A fuzzy dark figure appeared in front of him. “How are you doing?” said Stratton’s voice.
Jennings didn’t answer, he just grinned even wider.
“That good, eh?” said Stratton. “Welcome to wonderland.”
It took a good half hour before Jennings finally returned to some sort of normality and even then it wasn’t quite what he was used to. The world seemed somewhat sharper than it had: colours were brighter, objects more defined, sounds crisper and more melodic, fragrances were sweeter and more pungent; it was like he’d been watching an old black-and-white TV and was suddenly immersed in state-of-the-art high definition with super-stereo and ultra-smell.
Later on, as he sat outside with Stratton enjoying the evening sun and sipping jungle tea, he felt on the verge of a incredible new dawn. “Is this how you feel all the time?” he asked.
“I don’t know, mate, it’s difficult to tell isn’t it? Only an individual can know how he or she feels. But if you feel the same way I did when I had my first attunement, then no. It’s one of those moments you should savour. I think I felt supercharged for about a week – I hardly slept, then it sort of tailed off, or seemed to anyway. It was more like I grew accustomed to my new view of the world though, and that then became my normality.”
“That’s a shame,” said Jennings. “I could quite get used to feeling like this forever.”
Stratton took a sip of his brew and gazed out into the trees. “One day you will feel like that forever; everybody will. Or let’s say that everybody has the chance to if they let themselves. You’re at the start of a new journey. Every step you make will be accompanied by a similar reaction to the one you’re feeling now. Each stage of enlightenment will produce a new wave of elation. At the moment you’re dazzled by what you see, but that will pass and you’ll be ready to move on to something even brighter, and so on until you’re able to look directly at the ultimate light and become a part of it.”
Jennings smiled into the distance. “You know what, Stratton? This is the first time I can honestly say I really know what you’re talking about. Before, I kind of grasped the concepts, but now I actually understand. Does that make sense?”
“Of course it does. But I think you’ve always understood more than most people. You’ve always had the capability it’s just been buried underneath years of instilled ignorance. From the moment your parents dismissed the story of your grandfather as fiction you were always going to struggle. Subconsciously you closed yourself off from anything spiritual and concentrated all your thought on the secular world around you, either to please your mother and father, or through fear of looking stupid I guess.”
“Do you think my grandfather will come and see me again?
” “I don’t know. He’s probably moved on elsewhere. But you’ll see him again one day, in some dimension, I’m sure.”
Chapter 12
Anatol stood at the window of his hotel and looked out on the buzzing piazza. It was nine pm, and the outside tables of the restaurants and pizzerias were filled with hungry diners all wanting to enjoy the clement evening. Tourists wandered up and down pointing and taking photographs of everything that moved and didn’t, while street artists tried to distract them with offers of intimate portraits with their loved ones. In the middle of the square, a performer sat on a unicycle juggling three firebrands, his overly glamorous assistant eliciting exaggerated donations for what was effectively a mediocre effort.
Anatol had half a mind to go out and join the party, but the day had been long, and instead he decided that room service might be a more fitting alternative. He picked up the extensive five-star menu and had a quick browse, but even with all the luxuries on offer he found it hard to work up an appetite. The magnitude of what he had done was beginning to cloy. Eventually he ordered a light selection of antipasti and, more importantly, a bottle of Smirnoff Blue Label to help calm his shattered nerves.
It wasn’t guilt that was eating away at him so much as the fear of retribution. After years of working for Kandinsky he knew only too well the penalty for treachery, and a betrayal of this size would be met with an equally severe punishment. But what choice had he been given? Over the previous year Kandinsky’s behaviour had become increasingly erratic. The ruthless businessman he once knew had all but disappeared, replaced by some weak-willed philanthropist hell-bent on giving away money faster than the US Treasury could print it. At his current rate of benevolence the whole lot would be gone in less than two years. And where would that leave Anatol himself? There was no way he was going to let all those years of hard work go down the pan just because his boss had seen some kind of imaginary light. Of course, he had put plenty of money away in various accounts, but not enough to accomplish what he wanted. He envisaged himself at the head of his own organization, and with all the contacts he’d made in his years at Kandinsky’s side he could easily set up networks in everything from drugs and gun running, to pornography and money laundering. It wasn’t that he had anything against legitimate business, it was just that he didn’t know anything about it. His background was firmly on the wrong side of the law where the big money resided, and that is where his future dealings would be. His decision hadn’t been an easy one, but he was sure it was the right one. And was it really treachery anyway? All he’d done was copy a few symbols from the top of an old box. It wasn’t as if he’d sold Kandinsky out to a competitor or anything like that.
Being a trusted employee had made it easy for Anatol to work out what was going on, and as soon as he knew the Catholic Church were interested in the box he smelt money.
And what a deal he had got. Twenty million dollars’ worth. It would be enough to set him up in business and then some. He figured that in a couple of years he could turn it into at least a hundred million, if not more. Within a decade he would be bigger than Kandinsky, and able to support his own undersea fortress. He lay back on the bed and started to dream of the future.
