A Sacred Storm

by Dominic C. James

  Panduro poured the boiling water and stirred. Kandinsky’s eyes didn’t leave the mug. The priest handed him his drink and sat down in Cronin’s chair opposite. Kandinsky sniffed the coffee and placed the mug on the desk.

  “Yes, exciting times,” said Panduro. “Exciting times. Of course I never dreamt in a million years that something like this would happen, well not in my lifetime. I knew that God would return to us eventually, but maybe not quite so soon. Although if you think about it, we’ve come to a point as a society where we probably need his guidance more than ever. What do you think?”

  Kandinsky stared at Panduro impassively. By the sound of his prattling the priest was nervous and trying to buy time. What concerned him more, however, were the contents of his drink. He hadn’t noticed anything suspicious in its making, but that in no way meant that it was safe to imbibe.

  “Well?” said Panduro.

  “I am not sure what to think,” said Kandinsky. “Everything has happened very quickly. And let us not forget that the Mahdi has appeared for Islam. It seems very strange that two saviours have appeared at the same time, no?”

  “Let us not forget that Christiano appeared first,” said Panduro. “The only suspicious thing is that the Muslims announced this ‘Mahdi’ a few hours later. It was patently just an attempt to deflect attention. There is no substance to their claims. I’m sure the world will see him for what he is sooner or later. Probably sooner.”

  Kandinsky looked at his watch. “How long did you say Father Cronin was going to be?”

  “He’ll be here imminently,” said Panduro. “Like I said, we’re all rather busy at the moment. And what with the unfortunate death of Cardinal Desayer, I’m afraid Father Cronin has more on his plate than most. Have a drink and relax, he’ll be here soon.”

  Kandinsky watched Panduro sip some coffee, but decided to stay away from his own. The room fell briefly silent.

  “So, Mr Kandinsky, what is your line of work, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I am a businessman.”

  “Really? What sort of business?”

  “I have many businesses,” he said bluntly.

  Panduro realized that the conversation was going nowhere and began once again to talk about the Church. He carried on waffling until eventually Kandinsky could stand it no longer. “Father,” he said firmly, holding his palm up. “That is enough. Where is Father Cronin? I really must speak to him.”

  Panduro feigned indignation. “Well really, Mr Kandinsky, I told you – he’ll be here shortly.”

  Kandinsky shook his head. “Do not lie to me, Father. I am not a fool, and you should not treat me like one. We both know what is going on here. So I ask you once again – where is Father Cronin? What have you done with him?”

  “I really don’t know what you’re—”

  Before Panduro could finish his sentence Kandinsky left his chair and reached over the desk. He wrapped an enormous hand around the priest’s throat. He had promised himself not to use violence, but the conversation was going nowhere fast. “I ask you once again – where is Father Cronin?” Panduro said nothing. Kandinsky increased his grip. “Where?” he growled.

  Panduro’s eyes shot to his left. Kandinsky let go his grip and whipped round about face. In front of him, just three feet away, were two Swiss Guards, each brandishing an Uzi. Before they could react he’d bridged the distance between them and slammed their heads together with his massive palms. They fell to the floor.

  Kandinsky closed the office door and locked it. “Nice try,” he said to the terrified Panduro. “But you will have to do a lot more to get the better of Arman Kandinsky. Now, where is Father Cronin?”

  “You can’t escape you know,” said Panduro. “This room’s being monitored by CCTV. There’ll be more guards here in seconds.”

  “Bring them on,” said Kandinsky. “They still have to get into the room. That gives me plenty of time alone with you, my friend.” He stepped towards Panduro with intent.

  “Alright! Alright!” Panduro yammered. “They took him a couple of days ago. I don’t know where. Listen, I’m just a priest, I don’t really know anything about all this. I’m just doing what I’m told.”

  “Oh yes,” said Kandinsky. “I am sure you are very innocent in all this.” He stepped across to the window and sized up his escape options. They were about seven metres up and the drop onto concrete looked less than inviting.

