“I’m sorry my friend. All I can tell you is that we are hunting an extremely dangerous and resourceful person. Perhaps, I can say tell you more after I’ve met with some of my colleagues here in London.”
“You’ve kept me in the dark for some time, Cardinal Malachi,” Cruickshank protested.
Malachi raised his eyebrows at the formality and motioned towards the video engineer operating the cameras. Again Cruickshank waved away his concern. “He’s also my brother-in-law. He’s the reason we’re able to be in here.”
“Alright, if you say so,” the cardinal responded.
“Did I mention that Father Nathaniel, Father Oberon and Father Vandetti showed up at Highgate Cemetery the night of the shooting?”
“They should have,” Malachi muttered, watching the runback of the tape again.”
“They questioned me like some second class constable about what happened. I didn’t appreciate it.”
“They were just doing their job.”
“Which is...?” the Chief Superintendent inquired, his head cocked to the side.
“We’ve been over this countless times, Ian...I can’t tell you more than I already have.”
“I told you about the tissue samples taken from the glass and frame of the car in which Montague and Lapierre were attacked?”
“Yes,” Malachi said, trying to appear disinterested. “Someone mixed them up with some cadaveric tissue or something?”
“There was no mix-up,” Cruickshank said, watching the cardinal closely.
“Well, I certainly can’t explain it.”
“Won’t...you mean,” the Chief Superintendent said. “Mustavias, despite your claim this is a Church matter, there are laws we have to follow. For God’s sake, I’ve had some of your people shooting up Highgate Cemetery...I’ve had a young constable murdered the same night...and, now we have one of your priests butchered alive at Heathrow. Withholding pertinent information in a murder investigation is a punishable offense; I can only do so much. My superiors are already on my tail.”
“Look Ian, I can say they were likely committed by the same individual. But if I told you who we were chasing, you’d laugh.” Malachi said..
“I don’t find murder amusing.”
“I know that...and I’m grateful for all your help.”
“Give me his name...I’ll run it through Interpol and see what we come up with.”
“Trust me, my friend,” Malachi said, with a mirthless grin. “He won’t be in any database. Just give me another day.”
“Twenty-four hours,” Cruickshank said. “That’s it! Then I’ll haul you and the others into the yard for a little talk. Understood?”
“Thank you. Now, this is extremely important. Did you find a three-by-two foot, aluminum case with Father Gant’s name on it and the Vatican address? It was fashioned from airline strength aluminum, had yellow, reflective tape, I’m told, and featured two heavy-duty combination locks.”
“No, all we have for Father Gant is a single piece of luggage with his clothes in it. There was no aluminum case.”
“We desperately need to find that case if it’s here.”
“And, I desperately need to find a murderer.”
“There are more things in Heaven and hell...” Malachi began, but Cruickshank waved his hand to stop him.
“Twenty-four hours and you start talking to me.”
They shook hands and within minutes Malachi was in a London cab and on his way to the Halkin Hotel. At the front desk he waited for Jean Marie, a desk clerk he knew from other visits, to call the room for Clay and Maria. The hotel was a small, boutique-design establishment noted for exclusivity and boasting a five-star rating as well as proximity to Hyde Park Corner. Though of contemporary Italian design, there were subtle oriental influences throughout that balanced its modernity with a feeling of luxury without being stuffy. Featuring 30 rooms and 11 suites, it was a mere 40 minutes from Heathrow. In fact, one of the reasons Malachi liked it was because of its authentic Thai cooking in its on-site and unparalleled “nahm” restaurant. The other thing he valued more than anything else about the Halkin was its discretion, something he had often needed as the hunt for Adramelech had intensified.
Jean Marie returned and shook his head. “They checked out, Your Eminence.”
“Who checked out?”
“All of them...Mr. & Mrs. Montague and Father Benito Gallo. They left last night.”
“Did you actually see Father Gallo?”
“But of course. He paid zee bills.”
