The Plan

by J. Richard Wright

  Maria moved to him as he moved to her; they met and embraced. An electric-like tingle surged through their bodies as an unfulfilled hunger and a moment of wantonness sparked by the ache of a forbidden love they shared moved through them. They kissed, at first softly, and then with more passion and strength holding each other tightly. He rubbed his hand up the length of her spine and she shuddered and pressed closer. “I love you Maria,” he said softly.

  “No,” she said, but didn’t move away. “I can’t...we can’t...I-I have something I must do. Something...I-I can’t put my feelings ahead of my-my duty,” she stammered, her voice trailing off.

  “Duty? Don’t you have some obligation to yourself, to your own happiness?”

  “I’m promised to God,” she said, holding him tighter.

  Clay was breathing hard, his heart hammering in his chest. Finally he let his feelings spill out. There was no denying the reality of the moment. “I love you, Maria. I don’t know how it happened or why it happened, but I love you more than life.”

  “My vows....” She protested weakly.

  He held her tighter feeling her small breasts pressing into his chest and the warmth of her hips solidly against him; every possible inch of their bodies made contact. “Nothing matters except us,” he said, his voice shaking. “I promise you that we’ll see this through and after it is over—.”

  “After it’s over, we’ll talk,” she said, reluctantly removing her head from where it was pressed against his chest and looking up at him with soft, brown, doe-like eyes.

  “Do you love me?” he demanded, refusing to let her go.

  “I love you in Christ,” she whispered simply, but with heartfelt sincerity. “That’s all I can say now Clay. I wish I could say more. I-I’m so confused. This isn’t for me. It’s cruel to give me these feelings.”

  She felt him tense and start to pull away. She held him tighter. “No... don’t! Just hold me for a few more seconds.”

  He did.

  ~ 10 ~

  Malachi put down the phone and threw his feet onto his office desk. He’d been suffering some swelling lately and they needed to be up for a time. The doctor had diagnosed his condition as Type II diabetes, not serious yet and controllable with diet. He knew he should lose about twenty pounds and he would have to give up his penchant for chocolate. Of course, sacrifice was something he was used to on a spiritual level. On the physical plane, he found it more challenging.

  Still, he’d just transferred $50,000 into the personal accounts of the remaining team members for their use in the pursuit of the Hellspawn and he felt good. He’d done the same for the Crusaders and Murphy and Langevin. To hell with the official budget. He could personally fund this hunt for a time. He said a silent thank you to his late Aunt Helen. After a moment he pulled out a Cuban Romeo Y Julieta Churchill cigar straight from Havana and ran his tongue over its entire length. The words Totalmente a mano signified it was hand rolled. He bit the end off, lit it and luxuriated in the heavy, pungent tobacco flavor as he smoked. A small reward for a creative solution to their problems. Somehow his victory again mitigated his vow of abstinence from tobacco.

  Gallo’s telephone report had been brief but thorough. He reported he was sure it was Adramelech that had attacked Maria and Clay. The demon was likely in Highgate Cemetery, a historic and abandoned graveyard of considerable size with all kinds of growth and nooks and crannies in which to hide. In fact, it would be hard to find a place more appropriate, Gallo had said.

  He then told Malachi that he needed to have the Relic in the hands of the Crusaders by midnight. Malachi informed him the Keeper of the Relic would arrive in London by 7:10 p.m. He had personally moved his flight up. He gave Gallo the airline and flight number and added that he would also be coming to London the following day. He cautioned Gallo not to move on Adramelech until he got there.

  Malachi hung up and immediately picked up the phone again. He asked his secretary to get Father Gant on the line. The priest answered and said he planned to leave on a redeye flight and would arrive at Heathrow in the morning. Malachi told him to cancel it; he was booked on a late afternoon flight. He told him that Gallo was sure the demon was in Highgate Cemetery and they needed the Relic there as soon as possible. Gant agreed to make the earlier flight and began questioning him on what he knew about the plane crash. “Not much,” Malachi said. “For some reason a door opened in flight and after a few minutes they were off the radar screens. Her Majesty’s Coast Guard cutters have retrieved pieces of wreckage but the pilots’ bodies are still missing.”

