by Ken Fry
They dashed to the door, not knowing she had a fifteen-minute head start on them.
Shepard grabbed a bottle of Bourbon, poured a massive shot and slumped into a sofa to take a full throat of the golden liquor. His mind began to whirl. If they don’t find her, that would change everything. He would have to take the painting by force.
There was no need to call Brodie now. He had nothing to bargain with.
§
Bower couldn’t prevent the random images and thoughts that had begun to appear with increasing regularity into his mind. At first, he ignored them, but now their persistency was becoming annoying. He was concerned about Martha. He needed her. Only when she was about was he able to find some peace. He didn’t like to mention it to Brodie in case it was only a wishful mental trick of some sort, but he had felt her presence and he knew, knew with certainty, that she was safe and unharmed by her ordeal. But to tell Brodie could give false hope.
In the background, he heard the sound of the phone ringing. He leapt from his chair and hurtled into the room.
Brodie had already snatched the phone. “Yes, Shepard.” He tried to sound calm and reassured.
It wasn’t Shepard. It was his daughter.
“Dad! I don’t have time to explain, but I esc–”
“Martha!” He couldn’t believe his ears.
“Yes, Dad, listen! I’m at The Hotel Pedro Sanchez. They don’t know where I am, but they will be searching. Please, come and get me now! I’m getting desperate by the minute.”
“I’m coming right now. Hang in there.” He slammed the phone and turned to the others.
“It’s her,” he spoke in a rush. “Martha, she’s managed to escape. I know where she is and I’m going there now.” He turned, grabbed his car keys, and rushed off. They heard the gates open and the roar of the engine as he sped away.
“Our prayers have been answered.” The Abbot made the sign of the cross. “God be praised.”
Maria stared at Bower. “Are you okay, John?” She had noticed his odd expression. “Let’s hope she will be back here soon.”
“She will. And I think some very odd things could be happening,” he said out of nowhere.
Maria stared at him hard, and for the first time, she was able to read him.
He looked at her with a wide expression as he felt her inside his head.
Deus Vult!
Beauséant!
They had heard each other and embraced.
Bower felt reassured. A door had been opened for him to join a very exclusive club.
CHAPTER 49
Thirty minutes later, the car screeched to a stop outside the hotel. Brodie ignored the parking restrictions, jumped out and rushed into the foyer. Martha was there and she rushed to him with arms wide open, before she burst into tears.
“Oh Dad, I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Not a chance, but I thought the same about you. C’mon, no more tears. We can’t stay here. They could be searching for you and I’m no match for those two heavies. Hurry now!”
He propelled her to the door and then into the waiting car. He had to get back to Guadamur before he could feel safe. He ignored the speed limits.
She briefly explained what had happened at the gates and the way she had been treated and tied up. They hadn’t physically touched or harmed her, but she said she didn’t know how long that would have lasted.
Brodie gripped the wheel hard and he knew in his heart he could do damage to people, kill people if he really had to, especially when it came to his daughter being threatened. Custodio Baez had never truly left him. He had a feeling that he would be visiting soon as Maria had recently suggested to him. This was to be the way of the warrior. There were no other cards to play.
“What’s going to happen, Dad?”
“I don’t know, but when he realises you’re gone, he’ll be furious.”
“How’s John?”
“Very quiet. There’s something going on with him. From being a brash, flash humdinger of a casino owner and more, he’s got introverted and often stayed away from us.”
The rain, unusual for the time of year, began to lash down. Brodie slowed the speed. Old memories of car chases with him and Ulla being shot at filled his mind. To his surprise, he found that he missed it.
§
Alexis and Bruno came back empty handed to a foul tempered Shepard. He looked as tense as a man discovering he was standing on a land mine. He had also drunk too much Bourbon.
“You pair of arseholes. How the fuck did you let a slip of a girl get away? The damage is done now and nothing we can do will change that. No doubt she’s back with that load of physic nutters at the crazy cow’s hizzy. It’s time for war and time to tool up. We have guns, ammos, two grenades, Zippos, and plenty of straw to burn. Also, we have thick army blankets to place across those wires if we have to. It’s gonna get hot in that little oven and they’ll know what a baked potato feels like when we’ve finished with them. The painting in our hands or not, that cozy bolt hole is going to look like a box of burnt out matches by the time we finish. Are you two apes up to this?”
An unspoken message passed between Bruno and Alexis.
Bruno said, “It’s a big job, Mr. Reverend. We’ve surveyed the place and the only possible way in is around the back, where a mound reaches up to the top of the wall. There’s one other thing...”
“What’s that?”
“The painting.”
“What about it?”
“If we get it, we want a fat bonus.”
“I might have guessed you two would pull a stunt like this. What if I say no?”
“We walk away right now.”
“You can’t do that. Besides, I haven’t paid you.”
“You’re about to.”
Both men pulled out their guns before he had time to react. He didn’t hesitate. “Okay, yes to a bonus.” He held his hands up from outstretched arms. “How much?”
“One hundred thousand US dollars.”
