Fear of the Fathers (20 page)

“You can always fold your hand if you want,” said Davis, “and leave it to the big boys.”

“No, you're alright,” said Jennings in mock defence. “Let it not be said that Thomas Jennings is a bottler.” He put in a twenty pound note.

“Good lad,” said Davis. “What about you Appleby? It's a ‘commodore' to call.”

“What the fuck's a ‘commodore',” asked Jennings.

Davis laughed. “Well, a fiver's a ‘lady', as in ‘Lady Godiva'. So a ‘commodore' is ‘three times a lady'.”

Jennings groaned.

Appleby looked at his cards yet again, then raised his head and eyed Davis and Jennings closely, searching for a read. “I'll re-raise,” he said calmly. “Here's your fifteen. And here…is an extra thirty.”

“Come on boys, this is getting a bit silly,” said Jennings, having to stop himself from bursting.

Davis sat back in his seat with a cocky grin. “Like I said Jennings, if you want to leave it to the big boys…”

Jennings got out his wallet and made a big show of counting his notes. “Well I suppose I've got enough to cover it,” he sighed.

“Well, how much have you got in there?” asked Davis.

“A hundred and ten,” Jennings replied.

Davis reached into his jacket. “Right then, that's how much I'll bet. One hundred and ten pounds.” He fanned the notes on the table.

Jennings shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” He emptied his wallet.

Appleby flung his cards in face up. He had a nine and a ten, making a straight. “Fuck that boys. I'll leave it to you. One of you must have the flush.”

“You're right,” said Davis. “One of us has.” He laid down an ace and a ten of hearts. “Sorry about that Jennings, looks like you should have quit after all.”

“Maybe not,” said Jennings, and turned over his cards. “Full house. I believe that beats a flush, doesn't it?”

Davis stared at the cards in disbelief. There was a brief silence, then he laughed. “You sneaky little fucker. All that counting of your money – I should have smelt a rat. Nice hand.”

Jennings raked in his winnings. The pot was £327. Taking away the £136 he had put in gave him a nice profit of £191. Not bad for ten minutes work.

Stone came back into the room with a concerned look on his face. Jennings noticed him exchanging glances with Davis.

“Trouble at home mate?” said Appleby.

Stone broke into a smile, although Jennings sensed it was forced. “No, not at all. I was just saying goodnight to my little girl. I do miss her. It's not the best job for a family man. Have I missed anything good.”

“Only Jennings here fleecing me,” said Davis. “Come and sit down. I want to get some of my money back.”

Stella huddled close under her umbrella as the rain became heavier. Throwing her half-finished cigarette to the ground she picked up her pace. Cronin had set her head awhirl, and her mind was filled with too many possibilities. She crossed the road and took a right turn. As she mounted the pavement she tripped on the kerb.

“Fuck it,” she said aloud, only just managing to maintain her balance. A strong gust of wind attempted to steal her umbrella. She took shelter behind a car and regained her composure.

Through the windows of the car she saw a man across the street. He was ten yards behind her and had stopped to light a cigarette. The wind was making his task almost impossible. It was difficult to tell in the dark but she thought he might be the same man she had seen in the church. Alarm bells started to ring.

Setting her umbrella against the wind once again she hurried on her way, trying to keep an inconspicuous eye on her suspected tail. He continued to follow her at a respectful distance.

After another couple of minutes she turned left into her own street. But instead of walking the hundred yards to her flat she ducked behind a wall. Ten seconds later the man shuffled past looking down the road in slight confusion. Stella ditched her umbrella and leapt out from behind the wall. She looped her arm tightly round his neck from behind. He struggled but she held firm.

“Why are you following me?” she said.

The man tried to splutter out some words, but they were incomprehensible.

Stella loosened her hold slightly. “Come on, tell me.”

“Let…let me go,” he said. “I'm not going to harm you.”

“I know you're not,” said Stella. “Because I'm not going to give you the chance. One dodgy move and I'll break your neck. And don't think I can't.”

“Please,” said the man. “I mean you no harm.” His accent was Mediterranean, possibly Spanish.

Stella finally relented, loosening her grip and pushing him away, but keeping a defensive stance.

The man turned round to face her. “Thank you,” he said. “I am sorry if I frightened you.”

Stella looked at his face under the orange glow of the street lamp. She recognized him, not only from the church earlier that evening, but also from the coffee shop on Saturday afternoon. “What the fuck do you want?!” she barked.

“We must talk. May we go to your flat? It is very wet out here.”

“And why should I let you into my flat? How can I trust you?”

“I will explain. But please, let us get out of the rain.”

Stella eyed him carefully. He was a sorry sight. “We'll only get out of the rain if you tell me what this is all about,” she said.

“It is your boyfriend,” he said. “The one they call Stratton. I have reason to believe that he may be alive.”

Annie was lost in a sea of dark dreams. She swam this way and that, trying to escape the cloying blue mucus that held her. The man waded towards her, scything through the viscous liquid with robotic intent. He came to her swiftly and she screamed, the silence echoing through her ears. A knife appeared in her hand and she set about her assailant with frenzied stabs, piercing his chest and abdomen fiercely and repeatedly. His face, which had been featureless, took on a form that she recognized. He smiled, his rictus growing with every strike, until all she could see was a set of rotting, taunting teeth mocking her feeble attack. She lashed out at the giant dentures with all her fury, her fists landing with a dull, ineffectual thud. Thud, thud, thud…

Her head shot up, her eyes flashed open, and she struggled for breath. After a couple of lungfuls of air she reoriented herself and realized that someone was knocking at the door. She stretched her arms sleepily and looked at the clock. It was just gone 10.30pm. She had been out for a couple of hours. Another knock prompted her to answer.

