FRANKS, Bill

by JESUIT

  At the same time as she had attacked the van, a lion and lioness had struck at the Rangers vehicle, leaping onto the canvas top, ripping it with their strong claws. The lion with the large mane, nine-feet long and 560 pounds in weight landed behind the Rangers before they had chance to bring the rifles into action. In one movement, it was through the flimsy canvas backing of the cab and had the driver by the neck, its teeth burying into the soft flesh as it choked him. A heavy paw came over and tore an arm from him just as the lioness struck at the other Ranger. Her lunge hit him in the chest, biting into the flesh and bone. Slightly less in size than the lion but still a most formidable eight feet carrying 450 pounds, it sent him crashing through the windscreen and onto the bonnet, where it literally tore him to pieces.

  Graham and the occupants of the Range Rover were shocked and sickened at the terrifying sight, the driver frantically turning the vehicle back in the direction of the main gates. Misjudging the speed in his panic, he turned too fast and toppled the Rover over onto its side. The driver and his mate, who had suffered a broken arm in the crash, scrambled free and made a run for the fence. Before they had covered twenty feet, two sleek and beautifully marked Tigers were upon them. The driver was caught by the leg and dragged bleeding to the ground while the other prison officer found himself covered by a 450-pound beast and felled.

  The pig-like snuffling of the Tigers as they ate their screaming prey could be heard by those still struggling to free themselves from the stricken vehicle. Knowing that their chances of survival were remote if caught in the Rover, the decision was instantly taken by each individual to take their chance outside and scale the high perimeter fence. Fortunately for them, at that very time, the beasts of prey were engaged in their present attack, the two remaining lions finally reaching inside the police car to feed on the horrified officers within.

  As the men got out of the Land Rover and ran to the fence, Graham behind Clive, expecting Sallie to be on his heels, Ignatious, now freed from his shackles, looked into Sallie’s wide and frightened eyes. “You are safe with me, child,” he said, his voice incredibly calm in the mayhem going on about them. “I will take you out of here. Do not worry.”

  Sallie was mesmerised, shocked by her thoughts. “Wonderful God that you are, take me here, in this hell. Take me! Rape me! Hurt me!” Part of her wanted to rush to the fence with her lover but the strength of the Jesuit’s aura bound her mind in a vice-like grip. She was utterly powerless to resist.

  Reaching the fence and realising that his love was not with him, Graham turned in alarm. He saw her exiting the Rover with the Jesuit close behind just as the nearest tiger stood away from its victim, eyes red and shining, face covered in blood. It looked to the men scrambling up the fence then back at Ignatious and the girl. In that moment, Graham, heart breaking, realised that he could not save her and, the will to survive taking over, he leapt up the fence and began to race frantically for the top.

  The tiger turned again and its mate also arose, attention now all on the fleeing men on the fence. As one, they hurtled forward, growling and leaping at the fence, tearing the feeble humans from it with mighty paws. Clive had just reached the top, which was protected by razor wire and, in a moment of bravery, he reached down to grab the arm of his Superior and drag him a vital foot higher up, causing the measured leap of the tiger to miss him by inches. Screaming in pain as the razor wire sliced into his body, Clive draped himself over the barrier and urged Graham to quickly climb over him to safety. Not hesitating, Graham slipped over Clive’s body, placing as little weight as possible on him, and prepared to drop to the ground. Unfortunately, at the vital moment, he slipped, instinctively grabbing his partner and pulling him from his position and further onto the wire. Both men hurtled to the ground, landing in a stunned heap, where they lay unconscious.

  On the other side of the perimeter, lions had approached the tigers and were joining in the unexpected feast, to the accompaniment of the trumpeting of elephants and the nervous whinnying of the antelope.

  By the time the Rangers arrived, some staying on the outside of the enclosure, the gruesome affair was over. Those entering the inside of the compound had been delayed by the rhinos who were in an aggressive mood for many minutes after being hit by powerful tranquilliser darts and threatening to charge the insignificant jeeps. They reached the devastation as the animals casually dispersed, walking off as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

  None of the Rangers had had the time to wonder at the man and the woman who had emerged from the melee to walk calmly past the attack scenes to the gates, and who were just being allowed through by stunned Rangers there. The couple moved through the gathering crowds to a taxi rank and entered the first vehicle. “St. Cecelia’s, Pangbourne, please, driver,” instructed Ignatious.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Sitting close to the Jesuit in the rear of the taxi, Sallie could not shake the feeling of rapture, even though, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she hated it. Why not have me here, in the back of the taxi? Take me now, as I am – whatever you wish! The wicked thoughts invaded her again and again.

  At last, the cab arrived at the church, where Sallie paid the fare plus a reasonable tip for the driver. Ignatious ushered her to the vestry door and knocked.

  Father McCahill was surprised to find the Jesuit on his doorstep, especially after seeing him arrested and his vehicle towed away by the police. “Hello, Brother,” he boomed, happily. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He laughed. “I thought you must have committed murder at the very least! Come in. And, who is the young lady?”

