Grady stood up and wagged his finger. “Don’t try and pull that one on me Pat. I’m not afraid, and you know it. If you’d asked me six months ago then I wouldn’t have thought twice, but things have changed now. Everything’s different.” He paced to the window and looked out into the trees. “Everything’s different,” he repeated softly.
“Oh well,” said Cronin. “I can’t say I didn’t try. I shall have to think of someone else.”
Grady turned back round. “Hey look man, I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’ve got more than just myself to think about nowadays. I’m sure you’ll find someone. I’m probably not the best person for the job anyway. It’s been years since I was in the jungle, and I’m not exactly in the best shape either. You need someone younger and fitter.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Cronin genuinely. “I’ll find someone. You get back to your wife. You’re a lucky man.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Grady. “Listen. I’m going to get something to eat with Marvo now, but I’ll pop my head round before I leave.”
He walked back to the kitchen with an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. Marvo dished up a couple of large bowls of fried rice with king prawns and they sat down to eat.
“Do you think you’ll be able to get on a flight this evening?” asked Marvo.
“I guess so,” said Grady. “There’s always room in first class.”
“You seem in a bit of a hurry. Why don’t you wait until tomorrow?”
“I miss my wife,” said Grady. “And besides, the longer I’m over here the more likely it is that trouble’s going to find me. It has a habit of doing that. I’m a responsible US citizen now, I don’t need the shit any more.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” said Marvo.
“I’m not trying to convince anybody,” said Grady gruffly. He started to eat faster. The sooner he was on his way the better.
Chapter 99
Kandinsky’s dining room was a stately affair, thirty feet long with dark wood-panelled walls on which hung originals by Gauguin, Klimt, Van Gogh and Picasso, to name but a few. In the centre was a twelve-seat mahogany table with matching chairs, and four three-pronged candlesticks spaced at intervals along its length. The carpet was crimson and thick.
As Jennings and Stratton walked in they were guided to their seats by a severe-looking head waiter, the first of Kandinsky’s serving staff that hadn’t caused Jennings to blush. Stratton was placed next to the head of the table with Jennings to his left. They were the first to arrive.
“Would you like an aperitif?” asked the waiter in a clipped English accent. “A glass of champagne perhaps?”
“Why not,” said Stratton.
“Make that two,” said Jennings.
The waiter clicked his fingers and a typically beautiful waitress appeared. She took her orders and returned two minutes later with a couple of full champagne flutes.
“I could get used to this,” said Jennings. “Do we have to go to India?”
“I do,” said Stratton. “But perhaps Mr Kandinsky would give you a job if you asked nicely.”
“I’m not sure I’d want to work,” said Jennings. “Just live on the sub. I could quite happily see out my days here.”
“I don’t blame you. I can think of worse fates.”
Stella turned up a couple of minutes later. Kandinsky followed shortly after, accompanied by a tall, skinny man with a bony face and sharp agile eyes.
“Good evening my friends,” said Kandinsky. “I trust that you have been well looked after.”
“Yes thanks,” said Stratton. “Everything’s perfect. You are a gracious host.”
“Good,” said Kandinsky. “I like to make a trip aboard the Marianna one that people will never forget. This is Anatol,” he said introducing the bony-faced man. “He is my right-hand man as you would say. If I am not around to answer your questions then he will do so. He speaks for me.”
Jennings smiled at Anatol and raised his hand in greeting. His gesture was returned with an icy stare that seemed to cut right through to his soul. But it quickly disappeared, replaced by a wide white smile straight out of a toothpaste advert. Jennings was unsure as to which expression creeped him out the most.
Kandinsky sat down and ordered two bottles of Cristal. “Where is your friend?” he asked Stratton. “Does he not know the time for dinner?”
Stratton thought for a moment. “Oh, you mean Oggi. I’m sure he’ll be along in a minute. It wouldn’t be like him to miss a meal.”
