A Sacred Storm (35 page)

They reached the submarine safely, and after hoisting Kandinsky up and in they took his body to the medical room where he was put in cold storage, with a view to burying him next to his family in Russia when the chance arose. After paying their last respects, they each went to their quarters to sleep.

Jennings showered and then sat down on his bed with a large glass of whisky. His emptiness was complete, and as he looked down into the amber liquid he felt a darkness seep through his soul. He cupped the glass tightly between his hands and started to weep, his tears dripping into the alcohol. He remained motionless until a knock on the door sparked him out of his trance. He wiped his eyes with a towel and went to see who it was. Hovering in the doorway was Andrew Stone.

“Hi, Jennings, I hope I'm not disturbing you,” he said apologetically.

Jennings wanted to tell him to go away but the demoralized look on his face pulled heavily at his conscience. “No, Andy, you're not. Come in.”

Jennings offered him a whisky, which he accepted, and they sat down, Stone in the chair and Jennings on the edge of the bed.

“So what's on your mind?” asked Jennings.

“Everything,” said Stone bluntly. “I feel like I've just woken up from a bad dream.” He sipped at his whisky. “Everything I've done, it's just…” He hung his head.

“What exactly have you done?” asked Jennings. “I mean, apart from destroying my entire life.”

Stone shook his head. “It's such a bloody mess I don't know where to begin.”

“Try the beginning.”

Stone swigged down his whisky and poured another. “I guess it all started not long after I was assigned to the Prime Minister. Probably last November, just before all that Mulholland business kicked off. He took me and Davis aside and told us that he wanted us to do some off-duty work for him. It was nothing major he said, just a little project he had on the side. He said he'd pay us well and off the books. We'd both been having problems financially so it was a no-brainer.”

“What was the project then?” asked Jennings.

“He wanted us to do some digging around on Henry Mulholland.”

“I thought they were best friends.”

“Even friends have secrets Jennings, you should know that. Anyway, he wanted us to do some research on him and his father Charles Mulholland. Wanted us to find out anything about their family history that wasn't in the public domain, and any dirt that was around in their files. We didn't find anything, but then a month later Henry was dead. After that he had us checking up on Brennan's investigation. He wanted to know everything that was going on at ground level. He was particularly interested in what you and Stella were up to. He had us tap your phones. He told us to listen out for any talk of a box covered in symbols.”

Jennings looked at Stone in disbelief. “Ayres knew about the box?!”

“I guess he must have done. We had no idea what it was about though, we just did what he told us. He seemed to lose interest though after you had it taken at that service station. He said it wasn't important anymore. But then, after that night at Stonehenge when it disappeared, he was absolutely fuming. He sent us out the next day to search the area.”

Jennings' mind whirred as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. If he wasn't mistaken, then reading between the lines there was a definite connection between Ayres, Jeremy and Yoshima. “And what about after that, when you didn't find anything?”

“He was sullen for a few days, but then when Stratton's body was stolen from the mortuary he suddenly perked up again. After Christmas he had us investigating all his known associates – including you and Stella. The problem was manpower though, there were so many of you to keep tabs on that we just couldn't spare the time. We needed more men.”

“I see,” said Jennings. “And I suppose that's where the assassination attempt came in.”

“Yes,” said Stone. “Ayres figured that his detail would double at least if there was a major threat to his life, and so we hired someone to make the false hit.”

“So I got shot as part of the plan?”

“You didn't get shot did you? You just took a hit in your vest. It all worked out beautifully: no-one got hurt – well, apart from me – and the PM looked under threat. Even better was the fact that everyone thought he was a Muslim, and that Al-Qaeda were behind the attack.”

“Well, so far so good,” said Jennings.

“Yes. It seemed pretty much perfect. We got our assignment of men, and best of all we got you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Ayres wanted to keep you close, he thought you were the best link to Stella, and therefore Stratton and his mob.”

