“Darn, I left my reading glasses in the car,” Maria said.
Clay offered to get them and was soon down on a darkened deck dimly lit by security lights. He staggered among the parked cars as the ship pitched and rolled, staying erect by supporting himself with hands on different vehicles. He could see the Opel parked near the far bulkhead and made for it.
A shadow crossed one of the security lights.
Clay looked up. Nothing. Must be my imagination, he thought.
The ship rolled again. Bracing himself he started for their rental once more but caught a shadowy movement out of the corner of his eye. He stopped and stared towards where the movement had been. Again, zip. Still, as he squinted he found his heart beginning to pound a little harder. Visions of the witch-like little girl flooded his mind and he cursed himself for leaving the revolver in the carry-all with Maria. For a moment his thoughts turned to escape but, instead, he chastised himself for getting spooked. He started for their car again, but this time the heavy shadow moved directly in front of the security light and he saw the outline of something large, dark and menacing.
Abruptly the ship pitched and there was a rush of movement as the shadow charged him.
~ 5 ~
“Bishop Castilloux and I have been to Father Gallo’s quarters as you requested Mustavias, but we found little,” Monsignor Heinz Rautenberg said, speaking from his office in the Vatican. “Particularly since we didn’t know what we were looking for other than ‘something out of the ordinary.’ What is going on? Has Father Gant reached you?”
“Father Gant is dead,” Malachi said, flatly. He adjusted the phone to his ear. “And Father Gallo has the Relic and has set out for the Scottish Highlands.”
“Frederick is dead? How?” Rautenberg asked, his voice catching.
“We think Adramelech somehow knew he was coming in at Heathrow and tried to steal the Relic. Benito went to meet Frederick; he was a little luckier and managed to escape with it. Unfortunately, Father Gant was stabbed in the neck with his own Crucifix.”
“That depraved, sick, evil slimy bastard,” Rautenberg cursed. “I wish I were there to personally send him back to hell where he belongs.”
Malachi sighed heavily. “I know. Frederick was a good man.”
“And a devoted brother of the church. May God rest his soul.” Rautenberg was silent for a moment. He then brushed aside his sadness and his professionalism took hold; he got back to business. “Did you say Benito was on his way to Scotland?”
“As near as I can figure, he’s remembered where he was held captive and is bent on trying to put an end to Adramelech himself.”
“Is he totally addled?” Concern was evident in Rautenberg’s voice. “How does he expect to do that?”
“He has Sister Maria and the detective with him.”
“That should slow the Beast down for a full second or two. Lot of good they’ll do in a fight with an emissary from hell who eats people like breakfast cereal.”
“Father Gallo also has the Relic. Superintendent Cruickshank is trying to get a police helicopter to fly us to Inverness now. My only problem is to track him once we get there.”
“Who is with you? Should Austin and I come?”
“No time...you hold the fort. I have the Crusaders...and a late arrival...Father Murphy.”
“I’ve had several calls asking if I knew where Dermott Murphy was...now I do.”
“He said he felt he owed it to us to help since we saved his life.”
“I’m getting on a plane,” Rautenberg said.
“It’s too late, Heinz. Wait a minute, please!”
The Monsignor waited impatiently while Malachi held a side conversation and then he came back on the line. “Never mind, we have a copter...but it will only take six of us including the pilot and his police observer, so I will take two of the Crusaders – Fathers Oberon and Nathaniel – and Inspector Cruickshank.”
“What about Murphy? He’s a pretty tough hombre.”
“No...I have no idea what I’m going to find in Inverness but I think Ian Cruickshank, a Detective Chief Superintendent of Scotland Yard, will likely be more useful – able to grease some wheels there if we need cooperation or additional help. Oh, by the way, I have a satellite phone and will call you as needed.”
“Mustavias? For God’s sake...be careful.”
“John 5:1...We are of God...but the whole world lies under the sway of the wicked one. Careful is out the window, my friend. This may be our last go at this bugger.”
