The Temple Legacy

by D C Macey

  ‘Welcome aboard, Helen,’ he shouted, half turning his head to project her name into the rear of the minibus. It was both a personal greeting and a public introduction to the first year students sprawled in informal comfort across the rear seating. Someone dropped the volume of the music playing in the back of the minibus as attention focused on the newcomer.

  A mixed bag of voices fired out the friendly and confident greetings that youth and close-knit groups so easily generate.

  ‘Hi H.’

  ‘Run while you still can!’

  ‘Hope you can cook!’

  ‘Hi there.’

  Helen half turned in her seat to get a better look into the rear of the minibus. She smiled and shouted a general greeting. ‘Hi everyone!’

  Her rich but gentle American accent registered at once, sparking general interest and producing a mock groan too. ‘Oh no, the cook’s American, it’s going to be hotdogs and hamburgers for every meal!’

  ‘You better believe it, baby!’ Helen responded, shaking a finger at the joker, Davy. ‘And your name’s down for double helpings: breakfast, lunch and tea.’

  The students cheered and someone ruffled Davy’s hair, then the banter died away quickly as somewhere in the back a volume control turned up and music again filled the rear.

  ‘That went well,’ said Sam, ‘though no cooking tonight. By the time we get there and get the tents up it will be well after eight. I propose fish and chips and a visit to the local pub.’

  The mention of pub filtered through the music wall and brought a ragged cheer from the rear.

  Helen settled back to enjoy the ride. Sam had planned the journey so they would be setting off as the evening rush hour subsided. The drive out of Edinburgh was easy and the minibus busied northwards in a gentle traffic flow. She had been across the River Forth several times now, but still looked forward to the journey, which gave her a thrill every time. Spanning the river were three impossibly long constructions, each one an awesome testament to man’s evolving technological ability and an inspiration to successive generations.

  They were crossing by the middle strand, the original road bridge. Immediately downstream, she had a spectacular view of the great old rail bridge: the Forth Bridge. Acclaimed as a wonder of the industrial age when it was first built, it still inspired today. The scale and vision of its construction had not diminished with time, just as its iron red colouring had been maintained by generations of painters.

  Turning to look upstream, she took in the third strand, the newest road bridge, now emerging like a shining silvery blade cutting across the river. Beyond that, she could just make out the bluish grey of a warship berthed in the Rosyth Dockyard. From the corner of her eye, Helen noted several of the students had unintentionally allowed their façade of cool disinterest to slip as they too peered through the windows to take in the spectacle.

  The bridges behind them, it took just twenty minutes to reach their motorway exit and they were suddenly driving through rural Scotland. Beneath bare green hilltops was a tightly packed jigsaw of woodland patches, hard worked fields of crops, and paddocks populated with grazing livestock. Villages slipped by, seen and gone almost before they registered. Little country towns passed in a flash, Auchtermuchty then Cupar.

  Then the minibus was turning, taking a yet quieter route north, leaving the main road just before it reached Saint Andrews, the home of golf. In what seemed just a few moments, the country road was channelled between high razor wire fences that split the landscape and defined the area. To her right, Helen could see a tall functional cylinder jutting into the sky - Leuchars air traffic control tower. She couldn’t see the runways but Sam assured her they were still there, though the base had been transferred to the army as budgets shrank and troops pulled out of Germany as part of the defence cuts.

  As they neared the main gates, she could see they were guarded by camouflage clad servicemen. They watched the minibus with unthreatening but inquisitive eyes as it drove by.

  Helen glanced at Sam; she sensed he had suddenly become a little pensive. He had told her something of his three years’ service as a junior officer. An exciting time, following which he had left the army, apparently without any regrets, returning to university to continue his studies and that had culminated in his PhD, and now here they were. She smiled and turned her attention back to the passing views, attributing his thoughtful face to a bout of nostalgia, triggered by the sight of the young soldiers guarding the gates to the base.

  The minibus left the base’s perimeter fence behind. A little further along the narrowing road, Sam steered the minibus off on to what was little more than a track that wound through thicker and thicker woodland. Occasional glimpses of wire fencing and the odd camouflaged building could be seen on the right hand side, but for the most part the landscape had become dense impenetrable woodland. The students had fallen silent as they craned to see where they were heading. Eventually a cheer arose as the woods opened up to show sky, then dunes, and as Sam cut the engine they all heard the sound of surf rolling up a beach just beyond the dunes. They had arrived.

  • • •

  The evening had finally darkened to night as the last of the students bundled across the sand and headed for their tents. Shrieks and laughter broke the silence as one or two stumbled en route and the clink of bottles indicated that at least one tent had bought extra drink in the pub to ensure they could carry on the party under canvas. Sam kept the minibus lights on until the students had all meandered to their tents and switched on their various electric lanterns and torches.

  As the dunes finally cleared of students, Sam killed the lights and engine. The dunes were dark and still. He and Helen got out of the minibus and moved a little away from the encampment into the darkness. They wandered into the dunes and sat facing across the sands to the sea. As their eyes slowly adjusted to the black night sky, Sam opened bottles of beer. He had managed to buy them at the end of the night while the students were busy being students, so they had not noticed, he hoped.