“There must be some mistake...” Malachi began, but quickly rescinded his contention when Jean Marie shook his head sympathetically. Of course there was no mistake. They didn’t make mistakes at the Halkin. Malachi’s mind raced. Father Gallo was alive. Did he, in fact, know what had happened to Father Gant? “What about 210 and 211? Under the names of Father Nathaniel and Father Oberon?”
Jean Marie punched a few keys and nodded. “They are still checked in. As a matter of fact, I am sure I saw some of them going upstairs about an hour ago.”
The desk phone rang and Jean Marie excused himself for a moment and answered it. He looked at Malachi and nodded. He moved the phone onto the counter and handed the receiver to the cardinal. “It’s for you.”
The cardinal took the receiver. “Malachi here.”
“It’s Ian. We were going through more tapes. You said you were looking for an aluminum case, quite a large one?”
“Yes.”
“Well I think we’ve found it. Or at least we know roughly who took it.”
“Who...?” Malachi asked, already dreading the answer.
“It was on a corridor camera...and there weren’t many metal cases that size about. This camera shoots in color and you said the case had pieces of yellow reflective tape on it as identifying markers? We saw one that perfectly matched your description.”
“That’s likely it,” Malachi confirmed, his heart beginning to race. “Who took it?”
“Elderly man wearing a cassock; We caught him from the back but I’m pretty sure it’s your Father Gallo. Same chap we saw on the other video.”
“Well I’ve also confirmed he’s alive alright,” Malachi said. “Checked out of the hotel last night. I’ll get back to you, Ian. Thanks.” He hung up.
Noting that the cardinal had gone white, the desk clerk was about to ask if he could help when Malachi abruptly headed across the lobby and, without waiting for the elevator, bounded up the steps to the second floor.
He reached 210 and rapped sharply on the door. There was no answer. Just as he was about to knock again, the door opened a half inch and he found himself staring at the dark eyes, crew cut and square jaw of Father Kit Nathaniel. When the priest saw Malachi, he jerked the door wide and stepped back.
“You Eminence,” he said. “We didn’t expect you. We were told you cancelled your flight here. Father Gallo said...”
“Where is Father Gallo and the others?” Malachi demanded, not wasting any time. I’m told they checked out.” He surveyed the room. Father Nathaniel was flanked by Fathers Robert Oberon, Pasqual Vandetti, and Serge Lavoie – the entire Crusader team. The three others were seated on the twin beds watching TV and drinking sodas. The Simpson’s danced on the screen as Homer tried his best to outwit Monty Burns. At least they weren’t watching South Park, he thought, thank the Lord for small mercies.
“They left for Rome last night,” Nathaniel said. “To see you.”
“Like hell they did,” Malachi responded, angrily.
~ 2 ~
The Scotrail passenger train clicked and clacked its way northward on the West Highland line in the waning twilight through a barren wasteland of moss, rocks and sheep. Father Gallo, Maria and Clay sat in a nearly deserted, older car populated with navy blue velveteen seats and wood trim. With fewer tourists about, the conductor had informed them that the late fall brought abnormally low ridership.
Grey skies delivered freezing rain that pounded against the window
s and ran in large rivulets horizontally across the glass as the diesel locomotive labored to pull them through the countryside. Clay stared out at the unending moor devoid of trees; nothing higher than scrub grass lived here. The monotony of the high countryside was only punctuated by the occasional small village, brief clusters of cottages with yellow windows glowing warmly in the evening light as they sped by. As the train made its way to higher altitudes, Clay glimpsed occasional patches of snow lingering in the shadows of large, rounded boulders scattered haphazardly on the moor as though remnants from some giant’s bowling game.
The old priest was lost in thought again and hadn’t said a word after they’d come back from the lounge car with packets of fish and chips. Not having eaten since the night before, they devoured them fairly quickly, washing them it down with bottles of sugar-free Raspberry Jetpop.