  Ignatious smiled pleasantly. “Thank you, Father. This is Sallie; she is a friend of mine. She wanted to come along with me and see your interesting little room.”

  “Ah,” said the priest. “I can understand anyone being interested in that.”

  In the short telephone call of two days ago, when Ignatious made the appointment to visit, Father McCahill had mentioned a special room in the church, which he would like the Jesuit to see. It had only recently been discovered and dated back at least three centuries, probably more. He had said no more than that, but it had been enough to gain the interest of Ignatious.

  Once inside, the three sat down to the usual tea and cakes as Ignatious began his tales of adventure in the Amazon after convincing the priest that the arrest had been a dreadful mistake. Father McCahill was fascinated by the stories and strangely drawn to the wonderful being that had entered his domain. He had wanted to ask about the lovely young woman but his brain would not move in that direction, the Holy Brother filling his head.

  The Safari Park had become a scene of frenetic activity. Ambulances, T.V. crews, newspaper reporters and police were jostling around the entrance gates waiting for the all-clear from the Rangers within the enclosure, who were hunting down the wild beasts and sedating them with darts. Cameras were flashing constantly, even though there seemed little to photograph at that time.

  As soon as the word came, the gates were opened and in drove two ambulances, hurrying to the scene of horror. Hardened to sickening sights through their experiences sorting out motorway victims, the paramedics went about their grisly work in a quietly efficient manner. Not a single body was intact. However, the occupants of the breakdown truck that had come to remove the wreckage were amazed to discover two injured, but alive members of the forensic team, huddled together in a recess of the vehicle, shuddering in shock in their unconsciousness.

  On the perimeter, the two detectives had been assessed and treated on the spot before being whisked away to hospital in a low-slung vehicle. The elder one, Graham, seemed to be suffering only from concussion and a few scratches and bruises whilst the other was badly lacerated along the front of his body where the razor-wire had sliced deeply into him from the weight of his companion. Whilst Graham would be released from hospital within a couple of hours, after undergoing a thorough examination, Clive would remain there for another two weeks and would not retur
n to duty for a further month.

  The conversation in the vestry finally came around to the hidden room, a conversation from which, strangely, Sallie allowed herself to be excluded. She rose to follow the priest and the Jesuit as they made their way into a conservatory that backed onto a wall of the ancient church. In here, the priest, smiling knowingly, gripped a protruding stone and pulled. Amazingly, a section of the wall moved silently and smoothly inwards; the mechanism, untouched since its installation, working as easily as any modern day appliance. The door slid back into place once the last person stepped in.

  The room beyond revealed an area of around twenty five feet square, lit by a narrow window of thickened glass, measuring about six feet by one. Along the walls were several oil lamps placed in the original torch holders and being the only concession to modernisation. There was no mistaking the intent of the room – it was clearly designed for torture.

  Dotted around the walls were several sets of shackles around which dark stains and splatter marks could be seen. These would be the entrenched marks of blood carried down the centuries.

  In one corner, stood a mediaeval brazier with the various iron implements still stored in it and, next to that, a small, thick wooden table was secured into the brickwork. It resembled a smaller version of a butcher’s table and on it lay several iron items, designed no doubt, to inflict agony on the unfortunates brought here.

  The focus of attention was two other wooden tables that took up the centre of the room, standing side by side. They resembled, even more, butcher’s tables except that they were adorned with straps and shackles. The telltale stains were again in evidence.

  For several minutes Ignatious stood silent as the ghosts of the place came to him, soaking into his body, invading his mind. He could plainly hear the screeching and pleading of the victims as they sought relief from the expertly delivered pain.

  Breaking from his trance-like state, he turned his gaze upon Sallie. She looked at him in alarm for a brief moment and then her face relaxed and she smiled – a smile of undisguised lasciviousness. Yes, my God! Yes! I am yours. You desire me now! I want you – take me!

  She began to peel off her blouse, the eyes, dark and clouded, looking into her Saviour’s. Next came the skirt, and then the shoes, kicked off in wild abandonment, and the stockings she chose in preference to the sexless tights, followed by the bra. She stood, attired only in her flimsy panties, her firm breast standing firm and proud, as the men gawped at her, even the Jesuit being gripped by the beauty.

  The ghosts of the ancients shrieked into the room as Sallie, without spoken command, climbed onto one of the tables and lay on her back, arms and legs outstretched, the smile still playing on her lips.

  Ignatious turned his attention to the transfixed priest, boring into his mind. “Yes, Father,” he said quietly. “I can read into your thoughts and into all the thoughts you have ever had.”

  Father McCahill heard yet did not. He was staring at the near-naked woman on the table with his mind held by the invading forces.

  “Secure her to the table, Father. Use the straps at the edge of the table to fasten her left arm.”

  The priest moved forward and carried out the Jesuit’s bidding. The spirits screeched ever louder. Sallie was fully compliant, even making it easier for the fumbling man to do a proper job by moving her arms and legs into the various positions. At the end, she was firmly strapped with arms and legs apart but able to move her head.

  “Now,” said Ignatious, his voice calm as usual. “Touch her Father. You want to, don’t you? She’s not too old for you is she, Father? I know you like them quite a bit younger.”

