Fear of the Fathers (38 page)

“Fair enough, it's one less thing for me to think about.”

Oggi pulled himself up and grabbed the bottle of brandy he'd bought from the service station. He took a hefty swig. “Ahh, that's better,” he said. “Do you fancy a sip?”

“No thanks,” said Stratton.

“Suit yourself.”

Stratton got up and went to the bathroom. When he returned he said, “I'm just going out for a bit of fresh air.”

“Fair enough,” said Oggi. “But it's a bit wet for a walk isn't it.”

“Don't worry Mum, I'll wrap up warm. I won't be gone long.”

Stratton put on a jacket and left Oggi to his brandy.

Outside the hotel there was a brief interlude in the weather. Stratton walked slowly across to the service station and took a seat just in front of the entrance. The stale atmosphere of the room was becoming almost nauseous, but he was unsure why the effect on him was so pronounced. And then there were the stomach pains. He had tried various symbols to combat the problem, but none of them worked. It wasn't as though they were there all the time, just intermittent blips. They were, however, enough to be causing him concern.

He looked out on the car park and watched the world go by. His thoughts turned to Stella. She hadn't said anything during her visit with Cronin, but he felt sure that she was going to want to join them on the journey to India, and beyond. He really didn't want to put her in any danger, but he suspected that short of tying her up, bagging her, and throwing her into a deep river, there was no way of preventing her coming along. Of course, there would be benefits, not least that there would be one more person to help out. He had no idea what lay ahead, but he suspected that they were going to face many threats before they finally returned the box, and having someone with Stella's background could be nothing but a bonus in any confrontation.

It occurred to him that her presence might bring other complications, but they could be dealt with as need be. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, freeing his mind and entering emptiness.

Stone and Davis sat next to each other in front of the large desk. On the other side, their paymaster drummed his fingers together, eyeing them both with a grim disdain. Stone fidgeted awkwardly in the silence. Davis stared at the walls.

“Well then,” said the paymaster, eventually. “What have you got to say for yourselves?”

It was Stone who spoke: “I'm not sure what you want us to say sir, we're doing all we can to find him. To be honest I'm expecting one of our divers to drag him up from the bottom of the Thames.”

“Really,” sighed the paymaster. “I'm sorry Stone, but I just don't share your optimism.” He got up and paced behind the desk. “This whole thing has been a fuck-up from the very start. It was a simple plan, but you two seem to have complicated things at every possible turn.”

“That's slightly unfair sir,” said Stone. “Circumstances have conspired against us. We've had to make contingencies at every step.”

“Don't give me that crap! It was all very easy, and you two clowns have turned the whole thing into a circus. Now we're in it up to our necks.”

“No-one will find out,” said Stone.

“How can you be so sure? I don't believe for one minute that Jennings is at the bottom of the river, and neither do you. He's a survivor. He's out there somewhere waiting to bring the axe down on all of us. Why couldn't you have left Appleby alone?”

“He was onto us,” said Stone. “He'd been making notes of all our movements.”

“I've seen his so-called notes – he had nothing! You've panicked for no reason. And on top of that you've alienated the one person we wanted on side. We needed Jennings and now he's God knows where, and he knows something's going on.”

“To be fair sir,” Davis interjected. “It's highly unlikely he knows about you. It's just me and Stone who have to worry. But the guy's on the run. There's no way he's going to surface. He'll go underground and he'll stay there.”

“And what if he goes to the press? What if some young hack decides that he might be onto a big story? What then?”

“It's not really a concern sir,” said Stone. “The press will be more interested in bringing a fugitive to justice.”

“Once again, I don't share your optimism,” said the paymaster. “But we'll just have to hope that you're right.” He lit up a cigarette. “What about the girl? Is there any news on her or the Cobra?”

“No sir, they've gone to ground,” said Stone. “They won't be any more trouble to us. There's no way the girl's going to get out of this one – we've made the forensics highly conclusive, there's no room for doubt.”

“Good. We don't need any more crap flying up in our faces, do we?”

Stone looked at his watch. “Is there anything else sir? Because we really ought to be getting back to our posts. We don't want anyone else becoming suspicious.”

“Yes, of course. There is just one thing though. A friend of mine seems to have gone missing, I need you to put someone onto finding him.”

“Very good sir. Who is he?”

“A Spanish priest. His name is Daniel Alonso.”

Stella buzzed up the delivery boy, paid him, and took the bag of Chinese food. She placed the plastic containers neatly on the dining table and called Cronin, who was on the phone in her bedroom. After waiting a couple of minutes she started without him. He appeared as she dug in to her second rib.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Just finalizing some details for Monday.”

“No problem,” said Stella. “I'm afraid I've started already though. Help yourself, there's plenty.”

Cronin spooned a healthy selection onto his plate and began to eat.

“Is everything sorted then?” asked Stella.

“Pretty much,” said Cronin. “You'll be pleased to hear that there's plenty of room, so if you decide to come too it won't be a problem.”

“I've already decided,” said Stella firmly. “I take it from your phrasing that you're going as well.”

Cronin finished a mouthful of rice, then said, “I think it's probably wise. We don't know what's going to happen in India. The more hands on deck the better. I do have one more thing to settle though.”

“And what's that?”

“I'm thinking that it might be a good idea to separate the box and the key to the symbols. Take them via different routes. One is no use without the other, so if for any reason something goes wrong, then at least it won't be a total disaster. I'm thinking about maybe having someone go by plane.”

