The Temple Deliverance

by D C Macey

  It took only a few minutes of effort, pressing through and weaving around the wooded undergrowth, before Alan led them into a clearing. For the first time since they had entered the woods, Helen got a clear sight of the afternoon sky, before her gaze dropped to appreciate the carnage before her.

  Two of the ancient trees whose boughs had devoted centuries of growth to weaving their canopies together had pulled each other over in the storm. They had died as one. Not content with that, the wind had ensured the weight of the falling trunks had toppled the next two in line and two more beyond. All six trees now lay, stretching away, black and lifeless.

  A deeper black lay between the nearest two fallen trunks. Alan grabbed Helen’s arm to stop her getting any closer. ‘Careful, that’s the hole.’

  As soon as it was pointed out, she could see it. A black hole set against the wet, black earth. Alan swung his rucksack down and opened it. He pulled out a lightweight rope ladder, secured one end to the spreading root limbs that now reached out lifeless to the sky then threw the other end down into the shadows.

  ‘There’s probably some rule against this, but I think you’ll want to see - it’s fascinating. But let’s get down now, while the best of the daylight is still available, then I think you should aim to be back on the main roads as soon as you can.’

  Alan handed her a torch and, sticking a second torch in his pocket, grabbed the ladder and started down. His voice reached up to Helen from the hole. ‘It’s only about twelve feet to the bottom. A straightforward climb. I’m down now.’ Helen saw his light flash on, the beam cutting a swathe through the shade below. She gripped the ladder and followed him down.

  Reaching the bottom, Helen got her feet steady and looked about. From her vantage point at one end, where the sides were little more than three feet apart, the trench quickly widened to where, she guessed, her outstretched arms would not be able to touch both sides at once. Ahead of her, she could see Alan who had stepped several paces into the trench, his torch beam shining through the gloom to highlight the far end, around twenty feet ahead.

  ‘What is this place?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s not a natural feature, and it’s certainly not old mine workings. See, the sides are set with clean, cut stone. At best, miners would have used wooden pit props. And watch your feet as you follow me in, the bottom is littered with stone. I’m thinking it’s from a stone roof that the roots of the trees ripped apart as they fell.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ said Helen, carefully following Alan into the heart of what she now recognised as a chamber. She shone her torch on the ground. In gaps beneath the rubble of fallen stone, she saw more slabs set flush to the ground. ‘Look, there are proper flagstones on the floor too.’

  Kneeling, she slid her hand down the stone-built wall and traced the line of flagstones to where the ceiling rubble covered it.

  The stone had sharp edges, unworn, as though just cut yesterday by a mason. But she guessed that over the centuries, tree roots had slowly forced their way in, opening the way for water, and she could see the resultant staining and algae growth that told of its real age. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Helen knew exactly who had made this place, but she had no idea why.

  Rising, she followed Alan deeper into the chamber. ‘Alan, this is fascinating. I’m so pleased you let me see it, but perhaps, we’d be better waiting until Sam gets back, and he can look at it properly. This is right up his street; he’s an archaeologist.’ She needed to know what the chamber’s purpose was but knew from bitter experience it was best to keep others out of their business as much as possible. She had a duty to protect Alan by ensuring he didn’t get involved.

  ‘I think you’re right. This needs a professional inspection. Who’d have ever thought this would be here? And I wonder what it’s for.’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m sure Sam will shed some light on it for us. It’s such a tragedy that the whole roof has fallen in.’

  ‘Yes, though it must have become unstable. It was an accident waiting to happen.’

  Helen knelt again. ‘Look at these ornate pieces of stonework. All shattered and broken. The ceiling must have looked fabulous.’

  ‘Yes. It’s all crushed now though, just chips and splinters.’

  ‘Here’s a bit, look.’ Helen knelt in the middle of the floor. Reaching among the shattered stones, she pulled out a piece, cube-shaped, about the size of a tennis ball. Five sides were ornately worked, the sixth a sheer break. ‘Look, the carving on this is gorgeous; I’m going to take it for Sam to look at. Can you see any more?’