  Together they drank beer and leant back into the sand, staring up at the sky and watching as stars started to appear amidst the patchwork of night-time clouds. They marvelled at the blackness of the rural coastline and the sparkling scene above, shared more of their life stories and wondered quietly who else before them might have looked up to witness the same starlight scene.

  CHAPTER 3 - FRIDAY 3rd MAY

  Cassiter’s phone shrilled, pulling his attention away from the window through which he had been gazing down on the morning shoppers thronging Princes Street below. He was still relishing events in Dunbar as he answered the call.

  ‘Cassiter speaking.’ He listened intently to the voice coming down the line. It did not sound happy; in fact, having watched the media coverage mushroom over the previous 36 hours, Eugene Parsol was furious.

  Finally, his rage began to lessen and the tone in the voice changed. ‘…and yet it looks like a good outcome in spite of the unfortunate news coverage. We have moved the trail forward another stage, from the old minister to this Edinburgh church,’ said Parsol. Still annoyed, he could not quite allow his acknowledgment of Cassiter’s positive result to stand without qualification. ‘Perhaps the link was so logical this church should have been checked and picked up long ago.’

  Cassiter did not bother interrupting to say it had been investigated more than once. If anything was there, it was well hidden. He listened in silence, knowing that no matter how angry Parsol was, he, Cassiter, was by far the best man for this work. Parsol and others like him, corporations and even some countries, did from time to time need particular types of service and Cassiter was the man who always delivered. Rather, Cassiter and his team always delivered.

  Parsol appreciated Cassiter’s application and dedication, admired his ability to stoically oversee the sifting of information, month after month without any deviation or flaw. It was an invaluable trait. His ability to respond with extreme prejudice when needed was also considered
an essential aspect of the skillset. The only flaw, if indeed it was a flaw, was when Cassiter occasionally surrendered to his enthusiasm for the more brutal aspects of his craft.

  The speed and volume of words pouring into Cassiter’s ear finally subsided as the grumbling calmed and Parsol returned to business. He ran through the list of activities they had agreed the previous morning.

  Cassiter snapped to attention and mentally checked off the points. Each had already been initiated: identify which church featured in Buchan’s photograph, identify the other minister in the picture, check who worked at the church, identify key members of the congregation, develop personal profiles, get some inside knowledge, note any unusual external links, and keep off the radar.

  Cassiter was quite happy with this approach. It was logical and the most obvious next step in their journey, and as he thrived on anonymity he had no intention of putting himself on anyone’s radar. He was just as happy searching out key personal information as he was searching out key physical pressure points and as he often reminded himself, he was not a greedy man. For the moment, he had more than sated his own predilection for other people’s pain.

  • • •

  Set back from the beach, in the narrow sheltered space between dunes and woodland fringe, the campsite was a perfect spot: protected from the wind and open to the sunshine.

  To the north end of the campsite were two large tents, the expedition’s workshop and store. Slotted between the tents were the minibus and its trailer, now decoupled. Helen’s cook zone had been established to the south end of the site. Joining the two ends was a neat row of accommodation tents.

  Her first campsite evening meal ready, Helen banged a large steel ladle on the back of an aluminium folding chair. It did make a loud noise, but she was a little disappointed that it lacked the frantic chowtime ring she remembered from summer camps back home. ‘Chowtime, come and get it!’ she called. In any event, the banging and her shouting produced the desired outcome.

  From behind the trestle table that she had set up as a servery, she watched the students emerge from their tents. Now cleaned up after a day in the dunes, the cheery babble of students approached at speed, signalling Helen’s moment of culinary reckoning.

  ‘Form a queue from that end,’ she shouted, while waving them to one side. To her surprise the students obeyed, falling meekly into line, then she realised she was still holding the giant ladle, brandishing it like a weapon. She put it down.

  The students’ babble rose again as they waited hopefully for tea. Helen turned from the trestle table and picked up a prepared plate containing what may well have been the world’s most unappetising hamburger and hotdog rolls. She had been keeping them warm on the gas griddle behind her for most of the afternoon.

  ‘Where’s Davy? He’s first! Special order!’ she called out to the student who had teased her cooking skills in the minibus the previous evening. ‘I knew this is what you’d want,’ she said, handing over the plate amidst cheers from the other students. ‘Can I get you any sauce or mustard?’

  He grinned sheepishly as the other students crowded round, cheering, jostling and pressing him to eat up without complaint. Helen reached across the servery table and pulled off a covering cloth. ‘Self-service everyone, help yourselves.’

  A murmur of appreciation spread through the group and they closed in on the table and its appetising spread, with neither hotdog nor hamburger in sight. Helen relieved Davy of his special order, waving him towards the table. He didn’t need a second invitation.

  Later, the meal over, Helen and Sam sat on one end of the servery table drinking coffee and soaking up the peaceful atmosphere. Four or five paces in front of them was an identical trestle table, the main dining table, currently surrounded by students. Their eating done too, the students were relaxed and a gentle murmur of contented voices covered the site.

