“No, it’s not. But it’s not like that. It’s not this side and that side. There’s different levels…But that’s a separate issue. I came back because I’ve got faith in human nature, because I believe we can pull things round. I didn’t want to leave just as things were getting difficult.”
“He is a bodhisattva,” said Majami, returning with Tawhali and a pot of jungle tea.
“What’s that?” asked Grady.
“It is a person who postpones their own salvation to guide others along the path of enlightenment.” He poured out five cups of the hot liquid and handed them around. “Buddha was probably the most famous bodhisattva, although not many people know that in fact Jesus was one too.”
“So you’ve come to save the day then?” said Grady.
“I wouldn’t put it like that, Grady,” said Stratton. He blew on his cup and took a small sip of tea. “I’m here to help out, just like you are. In fact I’ve got less say in what happens than you do. All I am is a manifestation of good will; if the human race wants to self-destruct then there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m not a king, I’m not a president, I’m not any kind of leader, and neither do I want to be. I’m a servant of man’s wishes.”
“So the fact that you’re alive and well is a good sign for us, right?” said Grady.
“I guess it must be,” said Stratton. “Although a lot of it’s down to Majami here. His unremitting patience and kindness towards me have tipped the balance for the moment, but I don’t know how long it will last.”
Jennings felt his legs cramping and got up to move around. Although he hadn’t got too involved in the conversation, he had listened to every word. He understood now why Stratton had been so against the use of weaponry, and even though the memory of his torture still burned, he was pleased to have kept his promise. It did, however, pose many questions as to their future direction. He couldn’t imagine how they were going to accomplish anything without using at least some force. And what if Stella was being held captive? How the hell were they going to liberate her?
Chapter 10
The sun was setting over St Peter’s square as Cardinal Desayer paced round his chambers deep in thought. The fact that Vittori was one of the hidden enemy hadn’t surprised him one bit, what had shocked him was that they had copies of both the symbols and the key. Vittori had been extremely cagey about his sources, and neither he nor the mysterious Anatol had revealed how they came by the symbols. But the how was irrelevant, what to do about it was the more pressing concern.
A few minutes later Father Cronin knocked and entered the room. Desayer motioned him to sit down. Facing his boss Cronin thought that the strain was beginning to tell. “What happened with Vittori then, Your Eminence?” he asked. “I take it the news isn’t good?”
Desayer shook his head and sighed. “No, the news is not good. Not good at all. Things are far worse than we imagined. Vittori is the enemy as we suspected. But what we could not have known is that he has copies of both the symbols and the key.”
“What?!” blurted a nonplussed Cronin. “How have they managed that?”
“I’m not sure about the key,” said Desayer. “But the symbols were brought in by a man called Anatol. He was Eastern European I believe. Quite a tall fellow…”
“…and skinny with sharp eyes?” said Cronin, finishing the sentence.
“Yes,” said Desayer. “How do you know?”
“I bumped into him outside here earlier on today. I thought I’d seen him before. Now I know where.”
“Really? Where?”
“He’s Arman Kandinsky’s right-hand man,” said Cronin. “I saw him once when I first met Arman.”
Desayer banged the desk with the palm of his hand. “So!” he barked. “Kandinsky has betrayed us! Did I not tell you this would happen?!”
Cronin jerked back at the outburst. He was unused to seeing Desayer lose his temper quite so forcefully. Avoiding the cardinal’s gaze he stared at the floor and collected his thoughts. After a brief silence he said, “With respect, Your Eminence, I do not believe Kandinsky has betrayed us at all. If he wanted to get hold of the actual box he could have done so quite easily. Why make a copy of the symbols? No, Kandinsky isn’t our man. Anatol is obviously working by himself. He must have been left alone with the box at some point during the voyage to India and made a copy.”
Desayer sat back chewing his lip. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense. Do you think he recognized you?”
“I hope not. It was a long time ago and I was in civilian gear. I only saw him briefly when he walked through the room we were in. I don’t think he paid that much attention to me to be honest, although he seems the type that doesn’t miss a lot.”
“Well, let’s hope he did miss you,” said Desayer. “If he connects you to me then we are finished. How much do you think he knows about Kandinsky’s dealings?”
“I don’t think there’s much he doesn’t know,” admitted Cronin. “But I have always dealt with Kandinsky personally on his private line. He knew that we required absolute anonymity so I doubt very much if he would have mentioned names.”
“Maybe not,” said Desayer. “But I still do not like it. Whatever he knows, it is already too much. He obviously knew exactly where to come with his information.”
“Yes, that is a worry,” Cronin agreed. “But there’s not a lot we can do about it now. We’ll just have to work on the assumption that he doesn’t know about us, and carry on from there. Perhaps you should tell me exactly what happened in Vittori’s chambers.”
Desayer gave him a brief rundown of all that was said, including Vittori’s praise.
“Mmm, interesting,” said Cronin when Desayer had finished. “So he thinks that your opinion will sway the other cardinals. I guess that’s a good enough reason to let you in on the act. But it could also be a cover to keep you close. It’s quite a heavy load to put upon someone who has no idea about symbols or energies.”