  As Ignatious spoke, the priest began to run his hands over the imprisoned woman; tenderly at first and then more vigorously, kneading the firm flesh, squeezing at the exposed breasts. The thing he wanted most in the world at that time was to get onto the woman, get inside her. His lust was a raging inferno.

  “No, Father,” the quiet voice again. “You cannot have intercourse with her. To touch is sufficient. Better than your dreams, Father; your fantasies as you lie in bed. This is the real thing. Enjoy it while you can.”

  He watched as the inflamed priest extracted his lustful pleasure from Sallie, touching wherever he could, his desire reaching fever point. He turned to the Jesuit, with eyes pleading to be allowed to complete the act.

  The stare that returned was cold and hard. “You are a disgraceful sinner, Father McCahill. Your memory has told me that this is your third parish and that you have been moved due to your activities with those whom you are sworn to protect. Age and marital status have meant nothing to you, have they? You have preyed on those unfortunate beings and satisfied your evil urges.”

  Father McCahill turned away from the still smiling Sallie, and dropped to his knees in front of Brother Saviour. Holding his arms upwards, his hands clasped, he begged for forgiveness. Ignatious, however, was not in a forgiving mood and castigated him further until the wretch was in a blubbering heap face-down on the cold, stone floor.

  “Get up now,” commanded Ignatious. “I want you to go into your garden and pick me some flowers.” Ridiculous though this sounded at a time like this, the priest raised himself to his feet and listened as Ignatious detailed the varieties he required. “Bring them to me together with a bowl of boiled water. Go now. Hurry!” he said.

  Father McCahill rushed to the door, pulled at a small stone set in the wall near to the doorway and hurried through as soon as enough space was cleared. The door closed to on his exit.

  Turning to the prostrate woman, Ignatious said: “Sallie. I want you to do something for me.”

  The lascivious smile returned as she looked toward him. “Yes. Anything.” Now is the time. Now he will come to me!

  “I want you to phone a mutual acquaintance. Will you do that?”

  “Yes. Yes.” Hurry, my God. I need you.”

  Reaching inside Sallie’s handbag, he found the mobile and turned it on.

  “What is your ID, Sallie?” She offered it up immediately. “6742” Ignatious punched in the code and waited for a line.

  “Tell me the home number of Detective Inspector Sampler,” he said then. Again, the number was offered without delay. On hearing the dialling tone, he put the phone next to Sallie’s ear. “Get Mrs. Sampler here, urgently,” he commanded in his quiet voice.

  Bethany’s voice came through clearly so that Ignatious was able to hear but not quite make out the words said. “Hello. Beth Sampler speaking.”

  “Oh, hello, Bethany,” opened Sallie, as though speaking to a life-long friend. At the other end of the line, Bethany froze, recognising whom this was. “Graham is on his way here and he wants you to meet up with him. Now. It’s very important.”

  “Very good, Sallie,” murmured Ignatious.

  Bethany forced herself to speak through gritted teeth. “Why didn’t he tell me that himself when he phoned a quarter of an hour ago?”

  Unfazed, Sallie continued: “I’ve only just contacted him and he didn’t have time to get back to you. He asked me to give you a call.”

  Asked her to contact me? thought Bethany, infuriated. “Where are you and why do you need me there?” she asked, icily.

  “I am at the church of St. Cecelia’s in Pangbourne. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes I do. Now, why am I wanted?” asked Bethany sternly.

  “Oh, I think you know that,” came the mocking reply. “We both know what we need to talk about.” A loud click told Ignatious that Bethany had slammed the phone down. He took the mobile from the smiling Sallie. “That was very good, Sallie. Very good indeed.”

  Just then, the chastened Father McCahill returned with a steel bowl containing steaming water and carrying the required flowers in a pocket of his priestly gown. “Where shall I put these, Brother,” he asked, his eyes diverted to the floor in deep humility.

  “Put them on that small table in the corner, there and then kneel and pray beside the young woman that you hav
e just defiled.”

  “Yes, Brother,” he said, almost in tears as he shuffled speedily to the table. “Please give me your forgiveness and allow me into Heaven. I am wretched. I am a sinner most foul. I beg your absolution.”

  “Do as I say,” said Ignatious in return.

  The priest hurried to carry out his orders, ending as instructed, on his knees by Sallie’s position.

  Scooping up the petals from the table, Ignatious placed them into the bowl and, using one of the ancient implements, began to stir them in one direction and then the other until the water became a deep rose colour.

  In order to allow the poison, for that was what he had brewed, to settle, he had to let it cool. Turning to the praying priest, he told him to bring the woman into the secret room when she arrived, which would be in about forty-five minutes. The intonation of the prayers hummed on, the whispering of the ghosts adding to the eeriness of the occasion.

  Whilst the mixture was cooling, Ignatious addressed Sallie again:

  “Tell me the mobile number of Detective Inspector Sampler,” he said. Again, the number was offered without delay. Ignatious punched in the given digits and, on hearing the dialling tone, he put the phone next to Sallie’s ear. “Get him here,” he commanded.