“Cardinal, it should be me there instead of you. You are worth far more to our cause. It doesn’t make sense to risk you.”
“Heinz, if it gets us, we need committed soldiers in the Vatican to carry on the good fight. And you, Jean and Peter must be ready to find others of suitable intellect, as well as the will to re-form The Seven and start again. I have left a letter on my desk in which I appoint you as leader should I...be incapacitated.”
“Cardinal, you do me a great honor but I doubt I can fill your shoes.”
“You are well qualified to lead The Seven, my friend. If we don’t kill it...then I have every confidence you will find this dark seed and put an end to it.”
“Are you saying good-bye, old friend? It sure sounds like it.” There was a catch in his voice and he covered it by clearing his throat.
“Who knows? Without meaning to be overly dramatic, we each go to our destiny and do our duty.” Malachi paused. “I’m beginning to sound like a rerun of an old war movie, am I not?”
“A little,” Rautenberg answered with a smile in his voice in spite of himself. “Still, they never faced a battle such as you are about to face.”
“Maybe not...but dead is dead. And that’s pretty much an iron-clad guarantee if we loose this one.”
~ 6 ~
With the shadow racing towards him at almost superhuman speed, Clay didn’t waste any time. He hoisted himself onto the hood of the nearest car and readied himself for a kick at his adversary.
“What do you think you are doing, lad? Get down from there!” came a voice out of the darkness as a rotund, grey-haired sailor clad in an oversized goose-down parka and watch cap slid to a stop in front of him. “That last wave almost sent me right through that kraut wagon there, thanks to you.” The man, obviously too well fed, gasped for breath after his unexpected “downhill” run.
“I-I’m sorry,” Clay said, the relief evident in his voice. “I thought you were someone else.”
“There’s someone else down here?” the crewman asked.
“No, I thought my friend had followed me down here.”
“Well, off the automobile please; the owner wouldn’t be very appreciative.”
“Right. Sorry about this,” Clay said, climbing down off the Volkswagen. “I just need some reading glasses from my car over there.”
Clay opened the Opel, grabbed the glasses and quickly made his way back to Maria, pushing himself off steel walls in the corridors as the seas became rougher. As it turned out, she wasn’t in the cafeteria and their table was empty. He made for the passenger lounge where he found Maria and Father Gallo arguing in low voices.
“What am I interrupting?”
“He hasn’t called Cardinal Malachi.”
“What?” Clay was both shocked and dismayed. “Why not?”
“Let me explain if I can,” Father Gallo said, wearily. “Many years ago, when I left your hospital room in New York, Adramelech was waiting in the shadows with the Little Witch. He took me and when I awoke, I was being held captive in some sort of medieval-style castle; I didn’t know where I was. He kept me for almost six months exposing me to the most horrible of sights, sights of hell and damnation. For some reason I was then set free and made my way to civilization. Some Good Samaritan took me to a hospital and word got to Cardinal Malachi who had me brought to the Vatican. Because of Mustavias, I am alive. And now, I am going to finish off this demon once and for all. When we dock, we’ll wait until dark. I will only n
eed your help until I’m inside his domicile; then you may leave and I will do what is necessary.”
“With the Relic?” Maria asked, nodding towards the aluminum case half under the bench and guarded by his legs and feet.
“Yes...with the Relic,” Father Gallo answered. “Cardinal Malachi told us of your first encounter with the Relic in the garden. Do you sense anything now, Maria?”
“Yes. I sense confusion. I sense anger. I sense betrayal.”
“From the Relic?”
“No, from you Father. You must feel betrayed by God to have let you suffer as you did but you must not let this feeling for vengeance impair your judgment.”
Gallo smiled. “God had nothing to do with it, my child. That demon is all powerful here on earth. And now, I must end its reign of darkness. So don’t impede me. Let me get on with my revenge.”
