. C’est difficile, les gens disent de ne pas croire telles choses mais je vous, madame, ai entendu mentionnez le Triskell. Vous devez m’écouter s’il vous plaît’.

  Then she let go of Tara’s jacket and stood there wringing her hands, in a state of agitation. Robert touched the woman’s arm gently and told her in French that they would be happy to listen to her. Putting a finger to her lips she beckoned them down another side passage and into a good sized, well-equipped modern kitchen. Gesturing for them to sit at the table, she took a seat and told her story.

  Her name was Jeanette Prigent and her family had looked after house and gardens for the monks as far back as the seventeen thirties. Their service was interrupted, of course, from time to time by the many unexpected events in the Abbey’s turbulent history. Robert translated as best he could for Tara’s benefit, sometimes having to stop Jeanette to tease out the meaning of a word or phrase. But it was worth waiting for. Fate was intervening and providing them with the information they needed. Jeanette told them that an object called the Triskell had indeed been stored in the Abbey, but had been removed, under conditions of great secrecy, before the Mont fell to the revolutionary mob in 1792. And she knew where it had been taken.

  Chapter 81

  When they left the Abbey, Jeanette escorted them out of a different door, explaining that they couldn’t return the way they came as the monks were gathering for prayers. They stepped through the exit to find themselves half way up a vast public staircase, the Grand Degré Intérieur, which led them down to the main entrance. Tara wondered what the Abbey complex must be like if this was the entrance stair. It was enormous! But today was no time for sightseeing.

  Tara was in buoyant mood after their conversation with the housekeeper but her delight was to be short-lived. She feared there would be a watcher at the entrance checkpoint and felt relief when she saw none. However, as they emerged into daylight and turned right to find the route to the Tour Gabriel, they saw a woman emerge from a turning some distance ahead on the left and advance towards them. Tara watched her as though in slow motion and knew, even before the woman raised her head, who she was. The red henna hair said it all. Tara and Robert both froze and just stared at her, a gesture that gave them away despite their altered appearances. The woman pulled a mobile out of her pocket.

  ‘Oh holy shit,’ muttered Robert. ‘Quick, this way!’

  Grabbing Tara sharply by the arm, he frog-marched her into the crowd waiting to enter the Abbey, pushing them to join the downward stream of tourists, heading for the Grande Rue. Within seconds they were almost running down the steps of the Grand Degré Extérieur, Robert rudely shoving tourists out of his way and generating a wave of protests in his wake. Simultaneously he jabbed a number on his mobile and put it to his ear, speaking urgently. They turned a first corner sharply to the right and Robert glanced over his shoulder.

  ‘Damn it, she is still with us,’ he whispered.

  He thrust Tara forward once again, but this time she resisted fiercely.

  ‘Robert, look!’

  Ahead, a man with greasy fair hair was rounding a corner a short distance ahead further down the steps. He raised his head and their eyes locked. The man leered at them, his eyes gloating in triumph, and he hurriedly pushed upwards in their direction.

  ‘Up here!’

  Robert yanked Tara’s arm again, pulling her sideways into a narrow passage with steps that ascended a short distance. It ended in a T-junction and Tara realised they were now on the eastern ramparts of the Mont. Below them a tower, a short distance away, looked down over rocky crags covered in trees. They moved swiftly down the flight of steps towards it. Reaching the Tour du Nord they had a moment’s respite as they passed out of view of their pursuers, but it was to no avail. There was only one route ahead, a narrow path that edged the ramparts and again descended in long runs of steps with flat stretches in between. This time the descent was even steeper than before, but they had to throw caution to the winds and keep moving fast. Robert’s exhortations behind her made this plain. Fear of the enemy was propelling her legs onwards regardless as they careered dizzily down the steps. People cried out in alarm and protest and fell back against the walls to let them pass.

  Tara was relieved to reach the next tower as she thought her knees would buckle if they faced yet more steps. The Tour Boucle was polygonal in shape and they ran around the narrow elevated walkway that skirted it. The ramparts had high walls here with broad openings and she watched Robert pause, as if hoping for a decent-sized hiding place. But most of them were window-like openings that narrowed to thin murder holes from where archers, in times past, could discharge their lethal arrows. Passing beyond the tower, Tara realised that the walkways ahead were at a lower level and were mainly flat. There were fewer people on this stretch and she saw a chance to pick up speed as they progressed south around the Mont. Already she could see the marshes and the causeway ahead of them. The path just after the tower broadened out in front of a cafe and some shops. Pausing Robert spoke into his mobile phone a second time.

