The Gods' Gambit (18 page)

“Contemporary man needs a simple and practical method of
achieving spirituality. That is what our Church offers,” said a man with curly
black hair and glasses who looked like a secondary school teacher. “It’s
extraordinary to think that one can be united with such a highly knowledgeable
creature that can give us the right answers all the time.”

“And, when you die, your ally can prevent you from plunging
into hell,” added a woman sitting next to him.

“For me it’s a difficult concept. How much time is necessary
for a man to unite himself with an angel? Doesn’t this mean that a person loses
his own will?” another man interjected.

“The first part of the question: it’s is due mostly to the
sincerity of the human ally,” said Lavrentie. “A man with strong and dedicated
intentions is capable of making a complete change in an instant. Otherwise,
only joining the Church of Angels and practising our everyday prayer will
result in unity. That man will begin to feel how by listening to a kind of inner
voice through which he will be offered the right choice. I’m sure many of you
have already experienced this.”

Many cheering voices of confirmation echoed in the meeting
hall.

 “That is the voice of your angel and the beginning of
the union. As for losing your own will, there is nothing like that. Of course
we do not speak about possession by spirits here. Actually, the best way to
prevent or cure a spirit possession is true union with an angel.”

“I apologize if most of the people present know the answer
to my question,” said a woman from somewhere at the rear of the hall. “Would
you tell me how the Church of Angels was created?”

Many in the audience smiled, as did the three men on the
stage.

“In the beginning was the Internet. I believe more and more
stories will begin like that. We began as an Internet group interested in
angels and their connections with humans. We first formed a virtual Church, so
to speak. We exchanged information. Gradually, our philosophy and practices
grew clearer. Then we began to meet, and one day the physical Church was a
fact. Today we have branches in nine countries.” He pointed to the Russian.
“Maestro Lavrentie is one of the very first explorers of the human-angel
symbiosis.”

“When in a state of union, a man begins to realize his
enterprises more successfully,” said Lavrentie. “That is applicable to our
everyday life, our social interactions, our businesses. The union makes people
achieve what they want. That is one of the greatest advantages of our school.
It brings success here and now.”

The subject stirred excitement and a variety of comments.
Questions followed about the possibilities of an angel being used to improve
welfare and fulfil desires.

After some hesitation, Lino decided to ask a question as
well. “What is the attitude of the Church of Angels to Christianity?”

Some discontented voices sounded from different parts of the
hall. Most of the people obviously considered this question unnecessary. Two
men sitting in the middle of the row in front of Lino turned round and stared
at him. One of them whispered in the ear of the other. The second nodded.

The answer came from a man sitting not far from Lino. “We
are not an alternative to Catholicism or any other religion. Everybody who
accepts our principals is welcomed into our Church, regardless of the religion
he professes to. Unfortunately, the attitude of the Vatican towards us is
rather hostile.”

“One will never acquire an angel ally if he does not believe
that such a thing is possible,” said Paolo. “Probably, one day a man like that
would have to make a choice, but that’s personal. Otherwise, it’s OK if
somebody likes attending Mass in the morning then coming here in the afternoon
to pray and discuss with us.”

“The initiation rites for becoming a master or maestro are
known only by people from these levels. Why the secrecy?” asked Lino.

“Two reasons. First, these are very personal moments.
Second, there exists the possibility that the initiation would be wrongly
understood by someone who is not ready,” answered Lavrentie.

“I would recommend that everybody concentrates on himself,”
Master Silvio interjected. “If one is an apprentice, master, or maestro, that
is due to oneself, to dedication to the teaching of the Church. It’s important
we support the Church and each other.”

The discussion continued for about half an hour more. Lino
kept silent.

When the questions tailed off, Silvio stood up and said,
“Now I suggest we take a coffee break. On the tables with the drinks you’ll
find envelopes. You can use them to make a financial contribution if you feel
like it.”

