Fear of the Fathers: The Reiki Man Trilogy

by Dominic C. James

  “It’s not really a concern sir,” said Stone. “The press will be more interested in bringing a fugitive to justice.”

  “Once again, I don’t share your optimism,” said the paymaster. “But we’ll just have to hope that you’re right.” He lit up a cigarette. “What about the girl? Is there any news on her or the Cobra?”

  “No sir, they’ve gone to ground,” said Stone. “They won’t be any more trouble to us. There’s no way the girl’s going to get out of this one – we’ve made the forensics highly conclusive, there’s no room for doubt.”

  “Good. We don’t need any more crap flying up in our faces, do we?”

  Stone looked at his watch. “Is there anything else sir? Because we really ought to be getting back to our posts. We don’t want anyone else becoming suspicious.”

  “Yes, of course. There is just one thing though. A friend of mine seems to have gone missing, I need you to put someone onto finding him.”

  “Very good sir. Who is he?”

  “A Spanish priest. His name is Daniel Alonso.”

  Chapter 80

  Stella buzzed up the delivery boy, paid him, and took the bag of Chinese food. She placed the plastic containers neatly on the dining table and called Cronin, who was on the phone in her bedroom. After waiting a couple of minutes she started without him. He appeared as she dug in to her second rib.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “Just finalizing some details for Monday.”

  “No problem,” said Stella. “I’m afraid I’ve started already though. Help yourself, there’s plenty.”

  Cronin spooned a healthy selection onto his plate and began to eat.

  “Is everything sorted then?” asked Stella.

  “Pretty much,” said Cronin. “You’ll be pleased to hear that there’s plenty of room, so if you decide to come too it won’t be a problem.”

  “I’ve already decided,” said Stella firmly. “I take it from your phrasing that you’re going as well.”

  Cronin finished a mouthful of rice, then said, “I think it’s probably wise. We don’t know what’s going to happen in India. The more hands on deck the better. I do have one more thing to settle though.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I’m thinking that it might be a good idea to separate the box and the key to the symbols. Take them via different routes. One is no use without the other, so if for any reason something goes wrong, then at least it won’t be a total disaster. I’m thinking about maybe having someone go by plane.”

  “Who would that be then?”

  “I guess it would have to be you or I, seeing as we’re the only ones who aren’t in hiding. But it’s probably better if it’s me.”

  “And why’s that?” said Stella sharply.

  “For a start, I’m assuming you want to travel with Stratton.” She nodded. “And secondly, I think it’s best if the box and key stay separated until they’re safely back in the hands of the monks. There’s going to be a treacherous journey through deep jungle before that happens. I don’t imagine that’s something you’d want to be doing on your own.”

  “No, you’re right, it’s not. And yes, I would like to travel with Stratton. But do you think he’ll be happy with the plan?”

  “I don’t see why not. He’ll see the sense in it. I’ll give him a call when I’ve eaten if you give me the number. I take it they’ve got a mobile, I don’t want to be using the hotel’s landline.”

  “Yes, they’ve got a mobile,” said Stella. “But Oggi said no phone contact.”

  “Well, this is important. It’ll be perfectly safe. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

  “If you say so,” said Stella. “But on your head be it.”

  She ate a little more food, but her appetite had waned. She wondered what had happened to Jennings and whether he was still alive. Although the news reports had been none too optimistic, her heart wanted to believe that he had survived. But if that was the case then where would he go? He wouldn’t dare get in touch with anyone he knew so he’d be out there on his own, probably holed-up in some derelict building, cold and hungry and miserable. Her face fell.

  “Everything alright?” said Cronin.

  “Yeah fine,” she said. “I’m just a bit tired. I’ll get you that number.”

  While Cronin phoned Stratton Stella took some food and water into the bathroom for Alonso. She took off his gag and allowed him one hand free to hold a fork.

  “Thank you,” he said, setting about his meal hungrily. “I thought you might just leave me here to die.”

  “No,” said Stella. “I wouldn’t do that to anybody, no matter what I think of them.”

  “You are a good person; a forgiving person. Bless you, the Lord will look upon you kindly.”

  “I dare say. But how will he look upon you?”

  “I am ready for my judgement,” said Alonso. “Everything I do is for the Lord. He wants us to bring peace to the world, I can feel it. Do you not want a world of peace?”

  “Of course I do,” said Stella. “But not at the expense of the truth. Not a world of slaves held in subjection. Peace has to come about through understanding, not fear.”

  “You misunderstand our purpose,” said Alonso.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I understand it only too well. I think it’s you who’s naïve. You might think that you’re doing good, but ultimately all you’re doing is helping to set the Catholic Church up as the all-powerful institution on earth.”

  “We must agree to differ, as they say,” said Alonso. “But you will see.” He finished his food and took a long drink of water.

  Stella tied his hands back and replaced the gag.

  When she returned to the table Cronin had finished on the phone. “Is everything sorted?” she asked. “Did he agree?”

  “Yes, he agreed. He thought it was a good idea. But he did point out that I’m known to the enemy.”

  “Are you?” said Stella.