  His thoughts were interrupted by shouting and banging at the office door. The guards were trying to break their way in. For a moment it occurred to Kandinsky to pick up one of the Uzis and shoot them through the wood, but he remembered his talks with Stratton and made the choice not to. Instead he pulled the dartgun from his waistband and positioned himself at the side of the door. He figured that if there were only another couple of guards he might have a chance to put them out. It could buy him a little more time with which to question the reticent Father Panduro. There was no question of leaving without more information about Cronin and Stratton.

  It only took ten seconds for the guards to break through. Three of them stormed in at once, giving Kandinsky little time. He shot the first one in the neck, but before he could aim again the whole room was swarming with bright uniforms. He thought briefly about making a fight of it, but with so many guns trained on him he had no choice but to surrender. He dropped his weapon and lifted his arms above his head.

  Father Panduro stepped from behind the desk and walked over to his new hostage. In his hand was a syringe. He dragged one of Kandinsky’s arms down and injected him. The last thing Kandinsky heard was “Goodnight”.

  Chapter 54

  When Tariq finally came round he was still lying on the grass in the dimly-lit park. A voice was calling his name from afar. His eyes felt like they had been glued shut, but he managed to open them just enough to get a glimpse of the outline of Jenna’s face.

  “Tariq,” she said, her voice growing closer. “Can you hear me?”

  Tariq nodded.

  “I’ve called 999. The police and ambulance will be here soon. I love you.” She touched his face softly and bent down and kissed him on the forehead.

  Tariq closed his eyes, the effort of keeping them open being too much. It didn’t matter anyway, he knew Jenna was with him and that was enough. The pain, if anything, had got worse, and even breathing caused him agony. Every time he drew air into his lungs, his chest and back protested with a swathe of stabbing needles. The world around seemed distant.

  Jenna looked down at her stricken love through watery eyes. His call had almost sent her into shock, only necessity had held her nerves together. She instinctively knew the park he meant and had slipped on a pair of trainers and run down there. She should have phoned the police before she left the flat of course, but she had been so preoccupied that the thought hadn’t registered. When she’d found him lying there, she had at first feared he was dead. A quick feel for his pulse had allayed that fear, although it was faint and decidedly weak. It was only then that she’d called the emergency services. She cursed herself for being so negligent. If he didn’t make it, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  Jenna had never been on a first-aid course, but she’d seen enough episodes of ER and Casualty to know that talking to the patient was a great help. She squeezed Tariq’s hand gently and tried to think of something to say. “Help will be here soon,” she started, reassuringly. “I think I can hear the sirens now. Please try and keep awake, I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened. We’ve got such a lot of things to do together.”

  Tariq tried to force a smile. He wanted to hold on but his spirit was fading quickly. The last thing he heard was the sound of sirens.

  Chapter 55

  Jennings and Stella watched the screen intently over the operator’s shoulder. The dot indicating Kandinsky’s position had been static inside the Vatican for over half an hour. In the absence of a telephone call they had to assume that he had been waylaid.

  “This is ri
diculous,” said Jennings. “I knew he shouldn’t have gone in there alone. He’s wasted himself for nothing.”

  “We don’t know that for certain,” said Stella. “We’ll have to wait and see what happens. Just because he hasn’t moved doesn’t mean he’s dead. He may just be talking.”

  Jennings turned away from the screen. He appreciated Stella’s optimism, but felt it was probably misplaced. And with Kandinsky out of commission it left just the two of them. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for the responsibility.

  He was just about to pour himself a coffee when there was a knock on the door of the suite. He strode over and looked through the eyeglass. He was met with a familiar sight that warmed his heart.

  Opening the door he gave a broad smile. “Grady!” he said. “You’re back. What’s happened?”

  Grady stepped in and shut the door behind him. “I changed my mind. I knew that you’d be lost without me, and I just couldn’t put you through it.”