Five minutes later, room service turned up with his order. Before answering the door he went to his suitcase, pulled out a Browning 9mm, and slipped it into the back of his waistband. It would have been almost impossible for Kandinsky to have tracked him down already, but there was no point in being blasé about the situation. He hadn’t stayed alive in the underworld for so long by being complacent.
He opened the door slowly and invited the boy into the suite with his trolley. The kid appeared nervous under Anatol’s stare and stumbled his way awkwardly inside. After checking his order with a steely eye he tipped the gangly youth and bade him leave.
The first thing Anatol did was open the bottle of chilled vodka. He poured a good measure straight into a glass and swigged it down in one go, letting a out shiver of pleasure as the liquid hit his throat. Feeling peckish he picked up a stuffed olive from the plate of antipasti. But before it reached his mouth he started to feel faint. It dropped from his hand limply as he first struggled for breath, and then seconds later fell to the floor. As he clasped his throat the world turned black.
A minute later the boy from room service re-entered the suite with his pass key. His graceless gait gone, he strode confidently across to Anatol’s suitcase and rifled through, finding what he sought in the side zipper. Folding the paper delicately he placed it in his breast pocket. He took one last look at the dead man, shrugged, and left, strolling casually out of the hotel and losing himself in the crowded piazza.
Chapter 13
It was a beautiful morning and the sun pierced Cardinal Vittori’s chambers like a divine spear. He unlocked his desk drawer, took out a small flask of cognac and added some to his rich dark coffee. Although his physician had warned him away from alcohol, it was part of his ritual and he believed that giving it up would do him more harm than good. And on a day like today, when everything was falling into place so very nicely, he felt it only right that he should allow himself a little indulgence. After all, lent had finished weeks ago.
He took a sip from his freshly charged drink then
looked down at the piece of paper on his desk and smiled. Although he could easily have mustered together twenty million dollars, in the present financial climate he felt that taking the frugal approach had been the correct thing to do. Of course, a man had lost his life, but then – was that man really worth saving? There were too many gangsters in the world anyway. He had done mankind a favour.
Smoothing the paper with his hand he leant forward and studied it closely. Some of the symbols appeared incredibly intricate, and he wondered if the recently deceased Anatol had copied them accurately enough. Although from experience he knew there was some leeway with the four main Reiki symbols, he wasn’t sure how exact one had to be with these new characters. Just one erroneous line could theoretically be quite disastrous. Unfortunately the only way to find out was to use what they had and hope for the best.
After five minutes of scrutinizing the page he sat back to give his eyes a rest. He finished the dregs of his coffee and poured himself another, again adding a little extra treat for good measure. The clock on the far wall indicated that it was coming up for ten am, telling him that it would not be long before his important guest arrived with the last piece of the puzzle. Smiling broadly he sipped his drink and let out a satisfied sigh. Years of searching were about to come to fruition.
Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. Vittori felt a pulse of electricity shoot up his spine. For a moment he was giddy with excitement, but then remembering his position and the need to remain authoritative, he took a few deep, steady breaths and called for his guest to come in.
Due to their respective positions Cardinal Vittori had only met Jonathan Ayres in person twice before, but their correspondence dated back many years and he felt closer to his fellow conspirator than any of the Vatican flunkies he dealt with on a day-to-day basis.
“Jonathan!” Vittori beamed, rising from his chair offering an outstretched palm. “How very good to see you!”
Ayres returned the smile and took the cardinal’s hand. “Fabio! It’s been too long.”
Vittori motioned for his assistant to leave them alone and they both sat down. He offered the British PM a coffee, which was gratefully accepted, as was the shot of cognac.
“A man after my own heart,” said Ayres. “If you ask me coffee just doesn’t taste right without a little snifter. I swear by it myself.” He looked down at the piece of paper on Vittori’s desk. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes,” said Vittori. “This is it. Have you brought the key with you?”
“Of course,” said Ayres, and reached into his jacket. He withdrew two sheets of A4 paper and unfolded them on the desk.
The two men went silent, suddenly overawed by the realization of what they now possessed.
Ayres was the first to speak again. “Takes your breath away somewhat, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed, Jonathan. I honestly never dared believe that it would happen in my lifetime. But here we are, after two millennia of frustration, finally about to learn Christ’s secrets. I just hope that we are able to tap in to the power before the Muslims start to poison the world with their false Messiah, and messages of intolerance.”
“Yes, let’s hope so,” said Ayres. “Have you heard any more about this ‘Hand of Allah’?”
“Not a great amount. He is still containing himself in Mecca, but I’m sure it won’t be long before he announces himself to the world. And when he does we have to be ready. It is shame we had to wait so long.”
Ayres looked across apologetically. “Yes, it is. I’m afraid that’s my fault really. Everything seemed to spiral out of control after the assassination attempt. It served its purpose in that I got assigned more men, but unfortunately they spent most of their time chasing down the assassin instead of searching for the box. It was one mistake after another. I really must get better help.”
