Hidden Gods

by Anthony Masters

  ‘We were lucky.’

  ‘A door blown in, a truck complete with ignition keys, diesel and water? That was lucky indeed. Providential even. Don’t you think so, Miss Neville?’

  ‘I guess it can happen.’

  ‘Can it? To me, it’s rather as if you had received divine assistance.’

  Philippa glanced at him with an assumed ingenuousness. ‘We escaped,’ she said, deliberately puzzled.

  ‘Rescued?’ Ibrahim insisted, still polite, still benign.

  ‘I can assure you that we weren’t.’ Hugo deliberately sounded as incredulous as possible. Were they coming across, he wondered.

  ‘You do realize that if for any reason you’re not telling me the truth my superiors would find it very difficult to allow you to leave.’ There was a slight hardening in his voice.

  ‘We are telling you the truth. We just got lucky.’ Hugo was adamant, but when he looked at Philippa he could feel the tension radiating from her.

  ‘So you stopped at the alleged monitoring station. Why did you do that?’

  ‘We thought there might be some diesel around.’ Philippa made an attempt to draw his fire.

  ‘But you were not so lucky this time.’ He was still watching Hugo.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘We couldn’t get in.’

  ‘You tried?’

  ‘We rattled the doors.’

  We also smashed one in, thought Hugo. Suppose he takes us back there? It would be obvious that the building had been entered – and they would be the first suspects, their fabrications all too clearly exposed.

  ‘No more than that?’

  ‘No more,’ said Philippa. ‘The place was locked.’

  ‘Suppose we went back there?’

  ‘What on earth for?’ Hugo was trying to sound as puzzled and impatient as possible, knowing all the time that he was caught between a need to return and fear of what Ibrahim might find. ‘Besides, it’s on Iraqi territory,’ he added.

  ‘I’ve already had the area reconnoitred by helicopter,’ said Ibrahim firmly. ‘We will be perfectly safe. I think you would benefit from retracing your steps. It might work as an aidemémoire.’

  Hugo sat on the end of Philippa’s bed, the hard sunshine sending a thin beam on to the thick pile carpet. They were both now wondering how much Ibrahim knew – and Hugo had already searched the room, somewhat belatedly, for bugs. There was no immediate evidence of any, but they whispered, just in case.

  ‘We’re going to be in trouble when Ibrahim finds evidence of that break-in, there’s no doubt about that,’ said Philippa.

  ‘We’ll deny all knowledge of it.’

  ‘And he’ll keep us here until we answer his questions.’

  Hugo nodded. Why in God’s name had he been so stupid? So careless? ‘I don’t see what else we can do. He seems determined to take us out there. But there’s something about his interest in that building that’s – strange. It’s as if the place is special to him – beyond any military purpose. You can see it in his eyes.’

  ‘Maybe he’s like me,’ said Philippa.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I had nothing in my life before all this started. I may be scared shitless of what’s going on, but at least – at last – something is.’ She looked thrilled and frightened at the same time and Hugo felt shut out. Then Philippa stood up.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Look. Can’t you see?’ She stood sideways against the light and he immediately noticed the change in her – a change that gave him the deep chill of horrified comprehension. Her stomach was slightly distended.

  ‘Listen.’

  He knelt down and pressed his ear to her stomach. ‘Christ.’

  ‘I’m frightened, Hugo,’ she said, ‘but I also feel a kind of joy.’ She stroked his temple. ‘What did you hear.’

  Hugo took a while to reply, caught as he was between revulsion and terror. ‘It’s impossible,’ he muttered.

  ‘No. Come on, Hugo, tell me what you heard.’

  ‘The sound of cicadas. As if we were in Provence. But it’s – ‘

  ‘No!’ Philippa placed a finger to his lips, and as he looked up he glimpsed the winged serpent in the pupil of her eye.

  ‘You’re carrying one of those things – as if it was a baby. As if-’

  ‘It was awakened by our love making.’ She was absolutely insistent and, as far as he could tell, totally convinced. Hugo had never been so afraid before – not even when the young boy in the hotel had produced his gun.