Most of the people stood up. Some gathered around the two
adepts; others, Lino amongst them, went to the tables for a drink and a snack.
A man and a woman, both less than thirty years old, moved close to him holding
plastic cups in their hands. They were a bubbly couple and were obviously
looking for company. Normally, Lino would regard such situations as favourable
for collecting information, but something in those two repulsed him. He could
not fail to notice that in spite of his reserved attitude they were quite
persistent in attempting to find out about his personal life, his job, his name
and so on. Finally, he excused himself and went back to his seat.

He sat through the second half of the discussion with
growing exasperation. He wondered why nobody jumped out of their seat shouting,
“Stop this bullshit!” and had to restrain himself from doing so.

He’d had to put up with similar negative feelings during
some of his other visits to these meetings, but never before had his resentment
boiled within him so strongly. He hardly managed to stay in his seat until the
end of the prayers, which normally marked the conclusion of the gatherings, and
then almost ran out of the building.

The clear and cool night air outside instantly made him feel
calmer. With long strides, he walked under the light of the street lamps. The
further he walked away from that place of collective madness, the lighter he
felt in his heart.

He entered a small street that led to a taxi stop. He walked
fast for about a minute and then glanced over his shoulder, because for some
time he had sensed that somebody was following him. There was a male figure
behind him.

It’s a coincidence. I’m beginning to imagine things, and
that’s not good, Lino said to himself.

Despite this self-reassurance, he felt his heart quicken and
he started to walk even faster.

In order to reach the taxi stop, he had to turn into the
second street on the right. When he approached the first crossroads, however,
he suddenly took an impulsive decision and turned right there. He ran to the
other side of the street and squatted behind one of the many cars parked in a
row next to the kerb.

Soon, he heard the sound of rapid footsteps. The man walking
behind him also turned into the street. Lino could not see the man’s face, as
he wore a hat pulled down over his eyes and his jacket collar was up.

Sneaking behind the cars, Lino retraced his steps back onto
the main road. He almost ran to the taxi stop, looking back every now and then,
but he saw no one.

Once inside a taxi, he tried to analyse what had just
happened from different angles. He felt a bit ashamed of his paranoid
behaviour. The man’s route had probably just coincided with his.

The taxi stopped at Lino’s destination. He took out his
wallet and with it a small leaflet. He screwed the leaflet up in his fist and
counted out some money for the driver. He added a tip and got out of the car.

He threw the leaflet into the nearest rubbish bin and set
off for home. Putting his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked, he felt
another leaflet. It was the same as the one he had binned. At first glance, it
resembled some kind of theatre advertising. It was entitled ‘Theatre of Life’.
On it there was a cartoon drawing depicting a man with a rope tightened around
his neck, a knife stuck in his chest and a handgun at his head. At the bottom,
it read: ‘It always catches you’.

Lino looked round. The road was deserted. He walked back to
the bin, found the leaflet he had thrown away and unfolded it. It was identical.
Cold shivers ran up and down his spine. He could have mechanically picked one
up, put it in his pocket and forgotten about it, but not two in different
pockets. Somebody had placed them there. Somebody from the Church of Angels’
gathering.

The Whiteway Estate, Hampshire, UK

The dark green Audi rolled down the road at about twenty
miles per hour. Behind the wheel sat the perfecty. He and the much younger
West, sitting beside him, cast their eyes along the wall of trees and trimmed
bushes bordering the roadside.

Another car suddenly appeared behind and closed in on them.
The perfecty indicated that he was going to pull off and stopped at the side of
the road. Once the car had passed, he continued at the same low speed.

“There’s East.” West pointed to where the bushes thinned out
about twenty metres ahead.

Colin, wearing a waterproof jacket and Wellingtons, a cap
tipped over his eyes, was waiting among the trees. The perfecty drove close to
where he stood and pulled off the road. Colin looked around, stepped over a low
wire fence, ran to the car and quickly jumped in the back. “Phew, mornings in
the woods are colder than out in the open,” he said, shivering.

