“What’s in the case?” Cruickshank asked. “We’re approaching the 24 hours I gave you.”
Malachi rolled his tired shoulders. “A weapon. A most formidable weapon.”
The detective’s feet came off the table with a bang and he sat up straight in alarm. “Tell me it’s not nuclear,” he said. “It’s not one of those suitcase nukes, is it!? Because we’ll have a real problem if it is? I mean it. This can’t go on–.”
Malachi couldn’t help chuckling at his reaction. “Relax Ian...take a valium...it’s a piece of wood.”
“Wood?”
“Yes...wood. Petrified wood.”
“Wood? That’s some weapon, my friend.”
“We think it is.”
“You actually mean a piece of wood with Semtex or C-4 or some type of RDX explosive tied or wired or nailed to it, right?”
The cardinal looked over at him. “The Wood of the Cross.”
“The cross? You’re having me on.”
Malachi looked at him again. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
Cruickshank stood up, his expression doubtful. Finally he shrugged. “Whatever you say. So...what’s next.”
“We have to find them. Photos of all three are being sent from the Vatican to your fax here as you suggested.”
“Fine. I’ll get all-points out and say they are wanted for questioning in the death of Father Gant. That isn’t far from the truth.”
“It’s urgent that we find them.”
“Do you think they left the city?”
Malachi shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Credit cards?”
“Photos, credit card information, driver license numbers; every pertinent detail we have on them should all be in your fax room right now.”
Cruickshank stood up. “I’ll get some people on it. If they bought tickets anywhere using their credit cards, we’ll soon have their destination.”
He left the room and Malachi went to the window and looked out on Broadway running beside the New Scotland Yard sign. What was his old friend Benito up to, he wondered? What worried Malachi most was that the old man seemed to have taken matters into his own hands. Rather than providing guidance, he was providing initiative. To take the Relic and go after Adramelech, he must be spoiling for revenge. But then more troubling questions came to mind. If Adramelech had tried to intercept and seize the Relic at the airport, how had he known about it? How did Benito get away? What was his destination? What had he told Maria and Clay Montague?
Within less than half an hour, Cruickshank was back with some notes scribbled on a yellow legal pad. “I have it. Your Father Gallo bought three tickets via Network Rail. They booked themselves to Glasgow and then booked three more from Glasgow to Inverness on Scotrail.”
“Inverness...where exactly is that?” Malachi asked.
“The Scottish Highlands,” Cruickshank said. “It’s a little over six hours to Glasgow and about three and a half to Inverness by rail....” He looked at his wristwatch. “So that means they are already there.”
“Inverness...” the cardinal mused. “Could Benito have remembered where he was held and is bent on finishing the job himself.”
“If I knew what you were talking about, I might comment,” the detective said, somewhat miffed.
“Sorry. In time...” Malachi said.
“Time? It’s long overdue, Mustavias. So what is it? A renegade has stolen funds from the Catholic Church? Possibly someone of rank? And based on the happenings at Highgate, he is also...criminally insane.” He paused. “Now I see. Father Gant stole a relic from the Vatican...this-this...piece of the cross? And Father Gallo was sent to intercept him.”
Malachi stared at the Chief Superintendent and shook his head. “Not even close.”
Cruickshank sat down and grunted. “Huh! Worth a stab, anyhow. So tell me.”
“We are hunting a demon that was sent from hell to torment the righteous and support sinners. An arch demon directly linked to Satan.”
“Blimey...now pull the other one; it has bells on it,” the Chief Superintendent said, with a sardonic smile. He stared at the cardinal trying his best to catch a glimmer of amusement in the man’s eyes. But Malachi just returned his gaze, his eyes deadly serious. Finally, Cruickshank chuckled. “You’re serious? A demon? Here on earth?”
“That’s right.”
“A flesh and blood demon who buys newspapers and has milk delivered to his residence, or a ghostie, will’o’the wisp demon that we never see, but we hear rattling chains and such?”
“The kind who rips the hearts out of a pair of London Bobbies in Soho, takes the head off another in Highgate, and eviscerates streetwalkers for pleasure,” Malachi said.
