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The Pillars of Abraham

Page 16

by Ian Young


  I let out a stream of air, deflating like a balloon.

  ‘OK,’ says Hanzel. ‘My colleagues don’t believe in coincidences but I’m more open-minded.’

  Hanzel pauses for a moment. The only sound in the room is my breathing. I puff air again, pushing it through my nose to make sure I keep my mouth closed. Mason’s going to kill me.

  ‘Why did Mr Mason arrive just at this moment? Were you expecting him?’

  ‘Not really. We’d arrange to meet, but I didn’t know if and when he would turn up.’

  ‘You were dating?’

  ‘No way, Jose.’ I look at Hanzel like he’s just asked me on a date. ‘I was on a scientific expedition in the …’ I don’t want to say where, but don’t know why I shouldn’t. ‘… In the South Pacific, and Mason was head of ship security. He asked if we could meet up when we got back to LA. That’s all.’

  ‘Lucky for you.’ Hanzel smiles and watches my face. ‘And now here you are, together in Prague, sharing an apartment.’

  I have to admit, it doesn’t look good. But none of that is against the law (entering the Czech Republic under a false identity probably is).

  ‘We panicked,’ I say. ‘There was a dead man in my apartment, my boss had been killed and I panicked. Running away with Mason seemed thrilling and … romantic, kind of. Maybe Prague was just somewhere no one would think of looking for us.’

  Hanzel watches my face again and I have to look down at my hands, wrestling with themselves on the table. I quickly separate them and hide them on my lap under the table.

  ‘The thing is,’ says Hanzel, ‘I think Unsworth contracted that man to kill you.’

  * * *

  Hanzel hasn’t let me go after questioning me. I’ve been here a few hours waiting in this room, pacing around, sitting at the desk, sitting on the desk, wondering if I’m being watched. Occasionally someone checks on me, offering an apology and promising it won’t be much longer. But it is much longer.

  As I pace, I wonder if they’ve hauled Mason in for questioning. What would he say? I suppose he’s been trained to resist interrogation; I’m sure he won’t confess to killing the man in my apartment. For all I know, he could be sat in the next room telling them his name and number, arms folded, calm and controlled like a psycho. Would he land me in it to save himself? Don’t be stupid, Andreia, he’s obsessed with you; it’s the only explanation for him being here. I must be going crazy.

  No! He wants me. That’s it, that’s why he’s helping me, that’s why he’s risking his life to save mine. Shit. Mason wants me! He’s going to think I’m pretty damned ungrateful if I don’t let him have what he wants. It’s not exactly like buying a girl dinner then expecting to get at least to first base. Should I sleep with him? Just once, perhaps; it could be good. It’s been a while. Actually, it’s been more than a while. Howie used to complain his hips hurt after sex. Watching him limp to the bathroom afterwards put me off the whole thing. If I sleep with Mason, I suspect my hips would be hurting.

  The cell door opens and Hanzel steps inside. He sits down and places his file on the desk between us. ‘Sorry about this, Andreia. How are you doing?’

  ‘How do you think? I’ve been in here for hours.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ he says, pulling a remorseful expression, like he’s just told me my cat’s died, or worse, the bar’s run out of tequila. ‘I just have a few more questions, sorry.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ I say wearily.

  ‘Can you think of any reason Unsworth would want you dead?’

  ‘I doubt he wants me dead,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘You must have this wrong. He made no attempt to kill me yesterday, or find out where I lived. Nothing. He was polite and friendly. It doesn’t make sense.’

  Hanzel laughs. ‘Well, you don’t believe in God, but you’re in church. Perhaps he’s offended by this.’

  Fucking ha ha. Not even funny. ‘Catholics would just be glad to have more people in their church.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ says Hanzel dismissively.

  He stares at me, dark Bohemian eyes like black holes, sucking the truth from my brain. ‘I’m really interested to know why you chose Prague to hide in.’