  She stood and stuffed the stone into her shoulder bag as Alan cast about for more.

  ‘None that I can see. Lots of splinters and chips, but it’s all rubble. I think that might be the only one to have survived intact.’

  She had to agree with Alan. It was disappointing, but her pulse was racing nonetheless. She and Sam had wanted to investigate their Templar wood, had been blocked by the environmental laws, and now, ironically, nature itself had opened it up for them. She needed to let Sam know about the find. He needed to see it. With a last glance about, she headed back for the ladder.

  • • •

  Sam paused at the door and listened. He could make out the murmur of voices, three or four people. He tapped gently and waited. The speaking stopped and a chair scraped as someone stood up. The sound of new shoes squeaking across a marble floor heralded someone’s hurried move towards the door. A moment later, it opened, and a worry-faced African man, middle-aged and dressed in his Sunday best, looked out at him. The glimpse of hope on the man’s face instantly switched to disappointment when he registered the visitor was only a stranger.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he said as Sam looked over the man’s shoulder towards the two other men who still sat at the table.

  The furthest away man was making to stand now. It was the deacon who had acted as Iskinder’s driver the previous day. Focusing on the third man who had now started to stand too, he was disappointed to register that it was not Iskinder. Where could he be?

  ‘Welcome, Sam. Welcome,’ said the deacon. ‘Let him in, he is Father Anibesa’s friend.’

  With a nod towards the doorman, Sam entered and met the deacon halfway across the room. They shook hands.

  ‘Do you know where Father Anibesa is?’ said the deacon.

  ‘I’d hoped you would tell me that. He missed our meeting at the quayside in Marsaxlokk this morning. What’s going on? When did you last see him?’

  ‘Yesterday. He had agreed to lead the church service this morning before going on to meet you. There has been no sign of him. I sent somebody to his hotel earlier’—the deacon waved a hand towards the man who had let Sam in—‘but he wasn’t there. The receptionist said Father Anibesa did not return last night.’

  Sam felt a twitch of concern. Iskinder was a stickler for process and procedure. The man would never have switched hotels in the night and certainly would not have missed a commitment to preside at a church service. He hoped it was something innocent, but he couldn’t think what.

  ‘Have you tried his phone?’

  ‘Twenty times, more. There’s no answer. He’s vanished, gone completely.’ The deacon’s voice rose very slightly.

  ‘He and I went for a stroll after dinner last night. We parted at my hotel, and he intended to walk back to his. Have you informed the police? Checked the hospitals?’

  The deacon shook his head, slumping down into one of the chairs. ‘No, there’s been no time. When he didn’t show up before the service, I had to conduct it. Everyone was disappointed he did not appear. Once it was over, I sent out to his hotel and since them we have been discussing what to do.’

  ‘Well, I think we need to stop thinking and start acting. You need to phone the hospital and the police too. Perhaps he’s had an accident. Let’s get going. Can you call them?’

  The deacon nodded and reached for his mobile phone.

  Sam took a seat beside the de
acon and listened as the calls established that Iskinder was not in any known difficulty.

  The deacon gave a forlorn shake of the head.

  ‘Come on,’ said Sam, standing. ‘Let’s go and report him missing, officially. We need to find him, and we need help.’

  The deacon stood too. ‘You don’t think anything bad has happened?’

  ‘Probably not but he’s missing. You need him, I need him, and Bishop Ignatius certainly needs him back in Addis.’ Sam noted the deacon’s expression of anxiety deepen at the bishop’s name. The young man clearly did not relish delivering this piece of news. ‘If it helps, I can tell the bishop. We’ll call him as soon as we’ve reported Iskinder as missing. I need to speak with Ignatius anyway.’

  • • •

  The snow had almost filled in their outward tracks by the time Helen and Alan finally made it back across the field. On the other side of the gate, Sam’s car was now covered in snow.