“The Ripper?”
“That’s what you call him...but we know him as Adramelech.”
The detective picked up his pencil. “Is that his first or last name?”
“That’s the only name he’s got. Listen to me, Ian. This is not a joke. We are not chasing a human fiend. This is a true demon from Genesis that has been here since time began. The Catholic Church first realized the veracity of the demon slightly more than 800 years ago. Since then, we have been hunting it and occasionally killing it throughout the ages.”
“Then...why is it here now...if you killed it, I mean?”
“Because he’s immortal, my friend. Each time we manage to kill him with a blessed pike or stake through his heart, or decapitation with a blessed sword, he has stayed down for years or even decades. But then, invariably, the murders start again and we soon find evidence that he’s alive once more and wreaking havoc on earth. In fact, we believe he’s aided some of the greatest mass murderers through the ages.”
The Chief Superintendent sat back in his chair and absentmindedly began pulling at his mustache. Abruptly he sat forward. “Mustavias, if you are toying with me...?” he threatened.
“No joke, Ian. As a Prince of the Most Holy and Apostolic Catholic Church, I give you my word. We are hunting something supernatural. This being has plagued mankind since its inception. As to its final purpose, we can only speculate.” Malachi watched the Chief Superintendent carefully to see if he was accepting the truth of the revelation or not.
“And it’s immortal? Can’t be killed?”
“Not permanently....at least so far. We know it has limitations but we know less than we’d like. The problem now is that Father Gallo has apparently convinced our private detective and Sister Maria – people we enlisted to help find it – that he can finish it off himself. And, I’m afraid he’s not going to be successful.”
“Out of curiosity, why do you think this ‘piece of the cross’ has any place in this drama?”
“One of the Dead Sea Scrolls, one that was never catalogued because we got to it first, hinted that if the Hellspawn was touched by the Wood–.”
“Hellspawn?” Cruickshank asked, interrupting.
“Another name for the demon. Anyhow, the scroll told us that if the demon was touched by the Wood – and we are assuming it’s the Wood of the Cross – then it would be forever vanquished. Killed once and for all.”
“Look, old boy, I respect your beliefs...I most certainly do,” Cruickshank said, stuffily. “But, really...I think we have to get a grip here.”
“These aren’t beliefs, Ian; these are facts, and you have the bodies to back them up.”
“This Ripper is a madman, no doubt...but he is a human madman.”
“Well you asked,” Malachi said, shrugging. “It’s really not important what you believe, Ian, but I need your help to find them.”
“You have that, Cardinal. I would say that your next move would be to fly to Inverness as soon as possible.”
There was a knock at the door and Cruickshank hollered: “Enter.”
A young constable stood in the doorway. “Chief Superintendent, there’s a Father Murphy here to see you. Or rather to see your guest – Mr. Malachi?”
Malachi sighed. “Show him in, Cons
table.”
~ 4 ~
When they reached Inverness, the weather was penetratingly chilly. A light fog rolled through the rental parking lot. Clay pulled Maria aside as Father Gallo went to rent a car for them. “I want you to stay here. We’ll get you a room in a hotel and when it’s over, we’ll be back for you.”
“I can’t stay here, Clay,” Maria insisted.
“Maria, I love you; I can’t take a chance on losing you.’
She looked up at him, her eyes earnest and full of feelings. “This isn’t about us. It’s about something much bigger. Cardinal Malachi brought me halfway round the world to help. None of us know what we’re facing and I can’t let anyone down. Everyone is at risk. So hush. Please!”
Father Gallo returned from the Auto Europe desk with car keys in one hand and a map and a travel book in the other. He’d rented an Opel Vectra Wagon. Handing the keys to Clay, and the map and book to Maria, he said: “Clay, you’ll drive and Maria will navigate.”
“Fine,” Clay said, his tone somewhat sullen. He was both disappointed and frustrated that Maria insisted on accompanying them. His instincts told him it wasn’t a good idea.
“Smile...we may be moving towards a defining moment in our lives,” the priest said, picking up his suitcase in one hand and the aluminum case in the other.