“That’s ludicrous. I can’t afford that.” He heard the sound of safety catches flicking off. “Easy boys, easy.” Sweat began breaking out all over his head and down his back
“Well?” The pistols were now raised and pointing right at him.
“Agreed. I agree.”
“Now, we want what you owe us up to now, and we mean now. The bonus when the job’s done, Okay?”
“Agreed. I’ll get your fees right now. I’ll be a minute.”
They kept their guns ready to fire.
He soon returned with their cash, which he handed over, but with a silent promise to himself that he would get rid of them too, somehow.
After one final check on the equipment, they loaded them into the truck.
§
It was time to talk. They all gathered around the table, including George who had been busy fashioning a garrote. Luciana sat next to Garcia. Bower remained silent and kept his eyes on Maria and Martha. He felt a mystery emanating from them both, distinct and undulating. He had been deeply relieved to see her returned safely as had all the others. Garcia had quizzed her closely and made copious notes of everything she said. They were all agreed that she was a remarkable and a very courageous young woman.
During that questioning, Bower couldn’t help asking the question to himself. What will become of her? She doesn’t seem to be of this world. It’s like she’s stepped out of my Book of Miracles back home. She would fit into that book with no trouble at all. The more I see her, the more I’m aware of her thoughts, and she mine. Is she from another dimension of time and space? Brodie’s her dad, and he’s had his moments too, and so has Maria and also the Abbot. Where do I fit in here? It’s beyond me ... but I surrender to and accept whatever it is.
Brodie’s commanding voice brought him out of his reverie. “We’re not out of this yet. Expect an attack of some sort either from the weak spot at the rear or the front gate. There’s no other way in. All the windows are barred. When Shepard ge
ts it into his greedy, bony head that there is no painting, we can expect major fireworks. He would have spent a lot of money chasing a ghost.” He glanced at Maria. “We’ve always known that the painting can protect itself.” Maria smiled and nodded. Brodie slapped the table with both hands. “Okay, you all know where the weapons or tools are placed, along with the knives. The trip wires will be in place, as will my booby trap, flares, and water barrels. We have a total of five weapons and that includes the shotgun that Luciana so bravely demonstrated.” He gestured towards her and there came a ripple of applause as she blushed bright red.
“So, all we can do now is wait and see. It’s getting dark and I guess that’s the time they would strike. Get some peace and quiet or whatever you want to do.”
George went back to playing with the garrote in between watching the TV, before he went to guard the gate. Brodie, Martha and Maria went outside to watch the place, both back and front, although it wasn’t dark enough for anything to happen.
Garcia stopped typing and relaxed with a Rusty Nail, with Luciana sitting as close to him as she dared.
Bower needed some rest and headed for his room. He opened the door and walked in. His easel was where he had left it, covered with an old white sheet. He looked around the room, then out the window and into the gathering gloom. He felt strangely uncomfortable. He couldn’t work out what it was. It wasn’t fear. He’d been in enough fights and scrapes in his time, bigger and larger than this one promised to be. Yes, he was worried. He’d grown to like the others downstairs and counted them as friends. But that’s not what made him uneasy.
Stopping to pour a sizeable Scotch, he gave it a hefty swig, enjoying the hot burn down into his chest. He walked back to the easel, and for no real reason, pulled off the covering.
“Aaaah!” His glass dropped to the floor, shattering, while he stood there, dumfounded. Without warning, he began to shake, before he slumped to the floor beneath the gaze of his painting of Lazarus.
It had found its way home.
CHAPTER 50
Downstairs, Martha, Maria and Brodie found were sitting in the gathering gloom beneath the copious pergola, watching the rolling hills that had influenced two of them so long ago. Sitting further back, the Abbot was going through the office of Vespers. They could sense that he felt out of place, although it had been his choice to remain until the situation was resolved.
Tension hung like a suspended guillotine.
“What can we do now?” Maria looked apprehensive.
Brodie shrugged and looked out the winding track. “Nothing we can do apart from wait.”
Martha begun twisting uncomfortably in her seat “Something’s happened!” She held her head in her hands. “Noooooo!” She knelt to the floor.
Maria and Brodie looked at each other.
“Something is happening to her and for once, we’re not part of it,” Brodie snapped.
“I did say she was going beyond us.” Maria knelt beside Martha. “Endure, my lovely girl, endure. We are with you ... don’t resist.”
Brodie paled, feeling helpless once again. He reached for Martha as she began to lean towards the floor, face down, her entire body quivering.
“I beg of you,” he begged. “Hear my prayer, please!”
§
She was in a glorious hall glowing with the brilliance of many suns, but she was not blinded. The curvature of the walls that rose upwards formed a perfect circle suggestive of the Sistine Chapel.
There was no sound ... only an atmosphere of the deepest peace and love.
She, Bath Kol, the angel of divine prophecy, was at last back home. She had been away too long. Her predictions had all transpired, and would do so once more. She saw them around the walls, giving testimony to the triumph of life over death.