  ‘We were talking about reincarnation – not pregnancy,’ he whispered. ‘Not being host to some mutant’ Hugo’s terror was blind and childish. Philippa’s condition had swept away the last shred of normality and he was once more floundering in a morass of conjecture and uncertainty. They should have died out centuries ago,’ he added furiously, his mind going off at a tangent, ‘not hung on in a form like that. It’s vile.’

  ‘Is it? Why should it be?’ She was now as angry as he was. ‘They don’t have any use for human bodies.’

  Hugo got to his feet, grabbed Philippa’s shoulders and shook her. ‘Don’t be so stupid.’

  ‘I’m not.’ She was more confident now. ‘Stop hurting me.’

  ‘We were talking about reincarnation – ‘

  ‘And we still are. Why do you think we’ve come through the centuries together like this?’

  ‘To understand the change in frequency. To discover when it’s going to happen.’

  ‘Is that all?’ She was still seething but he was not sure that it was just anger.

  ‘What else could there be?’

  ‘We built the pyramid. We built the bloody thing! Can’t you see? Why are you blinding yourself?’

  The sound of the cicadas filled his ears.

  ‘Don’t resist the knowledge, Hugo,’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t resist it now – not after all we’ve been through.’

  Hugo struggled to regain logic – if logic was at all possible in this situation. ‘There was another reason for the reincarnations? Another reason for us being here?’

  ‘We’re powerful, Hugo. Together, we’re powerful. In some way I’m going to extend their line. I’m going to strengthen it.’

  This thing will stay on earth when they go?’

  ‘He’ll stay.’

  ‘For what purpose?’ But he knew. He just wanted to hear her actually say the words.

  ‘He’s going to bring about the New Age.’ Philippa’s voice trembled and Hugo took her in his arms. ‘We mustn’t fall out now,’ she whispered.

  ‘We won’t,’ he assured her.

  *

  Who had taken Brent to the edge of the cliffs, wondered Hugo when he was alone. In addition to the pure spiritual force of the Adanteans, was there an enemy – a human enemy who was trying to put a halt to their journey to the pyramid? Had what they had seen in the interior of the building in the desert been for their eyes only? Was it merely some kind of orientation point? His head swam with the unanswered questions to such an extent that Hugo developed a blinding migraine in which one single thought began to pound at him incessantly: Brent was in danger; he had to get to him. Yet somewhere behind the pain he knew that first he must return to the desert, at least establish that what they had seen was bricks and mortar. He needed to touch something that was whole, to reassure himself that life hadn’t become entirely cerebral. He didn’t have Philippa’s natural mysticism and still had to claw his way through shards of reality to the light beyond.

  Towards evening Ibrahim brought bad news. Once again he had asked Hugo and Philippa to join him in the bland sitting-room with its Western furniture and Islamic aura. ‘Your monitoring station in the desert can’t be traced,’ he told them almost casually.

  Hugo was shattered by the statement, not knowing how to respond, and Philippa said nothing. Did she care, he wondered.

  ‘The pilot and his observer are very experienced and they can’t find any sign of a building in the area you described.’ Ibrahim spoke to
lerantly, as if to a recalcitrant child. ‘I’m still going to take you out there, though, so that you can see for yourselves.’ He spoke with a degree of weary resignation and Hugo thought he might even present them with a bill for the fuel. ‘A reconnaissance should satisfy us all, I am sure,’ he concluded.

  Hugo did not know whether to be relieved or not. Physical evidence of spiritual occurrences might be slipping away from him, but at least the barrier to a return home was down. Protecting Brent was now much more important than searching for evidence.

  *

  The sand was bleached out in the night and the moon rode, serene and waxy, over the familiar desolation. Hugo had a feeling of time suspended. Anything was possible out here in this silent wilderness, he thought, as the jeep bucketed its way down the cracked surface of the narrow road.

