The Devils of D-Day (17 page)

This, apparently, was what it took to keep them from breaking
out.’

I whispered: ‘Father Anton tried to seal the devil away on
his own. My God, if only we’d found this out earlier.’

‘A single priest would not have sufficient power,’ said the
Reverend Taylor. ‘It had to be seven, and they had to invoke seraphim to help
them. The thirteen devils of
Adramelech
were not to
be played with.’

‘And then what?’ asked Madeleine. ‘How did the Americans
find out about them?’

‘I was never really sure, my dear,’ answered the vicar. ‘I
found out the story myself, and I wrote a short article about it in my parish
magazine, in I938. I can’t imagine that my little publication ever reached as
far as Washington, but some very mysterious American gentlemen got in touch
with me in I943, and asked me a great many questions about the devils and the
vaults and what could be done to control them.’

‘And you told them?’ I asked.

‘I told them all I knew, which wasn’t very much. I didn’t
think about it for a while, but in January, 1944, I received a letter from
Bishop
Angmering
, saying that Allied forces had a
patriotic interest in the devils of Rouen, and that I was to give them every
co-operation possible.’

The Reverend Taylor was obviously disturbed by his memories.
He got up from his chair, and began to walk up and down the worn carpet of his
sitting-room, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

‘They came one day with Roman Catholic priests, and they
took the thirteen sacks away. I didn’t know where they were taking them, but I
begged them to be careful. I said the devils were not to be meddled with, but
they said that they were quite aware of that, and that was why they wanted
them.’

He sat down again, and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles.

‘The next I knew, I was ordered to go to Southampton, and
report to an American colonel called Sparks. He was a very brusque man, I
remember.
Very crisp.
He said that my devils were to
be used by the American forces for a secret mission.
A
special division.
They had been brought back to life by the conjurations
of the Kabbalah, and they had been promised great rewards if they fought on the
side of the Allies against the Hun. I never found out what these great rewards
were, but I suspect now that they may have involved... well, human sacrifices.
I asked one of the American officers, but all he ever did was smile, and tell
me that what they were doing was for western liberty and freedom.’

‘So you went across to France with this division?’ I asked
the Reverend Taylor.

‘I did, although I was kept in the rear most of the time.
Since it was impracticable to take seven Roman Catholic priests along with us,
it was my duty to make sure the devils stayed in their tanks, and I did this
with silver crosses that had been blessed by seven
priests,
and with incantations from the holy exorcism. I was only required once, as you
know, when one of the tanks broke a track, and they found it impossible to
move.’

Madeleine slowly shook her head. ‘Didn’t it ever occur to
you,
Mr
Taylor, that
the
devil you left in that tank would bring misery to all who lived near it?’

The Reverend Taylor frowned. ‘I sealed it away and they told
me the tank would last
for ever
.’

‘But, out of all the thirteen devils, this was the only
devil who hadn’t been rewarded, right?’ I asked him. ‘I suppose so.’

‘So it was bound to be troublesome, and dissatisfied?’
‘Well, yes.’

I sat back, and wearily ran my fingers through my hair.
‘What you did,
Mr
Taylor, left a thirty-year plague
on that community. Milk went sour, eggs went rotten, and now the devil’s got
out, and two people have died. Three, if you count this young lady’s mother.’

The vicar licked his lips in embarrassment. He said, in a
low voice: ‘Is there anything I can do to help?
Anything to
protect you, or assist you?’

‘You can tell us where the other twelve devils are.’

The Reverend Taylor blinked at me.
‘The
other twelve?
But I haven’t the faintest idea. They took them away after
the war, and I never found out what happened to them. I suppose they sealed
them away, once they had had their rewards, and took them off to America.’

‘America? You have to be kidding! We have a devil out there
who’s
...’

The Reverend Taylor’s eyes bulged. ‘You have it out there?
You have
Elmek
outside my house?’

I took a deep breath. I hadn’t really meant to tell him
straight away. But I said, in the most controlled voice I could muster: ‘I have
him locked in a lead trunk, in the back of my car. He forced us to bring him to
England, on pain of death by cutting or slicing or whatever it is he does. He
wants to join his brethren.’