“Any change since the last time I heard from you?” asked the
perfecty.

“No. He and the old woman are alone. He hasn’t shown his
face yet. His four-wheel drive is in front of the house.”

“We could hardly get a better situation. It’s time for
action. Agreed?” asked the perfecty.

“All goes how we envisioned it. I say we go for it,” said
West.

“It’s nine o’clock. The right time for an early morning
courier delivery,” said the perfecty.

“It’s quiet,” said Colin.

“Let’s move,” snapped the perfecty.

“Give me five minutes to take my position,” said Colin.
“Then give the green light to South and North.”

* * *

Irina Bellin spotted the stone arch at the end of the
private drive leading to James’ house and slowed down. She had asked to meet
James at this early hour on a Saturday morning because she had several meetings
arranged for later. By way of compensation, she had offered to visit him at
home and to be brief, and he had accepted. The next day she intended to write
her report about the Costov case and tie up any loose ends with Peter Oliver’s
team. Her flight back to Bulgaria was scheduled for the early afternoon on
Tuesday.

A dark blue van caught her attention because it was moving
at high speed. It slowed as it approached the drive to James’ house, turned
down it and disappeared through the arch. Irina just caught sight of some
yellow letters on the side of the van. She assumed it was a delivery vehicle as
delivery drivers tended to drive that fast. A green Audi, which the van had
overtaken just before making the turn, also slowed down, turned into the drive
pulled up in front of the arch.

Irina drove ahead slowly. She saw that the Audi was now
blocking the drive. A man and a woman remained sitting in the car, staring at
her. Irina signalled to them that she wanted to drive past, but they ignored
her. They exchanged a few words with each other and then continued to stare.

Irina suppressed her rising indignation. She got out of her
car and walked up to the Audi. In a hard but polite manner, she said to the
driver, “Excuse me, you’re blocking my way. Would you move your car so I can
drive in?”

The man lowered his window. “I’m sorry. Something happened
to the engine. It won’t start.”

It was clear to her that he was lying, but she couldn’t
figure out why. She stepped to the front of the car and said, “I’m good with
engines. I may be able to help.”

The man didn’t respond in any way.

“I’m talking to you,” Irina said, no longer hiding her
irritation. “Move the car or I’ll call the police.”

The man smiled coldly. “You’re calling nobody,” he said and
suddenly pointed a gun with a silencer at her. “Shut up and get in this car if
you wanna live.”

Startled, Irina raised her arms. “Okay, I’ll do as you say.
Don’t shoot,” she said resignedly and walked towards him with small slow steps.

The man opened his door to see her better. “Get on the back
seat! Move, bitch! I don’t have all day.”

Irina looked scared and confused as she reached for the door
handle. In the next instant, she twisted her body and kicked the man’s arm with
her right leg. The point of her shoe caught the man’s wrist and smashed it
against the body of the car. He cried out in pain and dropped the gun. Irina
reached for her own gun, which she carried under her arm, but saw that the
woman was now pointing a further gun with a silencer at her. Irina did the only
thing she could – she hit the asphalt just before the car’s rear window was
shattered by the bullets fired from inside. She rolled over and fired three
times. The last bullet hit the woman in the face and exited the top of her
head, splattering the roof and part of the windscreen with blood.

Meanwhile, the man managed to start the engine and drove
away. Irina thought he was trying to escape, but she soon realized that was not
his intention. The Audi made a sharp turn and drove backwards towards her. She
took a steady aim and emptied the cartridge clip into the oncoming car. Just at
the last moment she jumped sideways. The car passed a couple of inches from her
and collided into the side of the arch. She quickly loaded another cartridge
clip and approached the smashed car from the driver’s side with her gun ready.
The man was slumped motionless behind the wheel. She inched closer. He was
wounded but still breathing. There were two growing red stains on his shirt.
Their eyes met. The thick lips of the man barely moved as he croaked, “Bitch.”
His eyelids drooped and he gave out his last gasp.