Off to one side of the altar was a door that led to the vestry. Erasmus tried the handle. It turned in his hand and he pushed the door open.
It was a small room, a study, and Father Michael was sitting at old mahogany desk writing. He looked up in surprise when Erasmus entered the room.
‘I didn't think it would be you,’ he said.
Erasmus moved into the centre of the room. There were no other doors to the room: Father Michael was trapped.
‘Are you here to kill me?’
Erasmus raised his right hand and levelled the gun at Father Michael's head. ‘Yes.’
‘I knew someone would come.’
‘How?’
‘All sins must be accounted for. First Stephen went missing after I had paid the money to the moneylender for Bovind, and then Malcolm, Marcus and Giles were killed. I knew it was the time of judgement come upon me. Stephen had been judged for our crimes.’
‘Do you know who killed them? Bovind says it wasn't him.’
‘I do. It was the Angel of Death, the pale rider rendering judgement. A crime like that should not go unpunished.’ Father Michael put his head in hands.
‘Bovind said it was an accident, a fight that got out of hand. It's tragic but these things can happen.’
‘Such good boys, such lovely boys. Until that day so innocent. You know it has been a trial this life, being who am I, what I am, in the love of the Church.’
Father Michael began to cry softly. Erasmus recognised it for what it was, self pity.
‘What do you mean?’ said Erasmus.
‘I never wanted to be this way; I never asked for this curse. I never meant any harm to the poor boy.’
He was sobbing now.
‘I loved Tomas, so beautiful, so damaged yet so sweet, what happened to him was my fault.’
‘What did you do?’ said Erasmus.
‘That cursed boat, the Everlong. I asked Kirk to punish Stephen and Tomas for disobeying me, for working on the Sabbath but the truth was I was jealous of them, their friendship, their love for each other and that boat. I knew it was wrong but I didn't realise what had grown among the boys, in Bovind's heart there was a darkness. In that place, that pool, there was evil.’
Father Michael was sweating. There was fear but also something else in his eyes, Erasmus thought it was excitement at a memory revisited. His pressure on the trigger increased.
‘The other boys found Stephen and Tomas working on the boat in the dunes. They set the boat alight and when Stephen tried to stop them they beat him. Tomas tried to intervene but they held him down, hit him with sticks and tested his faith. He wouldn't reply. After what had happened to him in Bosnia he no longer believed. It was too awful to bear.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I was watching from the dunes. I had followed Tomas and Stephen.’
‘Yet you didn't stop them?’
‘I couldn't move. The heat of the flames, the boys, something, some evil stopped me from moving.’
‘Bullshit. You were enjoying it, you sado-masochistic creep!’ said Erasmus
Erasmus stepped forward and pressed the gun to Father Michael's temple. It would be so easy, so right to just to pull the trigger and end the life of this sad, twisted man. An easy choice, a release, a self-righteous act and who would judge him? And then he realised who: Abby.
‘Fuck! What happened?’
Father Michael looked up at Erasmus. A thin film of sweat glistened on his forehead. He smelt of fear, shame and excitement. Erasmus felt sickened.
‘Bovind sodomised Tomas and the others followed, one by one.’ Father Michael said this in a matter of fact tone.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Erasmus.
‘At the end when Tomas lay like a broken doll on the sand they gave Stephen a choice. Either the same would happen to him or he could burn Tomas face with an ember from the Everlong. Stephen, Tomas’ best friend and perhaps his only friend in the world, didn't even hesitate. He took the ember and pressed it to Tomas’ cheek. Tomas didn't scream, he just looked at Stephen with acceptance and then passed out. They dragged Tomas down to the sea and Bovind baptised him. I watched, I watched it all.’
Erasmus felt his right hand grip the weight of the pistol. ‘Did Bovind kill him?’
Father Michael paused. ‘Yes.’
‘And you could have stopped him but instead you covered it up. Why?’
