Fear of the Fathers

Praise for Dominic C. James:

“I don't normally recommend novels on my website, but I'm making an exception for
The Reiki Man
by Dominic C. James. It's an action packed thriller with lots of spiritual information woven through it, and as the title suggests, lots of Reiki too – I couldn't put it down!”

Penelope Quest

Best-selling Reiki author

“
The Reiki Man
combines the spiritual world with the physical and tests both to the limit. James creates a believable narrative and I felt totally drawn into the mystery of Reiki. However, what is clever about this story is that it is a murder mystery with more to it than the usual ‘whodunnit'. The ending made me desperate to read the second part of the trilogy! Fans of Dan Brown will love this book.”

Victoria Watson

Young Reviewer of the Year

“All in all a good fun read – and first in a trilogy. With its surprise ending,
The Reiki Man
will leave you ready for more.”

Beth Lowell

Reiki Digest

“I really enjoyed it. And perhaps enjoyed it all the more as it is not normally the genre of book that I would read. So, it started out as a duty and definitely ended up a pleasure. I enjoyed learning about Reiki and fell totally in love with Titan. It's a fascinating book, and holds the attention throughout, which is no mean feat. An unusual subject that's written about in a fascinating way...well done!”

Laura Lockington

Author
Cupboard Love
and
Stargazy Pie

“It's about time there was a novel about Reiki. And as an added bonus it is a suspense/mystery story. This is a great read and I recommend the book to all.”

Steve Murray

Best-selling author of
Reiki: The Ultimate Guide

“The book is fantastic and a service to mankind I think as it's so accessible for ‘non-spiritual' folk.”

Heather Mackenzie

UK Reiki Federation

Fear of the
Fathers

The Reiki Man Trilogy

Fear of the
Fathers

The Reiki Man Trilogy

Dominic C. James

Winchester, UK

Washington, USA

First published by Roundfire Books, 2012

Roundfire Books is an imprint of John Hunt Publishing Ltd., Laurel House, Station Approach,

Alresford, Hants, SO24 9JH, UK

[email protected]

www.o-books.com

For distributor details and how to order please visit the ‘Ordering' section on our website.

Text copyright: Dominic C. James 2011

ISBN: 978 1 78099 135 1

All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publishers.

The rights of Dominic C. James as author have been asserted in accordance with the Copyright,

Designs and Patents Act 1988.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Design: Stuart Davies

Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

Printed in the USA by Offset Paperback Mfrs, Inc

For Nana

Thanks to all my friends and family for helping to get the first book off the ground, particularly Rob for his tireless unpaid construction of my website; everyone at John Hunt Publishing, especially John and Trevor for the fantastic opportunities I've been given; everyone who contacted me through the first book; and of course all at JT's.

From his chambers high up in the Vatican Cardinal Desayer looked out on St Peter's square. As usual it was brimming with bodies; even the inclement weather hadn't stopped the onslaught of tourists and pilgrims. Come hell or high water they would arrive in their droves, either seeking answers or solace, or perhaps just to marvel at the divine beauty of the city and its works of art. The majority though, were here because they believed; because the knowledge of God's existence was deep in their hearts. He smiled to himself at the unshakable faith of the masses.

A knock on the door turned his attention. “Come,” he said with authority.

A priest entered the room. He was tall with wavy blond hair and spectacles. The cardinal eyed him gravely. “What is it Father Cronin?”

The priest bowed his head. “I have news, Your Eminence; news from abroad. It may be nothing, but you did say to keep you informed of any strange occurrences.”

“Yes, indeed I did. What
has
occurred?”

Father Cronin produced a newspaper clipping. “Shall I read it out?”

The cardinal nodded.

“The headline reads ‘Vicar feels thunder of God', it's from a regional newspaper in England:
When Reverend Robin Garrett sat down to say grace on Christmas day, little did he know that he was about to get something for which he wasn't truly thankful. As the unfortunate vicar, 30, started his prayer, the ground began to shake violently, throwing him and his family from their chairs. ‘It was pandemonium,' said Robin. ‘We all fell to the floor closely followed by the turkey.' When the hapless
—
”

Desayer held up his palm. “Father,” he interrupted. “Perhaps just the salient points.”

“Of course, Your Eminence,” Cronin apologized. “It's basically a localized earth tremor with its epicentre at the church. When the vicar went to investigate, he saw five men hurrying from the building. The altar was cracked down the middle.”