“So you knew Stratton was alive?”

“No, not at all, well at least I didn't. I mean it's not something you would even contemplate is it? My understanding was that we were searching for this box that he wanted. I had no idea what it was all about, but I was getting paid for it so I didn't ask any questions.”

“It's a lot of trouble to go to just for a wooden box. Didn't you suspect anything?”

“I knew there was something strange about it from the reports you wrote, but I'm sure you didn't say everything you knew.”

“No, I didn't. I kept most of it out to be honest. I told Brennan about it, but he advised me to keep everything normal, just to call it a religious artefact.”

“Exactly,” said Stone. “And that's what I thought we were looking for – a religious artefact, probably a priceless one. It all fitted in with the visits Ayres was getting from the Vatican.”

“So where did it all start to go wrong?”

Stone smiled and shook his head. “When Ayres started to get greedy and paranoid. He decided that he didn't want to pay the hitman and that it was too risky having him alive. He wanted all links to us and him buried. It was an absolute nightmare. I called in a favour from MI6 and together we tracked him down through his network. He was a clever bloke with a load of intermediaries in the pipeline so it wasn't easy, but eventually we traced him to a hotel in London. And that's where we made our first mistake. Or, should I say, where I made the mistake.”

“What did you do?” asked Jennings, now totally immersed in Stone's admissions.

“I don't know – and to this day I'll never know. I was tired and stressed and overworked, but there's no real excuse for what happened. Maybe it was the bump in the head I got when the hitman assaulted me at Cheltenham. Anyway, whatever the reason, I made a severe error in judgement. We couldn't mount a big operation and draw attention to ourselves so we had to try and get rid of him quietly. I knew that if we sent one of ours up to his room he'd smell us out immediately. I was in the hotel lobby debating what to do when I saw one of the staff taking room service into a lift. I recognized her face but couldn't put a name to it. It was only on my way out when it suddenly hit me…”

Jennings listened intently, and somewhat flabbergasted, as Stone relayed the story of the child-killer Tracy Tressel and the subsequent fallout.

“What a fucking mess,” he said when Stone had finished. “I can't believe you got yourself into such a lot of shit. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Like I said, I really don't know. I made that first mistake and then it just escalated. Before I knew it we were in so deep there was no turning back.”

“Oh the tangled web we weave,” said Jennings.

“Indeed,” said Stone.

Jennings got up and poured himself another whisky. “So, who killed Appleby then? Was it you?”

“No. Davis did it. But I'm just as culpable. I ordered it, just like I ordered the death of Tressel's mother and son. I could have stopped it all, Jennings.” He put his head in his hands.

“But why blame me for his death. I thought you wanted to keep me close.”

“We did at first, but by that time Ayres decided there was nothing else to get from you. We guessed Appleby had voiced his suspicions to you so we had no choice but to try and get rid of you as well. When you escaped it actually got us out of a hole. Rather than two dead bodies to explain we only had one and a desperate fugitive.”

Jennings looked down at his former colleague and sighed. “What happened to you, Andy? This isn't you. You're a family man with values and morals, or at least I thought you were. You're telling me all this stuff, but it's just not registering.”

“I know, I know,” said Stone. “I can't explain it. It's like I was in a dream – a nightmare. It felt like it was someone else doing it, not me. It was only when Patricia and Jenny were taken that it really hit home. When I thought they were going to die everything caught up with me, I was physically sick. If that hitman hadn't turned up to stop the whole thing…”

“But he did,” said Jennings.

“Yes, he did. And he showed me mercy. He said that I had a second chance and that I should take it. That's stayed with me ever since. I couldn't get the words out of my head. And this afternoon when we had you lined up against the wall I knew it was time to put an end to everything – time to do the right thing. It's a bit late I know, but it's something I guess.”

“It is late, but better that than never as the saying goes. You've done more than you know today. I can't absolve your sins, Andy, but I can tell you that I'm grateful and there's no hard feelings from me.”