  ‘It was here,’ said Philippa suddenly. Tm sure it was.’ Ibrahim braked sharply. Hugo stared out indecisively at the darkly rippling sand but she had already clambered down and was running towards some broken masonry. They caught up with her as she was examining a half buried brick. A brick that looked like any other brick. ‘I remembered the shape of the sand-hill. It looked like a camel with a couple of humps. I know this is the place.’

  Ibrahim was impatient for the first time – as if he regretted indulging them. ‘How could the Iraqis have demolished a whole base without being seen by our reconnaissance flights?’

  ‘It wouldn’t have taken long,’ she replied, unaffected by his impatience.

  ‘Any demolition crew would have been seen.’ He paused and then came to an abrupt decision. ‘You will have to be interrogated in much more detail before I let you both leave our country, Mr Fitzroy.’

  ‘I would like to leave tomorrow – with Miss Neville – as you agreed,’ Hugo said quickly. ‘I’m sorry about the wasted journey.’

  ‘We are still debriefing,’ Ibrahim replied. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ He gave them a polite smile. ‘I would like to ask you to take part in an experiment, Mr Fitzroy. Then you will be absolutely free to go.’

  ‘What kind of experiment?’ Hugo felt trapped, and his fear about Brent’s safety grew until he could hardly bear the pain. His child was in danger. He had to go home.

  ‘You may remember more under hypnosis. Alternatively, you may not. But I’d like you to try. Will you co-operate with me?’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘As you must realize, the last thing I want to do is to delay your return to the UK – ‘

  ‘In other words, I don’t have any choice.’

  ‘Am I expected to undergo this as well?’ asked Philippa. She put the brick down in the sand, almost burying it, stroking the rough surface lingeringly.

  ‘Just Mr Fitzroy.’

  ‘Why am I singled out?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘You are a better subject.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘You are more open.’

  Hugo laughed bitterly. ‘You must be the first to say so.’

  ‘You are more open because you are afraid.’

  A wave of panic swept him and he stood there in silence, not knowing what to say next, feeling the vast expanse of desert closing in on him, suffocating his mind.

  ‘How on earth do you make that out?’

  ‘I’m experienced at interviewing people, understanding how to put them at their ease.’

  Hugo found his quiet authority disconcerting. ‘I could still refuse to co-operate.’

  ‘Then you would be our guest for a longer time.’

  ‘My government wouldn’t allow that.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But negotiations of this kind do tend to drag on, don’t they? Days into months, even into years. If you agree, you can be on a flight to London – ‘

  ‘How soon?’ Hugo cut in sharply.

  ‘The day after tomorrow.’

  ‘And suppose you learn nothing from me?’

  ‘I’ve always found this process very successful.’ He sounded almost complacent.

  ‘Who are you?’ Philippa asked abruptly, and both men turned towards her in surprise and consternation. Why is she rocking the boat now, wondered Hugo miserably. Doesn’t she care about Brent?

  There was a short silence during which Hugo detected a slight and unexpected uneasiness in Ibrahim. Was the desert closing in on him too?

  ‘You know who I am, Miss Neville. I am an intelligence officer.’

  ‘You seem to be on the edge of something else.’

  ‘Of discovery.’ For the first time, there was a degree of menace in his voice.

  ‘Something you might not wish to participate in,’ she countered.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  She’s warning him, thought Hugo. But what was the point? Surely this was the most dangerous move she could possibly make – far worse than his own verbal catastrophe and this abortive trip to a jumble of broken masonry.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Ibrahim repeated.

  Philippa did not reply.

  ‘We must get back,’ he said at last. ‘There’s nothing to be gained by staying here and talking in riddles, is there?’

  As they drove back, Hugo wondered why Philippa had made such a crude accusation. She had obviously detected an uneasiness in Ibrahim, as he had, but surely it would have been better to take a less direct approach. Involuntarily he shivered, a track record of self-deceit passing quickly through his mental landscape. Openness was the only way, he knew that now, but it was hard to break the habit of a lifetime. Ibrahim, though, showed no sign whatever of coming clean. Was he a potential ally or an obstructive enemy?