“Yes, it is,” said Desayer. “And I tried to feign as much incredulity as I could. But you are right, he could be trying to keep me close.”
Cronin’s phone rang. He apologized to Desayer and moved to an ante-room to take the call. Desayer turned his chair round to the window and looked into the twilight. He felt strange now that his destiny had finally caught up with him. Throughout all his years of planning and searching, deep down he never really thought that anything would come of it. It was not that he did not believe in the sacred knowledge, it was more that he felt it would be someone else who had to deal with it. Someone in a future time. When he had first entered the Church he had been exceptionally eager, looking everywhere for signs of the symbols being found, but after a while his enthusiasm had waned, until eventually he assumed that his role in the long history of the knowledge would be much like Gabriel’s: that of a tutor, breaking some young light into the secrets of the universe. So when the symbols were actually recovered it had been a shock to his unprepared system. As he watched the sun disappear into the horizon, he wondered if he still had the strength to see his mission through.
He heard Cronin return and swung back to face him.
“That was Kandinsky,” said the priest. “I left a message with him earlier to call me back.”
“And?” said Desayer.
“And, to put it mildly, he’s absolutely furious. I won’t repeat exactly what he said, but needless to say it was punctuated with expletives. It appears that Anatol left the submarine a couple of days ago, citing a death in the family as his reason. When I told Kandinsky about the symbols he exploded, but he calmed down eventually and apologized profusely for Anatol’s betrayal. He said that he had kept the box in the safe for Stratton, and that Anatol must have taken it from there. He said he has no idea how Anatol knew who to take the symbols to.”
“Do you think he is telling the truth?” asked Desayer.
“Yes, Your Eminence, I do. And what is more, he has promised to help us in anyway he can. The first thing he’s going to do is re
turn to India to find out what’s happened to Stratton and his party.”
“Is it worth it?” asked Desayer. “I would imagine they will all be dead by now.”
“Maybe,” said Cronin. “But there’s always a chance that some of them will be alive. We have to find out at least. If Stratton is still alive, his knowledge of the symbols will give us more options. And besides, we owe it to them to try.”
Desayer sighed and shook his head. “Once again Father, you are absolutely right. It is you who should be sitting here making the decisions, not I. I am afraid that I am going to make a complete hash of everything. We are already in severe crisis. If I continue to make bad calls everything will be lost.”
“You have done nothing wrong, Your Eminence. You have done all you could to protect the secret. All that has happened has been beyond your control. Don’t start doubting yourself now. We have to see this through to the end – whatever that may be.”
Desayer smiled. “I did get one thing right, Father – and that was hiring you. The best decision I ever made.”
Chapter 11
There was a time when Jennings was young that an old man had come to visit. He remembered the day well. It was early in the summer holidays and his parents had popped out to do some shopping. Jennings had refused to go with them, saying that he would rather play in the garden than be stuck in a supermarket all morning, and those being more innocent days, when parents felt safe leaving a nine-year-old for half an hour, they relented and let him stay.
About five minutes after they had gone there was a ring on the doorbell. Jennings was in the middle of a game of ‘keepy-uppy’, and having just hit forty decided to ignore it. As he reached fifty-five it chimed once more, breaking his concentration and forcing the ball to the ground. He let out a childish grunt and went to answer the door. In his frustration he forgot all about putting the chain on and opened it fast and wide. On the threshold stood an old man. He was dressed in a grey suit and had silver hair poking out from under the brim of a battered trilby. His face was pale and worn, but his eyes were the brightest blue Jennings had ever seen.
“Hello, young Thomas,” he said. “Can I come in?”
Although there was a glint of recognition, Jennings didn’t know who the man was. “I’m sorry, but my parents aren’t home at the moment. You’ll have to come back later.”
“But I’ve come to see you.”
“I can’t let strangers in. I shouldn’t even be talking to you. You’d better go before I start to shout.”
The old man smiled. “There’s no need for that, is there? My name’s Alan.” He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. Now we’re not strangers.”
Jennings couldn’t remember exactly what happened next, but before he knew it they were sitting on the swinging sofa in the back garden, chatting away merrily without a care. Alan told him tales of the war, and how he had been a fighter pilot in the Battle of Britain, soaring and swooping and shooting down enemy planes. He told him of his life afterwards as a doctor in a big city hospital. And he told him of his wife and the times they had shared together. Jennings had sat rapt throughout, carried away by the old man’s unrestrained enthusiasm and unique gift for storytelling. He was disappointed when he eventually heard his parents coming through the front door shouting his name.
“You’d better go and see them,” Alan had said.
“I’ll bring them out to meet you,” said Jennings.
Alan’s eyes shone brighter than the stars. “Fill your life, Thomas,” he said.
Jennings felt a warmth spread through him and beamed.
He raced in to find his parents, and after a lot of babbling and tugging, he coerced them outside to meet his new friend. But when they arrived at the sofa there was no-one there. Jennings looked around flummoxed. His mother and father smiled knowingly at each other and went back inside…
…“So, they thought you were imagining this guy?” said Stratton, as he and Jennings strolled down to the stream.
