A Sacred Storm (8 page)

Five minutes later, room service turned up with his order. Before answering the door he went to his suitcase, pulled out a Browning 9mm, and slipped it into the back of his waistband. It would have been almost impossible for Kandinsky to have tracked him down already, but there was no point in being blasé about the situation. He hadn't stayed alive in the underworld for so long by being complacent.

He opened the door slowly and invited the boy into the suite with his trolley. The kid appeared nervous under Anatol's stare and stumbled his way awkwardly inside. After checking his order with a steely eye he tipped the gangly youth and bade him leave.

The first thing Anatol did was open the bottle of chilled vodka. He poured a good measure straight into a glass and swigged it down in one go, letting a out shiver of pleasure as the liquid hit his throat. Feeling peckish he picked up a stuffed olive from the plate of antipasti. But before it reached his mouth he started to feel faint. It dropped from his hand limply as he first struggled for breath, and then seconds later fell to the floor. As he clasped his throat the world turned black.

A minute later the boy from room service re-entered the suite with his pass key. His graceless gait gone, he strode confidently across to Anatol's suitcase and rifled through, finding what he sought in the side zipper. Folding the paper delicately he placed it in his breast pocket. He took one last look at the dead man, shrugged, and left, strolling casually out of the hotel and losing himself in the crowded piazza.

It was a beautiful morning and the sun pierced Cardinal Vittori's chambers like a divine spear. He unlocked his desk drawer, took out a small flask of cognac and added some to his rich dark coffee. Although his physician had warned him away from alcohol, it was part of his ritual and he believed that giving it up would do him more harm than good. And on a day like today, when everything was falling into place so very nicely, he felt it only right that he should allow himself a little indulgence. After all, lent had finished weeks ago.

He took a sip from his freshly charged drink then looked down at the piece of paper on his desk and smiled. Although he could easily have mustered together twenty million dollars, in the present financial climate he felt that taking the frugal approach had been the correct thing to do. Of course, a man had lost his life, but then – was that man really worth saving? There were too many gangsters in the world anyway. He had done mankind a favour.

Smoothing the paper with his hand he leant forward and studied it closely. Some of the symbols appeared incredibly intricate, and he wondered if the recently deceased Anatol had copied them accurately enough. Although from experience he knew there was some leeway with the four main Reiki symbols, he wasn't sure how exact one had to be with these new characters. Just one erroneous line could theoretically be quite disastrous. Unfortunately the only way to find out was to use what they had and hope for the best.

After five minutes of scrutinizing the page he sat back to give his eyes a rest. He finished the dregs of his coffee and poured himself another, again adding a little extra treat for good measure. The clock on the far wall indicated that it was coming up for ten am, telling him that it would not be long before his important guest arrived with the last piece of the puzzle. Smiling broadly he sipped his drink and let out a satisfied sigh. Years of searching were about to come to fruition.

Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. Vittori felt a pulse of electricity shoot up his spine. For a moment he was giddy with excitement, but then remembering his position and the need to remain authoritative, he took a few deep, steady breaths and called for his guest to come in.

Due to their respective positions Cardinal Vittori had only met Jonathan Ayres in person twice before, but their correspondence dated back many years and he felt closer to his fellow conspirator than any of the Vatican flunkies he dealt with on a day-to-day basis.

“Jonathan!” Vittori beamed, rising from his chair offering an outstretched palm. “How very good to see you!”

Ayres returned the smile and took the cardinal's hand. “Fabio! It's been too long.”

Vittori motioned for his assistant to leave them alone and they both sat down. He offered the British PM a coffee, which was gratefully accepted, as was the shot of cognac.

“A man after my own heart,” said Ayres. “If you ask me coffee just doesn't taste right without a little snifter. I swear by it myself.” He looked down at the piece of paper on Vittori's desk. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes,” said Vittori. “This is it. Have you brought the key with you?”

“Of course,” said Ayres, and reached into his jacket. He withdrew two sheets of A4 paper and unfolded them on the desk.

The two men went silent, suddenly overawed by the realization of what they now possessed.

Ayres was the first to speak again. “Takes your breath away somewhat, doesn't it?”

“Yes, indeed, Jonathan. I honestly never dared believe that it would happen in my lifetime. But here we are, after two millennia of frustration, finally about to learn Christ's secrets. I just hope that we are able to tap in to the power before the Muslims start to poison the world with their false Messiah, and messages of intolerance.”

“Yes, let's hope so,” said Ayres. “Have you heard any more about this ‘Hand of Allah'?”

“Not a great amount. He is still containing himself in Mecca, but I'm sure it won't be long before he announces himself to the world. And when he does we have to be ready. It is shame we had to wait so long.”

Ayres looked across apologetically. “Yes, it is. I'm afraid that's my fault really. Everything seemed to spiral out of control after the assassination attempt. It served its purpose in that I got assigned more men, but unfortunately they spent most of their time chasing down the assassin instead of searching for the box. It was one mistake after another. I really must get better help.”

Vittori waved the apology away. “Do not worry Jonathan, these things happen as they say. The important thing is that we have the information we require. All we have to do now is find ourselves a Messiah.”

“Yes,” Ayres agreed. “Have you anyone in mind?”

“It is difficult,” said Vittori. “I have been running it through my head for days. We really need someone without a history, an unknown who we can mould into what we want. Someone who will not question us. Someone who will not get carried away with the power.”

Ayres sipped his drink thoughtfully. “You're right Fabio, it is difficult – extremely difficult. The problem being that we need someone who is devoted to the faith, and yet at the same time open enough to come to terms with the truth. We'll be asking someone to defend their beliefs after blowing them to smithereens.”

