The radio roared with cacophonous cheers. Stratton looked to Cronin, and Cronin to Stratton. The storm had begun.
Chapter 35
For a brief moment the sheik didn’t register what he was seeing. Then it suddenly dawned on him. But what were Kandinsky’s bodyguards doing with his prized possession?
Jennings and Grady kept still and waited for him to speak. There was no getting away from the fact that they’d been caught bang to rights. No explanation in the world was going to get them out of this one.
“What exactly do you think you are doing?” the sheik said calmly.
The bodyguard unlatched the safety on his weapon and trained it between Jennings and Grady who immediately put their hands up.
“Where is your boss?” the sheik asked. “Does he know about this?”
Jennings’ mind went blank. Sweat poured into his eyes.
“Well?” pressed the sheik.
A few smart lines went through Grady’s head, but the wild look in the guard’s eyes helped stay his tongue. He’d been around long enough to spot a trigger-happy lunatic when he saw one.
“I see,” said the sheik. “It matters not. We will soon get to the bottom of this little charade.” He turned to the guard and barked some orders in Arabic. The guard reached for his headset and hollered into it.
Grady’s shoulder was starting to ache, the weight of Stella becoming more pronounced with his inertia. He shuffled awkwardly trying to get her into a more comfortable position without alarming the guard. As he did so he felt her fidgeting clumsily at his waistband. He was about to whisper to her to knock it off when he realized what she was doing, and in that instant he felt the first signs of panic. She was going to get them all killed.
“Turn around,” she whispered to him.
Grady ignored her and continued staring face front. The last thing he wanted to do was give the wild-eyed guard an excuse to pop them.
“Turn around,” she repeated, this time slightly louder.
Grady weighed up the situation and his options. It was pretty much certain that once back-up arrived for the guard they were finished. There would either be a painful death or, even worse, a painful imprisonment. If they were to have any chance he had to act now. “Fuck it,” he mumbled, and swung round while the guard was still occupied on his headset. In the corner of his eye he saw Stella’s pistol-laden hand whip out and fire.
The guard felt the sting in his neck and instinctively reached up. Within seconds he was on the floor.
Jennings, who had been caught by surprise, recovered his wits and pulled his own pistol from behind and shot the flustered sheik. “Come on!” he urged Grady. “Let’s get moving.”
Grady thought about letting Stella down, but there wasn’t time to see if she was okay to walk, so he gritted his teeth and followed Jennings. They swerved round the lifeless sheik and his guard and sprinted off down the corridor.
After reaching the exit they stopped briefly to gather themselves. Jennings opened the door and peered out into the courtyard. Kandinsky wasn’t there. He checked his watch and discovered that despite their interrupted progress they were still two minutes ahead of schedule. “We’re early,” he said.
“Great,” said Grady. “So we’ve got to hang around here waiting to be caught.” He lowered Stella to her feet keeping her steady with a firm grip. “Are you okay to walk?” he asked.
Stella gave him a daft grin and slurred, “I think sho Gravy.”
“It’s Grady. G-R-A-D-Y.”
He let go of her arms. She dropped to the ground.
“Fuck!” said Grady. “How the hell did she manage to shoot that guard.”
“Just pick her up,” said Jennings. “Kandinsky’s driving across to us now. It’s only another few yards and you can dump her on the backseat of the Jeep.”
Grady muttered something beyond Jennings’ hearing and stooped to pick up his charge.
Two guards appeared at the end of the corridor and rushed towards them. Jennings shot out of the door followed closely by Grady. Kandinsky was making his way slowly round the edge of the courtyard. Jennings sprinted for the Jeep. The cries of the guards seemed to draw nearer and were echoed by another group who had appeared at the main door. As they began to fire Kandinsky sped up. Jennings dived for the cover of the Jeep and whipped the door open throwing himself onto the backseat. Grady hoisted Stella into the moving vehicle and then leapt in after her. “I’m too fucking old for this!” he hollered, slamming the door behind him.