  Jennings laughed. “But seriously,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  Grady looked affronted. “That is what’s going on, buddy. I was in the departure lounge watching the news and it hit me that I needed to stay.”

  “But what about Brooke and the bump?”

  “Brooke was the one who convinced me to stay,” said Grady. “I called her from the airport. She knows all about what’s happening over here and she said that you guys needed me more than she did. Things haven’t kicked off over there like they have in Europe. The Muslim community’s proportionally much smaller so there’s not so much of a conflict of interest.” He paused briefly, a sad look crossing his face. “Anyway, I’m here now, so get me up to speed on what’s happening.”

  “Are you sure you’re alright mate?”

  “I’ll be fine. I just miss her, that’s all.”

  Jennings poured some coffees and then joined Stella and Grady in the living area. The return of his friend had lifted a huge weight from his shoulders.

  “So come on – what’s happening then?” said Grady.

  Jennings handed him a coffee and sat down next to Stella. “Kandinsky’s gone to the Vatican to find out what’s going on,” he said.

  “That was a good idea,” said Grady. “Straight into the lions’ den.”

  “There wasn’t much choice,” said Stella. “It was either that or sit around here doing nothing. He spoke to a priest claiming to have a message from Father Cronin. We knew it was a trap, but we didn’t have anything else to go on. He’s got a transmitter under his skin so we’re tracking him with that.”

  “We’ll be tracking him all the way to the morgue,” said Grady.

  Stella shook her head and sighed. “You certainly know how to lift people’s spirits.”

  “Sorry,” said Grady. “I’m tired and I’m not thinking. There probably wasn’t anything else you could do. And if Kandinsky was happy to be the fall guy then I guess it was the best option. I just don’t like this whole situation, I feel like we’re too exposed. They seem to be calling all the shots.”

  Jennings nodded. “I know how you feel. The problem is we’ve got no idea exactly how much they know.”

  Grady glugged a large mouthful of coffee, trying to stimulate his brain into gear. “We have to assume they know everything,” he said. “There’s no point sitting around thinking we’re safe. They may have been watching Desayer and Cronin for years, and if that’s the case they’re going to have all the information they need. Those two might think they’ve been careful, but if an organization as powerful as the Vatican wants to keep tabs on you then there’s not much you can keep secret. They’ll have listened to every phone call, read every email, bugged their offices and their quarters. Nothing is safe nowadays. You can’t have a piss without someone somewhere in the world knowing.” He paused. “Sorry if I’m being too cynical.”

  “No, you’re right,” said Jennings. “They probably do know everything, and we’ve been pretty foolish thinking anything else. The question is now though – what can we do?”

  “Much as I don’t like it,” said Grady, “I think we’re going to have to sit here and wait until we’ve got something to go on. It’s possible they know about us, but if they knew where we were they’d have been here by now. Let’s just see if Kandinsky makes it out of there before we start panicking.”

  Jennings finished his coffee and went out to the balcony once more. The sun was setting and the city was bathed in a rich orange glow. The air was starting to cool, but it was fresh and invigorating. He was about to smile when he looked across to St Peter’s Basilica and felt a shudder run down his spine. It was still an imposing sight, but whereas earlier it had filled him with wonder, it now imbued him with a sense of unease. In the soft evening light the dome appeared to crackle with a sinister scarlet hue. As he focused more intensely the aura grew larger, saturating the whole of Rome with a flood of deep red. Jennings felt himself being swept away on a tide of evil, strangled and stifled by the terrible onslaught of power. His throat constricted and he began to struggle for air. Choking and spluttering he fell to his knees and tried to cry for help.

  Stella glanced out to see what Jennings was up to and saw him flailing on the ground. Racing to the balcony she knelt down, put an arm round his shoulder, and tried to steady him. “He can’t breathe!” she yelled at Grady, who had followed her out.

  “Do you know the Heimlich Manoeuvre?” asked Grady. Stella nodded. “Well use that then. Sounds like he’s choking on something.”