As if on cue a flushed-looking Oggi appeared at the doorway. “Evening,” he said. “Sorry I’m a bit late, I lost track of the time.”
“No need to apologize,” said Kandinsky, “we are all friends here. Come and sit down and join us for some champagne.”
Oggi was led to the seat next to Stella at the end of the group. “You look a bit flustered,” she said.
“Do I?” he said, avoiding her stare. “It’s probably because I’ve hurried up here.”
“The submarine’s not that long,” said Stella. “It’s hardly a marathon.”
Oggi ignored her and grabbed a glass of champagne.
Five minutes later two waitresses appeared bearing trays of beluga caviar and blinis and toast.
“Here we are,” said Kandinsky to Stratton. “We shall have a taste of Mother Russia. The finest beluga that money can buy.”
For a while the table was silent as the guests savoured their food. Jennings in particular was enjoying the rare treat. He’d had caviar a couple of times and, whilst enjoying it, had never really understood what all the fuss was about. Kandinsky’s luxury brand was, however, rapidly changing his mind.
“You approve?” said Kandinsky, seeing the delighted look on Jennings’ face.
“Absolutely,” said Jennings. “It’s one of the most delicious things I’ve ever eaten.”
“Good, good,” said Kandinsky. “It is nice to have people appreciate the delicacy of the flavour. There are some who just cannot.”
The main course was roast beef with Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes and vegetables. “After a taste of Russia, I thought we would have a traditional taste of England,” announced Kandinsky as the food arrived. It was accompanied by three decanters of red wine. “Chateau Laffite 1982,” Kandinsky said proudly.
“Where did you get your hands on this submarine then?” said Oggi, midway through his meal. “If you don’t mind me asking that is Mr Kandinsky?”
“Not at all. And please, call me Arman. It is a decommissioned Akula-class nuclear submarine, built in the early eighties. I acquired it about five years ago and had it stripped and customized to my own design. I am a powerful man and I have many enemies, and so this seemed like the obvious way to disconnect myself from the world.”
“It must have set you back a bob or two,” said Oggi. Kandinsky gave him a puzzled look. Oggi rephrased: “I mean, it must have cost you a fair bit.”
“Yes, of course. But now I can live in relative safety. It is not good having to look over your shoulder all the time. I have done with that lifestyle. I now only wish to enjoy myself in peace.”
“Do you still have nuclear capability?” asked Stratton.
“No. We have standard torpedoes as a last line of defence, but very few. Weaponry takes up too much space and manpower. This is a home, not a battle-station.”
“Don’t you have any problems from the world’s navies?” asked Stratton.
“Not at all. All the major powers know of my presence. I am left alone. I have my own unique signal to avoid confusion with enemy vessels.”
Stratton took a sip of wine. “This is excellent,” he said. “I have to admit, when Father Pat said he’d secured us a passage to India, we all thought it was going to be on a working boat. We had no idea it would be like this. What’s your connection with him by the way?”
“Let us just say that I am sympathetic to his cause. And I do not mean the Catholic Church.”
“So you know of what we’
re doing?”
“Of course. You do not think I would allow you on board without knowing everything, do you? I have done many bad things in my life, many unspeakable things that may not be forgiven, but as I grow older I learn and understand more. More than anyone I understand man’s desire for power and how it can lead to destruction. I cannot undo what is done, but I can use the wealth I have accumulated to help where it is needed.”
Stratton saw an evanescent flicker of emotion cross Kandinsky’s eyes.
“How long will it take us to get there?” asked Oggi.
“I would think maybe ten days,” said Kandinsky. “What do you think Anatol?”
“About that,” he nodded.
Dessert was chocolate brownies and ice cream. Kandinsky offered it as a nod to America, a country which he had much admiration for. Oggi loosened his belt and took a second helping. He was secretly hoping that ten days was an optimistic forecast and that their journey would be nearer ten weeks.
