by Alan Baxter
Isiah could not be bothered to beat about the bush. ‘You have his jacket, right?’
Baker paused, then, ‘Er, yes, I do. How did you know that?’
‘I’m just one pace behind you, that’s all. I have someone with me that says he knows where to find Samuel, but will only talk to both of us for some reason. Apparently Samuel mentioned you to him.’
Baker was obviously pleased. ‘That’s excellent. Where and when?’
‘Firstly, was there an envelope in the jacket?’
‘Yes. It has maps and notes about Guatemala and some associated items.’
‘Good. It’s vital that you bring all the contents of that envelope. The jacket doesn’t matter.’
‘All right. Where are you?’
‘St Mary’s church. You know it?’
Baker made a small noise of surprise. ‘A church? How very gothic. Yes, I know it. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’
‘Good. We’re in a hurry here, make it sooner if you can. And don’t forget the envelope.’
9
Carlos hefted the heavy, black rifle, grunted his approval. ‘Let me see what munitions you have.’
He put the rifle down on an old wooden picnic table outside Rat’s house, alongside the knives and pistols he had already retrieved from his personal stash. He had a number of places all over the area with various pieces of his equipment stored safely should he need them quickly. There were few places where he would be completely out of touch of some hardware, tools of his trade.
Rat grumbled under his breath, rubbing his aching head. ‘It’s too fucking early, Carlos. Why don’t we do this later?’ He squinted up at Carlos from the wooden bench he sat on, his face grey, drawn.
Carlos looked down at him, a grin spreading across his rough features. ‘You can’t handle the drinking like you used to Rat. You getting old on me?’
‘Screw you.’
Carlos laughed. ‘Or maybe you spend too long with Esme? She managed to soften you up, eh? Maybe it’s good she’s gone, let you be a man again!’
Rat growled, staggered up off the bench and headed towards a tatty wooden shed across the clearing from his house. He flicked a finger up over his shoulder at Carlos’ continuing laughter. There was a big, solid padlock on the door of the shed, shiny, new looking. It seemed out of place hanging on the battered door. Rat fumbled with a key for a few seconds, trying to focus on the lock long enough to undo it. Eventually he managed to open the lock, swung open the door. The inside of the shed was considerably different to the exterior, lined with dark grey metal walls and support structures. A person could comfortably sit out a bombing raid in there. Several boxes and crates lined the walls, a trapdoor in the concrete floor.
Carlos wandered in, rummaged around. After a while he emerged again, several items piled in his arms. He deposited them on the table. Quite an arsenal glinted in the morning sun.
He turned to Rat, sat back on the bench in the shade, head in his hands. ‘What about those night-glasses you told me about a while ago?’
Rat didn’t raise his head, his voice muffled by his palms. ‘Marco has them. I can get him to bring them over for you, but it’ll take him a couple of hours at least to get here.’
Carlos wandered over to a hammock hanging from the porch supports. He hoisted himself up into it, snatching a bottle from the rail of the veranda before swinging gently back and forth. ‘Okay. Tell him to bring them here. I’m not in any real hurry.’
Rat looked up, his face angry. ‘Then why the fuck are we up this early? What’s the matter with you?’
‘I wanted to make sure everything was in order. Tell Marco to come over with those glasses and bring a bottle. We can party tonight and I’ll leave in the morning. I already told you that once!’
Rat grunted, angry but too hung over to do anything about it. He stomped off toward the house and the radio. Carlos looked out from under the shade of the porch, into the deep green jungle surrounding the house. The bright sun glinted off the dew-damp leaves, painted swimming patterns on the ground as it speared through the foliage gently shifting in the early breeze. It was pleasant to have a breeze but it would not be long before the sun began to gather its usual enveloping heat and the breeze, should it remain, would be useless at cooling anything. Carlos’ eyes narrowed as he watched a brightly coloured bird flitting between the high branches of the canopy, ducking and weaving. Making his hand into a gun he drew aim at the beautiful creature and shot it with a small noise like a silenced pistol. He chuckled quietly to himself, sipping and swinging.