“I’ve had all the defining moments that I need in my life,” Clay responded trying not to sound bitter.
Maria and Clay had already checked their larger cases into lockers at the train station and transferred a few needed clothes into a single, smaller case belonging to Maria. The Ruger .44 and his ammunition and holster was also in their case wrapped in one of Clay’s shirts. Unfortunately, neither had packed any warm clothing. The elderly priest didn’t seem to be aware of the cold and dampness as they walked out to the automobile under grey clouds and stray wisps of fog. He had a raincoat on, at least.
“It’s okay, Clay,” Maria said to Clay who was exceptionally quiet. “Father...where are we meeting Cardinal Malachi?”
“In Stornoway. We’ll drive to Ullapool and take the ferry from there to Stornoway on Lewis Island.”
“Why aren’t we waiting for him here?” Maria persisted.
“Because there’s no time to waste. Now, my dear...we’d better go.”
A rental agent appeared and accompanied them to the automobile, helped place their bags in the car’s “boot,” and they were soon on their way. After a few minutes they were on the A9 on their way to Tore, a few miles north of Inverness. They would then turn onto the A835, a straighter, more open highway towards their final destination. They drove in silence.
The craggy and sometimes wooded land moved by more quickly as Clay increased their speed. The countryside changed slowly. Hugged by mists below the levels of the mountains, pale ghost clouds sifted through the valleys while the mountaintops, dark and soaked by freezing drizzle, poked through above like disembodied islands.
At a junction with A832 they came upon a magnificent waterfall plunging at least 150 feet into the chiseled, 200-foot deep Corrieshalloch Gorge. The road skirted the north edge of Loch Broom; Clay accelerated once more toward Ullapool.
“I figure it’s still about 90 kilometers to Ullapool but we’ve been on the road for almost an hour,” Maria said to Clay, holding a map and looking over the rims of a pair of drugstore reading glasses.
Clay felt his heart beat a little faster as he thought of how pretty she looked. “That’s because I can’t get any decent speed on these roads,” he answered, by way of diversion. “Also, I have to keep re-adjusting my thinking on what side I should be driving.” They drove for another 15 minutes.
“There’s lots of time,” Father Gallo said, finally. “The ferry doesn’t leave for hours.”
“Oh, we’re getting closer,” Maria said, looking at the map. We just have to go round this inlet.”
Less than 25 minutes later they reached Ullapool, a compact seaside community surrounded by low hills covered by a light dusting of snow. As they came over the rise and approached the town, they could immediately see the MV Isle of Lewis ferry sitting at dock, dwarfing the town buildings around it. The harbor was grey and unfriendly. Clay noted a choppy sea spotted with plenty of white caps as the small car reacted to a sudden gust of wind, heading for the road’s shoulder. He quickly regained control and straightened it.
They found it was easy enough to secure tickets thanks to the lateness of the season. As they lined up in the cueing area to board the ferry, Maria read a pamphlet saying that the vessel could take 970 passengers and 123 cars, and was the largest of the Caledonian MacBrayne fleet.
After being directed aboard the ferry, they had to leave their automobile for the duration of the journey. As the trio trudged from the B deck upstairs with hands in pockets, they could hear the clank of metal on metal and the hollow roars of the last few cars being driven onto the decks. The smell of oil and grease mixed with the sweet smell of gasoline, or petrol as the Brits called it, was everywhere. After the up and down ride in the automobile, Maria felt slightly nauseated and was glad to escape the smell by exiting the motor vehicle deck. Both Maria and Clay were shivering from the cold. Once on the passenger deck, they went in search of the ship’s gift shop while Father Gallo headed for the passenger lounge. The old priest had asked them to buy a flashlight since they might have to travel in the dark at some point.
The shop was well stocked with souvenirs as well as heavy clothing including a selection of traditional knit Irish Aran sweaters and weather-proof anoraks. They purchased three sweaters and three anoraks and a long, black metal, halogen flashlight.
“Aye, these will keep ye warm,” the lady sales clerk said. “It’s getting a wee bit brisk out there. Going for a late holiday, are ye?”