The day before, Gallo had returned to their hotel room at the Halkin, and told them he’d called Cardinal Malachi, and bade them pack up; the cardinal would meet them at their destination along with the Crusaders. He also advised Clay to pack his weapon in a suitcase rather than carry it, just in case they were stopped by some policeman. Clay agreed.
Before they knew it, they were on a night train from London, England to Glasgow, Scotland, an exhausting six hour journey. Since they weren’t in sleeper cars, Maria had curled up on the seat beside Clay and slept with her head on his thighs. With one arm and shoulder propped against the window frame, Clay dozed fitfully, rocking with the movement of the train. Occasionally he awoke and watched Father Gallo staring unblinking through the window as, outside, periodic mournful howls of the locomotive whistle wafted back to them on the night wind.
The following evening they boarded another train out of Glasgow with Father Gallo hurrying them along; they weren’t even sure where they were going. In the station in Port Glasgow, he told them he had telephoned and received further instructions from Malachi.
As Clay watched, the priest occasionally reached below his seat and touched the aluminum case with the yellow reflective tape containing the famed Relic. Clay eased upright so as not to disturb Maria and nodded at Gallo.
“So how did Cardinal Malachi react when you told him you knew where Adramelech is hiding?” he asked, giving up trying to sleep.
“He said to proceed there as quickly as possible and they will fly ahead and meet us in a village nearby.”
“And that would be...?” Clay asked.
“Inverness,” the priest said shortly. Then he added for good measure. “If he hasn’t arrived, we are to make the next leg of the journey via the ferry at Ullapool.”
“Ullapool? Where are we going?” Clay demanded, irritably. “There’s no need to keep us in the dark, for God’s sake.” His lack of sleep was beginning to show. Maria roused and sat up. Though surprised at his sudden sharpness, she agreed with him and nodded. “Yes, Father. Where are we headed?”
Gallo gave them both a long searching look and then said apologetically: “You aren’t running this show, Mr. Montague. I’m afraid I am.”
“Well I don’t have to be part of any show; neither Maria nor I will be present for much longer unless you clear up a few things.”
Gallo smiled slightly and nodded. “Very well. What do you want to know?”
“Where are we going?”
“The Outer Hebrides,” Gallo answered. “More specifically, we are taking a car from Inverness to Ullapool and a ferry from Ullapool to Stornoway. From there we will take another car to the west coast of Lewis Island.”
“That’s where he is?”
“Yes...the culmination of an eight-hundred-year search.”
“Adramelech...” Maria whispered, both fear and wonder in her voice.
“But he was in London a few nights ago,” Clay persisted.
“Yes...and doubtlessly he was headed for his lair,” Gallo answered. “There is nothing in London for him. No wars to start, genocides to manage. He must be heading home.”
“If you know exactly where he is, why didn’t you tell anyone before this,” Clay asked.
“Because he wasn’t there till now.”
“Did he give you his itinerary?” Clay asked, sarcastically, unable to shake the feeling he was being played again. Father Gallo was being evasive and he didn’t like it one bit. “Why are you so certain he’s there now?”
“Quite frankly, I don’t know one hundred percent. But when I awoke from my last blackout, I knew exactly where he was headed as sure as I know my own name. Now we have less than an hour of train time left before we reach Inverness. I suggest you and Sister Maria get some rest.”
Gallo stood, pulled his raincoat from the overhead rack, balled it up as a pillow and made himself comfortable on the opposite seat. Within seconds, Clay and Maria heard him snoring softly.
“Maria, I want you to stay in Inverness,” Clay said.
“And leave you to face this monster with the others while I hide?” she asked. “Sorry...no.”
“There is no need for you to be there,” he said. “We know where he is and we don’t need you to warn us of anything.”
Maria gave him a long, searching look. “Clay, we’re in this together. I don’t know what will happen there...but I want you to know something.” She paused, sighed deeply and then added: “I do love you.”
“You love me...brotherly love?”
She looked nervously at Father Gallo and finally said: “No, I love you with all my heart, mentally, physically and with my soul. I still have obligations but I’ve fallen deeply in love with you.” She choked back emotions, failing to meet his eyes though he couldn’t take his off her. “I want you to know that. In case-in case....” she finished lamely.