Katherine Bailey and Thomas Drake stood by the internal airline information desk, looking at the shiny pages of Drake’s guide book. Katherine checked her notes and fax copies again, then pointed at the small map in the book. ‘That’ll have to do.’ She indicated the Flores airport in the central northern region of Guatemala.
‘It’s the nearest for certain. How do you plan to get to the site from Flores? It’s got to be at least fifty miles north from Flores airport. And that’s all pretty dense jungle.’
Katherine shrugged. ‘Let’s get up to Flores first. Every step nearer is good. We’ll worry about the next leg when we get there.’
Drake put his guide book back into his travel bag. ‘How exciting!’
Katherine paused, looking at him. ‘Are you sure about this?’ she asked.
‘Sure about what?’
‘Trekking off into the jungle with me, wandering around archaeological sites.’
Drake laughed. ‘Of course! I originally came here to see some of the ancient ruins of the Maya and have a little adventure in my life. What better way than travelling with a roving reporter, visiting sites that have only just been unearthed? Besides, I think there’s a little more to this one than you’re letting on.’
‘A little more to it?’
‘You’re being cagey about why you’re going there.’
‘All right then, I’ll come clean! There’s been another crystal skull discovered at this site. It’s still in situ, and I’m trying to get there before too much is disturbed.’
Drake beamed. ‘Excellent! I knew there was reason to stick with you.’
‘Crystal skulls?’
‘Yes! I’ve been reading all manner of literature regarding these remarkable artefacts for some time now. I was a church vicar for many, many years, serving God and the parish. When I finally retired, four years ago, I began investigating various other, some would say New Age, faiths and beliefs. Purely out of a casual interest, you understand. That was how I came across the crystal skull phenomena in the first place.’
‘So you decided to come to the land where it all began?’
‘Yes. Although there are all sorts of theories regarding where they came from. Atlantis, outer space, inner space, Egypt, Tibet. You name it, there’s a theory for it!’
Katherine laughed. ‘That’s the trouble with these things. Everybody spends so long trying to come up with some fantastic story that they constantly overlook the obvious, logical answers.’
Half an hour later they sat on hard plastic chairs, their connecting flight booked without any fuss at all, and only an hour to wait.
‘That was easy,’ Katherine said, sipping contentedly from a can of Coke.
‘Some would say that the power of the skulls made it easy.’
Katherine barked a short laugh. ‘What?’
‘It’s true! Most people that have ever had anything to do with these things maintain that once you decide to investigate them things begin to happen to make your work easier.’
Katherine raised one eyebrow, her mouth twitching with a smile. ‘Thomas Drake! I can’t believe a man of God is saying these things!’
Drake chuckled. ‘I said ‘Some would say’. Personally I’d call it the will of God, and no doubt you’ll just put it down to luck.’
‘Absolutely! Why would God make it easier for you to go with me?’
‘Who knows? He moves in mysterious ways.’
Katherine sipped from her Coke again. ‘Why do so many people spend so much of their time searching for gods and spirits, higher intelligence, magic and sorcery? Why can’t people just settle for the scientific truths of things, and be honest about luck and coincidence?’
‘Science is just another religion, Miss Bailey. Besides, people need things to believe in. Most people do at least.’
Katherine made a small dismissive sound and opened a small snack she had bought along with the Coke. Peter was not a particularly religious man but he did have a certain amount of faith in peoples’ abilities outside the norm. He believed things such as telepathy and telekinesis were possible, for example. When they had discussed it once Katherine had tried to reason with him, explaining that only things provable by experiment could be believed in. Peter had said just the same thing as Thomas Drake, that science was just another religion. He had also said that whatever the truths may be, people needed things to believe in. Katherine shook her head gently. Damn, I’m missing him already. I’m not used to this!
