The Gods' Gambit

by David Lee Marriner

  Some discontented voices sounded from different parts of the hall. Most of the people obviously considered this question unnecessary. Two men sitting in the middle of the row in front of Lino turned round and stared at him. One of them whispered in the ear of the other. The second nodded.

  The answer came from a man sitting not far from Lino. “We are not an alternative to Catholicism or any other religion. Everybody who accepts our principals is welcomed into our Church, regardless of the religion he professes to. Unfortunately, the attitude of the Vatican towards us is rather hostile.”

  “One will never acquire an angel ally if he does not believe that such a thing is possible,” said Paolo. “Probably, one day a man like that would have to make a choice, but that’s personal. Otherwise, it’s OK if somebody likes attending Mass in the morning then coming here in the afternoon to pray and discuss with us.”

  “The initiation rites for becoming a master or maestro are known only by people from these levels. Why the secrecy?” asked Lino.

  “Two reasons. First, these are very personal moments. Second, there exists the possibility that the initiation would be wrongly understood by someone who is not ready,” answered Lavrentie.

  “I would recommend that everybody concentrates on himself,” Master Silvio interjected. “If one is an apprentice, master, or maestro, that is due to oneself, to dedication to the teaching of the Church. It’s important we support the Church and each other.”

  The discussion continued for about half an hour more. Lino kept silent.

  When the questions tailed off, Silvio stood up and said, “Now I suggest we take a coffee break. On the tables with the drinks you’ll find envelopes. You can use them to make a financial contribution if you feel like it.”

  Most of the people stood up. Some gathered around the two adepts; others, Lino amongst them, went to the tables for a drink and a snack. A man and a woman, both less than thirty years old, moved close to him holding plastic cups in their hands. They were a bubbly couple and were obviously looking for company. Normally, Lino would regard such situations as favourable for collecting information, but something in those two repulsed him. He could not fail to notice that in spite of his reserved attitude they were quite persistent in attempting to find out about his personal life, his job, his name and so on. Finally, he excused himself and went back to his seat.

  He sat through the second half of the discussion with growing exasperation. He wondered why nobody jumped out of their seat shouting, “Stop this bullshit!” and had to restrain himself from doing so.

  He’d had to put up with similar negative feelings during some of his other visits to these meetings, but never before had his resentment boiled within him so strongly. He hardly managed to stay in his seat until the end of the prayers, which normally marked the conclusion of the gatherings, and then almost ran out of the building.

  The clear and cool night air outside instantly made him feel calmer. With long strides, he walked under the light of the street lamps. The further he walked away from that place of collective madness, the lighter he felt in his heart.

  He entered a small street that led to a taxi stop. He walked fast for about a minute and then glanced over his shoulder, because for some time he had sensed that somebody was following him. There was a male figure behind him.

  It’s a coincidence. I’m beginning to imagine things, and that’s not good, Lino said to himself.

  Despite this self-reassurance, he felt his heart quicken and he started to walk even faster.

  In order to reach the taxi stop, he had to turn into the second street on the right. When he approached the first crossroads, however, he suddenly took an impulsive decision and turned right there. He ran to the other side of the street and squatted behind one of the many cars parked in a row next to the kerb.

  Soon, he heard the sound of rapid footsteps. The man walking behind him also turned into the street. Lino could not see the man’s face, as he wore a hat pulled down over his eyes and his jacket collar was up.

  Sneaking behind the cars, Lino retraced his steps back onto the main road. He almost ran to the taxi stop, looking back every now and then, but he saw no one.

  Once inside a taxi, he tried to analyse what had just happened from different angles. He felt a bit ashamed of his paranoid behaviour. The man’s route had probably just coincided with his.

  The taxi stopped at Lino’s destination. He took out his wallet and with it a small leaflet. He screwed the leaflet up in his fist and counted out some money for the driver. He added a tip and got out of the car.

  He threw the leaflet into the nearest rubbish bin and set off for home. Putting his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked, he felt another leaflet. It was the same as the one he had binned. At first glance, it resembled some kind of theatre advertising. It was entitled ‘Theatre of Life’. On it there was a cartoon drawing depicting a man with a rope tightened around his neck, a knife stuck in his chest and a handgun at his head. At the bottom, it read: ‘It always catches you’.

  Lino looked round. The road was deserted. He walked back to the bin, found the leaflet he had thrown away and unfolded it. It was identical. Cold shivers ran up and down his spine. He could have mechanically picked one up, put it in his pocket and forgotten about it, but not two in different pockets. Somebody had placed them there. Somebody from the Church of Angels’ gathering.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Whiteway Estate, Hampshire, UK

  The dark green Audi rolled down the road at about twenty miles per hour. Behind the wheel sat the perfecty. He and the much younger West, sitting beside him, cast their eyes along the wall of trees and trimmed bushes bordering the roadside.

  Another car suddenly appeared behind and closed in on them. The perfecty indicated that he was going to pull off and stopped at the side of the road. Once the car had passed, he continued at the same low speed.

  “There’s East.” West pointed to where the bushes thinned out about twenty metres ahead.