Clay felt his heart surge with an unfamiliar joy and smiled at her. “And if we get out of this...?” He let the question hang, the hope evident in his voice.
“I don’t know about my vows any more,” she said, her eyes suddenly welling with tears. “I love my God but I love you too. I hope I never have to choose.”
“Maria, I can’t believe that God wouldn’t want you to be happy. And I promise, if you’ll let me, I’ll devote every waking moment to making you happy.”
“I know you would, Clay. But I also must see this through first.” She looked at him, sighed and reached out and took his hand gently in hers. “I know, I sound a little fanatical. Still, I can’t help how I feel.”
He thought about what she was feeling and what it must have cost her emotionally to confess that she loved him. In effect, she was admitting something that was at odds with her entire focus in life. Even if he won her over in the end, and she left the church, would she regret it? Would it ultimately impair or even doom their relationship? She looked up at him. A declaration of love should have been filled with joy. Instead, she looked worried as well as tired and somewhat harassed.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “God will make everything come out as it should.”
“Maria...you have no doubts, do you? You believe in God. I mean...really...as a physical and spiritual entity that gets involved in our lives and loves us unconditionally.”
“Of course. This demon we’re hunting proves there is a celestial evil that was spawned before creation, just as the scroll revealed. And its existence supports the scriptures. By default it proves there is a God who loves us.”
“But what kind of God allows the slaughters we see on earth?” He wasn’t sure it was fair to ask Maria to answer questions that even the best educated theologians on earth had trouble explaining.
Maria took his other hand. Certainly he was asking her to answer age-old questions that plagued mankind since the dawn of reason. In defense of her Heavenly Father, she was certainly willing to try. “Clay...I’ll tell you what I believe. I believe God gave us the gift of free will because he loves us. But with freedom come risks, and rewards and penalties. If He ruled our lives, we would hate Him for it. We would be nothing but His pets. So He allows us to choose our paths...to make of our l
ives what we wish. And then He brings us home to His love and we see where we did well and where we erred. Life doesn’t end when we die. I think it’s an endless cycle of learning in which we are engaged until we learn perfect love.”
“Are you telling me I’ll have to go through another life?”
Maria laughed and her voice seemed to tinkle musically. “Of course, I have no more knowledge than anyone else; no one knows what happens after we die. But I believe we are on a journey. And remember, we have our life energy. According to the laws of physics, energy can neither be created nor destroyed. But it can be changed. When we die, we change. That’s all. At least that’s what I have come to believe. Can you understand this? Can you free yourself to have faith?”
He tried again. “I still want you to stay at Inverness.”
“I can’t.”
“And if Cardinal Malachi ordered you to stay there?”
She shook her head. “We’ll discuss it later.”
Clay sighed and they embraced. He held her tightly. “I just love you so much. It’s weird, I don’t know how it happened...but I do love you. I didn’t know I was capable of loving anyone again. After Jody, I mean.”
“Oh Clay...!” She rested her head on his shoulder and they took comfort in their togetherness until they sank into fitful dozes.
On the bench opposite, Father Gallo opened his eyes for a moment and frowned. “Sorry people...no happy endings this time,” he muttered quietly.
~ 3 ~
“What is he up to,” Malachi grated, watching the screen and seeing the back of Father Gallo vanishing down a corridor carrying the case with the Relic in it.
“I’ll ask again: Any chance at all he killed Father Gant?” Cruickshank queried.
“No, no...Father Gallo somehow managed to escape from the killer and he’s trying to save the case.”
They were in a video viewing room at Scotland Yard. One half-finished coffee and one fully drained cup of tea sat on the conference table before them. Cruickshank pressed a button on the remote and the screen went blank. His two feet rested, crossed, on the table. His coat was off and he’d rolled up his sleeves. The buttons on his vest strained from his ample girth as he took a deep breath.
The Plan Page 45