Isiah entered the church carefully, just in case anything lay in wait. He could sense nothing out of the ordinary, but was being deliberately over cautious. He could mask his presence in other Realms after all, so there was no reason that the Devil could not do the same. It was unlikely, Lucifer was far too arrogant to do such a thing as a rule, but who knew what he was being driven to, as desperate as he was for Samuel’s soul.
Everything seemed to be in order. Still no service, no vicar. Peace and quiet. He could feel Samuel, though not see him. He was not well. That was to be expected. A figure staggered uncertainly from the shadows.
Samuel slumped onto the pew, his face drawn. He looked up as Isiah approached. ‘I feel fucking sick, man. I just puked for about the fourth time.’
‘Where did you puke?’ Isiah asked, looking into the shadows.
‘Don’t worry, there’s a mop and bucket over there. Not sure how I managed to spot it. Divine intervention maybe. The cleaner’ll have a shock when she goes to mop up after the next service!’
‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Samuel.’
‘Even I have some respect. What the fuck is wrong with me, man? Is this body failing?’
Isiah sat on the pew beside the gently trembling Satanist. Funny really, Samuel hiding out in a church while Lucifer scoured the world for him, having the decency to find a bucket to throw up in. People never ceased to amaze him. Or maybe that should be confuse him. ‘It’s because of how we got away,’ he explained. ‘Don’t think it’s going to be that easy to avoid the Devil all the time. We got lucky and I took a chance.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When Satan and Legba started arguing I took the opportunity to grab you and get out.’ Isiah paused, trying to think of a suitable word. ‘We teleported, if you like. Your mortal frame isn’t used to that. All your molecules separated then reformed, to put it very basically, and it screwed up your metabolism. Fortunately it was only a short hop, across town.’
Samuel was looking at Isiah, his eyes showing his resignation to just accept anything this strange, powerful man told him. ‘What if it had been further?’
‘You’d be dead. Again. It would have destroyed that body.’
Samuel just nodded, looking down at the cool, stone floor. ‘So it’s not an option for future escapes then? Like, it won’t just make me sick?’
Isiah shook his head. ‘No. I shouldn’t have done it at all but I was a bit unprepared for that visit. We’ll have to be more careful.’
‘You know, if you find me someone who won’t be missed too soon, I can use a little magic of my own. It’ll keep that fucker off our tails, for a while at least.’
Isiah was staring up at the stained glass above the altar, messiah and apostles. ‘No, Samuel. I know what you can do, but we’ll do it my way, all right? If we have to resort to your methods it’ll be after my options are exhausted.’
‘Suit yourself.’
‘And my options are many and varied.’
‘All right, man. Just bear it in mind. Did you contact that bastard?’
Isiah nodded. ‘He’s on his way, with your envelope. What’s the deal with him anyway?’
‘I met him a while ago, in a bar.’ Samuel’s voice did nothing to disguise his contempt. ‘He was bragging on about all this gangster shit he was into, like he was Al fucking Capone or something. Anyway, I realised I could probably use his resources, so I struck up a conversation with him. When I made the pact and needed to get to Guatemala I decided that he could finance the trip for me.’
‘We’re you actually going to bring him back the drugs he was expecting?’
Samuel laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was never going to see the prick again. Things kinda changed though.’
Isiah nodded. ‘To say the least. Well, you get to meet him at least once more.’ He looked at his watch. ‘In about ten minutes if he’s on time.’
‘He won’t be. He thinks it makes him cool and impressive to be late all the time.’
Isiah sighed. ‘I know. Hopefully he won’t take too long.’
Samuel leaned back in the pew, taking deep breaths. ‘We’re safe enough here though, aren’t we?’
‘For the moment. I just want to get everything done so that all we have to do is wait. You feeling better?’
Samuel shrugged. ‘I guess. Talking of getting everything organised, what about the flight?’
‘Already booked, but only as far as Guatemala City. What were you going to do when you got there? Is the dig far?’
Samuel thought for a moment. ‘The dig is north, quite a long way. I don’t know, man, I was going to sort something out when I got there.’