  Colin, wearing a waterproof jacket and Wellingtons, a cap tipped over his eyes, was waiting among the trees. The perfecty drove close to where he stood and pulled off the road. Colin looked around, stepped over a low wire fence, ran to the car and quickly jumped in the back. “Phew, mornings in the woods are colder than out in the open,” he said, shivering.

  “Any change since the last time I heard from you?” asked the perfecty.

  “No. He and the old woman are alone. He hasn’t shown his face yet. His four-wheel drive is in front of the house.”

  “We could hardly get a better situation. It’s time for action. Agreed?” asked the perfecty.

  “All goes how we envisioned it. I say we go for it,” said West.

  “It’s nine o’clock. The right time for an early morning courier delivery,” said the perfecty.

  “It’s quiet,” said Colin.

  “Let’s move,” snapped the perfecty.

  “Give me five minutes to take my position,” said Colin. “Then give the green light to South and North.”

  * * *

  Irina Bellin spotted the stone arch at the end of the private drive leading to James’ house and slowed down. She had asked to meet James at this early hour on a Saturday morning because she had several meetings arranged for later. By way of compensation, she had offered to visit him at home and to be brief, and he had accepted. The next day she intended to write her report about the Costov case and tie up any loose ends with Peter Oliver’s team. Her flight back to Bulgaria was scheduled for the early afternoon on Tuesday.

  A dark blue van caught her attention because it was moving at high speed. It slowed as it approached the drive to James’ house, turned down it and disappeared through the arch. Irina just caught sight of some yellow letters on the side of the van. She assumed it was a delivery vehicle as delivery drivers tended to drive that fast. A green Audi, which the van had overtaken just before making the turn, also slowed down, turned into the drive pulled up in fr
ont of the arch.

  Irina drove ahead slowly. She saw that the Audi was now blocking the drive. A man and a woman remained sitting in the car, staring at her. Irina signalled to them that she wanted to drive past, but they ignored her. They exchanged a few words with each other and then continued to stare.

  Irina suppressed her rising indignation. She got out of her car and walked up to the Audi. In a hard but polite manner, she said to the driver, “Excuse me, you’re blocking my way. Would you move your car so I can drive in?”

  The man lowered his window. “I’m sorry. Something happened to the engine. It won’t start.”

  It was clear to her that he was lying, but she couldn’t figure out why. She stepped to the front of the car and said, “I’m good with engines. I may be able to help.”

  The man didn’t respond in any way.

  “I’m talking to you,” Irina said, no longer hiding her irritation. “Move the car or I’ll call the police.”

  The man smiled coldly. “You’re calling nobody,” he said and suddenly pointed a gun with a silencer at her. “Shut up and get in this car if you wanna live.”

  Startled, Irina raised her arms. “Okay, I’ll do as you say. Don’t shoot,” she said resignedly and walked towards him with small slow steps.

  The man opened his door to see her better. “Get on the back seat! Move, bitch! I don’t have all day.”

  Irina looked scared and confused as she reached for the door handle. In the next instant, she twisted her body and kicked the man’s arm with her right leg. The point of her shoe caught the man’s wrist and smashed it against the body of the car. He cried out in pain and dropped the gun. Irina reached for her own gun, which she carried under her arm, but saw that the woman was now pointing a further gun with a silencer at her. Irina did the only thing she could – she hit the asphalt just before the car’s rear window was shattered by the bullets fired from inside. She rolled over and fired three times. The last bullet hit the woman in the face and exited the top of her head, splattering the roof and part of the windscreen with blood.

  Meanwhile, the man managed to start the engine and drove away. Irina thought he was trying to escape, but she soon realized that was not his intention. The Audi made a sharp turn and drove backwards towards her. She took a steady aim and emptied the cartridge clip into the oncoming car. Just at the last moment she jumped sideways. The car passed a couple of inches from her and collided into the side of the arch. She quickly loaded another cartridge clip and approached the smashed car from the driver’s side with her gun ready. The man was slumped motionless behind the wheel. She inched closer. He was wounded but still breathing. There were two growing red stains on his shirt. Their eyes met. The thick lips of the man barely moved as he croaked, “Bitch.” His eyelids drooped and he gave out his last gasp.

  Irina jumped into her car and stepped on the accelerator. She strongly suspected that the two dead people in the Audi were linked to those in the van. They were there to provide cover. That could mean only one thing – James and his people were in danger.

  * * *

  James was just about to take the parcel from the hands of the deliveryman when shots rang out. Startled, the man in a blue uniform dropped the parcel, hid his right hand behind his back and took a few steps backwards. When he showed his hand again he was holding a handgun. His young female colleague, who had been standing by the van, also pulled out a gun. Both had silencers.

  “Don’t move!” said the man.

  More shots echoed from down the road, followed by the roar of a forced engine and a loud bang. In spite of his confusion, James noticed that the sham delivery people were also surprised.

  The man’s hand started shaking. “Cuff him,” he shouted to his companion.

  The woman took out a pair of handcuffs and walked towards James.

  “One move and I’ll shoot you,” the man said, trying to sound threatening and confident, but his eyes kept hastily glancing in the direction of the shots.