Kandinsky put his foot down and circled the courtyard, going past the gates and round again, the armoured plating and glass standing up well to the barrage of bullets. After a couple of circuits he slowed once more and Grady jumped out into the cover of a clump of bushes fifty yards from the main gates.
“Let’s just hope he can get them open,” said Jennings.
Grady waited for ten seconds and then took a tentative look. The guards’ fire was still concentrated on the Jeep and they appeared to have missed him. He turned to face the gate, where he noticed the two sentries were also engaged, giving him time and space to prepare his shots.
He loaded the pistol with two darts and aimed at the furthest sentry. The shot was a beauty and hit the target right on the side of the neck. Before his partner could react Grady let the other dart fly and once again bulls-eyed the mark. He surveyed the area once more before breaking his cover and running for the gate.
By now the whole courtyard was lit up like a football match, leaving Grady exposed and vulnerable. He was barely halfway to the gate when shots began to pepper the wall behind him. Digging deeper than he ever thought possible he picked up his pace and surged forward, his eyes almost popping with the strain. The bullets continued to clip at his heels.
A mighty leap from fifteen feet propelled him into the open gatehouse. Crashing against a wall he lost his footing and fell to the ground in a momentary daze. He shook his head and sprang back up, scanning the large control panel for the gate mechanism. The buttons were labelled in Arabic. He cursed loudly and began pressing each one in turn, hoping that he’d get lucky sooner rather than later. Shots started to rattle the booth.
“Look!” shouted Jennings. “The gates are opening!”
Kandinsky changed course and made directly for the exit.
Jennings watched as a group of four guards ran along the far wall heading for the gatehouse. “We’ll never get there in time! They’re going to cut him off!”
Kandinsky swerved slightly and hit the accelerator hard to try and block their route. The Jeep roared and the guards ran faster.
For Jennings the next few seconds were a blur. He looked on helplessly as they headed towards an inevitable collision with both the guards and the wall. As they reached the point of no return he instinctively raised his arms and ducked his head, bracing himself for a brutal impact. There was a screech and a skid, and then a sideways jolt which threw him across into the door. Outside, the guards clattered into the back of the Jeep.
Regaining control, Kandinsky let off the handbrake and thrust forward to the gatehouse where Grady was waiting beside the door. He jumped in, landing on top of Jennings and Stella. “That was some manoeuvre man!” he yelled.
Behind them the shooting started again in earnest. But it was too late. Kandinsky engaged the engine and the Jeep screamed off into the night.
Chapter 36
Stratton was struck by a wave of euphoria. The elated cries of the crowd in St Peter’s square pulsed through him like a jet of pure joy. His back arched in an ecstatic spasm, and his chest burst upwards filling his lungs with limitless life. He drew in the atmosphere hungrily, as if he’d just discovered how to breathe after years of suffocation.
Cronin looked on incredulously, unsure what to make of the sudden outburst, wondering if his friend was having a fit, and whether he should do something to help. His quandary was eased when Stratton suddenly relaxed and re-entered the physical plane once more.
“Are you alri
ght?” asked Cronin. “What happened?”
“I can feel their happiness,” said Stratton. “It gives me strength.”
Cronin’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Stratton took a long drink of water. “No, I guess you wouldn’t yet. I haven’t told you about it.”
“About what?”
“My link to the world. Basically, if the world feels good then so do I. If it’s angry and poisonous, then all my power leaves me. I’m like a spiritual barometer.”
“Christ!” said Cronin. “That’s amazing!”
“It wasn’t a few weeks ago I can assure you. This is great, but the downside is really steep.”
The limousine ground to a halt. The driver turned round and said, “I’m sorry, Father, but we can’t go any further – the whole city’s in gridlock.”