The vicar was so flustered that he got out of his chair, and
then sat down again straight away. ‘My dear man,’ he said, breathlessly, ‘do
you have any notion how dangerous that creature is?’

‘I saw it kill Father Anton’s housekeeper, and I saw what it
did to Father Anton.’

‘My God,’ said the Reverend Taylor, ‘that was why the
Americans wanted them.

They’re devils of war -devils of violence. Thirteen devils
in army tanks were as vicious and terrible as three divisions of ordinary
troops. They swept through the hills of the Suisse
Normande
in a matter of days. The Germans just couldn’t stop them. I wasn’t right up at
the front line, so I never saw what they did first hand, but I heard dreadful
stories from some of the German prisoners-of-war. Some of the Hun
were
dying of leprosy and beriberi. Tropical diseases, in
northern France! Some were blazing like torches. And others were drowning in
their own blood, without any apparent signs of external injury. It was a
terrible business, and I was glad when Patton stopped it.’

‘Why did he stop it?’ asked Madeleine.

The Reverend Taylor pulled a face. ‘Once he’d broken through
Normandy, I think he felt it would be more discreet, with regard to future war
trials, if his tanks didn’t leave behind them the bodies of men who had died in
unnatural and unholy ways.’

I took a deep drag on my cigarette. ‘What I can’t understand
is why the church was so ready to go along with it. These devils are enemies of
the church, aren’t they?’

‘People’s standards are different in time of war,’ said the
vicar. ‘I believe that the Bishop felt he was doing the right thing. And after
all, the Americans did agree to take the devils away after it was all over, and
dispose of them. We were all glad of that.’

I sighed, tiredly. ‘But you’ve no idea where they were
taken, or who took them?’

The vicar said: ‘I know that Colonel Sparks took care of
them once they were shipped back to England. But where he took them, or how, I
was never told. It was an extremely hush-hush operation. If any inkling had
leaked out – well, there would have been a terrible flap.’

Madeleine asked: ‘They were brought back to England? They
weren’t shipped direct to America from France?’

‘No, they weren’t. The last time I saw them myself was at
Southampton, when they were unloading them from ships. The usual
dockers
were told to keep well away.’

‘So what makes you think they took them off to America?
Couldn’t they still be here?’

The Reverend Taylor scratched his head. ‘I suppose so.
There’s only one way to find out.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Well, you’d have to talk to Colonel Sparks himself. He
always sends me a Christmas card, every year, although we never met after the
war. I have his address somewhere.’

Madeleine and I exchanged anxious glances as the Reverend
Taylor went across to his desk and started sorting through stacks of untidy
papers in search of the American colonel’s greetings cards. It was now
eight-twenty, and I began to have a fearful, restless feeling that
Elmek
wasn’t going to give us much more time. The Reverend
Taylor said: ‘I was sure they were here, you know. I never throw anything
away.’

I took out another cigarette, and I was just about to lift
it to my lips when Madeleine said: ‘Dan – look.
Your hand.’

I couldn’t think what she was talking about at first, but
then I looked down at the cigarette I was holding and saw that it was soaked
pink with blood. I had a small deep cut on the end of my finger.

‘It’s
Elmek
,’ said Madeleine, in a
tight, desperate voice. ‘Oh God, Dan, he’s warning us.’

Tugging out my handkerchief, I bound up the end of my finger
as best I could, but it didn’t take long before the thin cotton was drenched. I
said: ‘
Mr
Taylor – I’d really appreciate it if you
hurried.’

‘Sorry – did you say something?’ asked the vicar, looking up
from his papers.

‘Please hurry. I think
Elmek’s
getting impatient.’

The Reverend Taylor shuffled through some more papers, and
then he said: ‘Ah – here we are! This is last year’s card, so I expect he’s
still living there.’

He passed over the Christmas card, and Madeleine opened it
up. Almost immediately, uncannily, my finger stopped bleeding, and the wound
closed up. I was left with a crimson handkerchief and no visible scar at all.