  ‘I’m not hiding.’ I hear immediately that my voice is shrill and I tone it down. ‘I’m not hiding.’

  ‘You said that Unsworth told you it was his first time in Prague.’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s the impression I got.’

  ‘Did he say that or not?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’ I frown, trying to recall what Unsworth said. ‘Sorry, but he definitely gave me that impression.’

  ‘Then Unsworth lied, or misled you. He has been here before.’

  ‘Maybe I misunderstood. Does it matter?’

  Hanzel looks closely at me, squinting his eyes and puffing air out as though disappointed with me. ‘He meets here in Prague with other religious people, Muslims, Jews, other Catholics. Did he tell you that?’

  My left leg starts trembling. I cross both legs at the ankles but still it trembles. Surely my face has blanched, it feels cold, and Hanzel raises his eyebrows as though alerted to something. Fuck! Unsworth is in the Pillars of Abraham … That’s what this means, doesn’t it? We have a lead. I have to tell Mason; we have stop Unsworth leaving Prague. I look at my watch.

  ‘You have an appointment?’ says Hanzel, deadpan.

  ‘What? Oh, no, sorry, just …’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says, still looking very serious. ‘Unsworth didn’t make his flight. He’s next door.’

  I don’t know what’s more frightening: Hanzel connecting my presence here with the Pillars of Abraham or a man being able to read my mind.

  ‘Will you need me much longer? I really would like to go home now.’

  ‘Of course. You’ve been most helpful. Perhaps I can call around again if we have any further questions? In the meantime, I’ll hold on to your passport – for safekeeping.’

  Hanzel stands and leads me to the door. ‘Here’s my card. Call if you think of anything I might want to know.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, tucking the card into my back pocket.

  ‘And one more thing, Andreia. Don’t go killing yourself, will you?’

  ‘Why would I?’ Was that some kind of Czech humour?

  ‘Two scientists have been found dead here in the last month. I wouldn’t want you to be the next one.’

  Outside the building I suck in the hot summer air like I’ve been in the small submersible for seven hours. Mason’s going to flip when I tell him about Unsworth.

  I told Hanzel I’d take the tram home; I have plenty to think about. Hanzel is clearly unconcerned with what happened in LA, or perhaps he really will hand us over to the Americans when he’s finished with whatever does interest him. What would be worse, I wonder: the Czech secret police or the CIA? I wasn’t entirely sure. I have no interest in politics so I wouldn’t have a clue how relations are between Brazil, the USA and the Czech Republic. Perhaps I should go straight to my embassy now. But if I do I’ll never recover Howie’s ball, and with it the solution to all the world’s problems.

  Mason is still in the apartment when I get back. He jumps up and almost hugs me, just stopping short when his hands grasp my shoulders.

  ‘Andi, thank God,’ he says. ‘What happened, what did you tell them, are you free to go?’

  I reach out and pull him into the hug he started and just hold on. Slowly I feel my weight transfer from my legs to his arms and I almost collapse. Mason’s head is bowed and his cheek rests on my head. I can feel his breath sifting through my hair, his hands gripping me as my legs become weaker. As though he senses my imminent collapse, he picks me up and carries me to the sofa, placing me down in a reverse of what he does every morning when he finds me sleeping in the sa
me spot. Why can’t I love him?

  ‘I need a drink. Tequila.’

  Mason rattles around in the kitchen then brings me the drink and hands it to me.

  I make quick work of it then hand it back. ‘Another.’

  Mason brings another tequila then sits down on the coffee table, facing me. ‘Tell me something, anything. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say, closing my eyes, waiting for the alcohol to burn into my veins. ‘You remember the priest from yesterday?’

  ‘I suppose … the older guy at the church?’

  Is Mason taking the piss? ‘Yes, the old guy at the church – the priest!’

  ‘Sure, what about him?’

  ‘He’s in the Pillars of Abraham.’ Mason’s face remains unchanged. ‘The police think he contracted the Vrazi in LA.’