‘I was there. It would have ruined me, ruined the lives of the boys and to what end? God's will had been done, however hard it is to see the purpose. I went down to the beach and cradled Tomas. He was dead. What was to be done? I waded out to sea and let him go. The currents are strong, he would have been in the Irish Sea in minutes. Frank Burns was just a coincidence, a gift from God. It made me think I had been forgiven, but now I see judgement. Do what you will. Shoot me.’
Erasmus put his hand in his back pocket and pulled out the photograph of Tomas he had found in St Marys.
‘Here, this is yours.’
He put the picture on the desk. Father Michael picked it up and examined it.
‘I will always love you, Tomas,’ he whispered the words.
‘He trusted you.’
Erasmus felt the anger rising again, felt the heat of it in his heart and in his hand. He had felt this way once before, in Afghanistan, and had not been able to control his fury. He breathed in and then exhaled and thought of Abby.
There had to be another way.
‘I'm not going to kill you, you don't deserve the release.’
‘It is not you?’ murmured Father Michael.
And then it hit him that there was a chance, a slim chance, to get out of the church and use Father Michael as a bargaining chip. If he could smuggle Father Michael out of the church alive he could use him against Bovind, who needed him dead. It was a gamble but then he had no guarantee that Bovind would release his family even if he did do what he wanted.
There was a noise outside in the chancel.
Father Michael looked up.
‘Listen, I'm not going to kill you but I need you to come with me. Is there a back way out of this church?’ said Erasmus.
Father Michael didn't look as happy as he expected someone to look who had just had a death sentence reprieved.
He nodded. ‘There is a passage that leads from the crypt to the rear gardens.’
‘Right, lead the way. We're getting out of here.’
Father Michael stood up and walked to the vestry door. Erasmus followed him.
The church was darker. Maybe some of the candles had gone out but Erasmus felt spooked. He guessed Father Michael was too by his body language. Each step he took was like a step towards the gallows, hesitant and reluctant.
‘Where is the entrance to the crypt?’
‘The altar. There is a trap door.’
‘Come on,’ said Erasmus and he grabbed hold of Father Michael's vestments pulling him along. There were three steps up to the altar. When they reached the top Erasmus couldn't see a trap door. Father Michael shuffled in front of him and pulled back the large ornamental rug that covered the floor. There in the middle of the exposed flagstones was a wooden door with an iron ring.
‘Open it,’ ordered Erasmus.
Father Michael kneeled and grasped the ring.
Suddenly, the church lit up as all the lights, including the dazzling TV lights housed in the rigging, came on in a blaze of diamond hard light.
‘He is here, the Angel of Death!’ shouted Father Michael.
A booming voice came over the PA system, so loud Erasmus had to cover his ears. ‘Do you believe?’
Father Michael had sunk to the floor where he lay prostrate, a look of mortal terror on his face. Erasmus looked around trying to locate the source of the sound. He looked up into the rigging but the lights were blinding.
‘No, leave him be!’ shouted Erasmus.
‘Yes, my Lord, I believe, I believe!’ Father Michael got to his knees and raised his arms in supplication.
‘I believe!’
‘You believe.’
There was the sound of something heavy being moved and then the whoosh of displaced air. A moment later a TV camera, maybe 250 lbs of metal machinery, crashed into Father Michael's head making a sound like bags of wet concrete splitting open.
‘No!’ screamed Erasmus.
The lights went off.
Silence.
Erasmus ran over to the shattered remains of Father Michael. The camera had crushed his skull into an unrecognisable pulp. There was no point checking for a pulse.
He looked up at the gantry. There was no one there. Erasmus knew now who had killed Father Michael, Giles, Malcolm and Marcus. He knew that he was in no danger but he also knew that with Father Michael's death he had lost all hope of saving his family without detonating the bomb.
Erasmus held his arms to each side and began to speak out loud. He wasn't sure if he thought anyone was there, or whether he was breaking the habit of a lifetime and actually praying but he couldn't stop himself. He told the seemingly now empty church exactly what Bovind had asked him to do. He cried out, imploring the void for help. When he had finished a solitary tear ran down his cheek.