  Stella went to move her arms around Jennings’ ribcage but he shook his head violently. “No,” he spluttered. “No.” And then, after a few more coughs, “I’ll be alright.”

  He nudged Stella gently aside and continued to hack away until the fit finally faded. He spat a small pool of saliva onto the floor and took some deep breaths.

  “Are you okay?” asked Grady.

  Jennings nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just had a bit of a turn, that’s all.”

  “A bit of a turn,” said Grady, raising an eyebrow.

  “I told you, I’ll be just fine. Stop fussing.”

  “No problem, buddy. I’ll just go and finish my coffee.” He went back inside leaving Jennings and Stella alone.

  “That was a bit rude,” said Stella. “He’s only trying to help you know.”

  “I know. I just don’t want a lot of fuss. I’ll apologize.”

  “So what happened then?” she pressed. “It looked like more than ‘just a bit of a turn’ from where we were standing.”

  Jennings pulled himself up onto one of the chairs. “I don’t really know what happened,” he said. “I was looking out over the skyline and I suddenly felt like I was being suffocated. The whole city turned red in front of my eyes. It started from over there.” He pointed to the Basilica. “Whatever’s going on in the Vatican, it’s going to be disastrous for everybody.”

  “So you had a vision?”

  “I suppose so. I’m not sure what to call it. It’s more of a feeling than anything else. I’ve been opened up to something I don’t really understand. I’m sensitized to everything around me.”

  Stella looked and saw the confusion in his eyes. She wanted to help, but didn’t know how. She was about to reach out and touch him when Grady’s voice carried through from the suite.

  “You’d better come in, you guys,” he hollered. “Kandinsky’s on the move.”

  Chapter 56

  Inside the Vatican two of the Swiss Guard guided a hospital trolley down a corridor. On top, covered by a white sheet, was the body of an extremely large man. Christiano stepped out of his room and watched them go by, wondering what had happened and why he hadn’t been sent for.

  “Excuse me,” he said.

  The guards paid no attention.

  “Excuse me,” he repeated. This time louder.

  The guard at the rear stopped and turned around. “What?” he said sharply.

  Unfazed by the guard’s tone Christiano pressed on. “What has hap
pened to this man?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know,” the guard grunted. “You’ll have to ask Cardinal Vittori, we’re just moving the body that’s all.” He turned to face the front and moved on.

  Christiano watched them down the hall with a scowl and then made his way to the gate to pick up Sophia. He had been in a good mood, but the guard’s rudeness had got under his skin. Who the hell did he think he was talking to him like that? He was the Messiah, not some errand boy. His rage built up as he walked, and by the time he reached the entrance he was determined to have the guard in question removed from his duties. It was only when he saw Sophia that he calmed down, her beauty dissipating his anger like a summer breeze.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine. In fact now that you’re here I’m more than fine.” He smiled and took her arm and led her back through the building.

  Christiano’s quarters consisted of a spacious living room, a bedroom and a bathroom. It was light and airy with a mixture of antique furniture and modern appliances. He had a fridge full of soft drinks and snacks, and if he wanted anything substantial to eat all he had to do was phone down to the kitchens. In fact, whatever he wanted was only a phone call away.

  Tonight he had ordered a special meal. He was leaving for New York in the morning and wanted to make his last evening with Sophia a memorable one. After a vast amount of cajoling and blackmail Vittori had finally agreed that he could invite her for dinner, on the condition that she was gone by eleven o’clock at the latest. Christiano had said she would be, but wasn’t going to be watching the clock on the cardinal’s account.

  Sophia sat down at the table and Christiano poured her a glass of wine. She sipped at it and then took a larger mouthful. “Wow! This is good,” she said. “What is it?”

  “It’s from the cardinal’s private estate in Tuscany,” said Christiano pouring himself a glass. “I managed to persuade him to let me have a bottle. It is very special to him”