  ‘What did you tell them about the killing?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing,’ I lie. But the subsequent pause gives me away. ‘I was interrogated by a secret service guy. He already knows you killed him. It’s obvious, Scott. I couldn’t deny it.’

  Mason doesn’t react. He just waits, looking at me as though restraining himself.

  ‘I told them the guy was beating and strangling me, and that if you hadn’t turned up, he would have murdered me. The police are fine with that, they don’t care about what happened in LA.’

  Scott breathes hard and nods, as though seeing reason.

  ‘Scott, you’re still here, they haven’t come for you. I think the police are more interested in the Pillars than in us.’

  ‘All right, Andi, I don’t blame you. What’s done is done. The important thing is you’re unharmed and back with me.’

  Mason sounds like he’s my husband. ‘They’ve kept my passport. I think you should leave Czech and forget about me.’

  ‘Andi, I’m not going to leave you.’ Mason stands up and comes to sit beside me. He puts his arm around my shoulders and for once I really don’t mind.

  ‘You were right about the Pillars of Abraham,’ I say, leaning into Mason’s chest. ‘Hanzel says Unsworth meets here with other religious leaders – Jews, Muslims. You were right, Scott, you were right.’

  Chapter 21

  Father Unsworth watches the orange and white Airbus plane creep forward on to its parking stand and stop right outside the terminal window. He can see the pilot reaching up to flick switches above his head, his co-pilot tapping away at something in front of him. Unsworth shakes his head and lets out a short laugh. All he has to do in a car is turn the key in the ignition and the engine stops. That’s it.

  Ten minutes, perhaps – Unsworth checks his watch – and they’ll be boarding. Prague turned out to be as spectacular as he imagined: the old square with its five-hundred-year-old astronomical clock, the castle, the Charles Bridge, and of course that beautiful church. He would come back, not least for more meetings of the Kolegium, but to stroll through the streets of what might already be his new favourite city. The Pillars of Abraham would never know – he got away with it this time.

  And the girl he met at the church, the one with the macho boyfriend. She was a beautiful human being. It wasn’t the first time Unsworth had a pang of regret at joining a celibate order. Not that there was ever a time he was in that young lady’s league, certainly not now he was approaching seventy. Unsworth is married to God (for his sins – another old joke).

  When God created Man, could he have envisaged jet aircraft? Whether he approved or not is a moot point; it wasn’t God’s intention to interfere with the evolution of humankind (except to throw in a few cataclysmic events: the odd flood, the occasional deal sweetener to wayward Egyptians …) but no one said they actually happened. It’s Unsworth’s belief that those kind of stories worked best as allegorical tales to shape society. The first thing his theological lecturer at university said after drifting into the lecture hall was, ‘Please tell me no one here actually believes in Adam and Eve.’ It was a surprising opening line to deliver to a room full of future priests. But Unsworth came to understand the professor’s point. It’s becoming Mission Impossible to convince modern society on the validity of events as described in the Old Testament. The question would always arise: why did all these weird things only happen thousands of years ago? Followed by the supplementary question: why doesn’t God send plagues to bad people now? Unsworth has no answer that would satisfy a child raised on science.

  The air bridge snuggles up to the side of the plane, nudging it gently as the cushion compresses around the door. How long does it take to disembark a planeload of passengers? Six, seven minutes? Time to get in line. When Unsworth turns round he finds that almost every other passenger has beaten him to it and has already formed a disorderly queue stretching back from the desk. Two uniformed girls with easyJet badges on their jackets start working at a computer behind the desk, jabbering to each other as they prepare for boarding. Two men in plain clothes position themselves behind the desk, having had a brief conversation with the easyJet staff. Unsworth doesn’t think they look too customer-friendly, but, with a snort of derision, suspects that means nothing.