Isiah raised one eyebrow. ‘So your entire plan was to fly to Guatemala City with a map of where you had to go and sort it out from there?’
‘Yeah.’
‘No preparation at all? You didn’t check the climate, inoculations, travel gear, anything like that?’
‘No, man, what do I need that shit for? I wasn’t planning to be there long.’
Isiah smiled to himself. This was going to be something of a wake up call for Samuel. He obviously had no idea of what to expect in Central America. They sat in silence for a while, waiting.
After a while, Samuel asked, ‘So what’s with Isiah? Your mum into the bible?’
Isiah wondered if he could be bothered to attempt any kind of explanation. He had not thought about his mother in centuries. He stopped thinking about it when he realised he couldn’t remember what she looked like. Eventually, ‘Not exactly. I don’t know why I’m called Isiah. It’s spelled differently to the prophet in the bible. That version, with the extra ‘a’, is a Hebrew name. It means ‘salvation of the Lord’ or ‘the Lord is generous’. I’m pretty sure I’m not named after that, different spelling and all.’
Samuel looked up. ‘Would it be so bad to be named after a prophet?’
Isiah laughed, without much humour. ‘I guess not. You tell me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Samuel. He was a prophet too. It’s another Hebrew name, means ‘asked of God’ I think.’
Samuel thought for a moment. ‘You talking about Samuel in the Book of Kings?’
‘Yeah. It’s the Book of Kings in Catholic bibles, but if you look at the old, authorised Old Testaments it’s two books of Samuel. He was a judge who originally established the Hebrew monarchy. Pretty important figure, who subsequently became a prophet.’
Samuel looked up at the altar. ‘Hmm. So we’re both prophets. Maybe you’re named after Isaiah Berlin or somebody more contemporary?’
Isiah gently shook his head. ‘You have no concept of time, do you? No concept of what you’re dealing with.’
Samuel was confused for a second, then, ‘Oh, right. You’re old, huh. Like the Voodoo-Man?’
‘Yeah. Older, actually.’
‘Shit, man, you said he was centuries old!’
‘He is.’
S
amuel leaned back against the pew again, hands behind his head, fingers interlaced. ‘Fuck.’ After a few seconds, he said, ‘So it’s not the biblical prophet, and you’re too old to be named after anyone I know, so who do you reckon it is that you’re named after?’
Isiah looked at him for a second. ‘What’s all the interest in my name?’
‘Just curious, man.’
‘Well, I have no idea really. I’ve never investigated it that much. My name isn’t the same as in the bible, and it was a pretty uncommon name after that. The Puritans took it on for a bit around the seventeenth century, but that’s too late to count for me. I think it’s just a name, uncommon enough to be unique.’
Samuel shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’
‘Why? Are you named after someone specific?’
Samuel laughed. ‘Yeah, but not the biblical one either. My mum really liked Coleridge poetry, you know, Rime of the Ancient Mariner and stuff like that.’
Isiah nodded. ‘Pretty straightforward, then. Doesn’t sit right, though, you being named after one of the greatest romantic poets that ever lived.’
Samuel chuckled. ‘I know.’
They sat in silence again for a time, thinking their own thoughts. Isiah wondered if his name really did have any particular relevance. It had occurred to him once or twice over the years, but he had never bothered to ask the only entity that would know. Maybe he would one day. His reverie was disturbed by the creaking of a heavy wooden door behind the altar, to the left. An elderly priest, chubby, balding, looked out into the church. He spotted them, nodded sagely. Isiah nodded back, Samuel looked away. The priest approached them, affecting his obviously well practiced saintly demeanour.
‘Good morning, my sons,’ he said, almost a whisper. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
Isiah smiled. ‘I seriously doubt it, Father. Thanks anyway. We’re just after a little peace and time.’ The priest bowed slightly, backed away. Just before he turned, Isiah asked, ‘Do you have a service soon?’
The priest looked at his watch. ‘In just over an hour. Will you stay?’