Vittori waved the apology away. “Do not worry Jonathan, these things happen as they say. The important thing is that we have the information we require. All we have to do now is find ourselves a Messiah.”
“Yes,” Ayres agreed. “Have you anyone in mind?”
“It is difficult,” said Vittori. “I have been running it through my head for days. We really need someone without a history, an unknown who we can mould into what we want. Someone who will not question us. Someone who will not get carried away with the power.”
Ayres sipped his drink thoughtfully. “You’re right Fabio, it is difficult – extremely difficult. The problem being that we need someone who is devoted to the faith, and yet at the same time open enough to come to terms with the truth. We’ll be asking someone to defend their beliefs after blowing them to smithereens.”
“Technically, yes,” said Vittori. “But I am sure we can suggest it in a way that makes sense to the person. If we handle it correctly I do not think we will have a problem. Between us I am certain we can be most persuasive. And of course we will have the Pope himself to help us sway the argument.”
“Yes, I’d almost forgotten that. Is he not joining us this morning?”
“He has other engagements that were planned a long time ago I am afraid. We cannot go letting the faithful down now, can we?”
“Of course not,” said Ayres. “Business as usual until we have a definite plan in place.”
Chapter 14
Jennings lay on his bunk watching the ceiling and grinning like a madman. Majami had suggested that he have a small nap before dinner to allow the attunement to settle, but he was too pumped up to think about sleep. Every time he shut his eyes and tried to close his mind a new thought would suddenly pop into his head and send him off on another tangent of mental discovery. For the first time in his life he was beginning to see just how limitless the universe was.
As he floated deeper in, Stella once again came to the forefront of his thoughts. He found that if he concentrated hard enough he could picture her in minute detail, her dark hair flowing like a stream of silk and her eyes glowing like amber. He began to call her name in his head, searching the vastness of space and time for a sign as to her whereabouts, letting the energy flow as he drifted further in. Her image grew sharper and brighter until he could almost see a background forming behind. But just as it came into focus the window snapped shut and he found himself staring into a vortex once more.
Before he could get back to the vision he was disturbed by Grady craning his head round the doorframe. “Are you all right there, buddy?”
Jennings opened his eyes and blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine, I was just daydreaming that’s all?”
“Oh, okay,” said Grady. “It must have been a good one then – you looked like an extra from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. I was worried you were about to start dribbling.”
Jennings pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, it feels a bit like that to be honest. For some reason I just can’t stop smiling.”
“You don’t say,” laughed Grady. “Still, it’s better than having you moping around like a lovesick puppy, I suppose. I just popped in to tell you that dinner’s going to be ready in about ten minutes.”
After a brief sit down to get his head together Jennings ventured outside and found Grady sitting with Stratton by the campfire. Night had not yet completely fallen, and the flames cast a long shadow over the clearing as they danced and licked under the blue-grey sky. Jennings stood for a while, hypnotized by the haunting beauty of the scene, breathing deeply the lingering smell of crackling wood.
“Are you going to join us?” Grady called.
“Yeah,” said Jennings. “I was just trying to enjoy the moment.”
He walked over to the woodpile and threw on a couple of logs before sitting down opposite his two friends.
“How are you feeling?” asked Stratton. “Have you come back to earth yet?”
Jennings leant back with his hands behind his neck and smiled. “No, not yet. And to be honest I hope I never do. This place is far better.” He stared up to the heavens and began sing
ing Space Oddity to himself. “Ground control to Major Tom…”
Grady raised an eyebrow then shook his head.
After dinner, which again was the ubiquitous jungle stew, they started to discuss heading back to civilization. Majami, though, was still against the idea. “I really do not think it is wise for you to be journeying quite yet,” he stated. “You are all still some way off full recovery.”
“I appreciate that,” said Stratton. “But we really can’t wait any longer. Not only do we have a friend missing, but if we don’t leave soon I’m afraid it’ll be too late to repair the inevitable damage that will be done if anyone should use the symbols.”
“It will be worse if you hurry,” said the monk. “The universe is eternal, it will not be destroyed in a matter of days.”
“No,” said Stratton. “But mankind might be.”
“And so might Stella,” Jennings interjected. “I appreciate what you’re saying, Majami, but time, as they say, is of the essence. The universe may work slowly, but people don’t. It only takes a second to kill somebody.”
“I agree,” said Grady, joining the discussion. “If we wait until we’re all fully recovered then we might not have a lot to go back to. I was never a great believer in all this stuff with energies and symbols, but the last six months have really opened my eyes. And whilst I don’t pretend to understand it all, I’ve seen enough to know that this sort of power in the wrong hands is bad news. So I’m with Jennings and Stratton on this one.” He paused. “And besides, Brooke’s going to be wondering what’s happened to me.”
Eventually, realizing that his words of wisdom were wasted, Majami agreed that they should set off early in the morning. He and Tawhali would guide them out of the jungle and into the nearest village, where they would be able to secure a guide and transport. And, if they were very lucky, perhaps a phone.
A Sacred Storm Page 6