‘Are you there? Are you listening? I need your help!’
There was no answer. Just the echoes of his voice bouncing off the stone walls as if mocking his entreaties.
Erasmus turned his back on Father Michael's remains and walked out of the church.
The black Mercedes sat at the side of the road.
Back in the car the Pastor patted Erasmus down.
‘Is it done?’
‘Yes,’ said Erasmus.
‘You still have the gun. I told you to leave it on the church floor.’
‘Change of plan. I had to improvise. But don't worry, he's dead.’
The Pastor held out his hand. Erasmus handed him the gun.
‘Once a killer always a killer, eh?’
Erasmus didn't reply.
‘You need a good night's sleep. Tomorrow is the end.’
Erasmus settled back into the car's upholstery. Tomorrow would be the end. He had to be a machine, rest, don't think, prepare for the day ahead because he realised that tomorrow he would have to kill. There was no other choice now.
He didn't even flinch when the cloth was placed over his mouth.
CHAPTER 53
Erasmus awoke to the sound of low mumbling, incantations and spells. He was back in the room from the night before, back in the same armchair, but this time the room was filled with light.
The room was huge, a great hall of a stately home or a castle. Erasmus stood up gingerly, whatever they had given him the night before had left him drowsy and weak.
In the corner of the hall Kirk Bovind was kneeling before the Pastor praying.
Erasmus walked over to them.
‘Good to see who wears the trousers in this relationship, Bovind. Are you praying for forgiveness?’
Bovind's head snapped round. ‘You wouldn't understand. You think I like the sacrifices that have to be made to bring the Lord into people's lives!’
Erasmus gave a contemptuous snort. ‘You are all the same. I dealt with your kind in Afghanistan, you kill because you can and because you like the power and the feeling of immortality it gives you. You preach death in this life and promise everything in the next, you are snake oil salesmen.’
The Pastor was quick. He punched Erasmus hard in the face before he could react. He fell to his knees.
‘Silence, sinner!’ said the Pastor.
‘You should be happy I am giving you the opportunity to enter into the kingdom of heaven. God will look kindly on you for today's actions. You will be a true Christian soldier.’
‘He told you that, did he?’ said Erasmus. He spat out some bloody spit from his mouth. ‘You know voices in your head are a sure sign of schizophrenia.’
The Pastor kicked Erasmus in the arm.
The pain was intense but Erasmus wasn't going to show it to the Pastor. ‘You kick like a girl,’ he said. He steeled himself for another blow.
‘Enough!’ said Bovind, getting to his feet.
‘We have work to do. Pastor, can you show him his equipment?’
‘With pleasure,’ said the Pastor. He walked to a cupboard and removed what looked like a bulletproof vest. Erasmus recognised it for what it really was immediately.
‘Ah, the weapon of choice of religious murders the world over. You really are taking lessons from the worst.’
The Pastor brought the vest over to Erasmus.
‘Put your arms above your head,’ he ordered.
‘You are really going to do this, aren't you?’ said Erasmus, looking directly at Bovind.
‘Remember your family. It is you who is going to do this.’
Erasmus put his arms in the air and the Pastor slipped the vest over his arms and around his torso. He pulled the straps tight.
‘This is explosive packed with ball bearings, enough to kill everything within a radius of 50 m. Here,’ he handed Erasmus a ballpoint pen that was linked by a wire to the vest. ‘The police jammers will require you to manually detonate the bomb. When you get close to Mayor Lynch you press the top of the pen and that arms the bomb, you keep it pressed down until you are close to the target and then you release the button and all your worries in this life, Erasmus, will be gone. Do you understand?’
‘I understand that you two are fucking insane.’
‘The Pastor will take you to the demonstrations now. Remember if you do this, your family go free. Think of Abby.’
Erasmus sucked in a gulp of air. He needed to keep his focus.
‘My family are innocent, and Tomas was innocent. I know what you did. I thought the Third Wave frowned on that sort of behaviour?’