The Reverend Taylor said: ‘My dear chap, have you cut
yourself?’

The transatlantic line to Silver Spring, Maryland, was
crackling and faint. It was just after lunch in the States, and
Mr
Sparks, onetime colonel, was out mowing his lawn.

His cleaning lad dithered and fussed, but eventually agreed
to get him on the line. I was glad I wasn’t paying the Reverend Taylor’s
telephone bill that quarter. At last, a sharp voice said: ‘Hello? Who is this?’
Madeleine watched me as I answered: Tm sorry to trouble you, sir. My name’s Dan
McCook,
and I’m standing right now in the home of the
Reverend
Woodfall
Taylor.’

‘Oh, really?
Well, that’s a
surprise! I haven’t seen
Mr
Taylor since I945. Is he
well?

You’re not calling to tell me he’s passed away, are you?’

‘No, no, nothing
like
that.
Mr
Taylor’s in fine shape. But I am ringing about that
little business you and he were involved in on D-Day.’ There was a crackly
silence. ‘Can you hear me okay?’ I asked him. ‘Sure, I hear you. What do you
know about that?’

‘Well, sir, I guess I know almost everything.’
‘I sec.
It’s a Pentagon secret, I hope you
realise
.’ ‘Yes, sir, I do. But right now we need some
help.’
‘Help?
What kind of help?’

My hand suddenly began to feel sticky on the telephone
receiver. I was bleeding again, from cuts all over my hands, and the blood was
running down my sleeve.

Madeleine said: ‘Oh Dan, tell him to hurry.
Elmek
will kill you!’

I whispered, ‘Okay, okay – the cuts aren’t bad. He’s just
trying to needle me.’

Mr
Sparks said: ‘Are you there?
Are you still there?’
‘Yes,
Mr
Sparks, sorry.
Listen, I need to know where the twelve remaining sacks
were taken. You left one behind in Normandy. Where are the rest? Were they
shipped to the States? Or were they left in England?’

There was another silence. Then
Mr
Sparks said: ‘Well... I’m not sure I’m allowed to tell you that.’

‘
Mr
Sparks, please. It’s a matter
of life or death. That devil you left behind in Normandy has got out of its
tank. We have to find the rest of them.’

‘Well,
Mr
McCook, we called them
ANPs, which was short for Assisting Non-Military Personnel. We certainly never
knew them as, well, devils. They were ANPs.’

‘All right,
Mr
Sparks.
ANPs.
But where were they taken? Are they hidden in the
States?’

‘No, they aren’t,’ said
Mr
Sparks,
reluctantly. ‘They were shipped back to England, and put into cold storage,
militarily speaking. I believe that General Eisenhower wanted them taken back
to the States, but the problems of carrying them over and keeping them under
lock and key were too tricky right then. We knew very little about them, and so
we left them where they were.’

‘And where was that?’

‘Well, we wanted to take them back to St Thaddeus, where
they originally came from. But we’d made a deal with the Bishop that we would
take them off his hands.

So we transported them to London, and they were sealed up in
a house that belonged to the British War Office.’

‘You mean they’re still there?
Now?’

‘As far as I know.
I’ve never heard
any news to the contrary.’

The blood was beginning to dry on the back of my hand.
Madeleine was staring at me anxiously, and through the door I could see the
Reverend Taylor, pouring himself another Scotch. I can’t say that I blamed him.

I said hoarsely: ‘
Mr
Sparks, do
you know where the house is?
Even roughly?’

‘Why sure.
Eighteen Huntington Place, just
off the Cromwell Road.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure. I had to go there four or five times.’

I leaned back against the brown flowers of the Reverend
Taylor’s wallpaper, and closed my eyes.

‘
Mr
Sparks,’ I said, ‘I don’t know
how to thank you.

‘Don’t bother. I shouldn’t be telling you anyway.’

‘If we get out of this alive,’ I told him, ‘I’ll pay you a
personal visit and bring you a bottle of brandy.’