“Tell me more about this panther of yours,” said Kandinsky as they chatted over coffee and brandy. “I was certainly intrigued at the request to bring him along.”
“He’s not really mine,” said Stratton. “He’s not tame like a pet. But we do have an understanding. I came across him on the moors in England. I have no idea how he got there, although I’d hazard a guess that he escaped from a private zoo.”
“Yes,” nodded Kandinsky. “There are many rich people who keep large animals as pets. I, however, have no wish to cage any living creature.”
“Ahem,” choked Stella involuntarily.
Kandinsky looked at her with a wry smile. “I assume you are referring to the females among my staff, Miss Jones?” He laughed. “Do not worry. Everybody on board this submarine is here because they want to be. There has been no coercion, no bullying, and certainly no death threats. I am not, nor ever have been, involved in the white-slave trade. The girls are paid extremely well – and I do mean extremely – and they are free to leave at any time they choose. I have girls queuing up to join my staff. A year on board the Marianna can set a young lady up for the rest of their life.”
“At what cost to their souls though?” said Stella.
“They are not selling their souls. They are earning money and having fun. Ask any of them, they will all give you the same answer. You take life too seriously.”
Jennings and Stratton grimaced at each other and braced themselves for a blistering reaction to Kandinsky’s comment, but none came. Instead, Stella just shrugged it off and said, “Whatever.”
Kandinsky had his waitresses offer round cigars. Of the guests only Oggi accepted, determined to drain every last drop of decadence from his trip. Stella stuck to her cigarettes, and Stratton and Jennings amused themselves with yet more cognac.
Kandinsky clipped his cigar, rolled it gently, and lit it. In his oversized hands the huge Montecristo looked more like a slim panatella. “So Stratton,” he said. “Is it right for me to say that you can heal just about any illness?”
“Not exactly,” replied Stratton. “Well, not at the moment anyway.”
“I do not understand. What do you mean?” said Kandinsky.
“I mean at present I don’t seem to be able to channel enough energy. When Titan was shot I couldn’t do anything for him.”
“But he survived.”
“Yes, he did. But I think that was more to do with Oggi than myself. Something’s happening to me, but I’m not sure what it is. Hopefully it’s only temporary.”
“Very curious,” said Kandinsky. “I know a bit about Reiki, in fact I am attuned to level 2, and it is my understanding that once you have been attuned the power flows through you permanently.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Stratton. “And that’s why it’s so hard to explain. But like I said, it may only be temporary.”
“Let us hope so,” said Kandinsky. “Nevertheless, I would like to talk to you some more on the subject during your stay. You are an intriguing man, and I have many questions for you – that is if you do not object.”
“Of course not, I’ll be only too happy. Not right now though, to be honest I’m feeling a little bit light-headed.”
“Good!” voiced Kandinsky. “I will not have anyone leaving this table sober!” He laughed loudly, his cheer reverberating through the room and infecting his guests with a spontaneous mirth. Even the poker-faced Anatol managed to raise a perceptible grin.
With dinner finished Kandinsky invited them to join him for drinks in his bar. Even Stella, who was slowly letting her guard down, accepted the offer. They laughed and talked into the early hours, allowing themselves respite and forgetting the dark journey ahead.
Chapter 100
Morning broke with the sound of birdsong. Kamal opened his eyes and lay for a while staring at the ceiling, watching it lighten as the day slowly revealed itself shade by shade. His thoughts, as they had been since she left, were with Annie. He tried hard to imagine what she must be feeling, but he knew it was not possible. All he knew was that she was hurt and lost and alone and angry. Angry enough perhaps to do something from which there would be no return or redemption.
He lifted himself to a sitting position, turned on the bedside lamp, and then the television. The intense media focus on Annie appeared to be dying down, replaced by yet another political scandal involving the misappropriation of taxpayers’ money. That at least was something, but it did little to alleviate Kamal’s worry. Somehow he had to find her, which, in his current state, was easier said than done.