  “May God have mercy on their souls,” Gant said.

  “They were good and loyal men,” Malachi agreed. “And they helped get us to this point in our hunt for this demon. I fear we can expect the death of more before this is over.”

  “We have to destroy it before it gets any stronger,” Gant said. “Or we’ll truly face hell on earth.”

  “We’ll get it.” Malachi’s steely determination came through loud and clear to Gant.

  Gant hesitated for a moment and finally said: “If the Relic works.”

  “We’ve seen its power for good,” Malachi asserted. “It healed Father Murphy and the scroll said the Wood of the Cross would rid us of this scourge.”

  “Yes, we must have faith,” Gant agreed.

  “That shouldn’t be hard for us...since our whole lives have been based on faith.”

  “Where are Benito and the Crusaders staying?” Gant pressed.

  “My secretary has already emailed you your itinerary and you’ll find the hotel address there. We’ve booked you in the Halkin for tonight. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Then there’s nothing left for me to say.”

  “Godspeed Reverend Father Fred.”

  Gant chuckled at the familiarity from a man who claimed not to stand on ceremony but often did. “Thank you, Your Extravagance,” he answered.

  “Smart ass,” Malachi said, and hung up.

  ~ 11 ~

  Father Gant breathed a sigh of relief as the wheels of the Alitalia jetliner touched down at Heathrow. He loosened his grip on his heavy, silver-plated Crucifix on the empty seat beside him. He had deliberately removed it from where he usually tucked it into his cummerbund at the beginning of the flight because of the discomfort when he was seated. But still, it was one of his most prized possessions having been personally taken in hand and blessed by Pope John Paul II. Though it hadn’t been a particularly bumpy flight, the other passengers also expressed their collective relief at being back on terra firma through a round of spontaneous applause.

  Now, hours later Father Gant still found himself smarting from his confrontation with an airline check-in clerk who had forced him to check the Relic case with his other piece of luggage. Though it did not fit in the stainless steel prefab baggage mold used to measure carry-on luggage, he had maintained that he would hold it in his lap. The attendant and his supervisor, citing safety and security concerns, insisted the metal luggage case with the yellow florescent tape be checked. Since it was a condition of boarding, he had ensured the two combination locks on the case were engaged and reluctantly complied. Their one concession had been to faithfully promise him it would be on the same flight and it would be handled with a special designation so he could pick it up at the reclaim baggage carousel as soon as they landed. He wondered if they would have been so quick or so callous to consign it to the baggage hole of the aircraft if they had known that it contained a petrified piece of the Holy Cross on which their savior had been mercilessly crucified.

  Fearful that the Relic might somehow be stolen, he reinserted the heavy Crucifix into the waistband of his cassock and was on his feet and moving towards the front of the plane before the aircraft had ceased its taxi roll.

  “Father, please sit down,” called a pretty blond flight attendant spying him from her jump-seat as he neared the front entrance. The sincere look of concern in her bright green eyes brought him to a stop. Grumbling, but rows ahead of
where he would have been if he hadn’t bolted for the door, he sat down in a vacant seat. The plane braked and he was up like a jack rabbit. He made it to the door where two attendants were opening it with the help of an airline worker outside.

  “Thank you, excellent flight,” he mumbled hurriedly, squeezing between them and triumphantly exiting the aircraft. Moving swiftly and effortlessly through the terminal, he thanked God for the European Union that did away with Custom & Immigration checks. He had just located the luggage carousel for his flight when he spied Father Gallo hurrying towards him.

  “Frederick...so wonderful to see you,” Gallo called, as he arrived and pumped his confederate’s hand.

  “Benito...I didn’t expect you here,” Gant said, with a pleased smile. “I thought I was to see you at the hotel.”