“Yes, they did. But that’s not the end of it. I described him to them and told them all his stories, and then my dad suddenly became angry. He raced upstairs and came down two minutes later with a photograph of the old man. I got excited and said it was the same guy. My father began shouting, telling me not to lie, and that making up stories was no game.”
“What did you do?” asked Stratton.
“I argued my case until I was blue in the face of course. It went on for days until he bullied me into submission, and I guess after that I just accepted that I’d been playing games and made the whole thing up. After all, Alan Jennings – my grandfather – had been dead for over ten years.”
“Did your father not wonder how you knew so much about your grandfather?”
“He said I must have been listening to stories at family gatherings and fabricated the whole thing from that. It sounded feasible so I believed him. If you’re told something enough as a child it becomes your reality. I must have blanked the whole episode from my mind.”
“But you remember it now?”
“I remembered it when I was hanging there in the jungle waiting to die. It all came back to me, particularly my grandfather’s eyes. They seemed to contain a whole world of their own. It gave me comfort somehow. But it also made me think – I haven’t filled my life at all, I’ve just been ambling along in an empty daze…When I think of all he’d done by the time he was my age...”
They reached the stream, stripped down to their shorts, and waded in to wash. Stratton began by clipping his beard with a pair of small scissors from his recovered rucksack, and then set to work with a razor blade, savouring every stroke of delightful depilation. Satisfied that he hadn’t missed a patch, he dunked his head into the water to remove the excess foam, and then jerked back with an invigorated exhalation.
Jennings was almost dry when Stratton finally emerged from the stream. He patted himself down one last time and put his clothes back on, thankful that Massa and his men had left them behind. If they hadn’t he would probably be having to wear robes like the monks, and even in the jungle it wasn’t a good look.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself really, mate,” said Stratton as he dried himself off. “You might think you’ve done nothing with your life, but I’m sure to other people it probably looks very exciting. I mean, I’m sure there’s loads of people out there who would love to be in Special Branch. You’ve been the Prime Minister’s personal bodyguard for Christ’s sake! How cool is that?! It’s better than working in a factory isn’t it?”
“When you say it like that it sounds better,” Jennings admitted. “I suppose when you’re in a job you tend to forget how it looks to other people. The reality is never quite as glamorous though.”
“Maybe it’s not your job that’s the problem,” said Stratton.
“Maybe you’re right.”
Stratton put his clothes back on and slung his towel over his shoulder. “Right then mate, are you ready for this?”
“I guess so,” said Jennings doubtfully.
“Well then, let’s go and find Majami.”
Stratton had persuaded Jennings to receive an attunement from the monk. He believed it essential in the current climate that Jennings be protected as much as possible from the negative energies that were sweeping the globe. Although a basic attunement would not give him immunity, it would give him a deeper spiritual insight and make him more aware of what was going on around him. Stratton had also tried to get Grady to agree to one, but the suggestion was met with a typically humorous dismissal, so he had let the matter lie.
When they got back to the hut Majami was waiting for them. He took them inside to his quarters and bade Jennings sit on a chair in the middle of the room. There was a lit candle in each corner, the air filled with a delicate waft of incense. Majami instructed Jennings to close his eyes and relax with his hands in the prayer position, and to think about letting positive energies flow through his body. Only six months previously Jennings would
have laughed at what he was doing, but today, in the middle of the jungle with Majami, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
At first Jennings found it hard to imagine the energies flowing like Majami had suggested, but as soon as he felt the monk’s hand touch the crown of his head he immediately felt a subtle surge of warmth travel through his body. After that he remembered little of the physical aspects save for Majami making signs on his palms. What he did recall was the sensation of floating in another dimension, a divine weightlessness that transcended the world as he knew it. It was like speeding through the cosmos at a million miles an hour and standing motionless at the same time. It was like a seismic explosion of knowledge had hit him full in the face and illuminated his entire mind, as a blind man regaining his sight after years in the dark. And most of all it was simply beautiful, like nothing his temporal existence could even begin to match.
When he finally came back to earth he could hear Majami’s mellifluous voice coaxing him out of his trance. He opened his eyes slowly and found the world out of focus. The room was blanketed by a thick haze, with Majami appearing pixilated. Jennings shook his head and blinked but his vision remained fuzzy.
“Is everything alright?” Majami asked.
“I’m not sure,” Jennings drawled. “I feel a bit drunk.”
“Good,” said Majami. “That means the attunement is strong. It will take some time to ground yourself again. Just sit there until you feel your senses return to normal. I will go and fetch some water.”
Jennings leant back in the chair and enjoyed the moment. The fact that his faculties were temporarily disabled didn’t matter. He’d never felt so good in his life. His body was generating energy like a nuclear reactor and his grin was so wide it threatened to engulf his entire face. Problems were a thing of the past, and had transformed into a colourful sea of opportunities. It was like entering a dream, or perhaps coming out of one, he wasn’t sure which. What he was sure of though was that he’d crossed a border into another realm and his life would never be the same again.
A Sacred Storm Page 5