Stone looked up at him with pitiful eyes. “Thanks, Jennings,” he said. “I'm not sure I deserve it, but thanks.”

Jennings finished his drink and left the glass on the side. “It's getting late,” he said. “I reckon I ought to hit the hay. And God knows you look like you need some sleep.”

“I do,” agreed Stone. “These last few days have really fucked my head up, with the advent of this new Messiah and everything. And when I found out Stratton was alive – well, you can imagine. This whole thing gets stranger by the day. I'm not even sure what's real anymore.”

Jennings laughed and said, “Join the club.” He saw Stone out and flopped onto his bed and fell asleep.

* Raymond Chandler – The Long Goodbye.

Ali Hussein finished his last Salat of the day and rose to his feet. It was getting late and there was still no sign of the Mahdi. He rolled up his prayer mat and set it aside, and then went to the kitchen to prepare some food for his master's return. After their recent travels, being back in Mecca seemed like a bit of a let down. It was only for a day of course, but Ali had become used to the excitement of the crowds and without it he felt flat. He hoped there would be no hold-ups and that they would be back on their way the next morning as planned.

As Ali laid out some cold meats and bread he heard the front door open. He looked through the living area and saw the Mahdi enter. He appeared tired and troubled. Ali picked up his tray and took the food to his master.

“Thank you, Ali,” he said. “Please sit down and join me. We will eat together – yes?”

Ali nodded and sat down on the opposite side of the wooden table.

The Mahdi broke some bread and chewed on it slowly.

“Is everything alright, Master?” Ali asked. “You look tired.”

“I am fine, Ali. I have just had a long afternoon with the elders. We have discussed many things. There is much going on in the world that we need to address.”

“Do you mean the Christian Messiah?”

“Yes, among other things. I have had a change of heart with regards to him. I now think that perhaps I was harsh to criticize him and suggest that he was a lie.”

“Is he real like you are then?”

“We are all real, Ali. Just as we are all figments.” He laughed. “But in answer to your question, then yes – he is just as real, and he represents God just the same as myself. He has the power to heal, and that power cannot come from anywhere else.”

“Then why are people saying that he is fake?”

“For the same reason that his followers are suggesting that I am fake. It seems it is not enough for them to be blessed by Allah, they must have power over their fellow man as well. Each side fears the other will take control. But there is no control. We are all Allah's children and should be celebrating this, not arguing over who he loves the most.”

“So their God is the same as ours?”

“Yes, he is different only in our minds. Now come, let us eat. There will be time for discussion after dinner.”

They ate in silence. Ali tried to clear his mind, but found that it was bursting with things to ask. This was common with the Mahdi, instead of giving a conclusive solution he would answer in such a way that left Ali with more questions than he started with. So when the Mahdi eventually finished and pushed his plate aside Ali was waiting to pounce.

“If we have the same God, then why did he send two of you to earth?” he asked.

“That is a good question,” said the Mahdi. “It is because of the way the world has divided itself. If there were just one of us then the other half of the world would not listen. This way our message can be heard by all.”

“But what about the Jews and the Sikhs and the other religions? Why have they not been blessed with their own redeemers?”

“Perhaps they will be. I do not know Allah's whole mind, only my part of it. I am only the beginning of this change. I am but one piece in a vast puzzle.” He looked out into the night in contemplation.

Ali cleared the table and washed their plates then sat back down. The Mahdi turned his gaze away from the window and smiled. “You are a good boy, Ali. You have served me well these last weeks. You are certainly one of the chosen few.”

Ali bowed his head and blushed. “Thank you, Master.”

“No, Ali, thank you – for all you have done. You are a shining light of all that is good in Allah's world. If there were more people like you then my task would be so much easier. Unfortunately I find myself up against a world of fear and hatred. I am trying to make myself heard, but I think that my voice may be drowned in the clamour for power.”