  ‘I’ll help you clear that lot,’ said Alan as he opened the gate, pulling hard against the weight of snow that had built up since he’d pushed it shut earlier.

  ‘That’s kind of you, thanks.’ Helen paused and looked back at the field, the wood beyond was now obscured by the falling snow. For just a moment, she thought she could make out a third set of tracks leading away towards the wood. But no one other than her would be mad enough to cross the field in this weather. It must just be the afternoon light casting shadows.

  ‘Get in and get your engine started. I’ll clear the windows.’

  Helen was happy to follow Alan’s instruction. Until that moment, she had not realised just how cold she felt.

  Snow vanished from the side windows as Alan swept it all away with a series of broad swipes. She loosed her coat and pulled off her gloves, giving Alan a thumbs up through the windscreen. He grinned back at her and pointed at the side window.

  Reaching for the window controls, she opened the window a couple of inches.

  Alan leant in against the opening. ‘It’s heavy here, but you’ll be fine once you reach the main road. Go slowly, and I’ll follow you down to the junction.’

  ‘There’s no need, Alan. I can manage fine.’

  ‘That’s as maybe. But believe me, my father would have a fit if he thought I hadn’t seen you safely off. I’ll follow behind you once I’ve got my vehicle out of the field and the gate shut. I’ll catch you up in no time.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Helen. She loved driving and was confident in the snow, but Alan was clearly not going to allow her to drive off alone on his watch.

  ‘Right, now follow my signals; I’ll guide you while you turn around.’ Alan stepped out into the lane, and she followed his lead as she carefully turned the vehicle around. He waved her off and headed for his Land Rover while she gingerly began the journey back down the lane. There were several half-filled snow ruts that had been formed by the wheels of passing vehicles, and she was happy to follow in them, though a little surprised that anyone else would have been driving here today.

  It took only a few minutes for Helen to work her way back down the narrow lane. Her headlights cut through the falling snow but did little to extend her range of vision. Ahead, they picked out a road sign, and she knew the T-junction was near. She slowed, allowing the vehicle a gentle approach. Alan’s Land Rover headlights were now visible in her rear-view mirror - he would catch up soon.

  Reaching the junction, she paused and checked carefully in both directions; there were no headlights visible on the main road. She checked in both directions again and began to edge out.

  She had driven Sam’s vehicle almost across the junction and was straightening up in the city-bound lane when, out of nowhere, a shadowy blur suddenly appeared. Its lights off and engine revving, a big 4x4 slammed into the side of hers.

  The sound of grinding metal and a roaring engine filled her world. Her head cracked against the side window. The blast of a discharging air bag then saved her from banging into the steering wheel. She only vaguely sensed the motion as the vehicle spun twice around and, before it could settle, was hit again.

  Screaming tyres struggled for grip as the bull bars of her assailant’s big 4x4 once again banged into the side of Helen’s, forcing her vehicle off the road. Her vehicle tilted over at a crazy angle as the nearside tyres settled into a ditch.

  The attacking 4x4 pulled back to deliver a fourth hit and topple Helen’s vehicle into the ditch’s ice covered water that, today, lay concealed beneath a layer of snow. Even as she sat stunned and helpless, she looked across at her assailant but could see little in the afternoon’s winter shadows, her vision now failing as her eyes began to close. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the attack was over; the big 4x4 straightened onto the road and rushed away just as Alan’s Land Rover pulled up, horn blaring and lights flashing.

  Helen gradually came round, still belted into the driver’s seat. Alan had already clawed away the air bag and begun a preliminary first-aid check.

  ‘Helen! Helen, can you hear me? You’re going to be okay. I’ve called the emergency services; they’ll be here soon. Just stay still, work with me now, let’s make sure there’s nothing broken. Can you answer my questions?’

  Helen muttered a confused response while he did a thorough check. Held up by the bad weather, it took the emergency services nearly twenty minutes to arrive.

  • • •

  Sam implored Elaine to take care and hung up his phone. He slipped it into his pocket and looked across the corridor to where the deacon stood watching him.