  “The Relic,” Gallo said, gulping air after his brief exertion. “Do you have it?”

  “I was forced to check it,” Gant said, the exasperation still in his voice. “It should come out of there as soon as they turn the damn thing on.” He pointed at the dark mouth of the luggage tube and the barely visible and motionless conveyor belt at the top of the carousel. The other passengers still hadn’t reached them so they were alone except for a security guard who passed through the room barely giving them a glance.

  “I know how we can get it right away,” Gallo said. “I have a friend here who can let us take it right off the luggage carrier.”

  “Truly?” Gant asked, in surprise.

  “Yes...he’s an old friend,” Gallo said. “You can tell me what it looks like and we’ll retrieve it. Come with me.”

  Father Gant hesitated. “But if they turn on the carousel and we’re not here...”

  “They won’t...it takes at least ten to 15 minutes to get the carrier over here from the plane. We can intercept it before they begin removing the baggage from the cart.”

  “Are you sure...?” Gant asked, uneasily.

  “I know people...give me the claim check and come...quick!”

  “Security...” Gant ventured, but Gallo waved his concerns aside.

  The two old men in their black robes hurried to a side door which opened before they even reached it as though activated by a switch for people with disabilities; they exited the baggage area and the door closed silently behind them.

  Ten minutes later, with the Alitalia passengers milling about near the carousel, the conveyor belt started up and pieces of luggage began to pop out onto the baggage chute and slide down onto the rotating carousel. A polished aluminum case, sporting three yellow pieces of reflective tape, had just dropped down to begin its cyclical journey when Father Gallo stepped out of the crowd and seized it. He compared the tag against his own claim check, nodded and moved swiftly away from the others.

  Father Gallo had just exited the room when there was a collective intake of breathe from the crowd and several female passengers screamed.

  Father Frederick Gant’s body was slowly squeezing itself through the conveyor opening of the baggage chute. Freed of constraints, the Keeper of the Relic slid face-up and upside down onto the carousel. The crossbeam and head of his silver-plated Crucifix was sticking out of his throat. Massive amounts of blood were coursing from the wound in aggressive spurts flecking several horrified bystanders. It had run over the mortally wounded priest’s neck and face, and drenched his white collar and cassock even as it turned his bright red hair a darker, blood red; the arterial spray continued to soil the highly polished floors.

  The glassy-eyed priest struggled to take a ragged, wet breath and tried to roll over while sprawled among the luggage. As bags continued to plummet onto the carousel he clawed at his throat and struggled valiantly to at least raise his head. Desperate to live, his eyes gradually dulling, he looked for help as he was carried in a circle by the carousel, a grotesque display of horror and gore.

  People who, moments before, had been jostling for position to grab their bags had now leaped back in panic, stumbling and shrieking. They stared in shocked fascination at his bleeding body.

  Trying to warn anyone who would listen of an omnipresent danger, Father Gant opened his mouth to speak. Instead, bloody foam spewed forth and ran over his lips, nose and forehead. He sighed, his eyes rolled back in his head and he died.

  * * * *

  PART SEVEN

  “ADAM’S CURSE”

  Love, like Death,

  Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd’s

  Crook

  Beside the scepter

  Edward Bulwer-Lytton

  THE LADY OF LYONS (1838)

  ~ 1 ~

  Detective Chief Superintendent Ian Cruickshank stood with Cardinal Malachi in a small back-up command and security control room at Heathrow Airport. In case an emergency rendered the main control room inoperative, redundancy offered a remote area where information could still be received, observations recorded and decisions made. The detective wore a three-piece, brown tweed suit complete with white shirt, woolen tie and vest. Beside him, devoid of any church trappings, Malachi wore a charcoal grey suit with an open-necked cobalt-blue, cotton shirt. The two men stared up at the wall. Cruickshank had met Malachi at the gate; by this time the cardinal was barely off his plane a full hour.