~ 7 ~
The wash from the Eurocopter EC 145 helicopter rotor blades beat down on Cardinal Malachi and Father Murphy as the men stood beside it, instinctively hunched over to avoid the blades. Off to the west, the sun, a gold ball, dropped steadily towards the horizon. Heavy clouds were already moving in and reducing the ambient light though it was just past six o’clock. The late autumn air was chilly but neither of the two men seemed to notice as they argued. They were standing at the heliport portion of the airport in Lippitts Hill, Loughton, where three Metropolitan Police Helicopters were based; two were now out on patrol and Chief Superintendent Cruickshank had called in a lot of favors to secure a third for the next 24 hours.
Murphy, dressed in a dark suit and long dark cape, held his broad-brimmed dark hat secure as Malachi, bareheaded, but sporting a borrowed police parka, shook his head emphatically.
“You must take me,” Father Murphy shouted at the cardinal.
“There is no room, Dermott. It’s been configured for four passengers and police cargo.”
“Leave the police observer.”
“We can’t. At least one police officer from the Air Support Unit must be aboard for us to fly. I’ll call you.”
“Call me?” Father Murphy said, his anxiety showing on his face. “You aren’t going to a dinner party, man.” He regretted his tone and words the moment they were out of his mouth. “Sorry, Your Eminence...I didn’t mean—!”
“Never mind Dermott,” Malachi said, with a smile. “It’s fine. Now, we have no time to waste. We have tracked them to Inverness so far. After that we have no idea where they are headed and no way of finding out, so it’s going to be a catch-as-catch-can. If you happen to find out anything or they get in contact with Heinz or Jean or yourself, call me. This is the number for my global satellite phone.” Malachi put a hand on Father Murphy’s shoulder. “Thank you for the offer.”
Fathers Robert Oberon and Kit Nathaniel, and Inspector Ian Cruickshank watched from inside the copter as Malachi finally jumped aboard and slammed the door. The police constable in the co-pilot’s seat made a pushing motion with his hand and Malachi locked down the handle to secure it as they rose into the air. At 100 feet, they saw Murphy looking up from the tarmac as the pilot advanced the throttle. The twin engines whistled and they were on their way through the evening sky towards Inverness. Though a carpet of London’s multi-colored jeweled lights seemed to stretch forever in every direction, it wasn’t long until they were over-flying the dark countryside.
“The pilot says we have a good tail wind so we should make it in about three hours – ETA about 9:00 P.M.,” Cruickshank said to the cardinal. “And this craft’s top range is about 700 kilometers so, with a little luck we won’t have to refuel.”
The pilot turned in his seat and shouted: “Myles Frazer.” He extended his hand backward and Malachi clasped it for a moment. “My observer, Police Constable Arthur Cockerill.” Both the pilot and the observer wore helmets sporting night vision goggles tipped up out of their way but ready to be lowered to eye level for night landings.
Malachi nodded and waved towards the two Crusaders. “Fathers Kit Nathaniel and Robert Oberon.” Both men waved and then decided to wile away the time by checking the heavy navy blue canvas bags of equipment they had brought on board. Both priests were wearing their white clerical collars again, he noted.
As they flew, Fathers Oberon and Nathaniel pulled their bags from the back, opened them and began to prepare. They used speedloaders to punch .50 caliber bullets into their revolvers and then reloaded the speed loaders, thumbed 9 mm Parabellum shells into their submachine gun clips, and counted their comprehensive supply of concussion, incendiary, stun and fragmentation grenades. Next they broke out six-inch square blocks of C-4 explosives, taped a few together and stored them back in their bags. Finally each pulled out a modified M16A2 rifle with a cut-down barrel for close-combat and then clipped PAQ-4 infrared scopes to them. Squeezing oil from time to time into appropriate spots and then wiping it off, they worked the actions to ensure the weapons would perform flawlessly. Next they pulled out carbon steel commando knifes, tested the blades with their thumbs and pushed them into sheaths which they strapped to the calves of their legs.
In the front, Constable Cockerill’s eyes became big as marbles as he stared at the priests and saw the arsenal they carried. He started to say something to the grim, unsmiling men but caught Cruickshank’s eye; the Chief Superintendent gave a barely perceptible shake of his head and the young policeman turned and assumed the eyes-front position. What he didn’t see was probably a lot better than what he was seeing, he decided.