  “Drop your weapons! Now!” Pema’s voice was firm and authoritative as she pointed Lao’s double-barrelled hunting rifle firmly at the intruders. She had emerged unnoticed from her bungalow and was using James’ four-wheel drive as cover.

  The man and woman hesitated, and then the man darted to hide behind the van. At the same time the woman turned and fired her gun. She missed. Almost simultaneously, Pema fired. The large pellets hit the woman’s throat and upper chest, the impact throwing her body a couple of metres backwards onto the patio.

  Because of the initial shock and the speed at which all this was happening, James had not moved. As he watched Pema and the man behind the van, a car drove onto the patio and stopped abruptly. Irina was at the wheel. As he turned to look at her, he heard Pema cry out. He turned in time to see her fall to the ground. In that moment something burst inside him and he moved for the first time since these surreal events had begun. He reached Pema in a few large strides. He knelt and took her in his arms. At first, he wasn’t sure where she had been hit, but he soon felt blood on the hand that supported her back.

  “Pema, can you hear me?” he cried.

  She did not answer. Her eyes were closed but she was breathing. James could not see who had shot her, but realized he or she must be in the forest, because Irina had fired several shots in that direction.

  While this was happening, the false deliveryman had managed to jump into his van and was speeding away down the drive, tyres burning.

  James lifted the unconscious Pema and ran with her into the house.

  “Stay inside. Take care of her,” shouted Irina.

  James lifted Pema’s body onto the couch in the hall and called for an ambulance and the police. He took off his shirt and made an improvised bandage, pressing it to the wound. “Hold on, Pema, please,” he said with sorrow in his voice.

  It was quiet outside. “Irina!” he shouted.

  Irina walked through the door, keeping an eye on outside. “I’m okay. How is she?” she asked.

  “She’s unconscious but she has a pulse.”

  Irina came closer and looked at Pema’s wound. “Let’s hope the bullet didn’t touch a vital organ. All we can do now is wait for the ambulance,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Those people are probably gone. Including those in the forest.”

  “They got away. The man in the forest was alone. He managed to jump into the van. I couldn’t stop them. I’d run out of bullets.” She paused and looked straight into James’ eyes. “For God’s sake, James! What’s going on?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Dorje Ling Monastery, Nepal

  The Abbot of Dorje Ling monastery, lama Tenzin, was a heavily built man with a strong-willed face and very short grey hair. He was leading the morning liturgy sitting on a wooden carved throne placed in front of the shrine’s altar. On the top of the altar, supported by four short, thick wooden columns, was a block with three niches in which sat gold-plated statues of Buddha. The walls of the temple were adorned with paintings of Buddhist saints and other heavenly creatures. Four rows of monks dressed in traditional red and yellow robes were sitting and chanting in front of lama Tenzin. From time to time, the sound of a sonorous cymbal broke into their monotonous melody. The cymbal sounded with a slow rhythm that increased and became louder until it reached close to the limit of what the listeners could bare, and then stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

  The sounds of the morning liturgy echoed around the whole plateau in the middle of which the monastery complex stood. The stillness and clarity of the air allowed the echo to extend to the feet of the surrounding mountain peaks.

  Although built in such a remote and solitary place, the Dorje Ling monastery was one of the most popular of the Vajrayana Buddhism spiritual centres, not only in Nepal but also outside Tibet. It attracted many visitors and pilgrims all year round. Now, as always, there were a good number of people sitting in front of lama Tenzin and the monks. Some of them were local people and Tibeta
n refugees; the rest were visitors from all over the world.

  After the last page of the liturgy book had been turned, all present started the final recitation to dedicate the merits they had generated to the welfare of all beings circulating endlessly in the relative cosmos, called Samsara.

  Lama Tenzin stood up and everyone followed suit. He smiled and greeted some of the visitors, and then set off towards the exit, followed by the monks and laymen and women. He stopped outside near the temple’s gate where a fire was burning in a huge bronze bowl resting on a tripod. The fire had been prepared for the performance of the cleansing rite Sangchod. During the rite, the participants had to pass by the bowl and throw a pinch of dry aromatic herbs into the flames as a gift to the Buddha, the Guardian Spirits of the Buddhist teaching – Dharma – and the beings living in the ten world directions.

  Normally, the monks queued to throw herbs into the fire according to their monastic seniority, but this time lama Tenzin broke with tradition and called his young assistant and novice, Nyma, to join him. When they had completed the Sangchod ritual they moved apart from the others.

  “Today we are going to practise in the open,” said lama Tenzin. “Go to the kitchen and take some food and water.”

  Nyma bowed and scuttled off to the kitchen.

  Lama Tenzin looked up at the white clouds scattered above the snowy summits to the north and north-west. He could forecast the weather by watching the signs of nature. Today was going to be a fine day. Suddenly, he looked more closely at a particular cloud shape that had caught his eye. Something now attracted his full attention. Clouds could also be used to foretell future events by someone who possessed the knowledge to read the signs. Lama Tenzin was proficient in that, too.

  A shadow of worry crossed his face because he knew he had seen something bad coming. Unfortunately, the cloud’s shape changed too quickly for him to be sure of what exactly he had seen. He thought he might have imagined it. He really hoped he had.