Desayer stiffened. “Why haven't you told me this before?!” he snapped. “Christmas was almost three months ago.”

“I'm sorry, Your Eminence, but all this research takes time. There's only me and my assistant, and we have a whole world of articles to get through.”

Desayer calmed himself and said, “I'm sorry Father, you do an excellent job. Where exactly did this happen? Have you checked the location against our map?”

“Yes I have. The church in question is on a power point. And there's something else.”

“And what is that?”

“A report in a different paper mentioned the stealing of a corpse from a mortuary on Christmas Eve. The incidents might not be related but—”

“They
are
related,” Desayer enforced. “I'm certain of it. I can feel it. Someone has acquired the sacred knowledge.” He paced behind his desk, a thoughtful finger to his lips. Then he approached the young priest and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You must go to England to investigate. It is time for you to fulfil your purpose. You know what to do.”

Cronin nodded solemnly. “Yes, Your Eminence,” he said, and took his leave.

Cardinal Desayer turned back to the window and looked up to the blackened sky. A storm was coming.

The Grand National maybe the most famous race in the world, but to the aficionado the Cheltenham Gold Cup is the ultimate prize for the steeplechaser. Three and a quarter miles of undulating turf and bone-crunching fences are followed by a stiff uphill climb to the finish that can break the heart and will of the most talented animal. It is a test of skill, speed, and stamina unlike any other; a gauntlet of grit, guts, gumption and galvanism. Only the bravest need apply.

Thomas Jennings had no particular interest in horseracing, but at the bidding of the First Lord of the Treasury, he found himself in a luxury box overlooking Prestbury Park anticipating the start of the big race. The Prime Minister, Jonathan Ayres, was the owner of the favourite, a horse named Jumping Jon who was unbeaten in eight starts. Jennings was on duty as personal protection.

It was not the first time that Ayres had specifically requested Jennings' services. Over the past couple of months, since the Mulholland incident, Jennings had found himself increasingly in demand by the premier. It was a huge compliment but he wasn't quite sure what to make of it all.

Ayres put down his binoculars and turned to address Jennings. “Exciting isn't it?” he said.

“Yes sir,” Jennings replied. “It was good of you to think of me.”

Ayres smiled. “Not at all. A hero like yourself has to have some perks to the job.”

“That's very kind of you to say sir, but I'm not really a hero.”

“Nonsense, don't be so modest,” said Ayres. “You risked your life to find a killer – the killer of my best friend.”

“I suppose so. But there were other people involved.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But you're part of
our
team.”

Ayres returned to his binoculars and watched the horses circle at the start. Jennings got to his feet and viewed the action on the giant screen. He shuffled nervously. It was his first time at a race meeting and he'd been instantly smitten by the buzz of the crowd. The atmosphere at the course had been electric all day. Whether you were into horseracing or not, there was no denying the infectious energy permeating the air. Even the incessant rain hadn't dampened the spirits of the happy-go-lucky enthusiasts. They were expecting something special; and now, by suggestion, so was Jennings.

The horses got into line behind the starting tape. The flag went up. The flag came down. The tape lifted. The race began. A crazed clamour came from the crowd.

The horses approached the first fence at speed. Jennings' heart filled his mouth. As Jumping Jon touched down safely there was audible relief in the Prime Minister's box. One down, twenty-one to go.

After the second obstacle the field came past the stands for the first time, and the crowd let out another mighty roar. Jumping Jon lobbed along in the middle of the fourteen runners, his jockey content and still, saving energy for the two circuits ahead.

As the horses headed away from the stands Jonathan Ayres took a sip of water and steadied himself. Jennings stayed glued to the action, unable to take his eyes away. He'd broken the habit of a lifetime and placed a bet. He'd put fifty pounds on the Prime Minister's horse at 3/1. He stood to make a £150 profit if it won; which the PM had assured him it would.

The horses passed the stands once more and headed out onto their final circuit. Jumping Jon was in third place, a couple of lengths off the leader, still cruising and his jockey yet to move a muscle. Jennings tightened up and whispered “come on boy” under his breath.

The tempo of the race wound up, and one by one the lesser lights tailed out of contention. As the leaders flew downhill towards the tricky third-last there were only four horses left in it; Jumping Jon was in second, still tanking along. He negotiated the fence with ease and continued to breathe down the neck of the leader. The other two contenders began to flounder in the rain-softened ground.