  To be fair, the cabin crew were exemplary: courteous, friendly and competent. He shouldn’t scoff. The pilot even avoided turbulence, so he must have known what he was doing too. Unsworth wonders if turbulence is a sign from God that he disapproves of humankind defying the gravity he put in place to keep us on his planet. The priest suppresses a laugh, smiling instead as he looks around at his fellow passengers, his fellow humankind. There would be some, perhaps around him, who would believe that.

  Boarding starts. The animals go in one by one. It’s a slow process, each passenger having to show his or her passport and boarding card, have it scanned (wished a pleasant flight) before disappearing down the tunnel. After what seems like forty days and forty nights, Unsworth arrives at the gate and presents his documents. The girl checks his passport then hands it to one of the men behind.

  ‘Can you come with us?’ says the man. It doesn’t appear to be a question since he and his pal step forward and take Unsworth by the arms and lead him down the tunnel.

  ‘Upgrade?’ ask Unsworth with the fearlessness of a missionary being taken to his execution.

  Halfway along the tunnel they come up against the queue of passengers waiting to board the plane. He can see the door ahead, a smiling steward towering over the heads of passengers snaking out of the plane. Unsworth’s minders push past the waiting passengers and along the side of the tunnel to a door near the end. A man in a fluorescent vest taps in a code and opens the door, leading the men down some metal steps to a waiting car. Once inside the car the men show Unsworth their ID, introducing themselves as security agents and explaining that he is wanted for questioning concerning his activities in Prague. Unsworth needs to make one phone call and he won’t be in custody for long.

  He keeps silent while in the car. But when they arrive at a fortified compound, Unsworth pipes up.

  ‘This doesn’t look like a police station. Where are you taking me?’

  The men say nothing, not even turning to look at him. A uniformed policeman checks the men’s ID then opens the barrier.

  Inside the building the agents lead Unsworth to a cell and sit him at a small table.

  ‘I believe I have the right to a phone call,’ says Unsworth, almost with a grin.

  ‘Sure,’ says one of the agents, and closes the cell door.

  Unsworth smiles, checks his watch and waits.

  It’s over two hours before someone comes back. A man Unsworth vaguely recognises, but can’t place, enters and sits at the table, placing a large file in front of him.

  ‘What about my phone call?’

  The man’s face opens up as though he’s heard a loud, sudden noise. ‘Phone call?’

  ‘Yes, I asked to make a phone call …
your man said it would be fine.’

  ‘A phone call, yes, of course.’

  Unsworth stares at the man, wondering if he’s going to do something or not, but he just flicks through the pages of the file. ‘You’re not going to let me make a phone call, are you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, but not just yet. There’s really no need. I just want to ask you some questions. Nothing to be worried about.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I am worried about.’

  The man laughs. ‘Oh, no, Mr Unsworth, this is not the old days. We don’t shoot people for being Catholic priests. Really, I just want to know about your interests in the Czech Republic.’

  ‘The same as everyone else who comes here,’ says Unsworth. ‘It’s a beautiful place.’

  ‘Quite so.’ Hanzel nods. ‘How many times have you been here?’

  ‘This is my first trip …’ then Unsworth recognises the man from the trolleybus and, realising their meeting was no coincidence, thinks better of the lie. ‘Actually, no, I remember now, I came here once before.’

  ‘A long time ago, I suppose, if you’ve forgotten.’

  ‘What? No, no, I’m just getting a little senile in my old age.’ Unsworth laughs and turns away briefly. ‘What’s this all about, my son?’

  Hanzel raises his eyebrows. ‘What’s it all about?’ He looks at his watch and sighs. ‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t I go and see about your phone call?’

  Hanzel closes the door on the Catholic priest and makes his way back to his office. He thinks about Andreia, how she strolled along with little purpose after he released her. It was the walk of the pensive. He knows the Brazilian’s presence in Prague is entirely linked to Unsworth and his God-fearing friends. Of all the cities in all the world, she had to come to Prague – home of the religious cabal that tried to kill her. Revenge? Maybe he should search her apartment for large crucifixes.

 

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