“I’m not sure where the hell we’re going,” Clay grumbled, more to himself. He was still disturbed that Maria chose to accompany them.
The clerk looked at him and smiled: “If ye don’t know where you’re goin’, how will ye know when ye get there.”
“A good point,” Clay answered, as he paid for their purchases with a Vatican Bank credit card issued in his name. The sale went through and Clay caught Maria looking at him.
“Oh Clay,” she said, in a teasing voice trying to lighten his mood as she accepted a yellow anorak. “You’ve bought matching colors for us.”
Clay realized she was right; no use trying to deny it. He’d bought a small and large yellow anorak for himself and Maria, and a medium in hunter green for Father Gallo. He mumbled something about visibility and made for the door with Maria following and the lady sales clerk grinning after them. “I’m sure you’ll have a fine time lad...wherever ye wind up,” she called
They carried the clothing back to the passenger lounge and found Father Gallo seated on a comfortable, upholstered vinyl bench seat with his bag beside him. He was carefully examining a map splayed out on a round coffee table secured to the floor in case of heavy weather. The priest nodded his thanks for the clothing that Clay put beside him on the bench seat.
“See where we’re supposed to go?” Clay asked.
“Why don’t you get something to eat,” Gallo inquired, without answering his question or looking up; he then added that he wasn’t hungry. They agreed to do so as the boat gave a blast of its horn and the deck vibrated ever so slightly with the throttling up of the engines. Through the window they could see the mountains surrounding the harbor sliding by and knew they were underway.
Though hungry, Maria and Clay decided to watch their departure before eating. They donned their new clothing and made their way to the aft upper deck where, outdoors, they discovered rows of red plastic seats in the open where they could watch the departure. They inhaled the bracing smell of the salt water and fought the wind to get to the seats, hanging on to each other and laughing, their concerns forgotten for the moment. As they sat down, a yellow, long-stemmed rose blew across the deck towards their feet and Clay snatched it up. “Where d
id this come from,” he said aloud looking around in vain for someone with a bouquet of flowers that might be short a yellow rose.
“I don’t know, but yellow roses are my favorite,” Maria said. “They signify happiness, friendship and ‘I care’.” She looked directly at Clay. “Which I do.” There was no coyness, no qualifications in her statement.
He stared back for a moment. Despite everything, he couldn’t help feeling joy at the fact they had admitted of their feelings for each other. Clay presented the rose to her. “For her ladyship.”
“Thank you, my knight,” she answered in mock earnestness, feeling somewhat silly but not caring.
They both smiled, a stolen moment. Clay looked into her dark, earnest eyes and saw that she did, indeed, love him.
“Let’s go by the railing,” Maria said, suddenly excited. Though they had barely sat down, they rose and lined up at the railing with a few other passengers to watch as their ship moved out and around Ullapool Point and headed for the mouth of Loch Broom. Next they worked their way up to the bow. They zipped up their anoraks and Clay pulled up Marias hood and fastened it. Her dark eyes flashed at him and she nestled close.
As they got out into open water to cross The Minch, the larger swells caused the ship to noticeably rise and fall, hesitate, stagger, and surge forward again as the propellers dug in. The bow was now sending up great sheets of spray and a cutting wind made both Maria and Clay turn around whenever it dug into the sea. They took the spray on their backs. After some time, with the mainland receding in the distance, and the smell of the salt air in their nostrils, they went below into the cafeteria and ordered bowls of steaming mutton stew. The ship was encountering heavier seas and they had to eat with one hand cupping their bowls to keep them from sliding off the table. Wisely the ship’s fitters had incorporated a raised beveled edge around each table to help keep plates and coffee cups from sliding off.
Though the MV Isle of Lewis was the largest in the fleet, the seas were getting heavier and more than a few passengers had stopped eating. With serious looks on their faces, they began to look for the lavatories. Neither Clay nor Maria felt sick. They commandeered abandoned newspapers from deserted tables to read. Clay found himself looking at The Hebridean newspaper.
The Plan Page 46