“Who would that be then?”

“I guess it would have to be you or I, seeing as we're the only ones who aren't in hiding. But it's probably better if it's me.”

“And why's that?” said Stella sharply.

“For a start, I'm assuming you want to travel with Stratton.” She nodded. “And secondly, I think it's best if the box and key stay separated until they're safely back in the hands of the monks. There's going to be a treacherous journey through deep jungle before that happens. I don't imagine that's something you'd want to be doing on your own.”

“No, you're right, it's not. And yes, I would like to travel with Stratton. But do you think he'll be happy with the plan?”

“I don't see why not. He'll see the sense in it. I'll give him a call when I've eaten if you give me the number. I take it they've got a mobile, I don't want to be using the hotel's landline.”

“Yes, they've got a mobile,” said Stella. “But Oggi said no phone contact.”

“Well, this is important. It'll be perfectly safe. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about.”

“If you say so,” said Stella. “But on your head be it.”

She ate a little more food, but her appetite had waned. She wondered what had happened to Jennings and whether he was still alive. Although the news reports had been none too optimistic, her heart wanted to believe that he had survived. But if that was the case then where would he go? He wouldn't dare get in touch with anyone he knew so he'd be out there on his own, probably holed-up in some derelict building, cold and hungry and miserable. Her face fell.

“Everything alright?” said Cronin.

“Yeah fine,” she said. “I'm just a bit tired. I'll get you that number.”

While Cronin phoned Stratton Stella took some food and water into the bathroom for Alonso. She took off his gag and allowed him one hand free to hold a fork.

“Thank you,” he said, setting about his meal hungrily. “I thought you might just leave me here to die.”

“No,” said Stella. “I wouldn't do that to anybody, no matter what I think of them.”

“You are a good person; a forgiving person. Bless you, the Lord will look upon you kindly.”

“I dare say. But how will he look upon you?”

“I am ready for my judgement,” said Alonso. “Everything I do is for the Lord. He wants us to bring peace to the world, I can feel it. Do you not want a world of peace?”

“Of course I do,” said Stella. “But not at the expense of the truth. Not a world of slaves held in subjection. Peace has to come about through understanding, not fear.”

“You misunderstand our purpose,” said Alonso.

“I don't think so,” she said. “I understand it only too well. I think it's you who's naïve. You might think that you're doing good, but ultimately all you're doing is helping to set the Catholic Church up as the all-powerful institution on earth.”

“We must agree to differ, as they say,” said Alonso. “But you will see.” He finished his food and took a long drink of water.

Stella tied his hands back and replaced the gag.

When she returned to the table Cronin had finished on the phone. “Is everything sorted?” she asked. “Did he agree?”

“Yes, he agreed. He thought it was a good idea. But he did point out that I'm known to the enemy.”

“Are you?” said Stella.

“Well, Alonso knew about me, so it's fair to assume that others do as well. It just means that I'll have to be careful. A last-minute flight under an assumed name should do it. Unfortunately there's nobody else.”

After tidying away the empty cartons and plates Stella felt sleepy and told Cronin that she was going to turn in.

“It's a bit early isn't it?” he said. “But I suppose you need some rest for tomorrow.”

“Why, what's happening tomorrow?” she asked.

“Stratton's memorial of course.”

“Shit, I'd forgotten about that. There doesn't seem a lot of point in it now.”

“Not to you maybe,” said Cronin. “But most people are still under the impression that he's dead, remember. We've got to keep up the illusion.”

“Of course. It should be interesting. I just hope I can keep up the pretence.”

Stephen Gardener rattled the key in the knackered lock and waited for it to catch. He twisted and cajoled it this way and that until it finally clicked and, almost falling over himself, he pushed his way into the dimly-lit hallway. It was high time the landlord fitted a new lock. But then it was high time the landlord did a lot of things.

He shut the battered brown door and shook himself down, divesting his shoulder-length hair of rainwater and drenching the cracked tiles beneath. He then made his way up the two flights of rickety stairs to his flat. Once inside he turned on the old electric heater – treating himself to the full three bars – and filled the kettle. Ten minutes later he was sitting comfortably in front of the television, cup of Kenco in hand, laced with more than a dram of scotch.

‘Digger', as he was known to his friends (mainly due to his surname but also because of his profession), had spent the day tailing some rich bitch whose husband suspected her of cheating. She was of course, but Digger had conveniently not found any evidence yet. There was at least another two weeks work to be procured from this little baby.

His mobile rang. He looked at the caller ID: it was the same number that had been calling for the last four hours. Earlier he had suspected that it was one of the various debt-collection agencies that were trying to track him down, but now it was getting late he decided that it might just be a prospective client.

“Hello,” he said.

“Mr Gardener?” said a girl's voice that sounded distinctively call centre.

“I'm afraid you must have the wrong number,” said Digger.

“Oh,” said the voice disappointedly. “I'm sure I've dialled it right. I'm looking for a private detective called Stephen Gardener. I was given this number by another agency.”

“Oh, right,” said Digger, his interest piqued. “Well, in that case I might be able to help.”

After a brief conversation in which he gathered that she needed someone finding, he suggested that they meet on Monday morning to discuss terms. The girl, however, was most insistent that they meet right away, and that there would be extra money in it for him. He didn't need any more persuading.