Fear of the Fathers (21 page)

“It is indeed. But in the face of a man with divine powers, who will deny him?”

“About a Billion Muslims. Not to mention the Sikhs, Jews, Buddhists and the rest.”

Alonso shook his head. “They will be won over. Once they experience first hand his ‘divine' power, they will not be able to deny him.”

Stella stubbed out her cigarette and finished her coffee. “Okay then Daniel, let's suppose that you're telling the truth. Where do I fit in? And more importantly, what's all this rubbish about Stratton being alive?”

“Over the years we have been looking for a sign that the box had been found. We have strong connections throughout the world, as does the Church. It came to our attention just before Christmas last year that at last the wait was over.”

“How the hell did you find out? That was classified information.”

Alonso smiled. “Like I said – we have very strong connections.”

“Okay then, so I assume you think I know where the box is. I hate to disabuse you, but I don't.”

“We know you don't Ms Jones. Just let me finish and all will become clear.” He paused to empty his cup and then continued: “We knew that the box had disappeared and that three people were killed in an incident at Stonehenge. We also knew, through our sources, what was being attempted there. As soon as we got wind that your boyfriend's body had been taken from the mortuary we became suspicious. A week later our suspicions were all but confirmed.”

“Why? What happened?”

“We found a piece in an English newspaper about a mini earthquake at a church. It was extremely localized – so much so that it affected nobody apart from the vicar and his family. This particular church is built on a complex web of power lines, or ley lines as you would say. Five men were seen running away from the building as the vicar went to investigate. We believe that one of these men was Stratton. We believe that whoever took the box from Stonehenge used it to bring Stratton back to life.”

Stella was lost for words. Alonso's theory was just too fantastical to take seriously. “This is ridiculous,” she said. “They tried bringing someone back to life at Stonehenge, and it didn't work. It can't be done. Even Stratton said it was an insane idea.”

“Maybe,” said Alonso. “But maybe not. I have spoken to the vicar in question myself, and one of the men fits Stratton's description perfectly.” He delved into his trouser pocket. “Here is a sketch of the man he described.”

Stella gave it a cursory glance. “This doesn't mean anything,” she said. “You could have drawn this from a photo for all I know.”

“Yes I could have. But why would I? I have nothing to gain from telling you all this.”

“Maybe not…I just don't know,” she said, dragging her hands down her face in exasperation. “I don't know what's going on. I'm confused. My head's all over the shop. What with you and Father Cronin.”

“Ah, yes,” said Alonso. “Father Patrick Cronin. I am guessing that he has been playing the concerned priest? It is him that I am protecting you from. He is a dangerous man. He will do anything to get hold of the box for the Church…Anything.”

Stella sparked up another cigarette. It was becoming all too much for her to assimilate. The idea that Stratton was alive was ludicrous. If he was, then why hadn't he been in touch? Why would he leave her to mourn? Why would he leave her in such pain?

“I can understand your confusion,” said Alonso. “But what I am saying is true. If we suspect that Stratton is alive, then you can bet that the Catholic Church does too. Cronin has been hovering around trying to find out the extent of your knowledge. He may believe that you are in touch with Stratton. Or he may believe that Stratton will come to you.”

“Well, I'm certainly not in touch with him. And I'm not likely to be – unless you've got a Ouija board handy. I wish you'd get it into your head – he's dead. I wish you and Father fucking Cronin would just leave me alone!” Her eyes welled up in frustration.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you. But I fear you are in great danger from Father Cronin and the Church. They will stop at nothing to get hold of the power. If, as I believe, Stratton is alive, then we must find him quickly and warn him. We must make sure that the secrets remain hidden.”

Stella sat up straight trying to maintain composure. “For the last time – Stratton is not alive.”

“You are denying it, but in your heart you know it to be true. We have to reach him before Cronin does. Can you think of anywhere he might be hiding? Or anyone that he would trust enough to know?”

“I think you should leave Mr Alonso, or Daniel, or whoever you are. And I suggest that you stop following me, or I'll inform the authorities.”

“I cannot leave, I must protect you.”

“Well, that's tough shit. I want you out of my flat. Now!”

Alonso stood up. “Very well. I am sorry you feel this way.” From his pocket he produced a business card. “Here is my number, just in case.”

Stella took it and threw it on the sofa. “Now if you wouldn't mind. Just leave.”

Alonso grabbed his still-wet raincoat from the hook and made to go. “Remember,” he said. “Be careful.”

Stella shut the door behind him and then went to the window to make sure he left the building. Satisfied he was gone she collapsed on the sofa. With her head on the arm she curled up and started to cry.

Jennings and Appleby sat at the dining table in the Presidential Suite eating breakfast with the Prime Minister and his wife. It was a sumptuous affair, with everything laid out on silver trays in the middle. Jennings was feeling pleased with himself after divesting his colleagues of their cash the previous evening. Taking the overly-cocky Davis' money had given him the most pleasure, but unfortunately he had left at the crack of dawn with Stone to work out the following day's route through Manchester, so there was no chance to rib him.

“I hear you had a bit of a win at cards last night Jennings,” said Ayres. “Are you a bit of a player?”

“Not really sir,” he replied modestly. “It was just luck really. If you get the right hand at the right time then you're bound to win.”

“I suppose so,” said Ayres. “But you've still got to be good to extract the money out of someone like Davis. I play a bit of poker myself you know. Perhaps next time I can join you?”

“Of course, sir,” said Jennings, slightly bemused. “Although it's only a bit of fun. We're not high rollers.”