On Marvo’s orders he had been confined to his bed since the shooting. That was almost a week ago now, and he felt that if he didn’t start moving soon he would atrophy. So, without waiting for Marvo’s assent, he drew back the covers and dipped a tentative toe to the carpet. Then, with extreme care, he held on to the bedpost and got to his feet. At first he felt fine, but after a couple of seconds his head started to swim. Summoning all his will, he gripped the bedpost fast and waited for the dizziness to pass. He staggered under the effort, but eventually his brain regained control and he eased his grasp. Finally, like a child taking his first steps, he let go and began to pace slowly around the room.
After gaining his confidence he left the room and wandered into the hallway. At the end to his left he saw a light on. He heard Marvo singing and headed on down.
“What the hell are you doing out of bed?” said Marvo calmly, as he saw Kamal enter the kitchen.
“I cannot stay there forever,” said Kamal.
“No, but you can stay there while your insides heal. Do you want to be coughing up blood?”
“I am okay,” Kamal protested. “I know my own body. Whatever you have been doing to me has worked. I need to be mobile.”
Marvo shrugged. “Well, it’s your funeral old mate. But if you insist on disobeying doctor’s orders then I’m not going to stop you. How about a cup of tea?”
“That would be most appreciated,” said Kamal. He sat down gingerly and looked out into the garden. “Your flowers are beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Marvo. “They’ve just about survived this bloody weather. Thank God.” He finished making the teas and sat down opposite Kamal. “What’s this all about anyway Kamal?” he asked. “Why the sudden need to be up and about? You’ve had, what I can only describe as, a miracle escape from death. What’s the point in tempting fate even more?”
Kamal sipped his tea. “Very good,” he said. “You make an excellent cup.”
“Don’t mention it. And don’t change the subject. Come on, tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Annie,” he said flatly. “I need to find her before it is too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“She is hurt and confused,” said Kamal. “There is evil on her mind, I am sure of it. If I do not find her then I fear something incredibly bad will happen. She is out for revenge.”
“She may well be,” said Marvo. “But she’s never going to get anywhere near the
people that did this, is she? I mean, first of all she’s got to find them. How’s she going to do that?”
“She is intelligent,” said Kamal. “She has a name, and she also has money. It will be difficult, but she will find a way to punish the men who killed her family. She is burning with hatred, and that is a force not easily quelled.”
“You could be right I suppose. But even if you are, what’s the point in worrying about it? These guys deserve whatever they get, don’t they?”
“That is not for me to decide. And it is not for Annie to decide either. As Mr Gandhi said: ‘an eye for an eye…’”
“…leaves the whole world blind,” finished Marvo. “Yeah, I know. But look, it’s out of your hands now mate. She’s gone, disappeared, fucked-off without a trace. You’re never going to find her anyway, so why don’t you just forget about it and concentrate on getting better. If she gets them then good luck to her I say. How would you feel if it was your family that had been butchered?”
“I do not know, I have no family. All I know is that no good will come of pursuing these men. If she kills them, what then? She will spend the rest of her days behind bars.”
“Perhaps she considers that a small price,” suggested Marvo.
“Perhaps,” said Kamal. “But she is not thinking correctly at the moment. She had come so far in her life until all this happened. I cannot allow her to throw it all away in a blind fury. She is a good person, and good people should be helping the world, not languishing in prison like dogs.”
“She’ll be going to prison anyway won’t she?” said Marvo. “I mean, they’ve framed her like a goodun.”
“She will not if I can get her out of the country with me. I can take her somewhere where they will never find her.”
“Well, it’s your decision,” said Marvo. “But I’m still not entirely sure why you’re going to so much trouble to help her. I’ve known you for a long time my friend, and in all that time I’ve never seen you troubled like this. It’s like you’ve suddenly grown a conscience overnight. What’s it all about? Are you in love with this girl or something?”
Fear of the Fathers: The Reiki Man Trilogy Page 33