Kamal strode in and shut the door behind him. His face, as usual, was unreadable. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” she said. “I've just been sleeping. Bit of a bad dream, that's all… Anyway, what happened?” she asked. “Did you get through to them?”

Kamal went to the table and poured himself a brandy. “Yes. I got through to them. But I am not happy.”

“Why? What did they say?”

“They want us to meet them. They want to sort things out.”

“That's good then isn't it?” said Annie hopefully. “I mean, we might be able to get my family back.”

Kamal sat down on the bed and took a sip of his drink. “Yes, I suppose we might. But it's not as clean cut as that. They want their money back.”

“What? All five hundred thousand?”

“Yes, all of it. But I'm still not sure if that is going to be enough. I am unhappy with the whole situation. They have got the upper hand.”

“I'm sorry,” said Annie, hanging her head. “Perhaps you should just take your money and run. You could just disappear.”

“And what would you do then?” he said. “They would kill your family and then come for you. No, I must see this through to the end.”

“So what do we do?” she asked.

“We are to meet them tomorrow and exchange the money for your family.”

“But it's not about the money, is it?”

“No, it isn't,” said Kamal. “They are luring us into a trap. They have no intention of letting us live.”

“So what's the point in meeting them?”

“It is our only option. If we do not, your family are as good as dead.”

For a moment Stella stood open-mouthed, the rain pouring down her face. “Alive!” she shouted eventually. “What the fuck do you mean, he might be alive?!”

“Exactly what I say,” the man said. “Now, please. Let us get out of this weather. I mean you no harm.”

Stella continued to stare incomprehensibly, oblivious to the ongoing deluge. Then she picked up her umbrella and walked quickly for home. The man followed two paces behind.

Once inside, she shook the rainwater from her hair and face. Beside her the man brushed himself down. He was short and light-framed, and with the soaking he had received Stella thought he looked quite pathetic. She felt a twinge of sympathy. “Come on,” she said. “Let's get up into the warm. But I'm warning you – try anything and I'll break both your arms, do you understand?”

The man nodded.

After hanging their coats up to dry, she led him into the living room, offered him a seat, and went to put the kettle on. “What's your name?” she asked, when she returned.

“My name is Daniel.”

“I'm Stella. But I guess you know that already.”

He nodded.

“So Daniel, what's all this about Stratton? And why have you been following me? Is it you who's been trailing me in that silver Vectra?”

“Yes, it was me,” he said. “But I have been watching over you, making sure that you were safe.”

Stella tried not to laugh. He seemed far too small to be a bodyguard, and the ease with which she had restrained him in the street backed this up. “Making sure I was safe from what exactly?”

“From the Church,” he said.

Stella pulled a puzzled frown. “The Church? What are they going to do? Subject me to a particularly vicious baptismal?”

“It is no laughing matter,” said Daniel. “They are dangerous people. You will do well to take me seriously.”

Stella went to the kitchen and returned with two strong coffees. She handed one to Daniel and sat down on the armchair to his left. “So, what exactly do the Church want from me. And come to think of it, which Church are we talking about.”

Daniel drank some coffee to warm himself. “The Catholic Church,” he said. “And they don't want anything from you personally. They think that you can lead them to Stratton.”

“Stratton's dead – end of story. I saw him die. He was shot straight through the heart.”

“I know,” agreed Daniel. “But his body was taken from the mortuary a few days later was it not? And it has not been found.”

“That's right. But it doesn't mean he's alive.”

“No, it does not. But there are reasons to think he might be. Perhaps it would be better if I started at the beginning and told you who I am, and whom I represent.”

“Maybe it would,” she said. She got out her cigarettes and offered one to Daniel, who politely declined.

“My name is Daniel Alonso, and I am a priest from Sevilla,” he started. “I have been sent here by a group called
Frater Fides
– the Brothers in Faith. We are a very small sect, placed in the Catholic Church to contain it and to make sure that it does not become too powerful.”

Stella snorted derisively. “Well, you're doing a great job. Not.”

Alonso gave her a puzzled glance.

“Sorry,” she said. “It's just a joke. It probably doesn't translate. Carry on.”

“Anyway,” he continued. “The Catholic Church has long been aware of a certain artefact left by Jesus that contains the secret of his power. For nearly two millennia they have searched for it, but to no avail.”

“The box,” said Stella.

“Yes, a box,” said Alonso. “A box carved by the Messiah leaving his legacy to mankind. They do not want anyone to know about it. The Church is based upon Jesus being the Son of God, the embodiment of the Lord in human form. It is based on people worshipping and following. The events of Jesus' life, and his words, have been twisted to serve a purpose. To create an all-powerful religion. The secrets of the box would undo nearly two thousand years of propaganda.”

“So they want to find the box and destroy it?”

“No, not at all. They want to find the box and use it. They will create a new Messiah. This second coming will proclaim the Catholic Church as the only true religion on earth. He will be able to heal like Jesus did, and perform miracles like Jesus did. Seeing this, the whole world will convert.”

“Fucking hell!” said Stella, exhaling smoke. “That's a bit ambitious isn't it?”