  Facing them was a bank of 16 TV screens but only one was lit; a black & white still picture flickered on it as they watched. The camera was pointed at a luggage carousel cordoned off by police tape and guarded by a helmeted London bobby. Off to the side, still within camera range, two British Army soldiers stood with submachine guns at the ready. The camera had paused, freezing them all in position.

  “Heathrow’s baggage system actually runs under the airfield and handles more than 100 million individual pieces of luggage each year,” Cruickshank said. “The normal carousel is the conveyor belt type that brings bags out a door in the wall, circulates them on the belt and re-enters the wall. This is the reclaim carousel where they come out of the ceiling and drop onto the racetrack stainless steel carousel. That’s where it happened.” He pointed.

  Malachi nodded curtly, his expression unfathomable.

  “Whoever stabbed him with the Crucifix must have been extremely strong,” the detective continued. “It wasn’t sharpened or pointed in any way and so driving it that far into Father Gant’s throat took quite an effort.” He paused, shaking his head. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” Malachi said.

  Cruickshank nodded to a young video engineer operating the control board. The detective had assured Malachi that the man was covertly “one of his” and was sworn to secrecy.

  The engineer pushed a button and the image on the screen flickered and was replaced by another image of the same location. This time, however, the carousel was not surrounded by police tape. Suddenly Father Gant appeared in the picture. He stood anxiously examining the carousel and then turned in surprise. Father Gallo entered the frame and Gant reached out and shook hands with him.

  “That’s Father Gallo,” Malachi confirmed.

  “Yes,” Cruickshank answered. “But watch what happens a little later.”

  Gant continued talking to Gallo, gesturing, half turning and eventually he handed a small cardboard ticket to him. Abruptly both wheeled and quickly walked towards a side door.

  “There,” Cruickshank said. “Watch this. Did you see it?”

  “See what?” Malachi asked.

  “Run it back,” the detective said to the operator who did so. The video showed the priests make for the door. As Malachi watched, the door opened wide a good three feet in front of them of its own accord, and a few second later both men exited the baggage area.

  “What did you want me to see?” Malachi asked.

  “The door,” Cruickshank said. “That is a high security door that has an alarm on it, an electronic security connection that is triggered if the bolt and the latch lose contact, such as when it’s opened. The only thing that suspends the alarm for 15 seconds is if you swipe your authorized security pass right there.” He p
ointed to a small metal wall plate near the handle. “They had no passes and yet it opened in front of them without anyone even being there.”

  “So what are we looking at...H.G. Well’s Invisible Man?” Malachi asked, dryly.

  “You tell me, Mustavias. There is no disability apparatus on that door. It’s reinforced steel weighting almost 20 stone, and you have to pull it hard to get it open. I tried it myself. And, there was no recorded alarm when they went through.”

  “Maybe it was faulty. What about other cameras...?”

  “Oh we caught them inside a few times. Then they went into an area where there were no cameras and the next time we saw Father Gant....” He nodded at the engineer who pushed another button. A second screen flickered to life and Malachi watched in horror as a mortally wounded Father Gant came out the luggage chute and dropped upside down onto the carousel with people drawing back in horror. The priest struggled to right himself and managed to raise his head for a moment and then dropped it as he died. For a full two minutes his body continued to rotate on the carousel and luggage continued to plummet from the chute, until security officers appeared on the run.

  Malachi sighed and shook his head. “That bloody butcher. What about Father Gallo?”

  “We’ve no idea. But for some unexplained reason, we did lose some footage of before the body arrived. No idea why. About 30 seconds seemed to have been electronically...messed up.”

  “No doubt you are searching for Father Gallo?” Malachi’s tone was ripe with worry; he feared the worst.

  “In every crook and cranny of the airport.”

  “Well, it’s likely you may find a body, unless he managed to escape from whoever killed Father Gant.”

  “Could he have...?”

  “Father Gallo didn’t kill Father Gant,” Malachi said, cutting him short. “That I can assure you. Something else did and we can only pray that Benito escaped with his life.”

  “So you have some idea of who the perpetrator might be, I take it.?”