He tucked in to his food with relish. Demolishing a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, before moving on to a couple of
pain au chocolat
. He felt a renewed fervour for life.

As he sat back with a coffee his mobile rang. The caller ID told him it was Stella. He cancelled and sent it to voicemail. It was the third time she had rung that morning.

“You can have phone calls if you like Jennings,” said Ayres. “I don't expect you to give up your entire life.”

“Thank you sir, but I'm sure it's not important.”

“Nevertheless, I don't want you missing out on your personal life. I'm sure we'll be safe enough finishing our breakfast with Appleby here, if you want to return the call.”

“Thank you sir,” he said, and went to one of the bedrooms.

Sitting on the edge of the bed he punched in his voicemail number and retrieved his messages. There were two, both from Stella. The first was brief, asking him to get back to her as soon as possible. The second was longer and slightly garbled. Something about Cronin, Stratton and a Spanish priest. He listened again to try and make some sense of it. From what he could make out, Cronin had indeed proved to be too good to be true. But the bit about Stratton and the other priest was hurried and confusing.

Putting the phone back in his pocket, he sighed. He knew that he really ought to call her back straight away, but at that moment it seemed like too much of an effort. He felt like he was caught in a never-ending cycle of emotional support. The last three months had been a constant struggle to keep Stella afloat, and his own reserves were wearing thin. Whatever the problem was, he was sure it could wait. His priority was taking care of the Prime Minister.

“Everything okay?” asked Ayres as Jennings returned.

“Yes, thank you sir. It's just my mother wanting to keep me abreast of family gossip and suchlike.”

Ayres laughed. “I know what you mean,” he said. “All mothers are the same aren't they? Mine still phones me up to check that I'm eating properly. It doesn't make any difference to her that I'm trying to run a country.”

Jennings sat back down and refilled his cup with coffee. He felt guilty for ignoring Stella's call. It wasn't her fault he was in turmoil. She hadn't led him on in any way. She thought of him as a good friend and treated him as such. Anything else was in his head.

Stella hung up the phone and sighed. She checked her watch: 9.30am. It was unlike Jennings to be sleeping this late. She went to the kitchen, put the kettle on and made some toast. Her mind was a mess.

All night she had lain on the sofa with only the television for company. Occasionally she had drifted off, but these fits of sleep were sporadic and brief. She had spent most of the time gazing aimlessly and thinking about Stratton. Could he really be alive? It just wasn't possible. She had thought and smoked so much that her head felt like it would implode.

After forcing a couple of mouthfuls of toast she pushed the rest away and took a sip of coffee. She was so exhausted that it was almost physically impossible to keep anything down. Mistakenly she lit up a cigarette and started to gag. To keep herself from throwing up she opened the front window and inhaled some fresh air. She breathed slowly and deeply, and her retching eventually subsided.

Looking out onto the empty street she felt cold and alone. The rain had stopped but a chill wind blew from the east, sweeping sweet wrappers and empty crisp packets up in its arms. She shivered and clasped her shoulders.

She was about to return to her coffee when she noticed something across the road. Fifty yards to her right she saw a silver Vectra. In the driver's seat, chewing on what appeared to be a sandwich and staring up at her, was Alonso. He gave her a nod and raised his hand. She responded with a filthy glare and shut the window.

Picking up her coffee, she sat down on the sofa and went back to her scattered catatonia. The weight welled inside her body and brain. It was all too much. She was drowning and flying at the same time. Her ribs constricted and her breath laboured, giving her the sensation of being forced through a narrow tube, whilst beneath her the pressure increased exponentially building to a critical mass. Suddenly, the dam burst, and in one cataclysmic second she exploded like a supernova.

Her coffee cup headed for the window and she remembered no more.

The dining room was slowly emptying. Annie leant morosely on her elbow and pushed her scrambled eggs around the plate. Opposite her Kamal ate his breakfast in quiet contemplation. Outside, in the hotel garden, the willow tree shivered in the breeze, its leafy hair whirling in randomized streams.

“You should eat some more food,” said Kamal. “It is not good to face a day such as this on an empty stomach.”

Annie put her fork down and sipped at some orange juice. “I'm just not hungry,” she said.

“Well, force it down if you have to. But I need you to be strong; I need you to be thinking clearly. I will not be able to do this on my own.” He grabbed her hand and gave a firm but affectionate squeeze.

Annie looked at him and smiled. “I'm sorry,” she said. “You're right. I'm just finding it hard to concentrate. My head's spinning with a million thoughts a second. I don't know what I'll do if anything happens to them. I feel really alone.”

“Do not think like that,” said Kamal. “You are not alone – I am with you.”

“I know, and I'm really grateful. But I just feel lost without them. My son means everything to me, and so does my mum.”

Kamal finished his food and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I do understand you know. It is not nice being left without the ones you love. Have you no other family?”

“No,” she said flatly.

“What about your father? Have you no brothers or sisters?” Annie bowed her head. “My father's dead. I had a sister, but she's dead too.”

“I'm very sorry to hear that,” said Kamal. “But what about David's father?”

Annie looked distantly out of the window. Kamal's questions, although perfectly normal and polite, were making her uncomfortable. “He left me before David was born. He wasn't interested in a long-term commitment. He was only a kid himself really, and so was I to be honest.” She regained her composure and returned her gaze to Kamal. “Anyway, all these questions about me, what about you? Don't you have any family? I hardly know anything about you, apart from the fact that you're a hitman and grew up in Mumbai.”