  ‘You’re leaving, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I have to.’

  ‘But what about him?’ The shaken young deacon jabbed a finger towards the frosted glass doors of the mortuary. ‘What about us?’

  Sam crossed the corridor and put his arm around the deacon. ‘You’re going to be alright. The police are all over this; they’ll manage everything.’ He hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. ‘I have to go now, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ Guiding the deacon with his arm, Sam gently propelled him towards the exit.

  It had not taken the police long to provide some answers. A body had been found, and he and the deacon had agreed to identify it. An easy job, unmistakably Iskinder. The local police had been quite open. What they said and what Sam saw were enough to trigger every one of Sam’s alarm bells.

  It appeared cause of death had been easy to establish. Iskinder had been nailed into a potato crate that had then been thrown over a cliff to the rocky coast below. The pathologist was sure he had been alive when the crate was launched. The broken fingers were a mystery; the damage had nothing to do with the fall. Sam knew exactly what had caused the damage to Iskinder’s hands. He knew it meant their worst nightmare was back. Cassiter must have survived the tunnel collapse in Crete last year. Now he was back and once again on their case. And Helen had been targeted too. It couldn’t be coincidence; the two incidents had to be linked, somehow.

  They stopped outside the building, and Sam tilted his face up, allowing the relative warmth of the island’s winter sun to wash across his face. Certain this would be the last quiet moment for a while, he tried to hold onto it but couldn’t.

  ‘Look, I’m going out to the airport right now. You stay with your congregation. I’m sure you’ll be alright. There’s something I must do in Edinburgh immediately. But I’ll be back as soon as possible.’

  Sam thrust out a hand to hail a passing cab. He pulled open its rear door, paused and turned back to the deacon. ‘Try not to think about what you’ve just seen. Once I’ve got to the airport and sorted a flight, I’ll call Bishop Ignatius and tell him what’s happened.’

  The deacon nodded numbly.

  ‘What you just saw was horrible. I’m sure you are going to be okay but to be safe don’t be alone for now.’ Sam watched the deacon’s face and saw the horror replaced by concern. ‘Everything will be fine. Once I’ve done what I need to at home, I’ll be back. For now, just be aware.’ He clos
ed the cab door, and it pulled away before the deacon could ask any further questions.

  • • •

  In silence, Elaine and her daughter, Grace, worked to take down and pack away the manse’s Christmas decorations. They had promised to help Helen with the traditional take down. Since she was being kept in hospital overnight as a precaution, it fell to them to ensure bad luck wasn’t attracted by leaving the decorations up.

  ‘Well, if all of this comes from complying with tradition, I wonder what ignoring it would have brought,’ said Grace, standing at the top of a stepladder from where she was handing down tree decorations to her mother.

  Elaine took them one by one and absently placed them into the packaging, exactly as she had done over so many Christmases past for Helen’s predecessor, John Dearly. They continued in silence for a little while.

  Elaine gave her daughter’s calf a nudge. ‘I’m thinking we can both go to collect Sam from the airport; he’s arriving on the last Heathrow shuttle this evening. What do you think?’

  ‘I’m up for that.’

  3

  Monday, January 6th

  The snowstorms of recent days had eased off. While the sky overhead was still full of grey cloud, it was at a higher altitude now and the atmosphere was lighter. A taxi turned into the manse’s driveway and stopped just a few steps from the front door. Sam got out. Turning and leaning back into the cab, he offered Helen his arm; she took it and stepped out to join him in the morning cold.

  Grace had just cleared the snow away from the footpath and steps leading up to the front door, and now she and Elaine hurried down towards the taxi.

  ‘Helen, how are you feeling?’ said Grace.

  ‘Come on into the warm,’ said Elaine. Mother and daughter bustled Sam to the side as each linked an arm with Helen to support and guide her back into the manse. Sam didn’t bother resisting; he paid the driver and followed behind as the noise of the retreating taxi faded.