The two priests, absorbed totally in their work, didn’t seem to notice. They continued checking equipment that included ropes, web harnesses, crossbows and bolts as well as mallets, stakes, Crucifixes, and plastic bottles of holy water. Each one took out and hung a cloth Immaculate Heart scapular around his neck and offered one each to the pilots, Malachi and Cruickshank. Malachi accepted his, hung it round his neck and tucked it under his turtle neck. The Chief Superintendent examined the green cloth with the image of the Sacred Heart on it and looked at the cardinal. Malachi held out his hands, palms up and said nothing. The superintendent decided that there was nothing to lose so he placed it around his neck. The pilot and observer exchanged questioning glances but did likewise.
With that, Cruickshank and Malachi let their heads rest back against the seat cushions and were soon fast asleep.
~ 8 ~
Father Dermott Murphy pulled up to the ramp at Stapleford Aerodrome in Essex. The light was almost gone. Among the many parked private aircraft, one over to his left blinked its landing lights on and off. He spun the rented Volkswagen and drove over to meet the pilot disembarking from his yellow Cessna 210 Centurion. The man motioned for him to park his automobile beside a small, half-moon, steel Quonset hut off to the right. The hut had a sign on top that was almost larger than the facility itself. It read: Grantham Air Charter Services.
Murphy parked the small car, took his heavy, oversize, canvas soft-sided suitcase, and lugged it over to the man. The pilot was wearing a ball cap, blue jeans, aviator sun glasses and a battered bomber jacket with pens and pencils sticking out of various sleeve pockets. The priest handed him an envelope with his left hand. “Dermott Murphy,” he said extending his other hand which the pilot shook. “One thousand pounds, sir. As agreed.”
The pilot accepted the money. “Colin Grantham,” he answered and was about to open the envelope and then gawked at Father Murphy’s white collar. “You’re a minister?”
“Catholic priest,” Murphy said, changing his grip on the heavy suitcase. The two Crusaders who had been left behind had been most generous with their wares. “Can we get started?”
“Quite,” Grantham said, in his proper-sounding, matter-of-fact English accent; he went to check the envelope, regarded Murphy’s collar once again, and pocketed it without bothering. He looked at the twilight, took off his sun glasses and stored them in a case which he had clipped to his belt. “As I said, she’ll cruise at a little over 300 kilometers an hour and we do have a tailwind so we sho
uld land in Inverness around 21:30 hours.”
“Nine-thirty?”
“Yes. Barring weather changes.”
“Is there a spot in Inverness where helicopters land?”
“I’d guess the heliport is also at the airport but I can check my Chart Supplement after take off.”
Murphy nodded. “Can I use a cell phone once we’re in the air?”
“Depends on your service. But I have a Globalstar satellite phone if you need to use one. It’ll work just about anywhere on earth. Now this is a night flight and we’ll be flying IFR, so if I tell you to hang up because it’s screwing up my navigation equipment or instruments, do it immediately.”
“Aye, no problem.”
They boarded the aircraft, and taxied to the end of the partially paved landing strip. There the pilot advanced the throttles with brakes on, ran up the engines and checked the magnetos and oil pressure. As it was an uncontrolled airport, he broadcast his intention to take off into the ether. Satisfied, he craned his neck to look around as much as possible out the Plexiglas cockpit windshield, released the brakes and eased the throttle to the wall. The aircraft responded and within seconds they were in the air. He banked at 1,000 feet and rolled it out perfectly onto his first heading for Inverness. They continued to climb for a few minutes but then quickly leveled off as the pilot explained he wanted to avoid having to get clearance from London ATC to enter the TMA zone.
Murphy pulled out his cell phone, dialed numbers to access the local London service and then shook his head. The pilot reached down and passed over his own Global Satellite telephone. Murphy listened as the service connected him and Malachi answered.
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