Cronin lowered his window and looked out into the street. It was mayhem. The sound of horns and sirens was incredible as droves of people abandoned their cars and headed into the heart of the city on foot. “This is a nightmare,” he said, turning to Stratton. “It’s going to take us ages to get anywhere with all these people about. Even the pavements are gummed with bodies.”
“Let’s wait for a bit,” Stratton suggested. “There’s not a lot we can do at the moment anyway. The cat’s already out of the bag.”
Cronin shrugged. “I guess you’re right.”
A wild man approached the car and started gabbling at Cronin through the open window. “Father!” he shouted. “Is it true? Has the Messiah really returned to us?”
“I couldn’t say,” said Cronin. “I’ve only just heard the news myself.”
“But surely it must be true. The Pope himself has declared it.”
“Well then – there’s your answer.”
The man kissed Cronin on the cheek and disappeared into the crowd. Cronin closed the window before anyone else decided to seek a professional opinion on the matter.
“I think you’re going to be very much in demand over the next few days,” said Stratton with a grin.
“Tell me about it,” said Cronin. “I wanted to tell him that the whole thing was a sham, but he was so full of it all that there didn’t seem to be any point. He wasn’t going to listen to anything I said other than ‘yes, it’s true’. Any contradiction would have just led to an argument. I don’t know what he was asking me for anyway – he’d obviously made up his mind already.”
“I guess he just wanted it reaffirming by someone in the know,” said Stratton. “More than that, he wanted to share the moment with you. Perhaps he sensed that you weren’t as happy as you should have been at the news.”
“Well, if he sensed that then at least he wasn’t totally gone.”
“What about Desayer?” asked Stratton. “I’m surprised he hasn’t been in touch about this. Wouldn’t he have phoned you before the Pope made his statement?”
“Oh fuck!” said Cronin. “I’ve had my phone switched off all morning. I was getting fed up with him ringing me every five minutes.” He pulled the phone out of his pocket and started it up. “Twenty missed calls. I’ll bet he’s been having kittens.” He speed-dialled the cardinal.
Stratton relaxed back in his seat, listening to Cronin’s fumbling excuses and trying not to laugh. The power was still gushing through him and he was finding it difficult to take anything too seriously. His brain knew that the situation warranted his earnest attention, but his body and soul were quite happy to go with the immediate flow.
Five minutes later Cronin hung up the phone and sighed.
“I take it he’s not best pleased then?” said Stratton.
“No,” said Cronin. “Not really. He’s been trying to get hold of me for about four hours. Vittori called him in early this morning and informed him about the imminent announcement. The Vatican press office leaked it to every news agency in the world about half an hour before the Pope made his speech. So I guess nearly everyone on the face of the earth must have heard about it by now. Desayer wants us to meet him in his chambers as soon as possible.”
“I suppose we ought to get going then,” said Stratton.
Out in the street the horn honking had almost stopped, but chaos still reigned. Cronin barged his way through the crowds, excusing himself by telling people he was on official Vatican business. Stratton followed close behind tingling with the buzz of the masses. He pictured similar scenes all over the globe, with businesspeople throwing aside their corporate shackles, offices and call centres devoid of life, factories brought to an abrupt standstill, empty schools and colleges. At this moment in time, he thought, the whole world could very well be one giant street party. From New York to Beijing and from London to Sydney, people might be celebrating like never before. This was a fanciful notion of course, considering the amount of non-Catholics on the planet, but it heartened him to think that something could unite people on such a large scale, even though the premise was fundamentally false.
It took them a good two hours to reach the Vatican and another fifty minutes to get into the building. By the time they arrived at Desayer’s chambers Cronin was exhausted. Stratton, however, was still fresh and brimming with enthusiasm.
Desayer welcomed them gravely. “It is good to meet you at last,” he said to Stratton. “I am sorry it is in such circumstances.”
Stratton shook the cardinal’s hand and sat down next to Cronin.
Desayer poured coffee for each of them and settled in his chair on the opposite side of the desk. “It has been a long and busy day,” he mused. “And I fear this is only just the start.”