  Davy stood up and brandished Helen’s giant ladle. ‘Come on everyone, let’s get this place cleaned up,’ he said, then swung the ladle in Helen’s direction, ‘and you, stay where you are. We can deal with this lot.’ The ladle swung round to embrace the students and the cluttered tables. ‘By the way, Helen, thanks, that was really great scoff.’ His words were echoed by a ripple of thanks and approval that ran around the table as the students rose and started to clear up.

  Helen beamed a smile towards Davy and the whole group; elbows resting on the table she raised her coffee mug in acknowledgement and thanks. ‘God bless you all,’ she called back.

  Sam and Helen watched as the students carried the dirty dishes and debris away to the clean-up zone. Sam grinned at her. ‘They’re right you know; the food really was great. You seem to have made some new friends for life over there,’ he nodded towards the busy students.

  Helen smiled back at him. ‘Hmm, cupboard love I’ll bet. Anyway, I’ve had a lifetime of church picnics and summer camps. If I couldn’t organise this little group there would be no hope for me.’

  ‘Well, there’s certainly hope for you,’ said Sam, leaning forward and allowing his lips to brush her cheek. She chuckled and turned her face towards him so their lips just touched in the lingering prelude to a kiss. The moment was brought to an abrupt end by a round of raucous whistles and shouts. They separated, laughed and waved back at the students before settling down again to talk.

  ‘What’s the plan for tomorrow?’ asked Helen.

  ‘Well, today we marked out the areas we want to survey. Next, we are going to do a detailed survey and a little bit of digging. Just in a small sample area first, to give the students some practice, then we’ll spread out over the coming days. That’s about it I guess. Nothing like a bit of digging to keep you busy. It’ll keep us entertained for the next couple of weeks, that’s for sure.’

  CHAPTER 4 - WEDNESDAY 15th MAY

  Jim Barnett paused as he stepped out of the manse’s front door and, turning back, he offered an outstretched hand to John Dearly. The minister stood in the doorway of his manse and took the tall slim man’s hand, shaking it warmly, smiling in spite of his own personal sadness.

  Jim Barnett had attended the previous Sunday’s church service and they had chatted over coffee afterwards. He seemed enthusiastic, wanting to join in and participate as much as possible, so John had asked him to visit at the manse today, to get to know him a little and explore where Jim could be included in the work of the congregation. The visit had gone well and John was confident that Jim Barnett would make a real contribution to the church.

  ‘You’re very welcome here, Jim. I’ll pass your details on to the elders to make sure they get you involved in things. A new member joining our church is always a reason to rejoice. You should settle into life here easily enough too, it’s a friendly place,’ said John. For just a moment his face dropped, and the morning sun instantly caught the change in his features, highlighting the depth of his inner turmoil. ‘It’s just a little difficult at the moment, with my predecessor passing away so unexpectedly. Everyone’s a little upset, that’s all.’

  Jim’s accent was from the west, probably Glasgow, but hard to pin down exactly. His face split into something between a sympathetic smile and a nervous grin. ‘I’m sorry about all that. I’ve seen the papers, horrible, sick! Don’t worry about me these next few days. I can see to myself,’ he shrugged. ‘You and the congregation must be cut up about it all, don’t bother any of them over me just now. I’ll just keep coming along to church on Sundays and we’ll see how it goes. We can link up properly when the dust settles.’

  John Dearly nodded, acknowledging the man’s consideration. Jim’s face seemed middle aged with its craggy lines but it could equally be younger. Perhaps the face of a man who has spent a lot of time working outdoors or drinking spirits or perhaps both. He watched as Jim Barnett walked out of the driveway and turned, disappearing along the road. Standing alone on the doorstep John quietly savoured the moment. Even in this mad cruel world there were always new people to be found, good souls to step forward: always
something or someone new to help maintain his faith in humanity.

  Further along the road, Jim Barnett was making a phone call and trying to maintain a steady pace as he weaved through a rabble of mothers, prams and pushchairs that were heading for the church hall and the church’s regular parent and toddler group.

  Barnett’s phone call connected and he spoke briefly. ‘I’m in, no problem at all. It’ll just take a week or two to get properly embedded while they come to terms with the death of the old man in Dunbar. I’ll keep you posted.’ He hung up, pocketed the phone and picked up the pace, moving swiftly away from the happy family sounds that so irritated him.

  • • •

  In his office, Cassiter smiled. He now had someone on the inside. A little bit of patience would be needed while his man was accepted and settled in, then they would at long last be able to draw this to a conclusion. He called Parsol; this news would put the man in a better mood.

  • • •

  Their time in the Fife dunes had come and gone in a rush. Sam would be leading them back to Edinburgh in just a couple of days, content that the students’ survey and dig had thrown up a range of readings and a few artefacts they could study and report on next term. However, it had not been one of the department’s more exciting expeditions and a slight air of anti-climax hung over the camp. Sam needed another target to round off the last couple of days, one that would keep the students busy and rekindle enthusiasm before they wrapped up for the summer.