  “Well, Alonso knew about me, so it’s fair to assume that others do as well. It just means that I’ll have to be careful. A last-minute flight under an assumed name should do it. Unfortunately there’s nobody else.”

  After tidying away the empty cartons and plates Stella felt sleepy and told Cronin that she was going to turn in.

  “It’s a bit early isn’t it?” he said. “But I suppose you need some rest for tomorrow.”

  “Why, what’s happening tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Stratton’s memorial of course.”

  “Shit, I’d forgotten about that. There doesn’t seem a lot of point in it now.”

  “Not to you maybe,” said Cronin. “But most people are still under the impression that he’s dead, remember. We’ve got to keep up the illusion.”

  “Of course. It should be interesting. I just hope I can keep up the pretence.”

  Chapter 81

  Stephen Gardener rattled the key in the knackered lock and waited for it to catch. He twisted and cajoled it this way and that until it finally clicked and, almost falling over himself, he pushed his way into the dimly-lit hallway. It was high time the landlord fitted a new lock. But then it was high time the landlord did a lot of things.

  He shut the battered brown door and shook himself down, divesting his shoulder-length hair of rainwater and drenching the cracked tiles beneath. He then made his way up the two flights of rickety stairs to his flat. Once inside he turned on the old electric heater – treating himself to the full three bars – and filled the kettle. Ten minutes later he was sitting comfortably in front of the television, cup of Kenco in hand, laced with more than a dram of scotch.

  ‘Digger’, as he was known to his friends (mainly due to his surname but also because of his profession), had spent the day tailing some rich bitch whose husband suspected her of cheating. She was of course, but Digger had conveniently not found any evidence yet. There was at least another two weeks work to be procured from this little baby.

  His mobile rang.
He looked at the caller ID: it was the same number that had been calling for the last four hours. Earlier he had suspected that it was one of the various debt-collection agencies that were trying to track him down, but now it was getting late he decided that it might just be a prospective client.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Mr Gardener?” said a girl’s voice that sounded distinctively call centre.

  “I’m afraid you must have the wrong number,” said Digger.

  “Oh,” said the voice disappointedly. “I’m sure I’ve dialled it right. I’m looking for a private detective called Stephen Gardener. I was given this number by another agency.”

  “Oh, right,” said Digger, his interest piqued. “Well, in that case I might be able to help.”

  After a brief conversation in which he gathered that she needed someone finding, he suggested that they meet on Monday morning to discuss terms. The girl, however, was most insistent that they meet right away, and that there would be extra money in it for him. He didn’t need any more persuading.

  At half past nine there was a faint buzz from the downstairs door. Digger raced down to ensure that none of the junkies answered, thus rendering him clientless.

  The girl didn’t look as though she had money, but he’d been around long enough not to judge by appearances. She had peroxide hair, black-rimmed glasses, studded jacket, and a T-shirt with the logo ‘BITCH QUEEN’. Her make-up was unnecessarily heavy as he could tell from her eyes and cheekbones that she was a natural looker.

  He showed her to his newly-tidied flat and offered her a coffee, which she accepted.

  “So then,” he said, handing her a steaming mug. “You want someone found.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said.

  “And which agency did you say recommended me?”

  “Bishop & Brown.”

  “Oh right. Good old Kevin, I always knew he was a gent. Was he too busy to take you on then?”

  “Not exactly,” she said. “It’s more that he didn’t want to get involved. He suggested that you might be a viable alternative. He said that you weren’t fussy about what you did.”

  “Oh, did he now,” said Digger indignantly. “Well that’s not entirely true. I’m a respectable private detective, I have a license and, contrary to popular opinion, I do have my ethics.”

  Annie took a sip of her coffee. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you. He didn’t use those exact words anyway, he just indicated that you might be willing to take my particular job on.”

  “Fair enough,” said Digger. “I’m intrigued now. Who is it you want found?”

  “His name is Stone. He works as one of the Prime Minister’s personal bodyguards. I want his home address. I want to know if he’s married, has children – well, as much as you can find.”

  Digger whistled through his teeth. “Special Branch eh,” he said. “No wonder Kev didn’t want to take it on. I’ve got to say, I don’t really fancy snooping about myself. ‘Never mess with the law’ is my motto.”

  “Look,” said Annie. “All I’m asking is for you to find out where he lives and a bit about his life. I don’t want you to do anything to him.”

  “Can I ask why you want all this information?” said Digger. “I don’t want to get involved in anything that’s going to put me in stir.”

  “Listen,” said Annie. “If you’re that bothered, just get me the address. I’ll find out the rest myself. But the more you give me, the more money you get. And looking at this place I’d say you need it.”

  Digger shrugged. The girl wasn’t wrong. “Okay then,” he said. “I’ll do it, but it’s going to cost you. I’m going to have to bung someone at Scotland Yard a lot of money to get that sort of information.”

  “I’ll give you two grand for the address, plus another three for any decent personal information…And don’t think about haggling, that’s my final offer.”

  Digger tried to hide his glee. He’d have done the lot for a grand. “Okay,” he said with mock reluctance. “I’ll do it. But give me a few days.”