“It was all a bit sudden,” said Cronin.
“Yes,” said the cardinal. “It caught me by surprise as well, and I am supposed to be part of this conspiracy. As I told you before, I was summoned very early this morning to a meeting with Vittori and the Pope. They told me they had received word that the Muslims were about to officially reveal the Mahdi, and that we had to act quickly. We gathered all the resident cardinals and informed them of Christiano’s coming. There was a lot of disbelief as you can imagine, but the three of us were most persuasive, and by the time he appeared they had more or less accepted our word. After he had cured Cardinal Botti’s sciatica and Cardinal Stein’s damaged knee – both in seconds – there was no further doubt.”
“So this guy’s good then?” said Stratton.
“Yes,” said Desayer. “He is very good. He knows how to use every symbol on the box.”
Stratton thought for a moment. “And I guess we can assume that the ‘Mahdi’ does too,” he said. “Although I’m surprised that they’ve taken so long to unveil him.”
“They probably thought they had all the time in the world,” said Cronin. “They wouldn’t have known that the Catholic Church had Christiano lying in wait. But it won’t be long before they counter-strike. It wouldn’t surprise me if they make an announcement before the day is out.”
Desayer nodded sagely in agreement. “I fear you are right, Father. They will have been shaken by the news, but not destroyed. They are safe in the knowledge that they have a legitimate miracle worker of their own to show the world. They will make their claim and then do everything they can to discredit Christiano. For all they know he could be a charlatan. They will not be aware that he has access to exactly the same information as the Mahdi.”
Stratton sighed. “I think it’s inevitable now,” he said. “The world is going to have two redeemers and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. Our mission’s changed from prevention to cure.”
“Yes,” said Cronin. “But what exactly can we do?”
Stratton shook his head and stared out into the dusk. “I don’t know Pat. I just don’t know.”
Desayer’s desk phone trilled ominously. He listened intently, his face growing paler by the second. He hung up and faced Stratton and Cronin. “That was Vittori. The Muslim’s have made their announcement. The war has begun.”
Chapter 37
Jenna grabbed a handful of
popcorn and topped up her glass of wine. Tariq had popped out to the local shop to get her some chocolate, cigarettes and another bottle of chardonnay. They had spent the whole day slobbing about watching DVDs. She was supposed to be going out with a couple of old school friends, but was having such a chilled-out time that she had cancelled by text at the last minute and stayed in her pyjamas. After all the hours she’d put in at work over the week she just wanted to curl up on the sofa in the arms of her man. She was just about to get up and change discs when a breathless Tariq burst through the front door.
“What’s up?” she said, taken aback.
“Turn on the TV,” gasped Tariq.
Jenna switched from the DVD to BBC One. Early-evening programming had been interrupted by the news. Tariq sat down and they watched in stunned silence as the day’s events gradually became clear.
“Christ,” said Jenna, breaking her fragmented thoughts. “What the hell is going on? This is surreal. I feel like I’ve walked into a parallel universe. I can’t get my head around it.”
Tariq shook his head. “It’s fucked up,” he said. “Totally fucked up.”
Jenna took a large mouthful of wine and reached for her cigarettes. She lit one and had a couple of heavy drags. The news was still trying to bury its way into her head. “I mean – is it good? Is it bad? What’s going to happen?”
“It’s good I guess,” said Tariq. “That’s if it’s all true. Think about it – God has sent us two messengers. All our questions are going to be answered. That can’t be bad can it?”
Jenna got up and paced about the room taking frequent agitated puffs on her cigarette. It had been a long time since she’d thought about God. Having attended a Roman Catholic secondary school the whole concept had become repetitive, stale, and not a little hypocritical. After leaving she’d put the whole religion thing firmly behind her and concentrated on more earthly pursuits. Now it was coming back to haunt her like some kind of divine vengeance.
A Sacred Storm Page 15