  A high-pitched sound, rising sharply in tone then plummeting to nothing in an instant, sped passed them, and a bullet ricocheted off the rampart walls a foot away, causing them caused to both freeze. Looking ahead, they saw a man coming towards them along the walkway, pointing a gun. As they retreated back around the tower the first of their original pursuers, the woman with red hair, cleared the seaward corner, and advanced towards them from the opposite direction. They were trapped! Tara instinctively fell back into a small crevice in the wall on the landward side and Robert dropped to the ground. Tara was still standing and next minute Robert karate-chopped her in the calves. She fell away from him awkwardly, crying in pain, silently cursing him. But at the sound of another bullet hissing past she reacted fast and pulled the Glock out of her pocket. Looking up, she saw, crouched no more than four yards away with an automatic pistol in her hand, the red-headed woman, raising her arm to aim again at Robert, who in turn was pointing his Browning at the first gunman. Tripping the safety catches on her weapon – one, two, three! - Tara let fly at the woman. A bullet hit home and the woman crashed violently against the wall, blood spraying in an arc about her, before she slumped to the ground. Robert was by now exchanging shots with the man approaching them from the south.

  When Tara glanced over her shoulder, a gap between the shops and the tower afforded her a view of the steps they had descended a few minutes previously. It was clear!

  ‘Quick! Robert! Head back around the Tower. We can go back! It’s clear!’

  She knew it was a blind hope and the look on her face must have said it all for he replied.

  ‘It’s OK, Tara. Nico is coming. Move! Now!’

  Tara sidestepped the fallen woman, and edged fast around the pathway that flanked the tower. The outer walls were higher here so they were for the moment out of view of the oncoming gunman. Breaking into a run, she sensed Robert following close behind her. As they rounded the final corner her heart sank. For edging carefully down the steep steps carefully towards them, was the fair-haired man with a gun in hand. Before him he pushed a man, a tourist whom he was using as cover. They had walked back into a trap!

  ‘OK, now drop it or I will shoot,’ the man shouted. ‘Raise your hands or this guy gets it, NOW!’

  Chapter 82

  Robert swore but there was nothing they could do. The pincer movement was working and their enemies were closing in on them.

  At that moment a shout rang out to their right and they, like the fair-haired man, turned to look. Below them a yellow-hulled power boat was crashing through the waves at speed towards the walls, and it cut a circle of eight directly below them.
Nico was at the bow, gun in hand, and one of his team, Clement, was controlling the vessel from a central console. The distraction was a godsend. The captive tourist jack-knifed his elbow backwards into the fair haired man’s stomach, causing him to double up in pain, and the tourist then pushed his captor out over the low wall on his right. The man fell into a cleft between the steps and the houses, where full-size trees were growing, screaming as he crashed down through the branches and hit the rocks below head-first. The tourist decided not to take any chances with Tara and Robert. Turning, he fled back up the steps.

  Robert shouted at Tara, pointing upwards.

  ‘Go back up the steps, we can jump from there!’

  They retraced a dozen or so steps until they were clear of the high walls. Tara stopped abruptly and Robert crashed into her, nearly sending her flying over the low parapet.

  She screamed in fear.

  ‘No! Robert I can’t do it – I can’t. For Christ’s sake! It’s too high!’

  Robert grabbed her and shook her. ‘Tara, can you swim?

  ‘Yes, it’s not ...’

  ‘Tara, look, it’s simple! Stay here and die or jump together and live!

  Chapter 83

  Tara stood frozen on the path. Robert, his face contorted in frustration, was standing on the edge of the small seaward ledge, his hand outstretched towards her.

  ‘Come on, hold my hand. Trust me! Jump on my call of three. Leap out as far as you can!’

  She looked down, her head going dizzy at the sight of waves crashing over a partly submerged rock. ‘There must...’

  ‘No, there isn’t,’ he yelled into the wind. ‘Come on! Crouch and we go, on three. Ready?’

  A thought flashed through her head. The last time she had stared at the sea was in Boston, the morning she decided to go back to Ireland. Now the sea presented her with a much greater challenge – to jump into the unknown. She might break a leg! She might well drown! She glanced over her shoulder. People were converging. Logic told her that one of them would kill her, dispatch her with a single bullet that would blow her brains out. Finally, self-preservation overrode fear. Stepping up onto the ledge she stretched her hand out to Robert.

  ‘One!’ He swung her arm seaward.

  ‘Two!’ A second swing, firmer this time.

  ‘And three. JUMP!

  As he yanked her arm out with him, they leapt into the air, out from the ramparts and over the sea, plummeting downwards feet-first as gravity kicked in. There was no turning back. Almost at once each lost contact with the other’s hand. As Tara fell, she exercised a final choice, arching her arms backwards. If death was coming she would not resist it. The choppy blue waters of the Bay of Cuesnon rose towards them and then, as they crashed into the sea, swallowed them up.

  About the Author

  Des Sheridan, an Irishman who lives in the Lake District of England, is inspired to write by the buildings, places and histories he encounters and by the simple desire to tell stories. He believes that we need to find new ways of thinking about our global future and for him revisiting the legends and myths of the past, and listening to their ancient voices, is a good place to start.

  http://about.me/dessheridan

  ***

  Andy Fielding is an illustrator, graphic designer and writer. He makes custom commercial artwork, illustration, logo and identity design.

  www.andyfielding.co.uk

  Author’s Note

  I hope you have enjoyed reading Helter Skelter and I would love to hear your feedback. To find out what happens to Tara and Robert next you need to read Magic Lantern, Part 3 of the Triskell Story. Follow the link to my website - http://about.me/dessheridan - to make contact with me or purchase Part 3.