It began with the painting by Annas Zevi. His was the first depiction of The Raising of Lazarus which had spanned the ages – to Borgoña, Cortez, and to the latest, the work of Broderick Ladro. It glowed with light and magnificence ... the equal of all that came before it.
She had prophesied them all and there were many more to come. Empty frames as far as the eye could see hung alongside each other. She knew who the artist of the next work would be, before they were even born. That was her blessed domain, of which only she had knowledge.
She knew the next was finished and the artist had been chosen. But it’s allotted time span was God’s will alone ... not hers. They could last months, years or centuries.
Her wings gave a gentle flutter as she glided to the empty frame next to Ladro’s. A person stood with an easel and paints and was preparing to paint. Once ready, she placed her hand upon the canvas until it shimmered with a blue and golden light. When it was finished, she guided the person this way and that, revealing the whole time span of the universe, in all directions, so all doubts would cease.
And it was done.
§
“Martha, come back to us.” Brodie recognised what was happening as he had once been there himself. He stroked her hair and held her unconscious body close to his. “My angel, come back.” He wasn’t aware of the irony of his expression.
“I’ve lost contact with her.” Maria looked distraught. “What’s happening?”
Martha’s eyes fluttered several times before they opened, and she regained her sense of awareness.
“I’m okay.” She rubbed her head and noticed the concerned gaze of her father and the Condesa.” I really am. I’ve been on a journey you won’t believe.” She pulled herself into a sitting position and stared long and hard at Brodie. “Dad, oh Dad ... now I know. I know where you went. I saw what you saw. Your painting hangs with all the others. It was so amazing.” She broke down in tears.
He tightened his grip on her to comfort her sobs and gave an enquiring look at Maria. Abbot Louis had now joined them.
Brodie continued to comfort her. “That’s astonishing. Was there a painting after mine?”
“No,” she spluttered. “There were empty frames as far as the eye could see. I was flying, almost as if I had become an angel.”
Part of Brodie was relieved, another disturbed. He didn’t doubt her experience based on his own back then.
“An angel you say?” The Abbot brimmed with interest.
“Not now, Father, please,” Brodie snapped. He was frantic to know if she had any idea who the successor would be. “Did you, or do you sense that you are the next artist?”
Before she could speak, a large rolled-up canvas hit the table with a small thud.
“No, she’s not,” a voice boomed out around the patio. They had not seen his approach. It was John D. Bower with an expression on his face like a noble Roman statue, eyes gleaming.
“I am the one. Martha is my mentor. My painting is there to see. Look at it!” He pointed to the rolled canvas and Brodie laid it out on the table.
It was impressive. Reminiscent of William Blake. With clever juxtaposition of form and colour, it exuded power and the mystical energy that only the Raising of Lazarus could impart.
They gave a collective gasp.
“When I uncovered my easel, it was just there. After seeing it, I collapsed and heard those words over and over. Deus Vult! Beauséant! I was told to be ready by a being that looked like an angel of some sort, and help defend the work – to give my life if I must to protect it. I was shown all the past works including yours, Brodie. It was in this vast, shiny hall…”
“Stop there.” Brodie held up his hand and looked at Martha. “Your stories are identical and you both collapsed, it seems, at the same time. Your angel, John, was Martha. Not as she is now, but in some mysterious way, in another form. She saw exactly what you did.”
“As I said, Brodie, she is my mentor.”
Martha looked up and sensed the enormous relief that her father was experiencing, and she was pleased for him. She stood, and with a hint of a smile, yet with a twinge of sorrow, she embraced Bower and held him tight. She was not surprised to see him weep, perhaps som
ething he had never done in his entire life. From Brodie’s experiences, she didn’t doubt that he would be going through more.
She whispered, “No need for tears, John. We were meant to be part of this and only God knows why. All of us have been brought here and each of us, in our own way, serves a special purpose.”
All went quiet and nobody knew what to say. Abbot Louis offered up another prayer, for he had seen a minor miracle being played out like some TV drama or film.
Maria spoke with caution, “This changes everything. Shepard knows what the Lazarus painting looks like and that’s the only one he has any knowledge of. He’s never going to believe our new version has any powers. He will think we’re playing a game to save the painting he first saw.”
“It has powers.” Bower looked solemn. “Look.” He pulled up his sleeves and the back of his shirt. There wasn’t a mark on him. His lifelong psoriasis had vanished.
“God be praised.” The Abbot fell to his knees.
Any lingering doubts they may have had, evaporated. Garcia, who had joined in to see what was happening, could only think that nobody was going to believe his report, let alone his book.
Brodie looked at them all. “Shepard will never accept it and he’ll accuse us of having made a switch. But what he thinks doesn’t matter. He’s never going to get his hands on this wonder. What do you think, John?”
“I have no claim over it. It doesn’t belong to me. It will need protection and care, like yours did, Brodie. I sense too, like you did, that my old life is over. Parts of me are trying to hang on to it, but it’s slipping through my fingers. I can feel it and I don’t feel ready for it.”
Brodie thought back and recalled his own identical dilemmas and agonies. Bower still had a long journey ahead of him.