Bovind's tight face seemed to sag. ‘Get him out of here!’ he screamed at the Pastor.
CHAPTER 54
Anthony was going to get a fucking rocket. On the most important day of his career the little shit had gone missing leaving the Mayor to face the crowds alone. He wondered whether Anthony had told Bovind of his plans, no matter if he had, his mind was made up. They could publish all the pictures they liked, they could show him for the he was a cowardly, adulterous drug addict he was. He didn't care. Released from the fear of discovery he felt fifteen years younger. Who knew, maybe he would come out of this with some integrity preserved.
The night before the Mayor had returned Dr Grey's call and had refused his request to come into his office the next day to discuss his biopsy results. The Mayor had felt calm and a peace he rarely knew had descended on him. He had asked to hear the results there and then and the doctor had obliged. He was apologetic but careful to remind the Mayor that his preliminary diagnosis had been subject to the biopsy result. The Mayor had asked him to cut to the chase and he had: there were malignant cells. It was bowel cancer. He would need surgery and chemotherapy. Nothing was certain other than he would have to give up his position during his treatment. The Mayor had thanked Dr Grey and then put down the phone on that part of his life.
The Mayor had slept in his office. He had rung Daphne and told her about Elena. There hadn't been any great drama, she had suspected for a few years and their marriage, like so many, had absorbed the reality of the situation long before it was ever actually discussed. She asked for some time to think and he had agreed. He thought they may separate, maybe not. Tomorrow was a new day and he felt for the first time in years that he could face that day.
He dressed in his best navy blue Ozwald Boateng suit and ironed a shirt. When he was done he looked in the mirror and for the first time in many months he liked what he saw.
The Vicodin box was on the side of the sink. He picked it up. Maybe he could do without today? No, that was tomorrow's battle and he needed a steady nerve today. He ran the tap and filled a glass with water and then swallowed the pill.
Now he was ready.
He rang down to check his car was ready, took a last breath and th
en left the building to address the marchers.
CHAPTER 55
‘You see the routes of the marches bring the atheists and monkey boys up Mount Pleasant and then they turn right into Hope Street which has been blocked off at the corner of the Philharmonic Pub by the police. Our march is due to come down Mount Pleasant and then they swing a left into Hope Street going the opposite way. Both marches will be addressed by speakers at midday.
‘There will be the usual troublemakers trying to get at each other and the police line will unfortunately disappear due to an order being misunderstood by the commander on the ground.’
The Pastor had a map of the city up on an iPad and his bony fingers traced the streets as he described the routes to Erasmus.
‘One of your men?’ said Erasmus.
The Pastor ignored him.
‘When this happens, fights will break out and in the chaos you will make your way along Hope Street to where the Mayor will be speaking to the faithful. Use this pass to get through his security cordon.’ The Pastor handed him a laminated card. ‘If they stop you, detonate the bomb. It should take him out but we want to make sure so get as close as you can and remember I will be watching you and any deviation from the plan or non-detonation will mean your family dies. Do you understand?’
‘I understand.’
The Pastor opened the door of the car. ‘Go, go and fulfil your destiny.’
Erasmus stepped out of the car and into the surge of a crowd moving uphill.
He looked at the protestors. They were the atheists, humanists and those who just wanted science taught as science not religion. Placards proclaiming ‘It's evolution stupid!’, ‘Fossils, the silver bullet!’ and ‘The Third Wave are Doctor Killers’ were being carried and a song was being sung that had the chorus ‘Keep it at church!’
The mood was good-natured at the moment but Erasmus knew that these things could turn ugly very quickly. A man in a green woolly jumper handed him a leaflet. He took it and then let it drop to the floor.
Erasmus was wearing a heavy overcoat that the Pastor had given him to cover the suicide bomber vest. It wasn't out of place at this time of year but even in the cool air of a November morning he was sweating as the crowd reached the top of Mount Pleasant and turned right at the Everyman Theatre into Hope Street.
The Silent Pool Page 31