  Annie set down her mug and made ready to leave. She pulled out a bundle of notes from her bag and handed some to Digger. “There’s five hundred as a deposit,” she said. “I’ll call you on Monday afternoon. Have my information by then.”

  Digger watched her leave then counted his money. He hadn’t even caught her name.

  Chapter 82

  For the first time in two weeks the sun fought its way through the curtains of Stella’s bedroom. It was nine in the morning, and although her sleep had been tempered with fits of panic she felt ready to take on the day. After a cigarette she went to the bathroom and found that Cronin had thankfully removed Alonso.

  After showering she slipped on her tracksuit and went to join Cronin who was busy making breakfast. Already he seemed to know his way around her kitchen better than she did.

  “Mornin’,” he chirped like a leprechaun. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Surprisingly, yes. And it was nice to be able to use the bathroom in peace.”

  “Yes, I thought I’d give him a change of scenery. It’s not nice having him in there, blindfold or no blindfold.”

  Stella laid out some cutlery and Cronin dished up large plates of bacon, scrambled eggs and toast.

  “I took the liberty of phoning the Angel earlier,” said Cronin. “And everything’s set for a one o’clock kick off.”

  “Good,” said Stella. “I just want to get it over with to be honest. I’m not comfortable with all this subterfuge. There’s still people who believe he’s really dead. It’s going to be difficult playing the grieving girlfriend, I’m not an actress.”

  “You won’t have to grieve,” said Cronin. “It’ll be more of a celebration than anything else. You’ll be fine.”

  They finished their food and Cronin washed up while Stella fed Alonso. The Spaniard seemed in good spirits, despite his predicament. “It is a beautiful day, yes?” he said as Stella removed his gag.

  “Yes, it is. It’s a pity you won’t be able to enjoy it.”

  Alonso just smiled and got stuck into his breakfast. “This is very good,” he said. “You are feeding me well. Soon I shall have a large belly.”

  They left the flat at half eleven. Stella wanted to get to the Angel early and check out what they’d done. Although Cronin had assured her that everything was sorted, she still had reservations about Lenny’s ability to organize anything bigger than a pool match.

  “Alonso seemed very full of himself this morning,” said Stella, as they crossed the Vauxhall Bridge.

  “Was he?” said Cronin. “I didn’t really notice.”

  “Yeah. He didn’t seem like he had a care in the world. It made me a bit nervous to be honest.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Cronin. “It’s just psychological tactics I expect. Making you think he knows something you don’t. It’s designed to make you nervous so you make a mistake. It’s exactly what I’d do in his situation.”

  “Fair enough,” said Stella. But she wasn’t entirely convinced. There was something in Alonso’s eyes that worried her. She didn’t trust the sneaky little bastard one bit.

  Chapter 83

  At the back of the Angel, inside the 4x4, Grady and Jennings sat listening to the radio. Grady was more than uncomfortable. Of all the ridiculous notions Jennings had had in the past few days, this ranked up there with the most suicidal. He may have dyed his hair and put on a pair of dark glasses but it was hardly the disguise of the century, and anyone who knew him well was bound to see through it.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” said Grady. “I mean, we can just go back to the hotel if you want. Sit it out nice and safe until our flight tomorrow.”

  “It’ll be fine,” said Jennings. “Stop panicking. They’re not going to be watching this place. I didn’t tell anybody about the memorial today. Anyway, I told you, there’s nowhere less likely for the police to be than here. It’s a haven for the underbelly
of society.”

  “Sounds charming,” said Grady. “Will we get out of there alive?”

  Jennings’ heart jumped as he saw Stella’s MR2 pull into the car park. He watched as she exited the car, and frowned when he saw a priest getting out of the passenger side.

  “She’s a fine-looking lady,” said Grady. “I can see why you’re taking the risk...I would.”

  “Will you shut the fuck up! I told you, it’s not like that.”

  “Calm down tiger,” said Grady. “Anyway, who’s the frock?”

  “I’m assuming that’s Father Cronin,” said Jennings composing himself. “He’s been sniffing around for the last week or so. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I don’t like the look of him.”

  “He’s a priest Jennings, I don’t think he’s going to be any competition.”

  Jennings ignored the comment and watched Stella disappear round the corner.

  “Can we go in now?” said Grady. “I don’t want to spend the rest of the day in here, it’s starting to get a bit hot.”

  “I’d rather leave it until one,” said Jennings. “There’ll be a bigger crowd by then and I can lose myself more easily.”

  Grady looked at his watch and sighed.

  At one o’clock, just as Grady was about to blow up, they left the car and walked round to the entrance of the pub. Jennings hesitated slightly at the door.

  “What’s wrong?” said Grady. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to have second thoughts.”

  “No,” said Jennings. “It’s just that last time I was here I had a spot of trouble.” He remembered landing ignominiously on the pavement where he now stood.

  “Well it’s a bit late for regrets,” said Grady. “Let’s just go in. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

  In contrast to the last time he’d been in there, the bar was quiet and sombre. Although it was full of bodies a respectful hush hung in the air. Jennings walked through craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of Stella, eventually sighting her in the corner standing next to Cronin and a large fierce-looking biker with no hair.