“Technically, yes,” said Vittori. “But I am sure we can suggest it in a way that makes sense to the person. If we handle it correctly I do not think we will have a problem. Between us I am certain we can be most persuasive. And of course we will have the Pope himself to help us sway the argument.”

“Yes, I'd almost forgotten that. Is he not joining us this morning?”

“He has other engagements that were planned a long time ago I am afraid. We cannot go letting the faithful down now, can we?”

“Of course not,” said Ayres. “Business as usual until we have a definite plan in place.”

Jennings lay on his bunk watching the ceiling and grinning like a madman. Majami had suggested that he have a small nap before dinner to allow the attunement to settle, but he was too pumped up to think about sleep. Every time he shut his eyes and tried to close his mind a new thought would suddenly pop into his head and send him off on another tangent of mental discovery. For the first time in his life he was beginning to see just how limitless the universe was.

As he floated deeper in, Stella once again came to the forefront of his thoughts. He found that if he concentrated hard enough he could picture her in minute detail, her dark hair flowing like a stream of silk and her eyes glowing like amber. He began to call her name in his head, searching the vastness of space and time for a sign as to her whereabouts, letting the energy flow as he drifted further in. Her image grew sharper and brighter until he could almost see a background forming behind. But just as it came into focus the window snapped shut and he found himself staring into a vortex once more.

Before he could get back to the vision he was disturbed by Grady craning his head round the doorframe. “Are you all right there, buddy?”

Jennings opened his eyes and blinked. “Yeah, I'm fine, I was just daydreaming that's all?”

“Oh, okay,” said Grady. “It must have been a good one then – you looked like an extra from
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
. I was worried you were about to start dribbling.”

Jennings pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, it feels a bit like that to be honest. For some reason I just can't stop smiling.”

“You don't say,” laughed Grady. “Still, it's better than having you moping around like a lovesick puppy, I suppose. I just popped in to tell you that dinner's going to be ready in about ten minutes.”

After a brief sit down to get his head together Jennings ventured outside and found Grady sitting with Stratton by the campfire. Night had not yet completely fallen, and the flames cast a long shadow over the clearing as they danced and licked under the blue-grey sky. Jennings stood for a while, hypnotized by the haunting beauty of the scene, breathing deeply the lingering smell of crackling wood.

“Are you going to join us?” Grady called.

“Yeah,” said Jennings. “I was just trying to enjoy the moment.”

He walked over to the woodpile and threw on a couple of logs before sitting down opposite his two friends.

“How are you feeling?” asked Stratton. “Have you come back to earth yet?”

Jennings leant back with his hands behind his neck and smiled. “No, not yet. And to be honest I hope I never do. This place is far better.” He stared up to the heavens and began singing
Space Oddity
to himself. “
Ground control to Major Tom…
”

Grady raised an eyebrow then shook his head.

After dinner, which again was the ubiquitous jungle stew, they started to discuss heading back to civilization. Majami, though, was still against the idea. “I really do not think it is wise for you to be journeying quite yet,” he stated. “You are all still some way off full recovery.”

“I appreciate that,” said Stratton. “But we really can't wait any longer. Not only do we have a friend missing, but if we don't leave soon I'm afraid it'll be too late to repair the inevitable damage that will be done if anyone should use the symbols.”

“It will be worse if you hurry,” said the monk. “The universe is eternal, it will not be destroyed in a matter of days.”

“No,” said Stratton. “But mankind might be.”

“And so might Stella,” Jennings interjected. “I appreciate what you're saying, Majami, but time, as they say, is of the essence. The universe may work slowly, but people don't. It only takes a second to kill somebody.”

“I agree,” said Grady, joining the discussion. “If we wait until we're all fully recovered then we might not have a lot to go back to. I was never a great believer in all this stuff with energies and symbols, but the last six months have really opened my eyes. And whilst I don't pretend to understand it all, I've seen enough to know that this sort of power in the wrong hands is bad news. So I'm with Jennings and Stratton on this one.” He paused. “And besides, Brooke's going to be wondering what's happened to me.”

Eventually, realizing that his words of wisdom were wasted, Majami agreed that they should set off early in the morning. He and Tawhali would guide them out of the jungle and into the nearest village, where they would be able to secure a guide and transport. And, if they were very lucky, perhaps a phone.

One by one the group retired for the evening until Stratton was left on his own with Titan, lazily stroking the stretched-out panther's stomach. He knew he should be getting some sleep, but he also knew that soon he would have to leave his companion behind in the jungle. It occurred to him that they may never see each other again. The moment had been inevitable of course, but Stratton had tried to cancel it from his thoughts for as long as possible. He cast his mind back to the time years ago when they had first bonded, and smiled as he remembered. A longing crept over him to return to those simple days, when they explored the moors together without a care in the world. Not for the first time he wished that he had left the box buried, hidden forever from human eyes. But he couldn't change the past, only the future. And, as he stared mistily into the dying campfire, he hoped that one day he would be able to come back and see his friend.

Christiano Rossini hopped briskly onto the busy bus and secured himself a space near the front, grabbing the hand-strap tightly in anticipation of the inevitable jolt as the driver pulled away. He looked around at the familiar faces, each one with their eyes staring into space or at the floor, and wondered why they chose to avoid any contact with their fellow commuters. Occasionally there would be a nod of acknowledgement, or maybe a brief, forced grimace, but generally the journey was completed in a stuffy half-silence, with each person occupied by his or her own worries for the day ahead. He didn't take it personally of course, he guessed that it was much the same in every major city, but it didn't stop him wondering how much happier people would be if they just took the time to smile at each other, or chat on the way to work. Were the people of the world really that unhappy? Did nobody apart from him have a job that they actually liked?