  ‘Well, Mr Fitzroy. Have you made your decision? Are you going to agree to my process, or not?’

  Hugo thought again of Brent and the danger he was in. He had to take the risk.

  ‘I want you to watch this light.’

  Ibrahim and Hugo were in a small unfurnished room with two chairs and a light bulb that was large and full of muted colour.

  ‘I want you to try to relax, to look into the light and to listen to my voice. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The silence lengthened. Sitting back in his chair, Hugo found some of his tension easing, but he was determined to remain on the defensive and not to allow his mind to drift.

  Ibrahim began to speak in his clear, slightly accented English. ‘I want you to take me back over certain aspects of your escape –and subsequent journey through the desert towards Iran. You can visualize the inside of the hangar in the light. Tell me what you see.’ He repeated the words again and again, and gradually Hugo lost count of the repetitions, his mind sharpening, becoming clearer, less cloudy. Instead of the hangar, he saw every blade of grass, every detail of the Cornish coast. He was in the bathroom at Lizards, gazing at the objects on the wash stand below the mirror. He was in his study, identifying the books in the library, shelf by shelf. He was in the garden, counting the different kinds of flowers in each bed.

  ‘Focus.’

  ‘What on?’

  ‘You’re in the hangar now. Can you see?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lizards had vanished.

  ‘How many people are in there?’

  ‘Shall I count?’ he asked obediently.

  ‘If you would.’

  Hugo saw each of them standing, sitting, talking, even trying to sleep and he counted slowly. ‘Fifty-three – including Philippa and me.’

  ‘The officer who met you. Can you see him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Give me his description.’

  Hugo complied.

  ‘Now we move to the building in the desert. Focus. Can you see it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you go inside?’

  ‘No.’ He knew he had to fight, but his mind was so clear and he wanted to share the clarity.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘Focus.’

  ‘I am. I can see nothing but colours. Soft colours.’

 
; ‘Focus.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Harder.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  But he could see inside the pyramid now. The sunbeam, the winged serpents, the globes, the priests. Everything. So clearly.

  ‘Harder.’

  Somehow he resisted, built walls round the images, fought for control. His control. Not Ibrahim’s.

  ‘Focus.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What do you see?’

  ‘I see nothing. I see nothing because I didn’t go in. Because we didn’t go in.’

  It would have been so much easier to confide in him, thought Hugo. He’d understand. Ibrahim was trying to help him and he mustn’t hold out on him. It wasn’t fair. So he’d tell him. The walls of Hugo’s fortress were crumbling now and he was reminded of the tide washing over one of the sand castles he had built with Brent in the cove at Tiderace. How they had battled to keep the tide back, father and son working furiously together. But it was no good. Not in the end. Ibrahim was the tide. Ibrahim would win.

  ‘You went in there, Hugo.’

  That was the first time he had used his first name. Ibrahim was getting closer, lapping at the walls of his fortress.

  ‘You know you went in there. What did you see?’

  Hugo almost capitulated, but Brent ran towards him, yelling excitedly. ‘Dad – the tide’s on the turn. Keep building. The waves are going back.’

  ‘Am I King Canute?’ asked Hugo.

  ‘Are you what?’ Ibrahim was completely thrown.

  ‘Am I King Canute?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I’m pushing back the waves,’ said Hugo.

  ‘No, you’re not, Dad,’ said Brent. ‘The tide’s going out. It’s going to be OK. The castle walls will stand. They’ll stand, Dad. We’ve beaten the waves.’

  ‘All right,’ said Ibrahim wearily. ‘We’ll stop there, Mr Fitzroy.’

  *

  Philippa was waiting for him outside, looking drained and apprehensive, and Hugo’s sense of triumph abruptly disappeared.

  ‘There’s a call for you – from Lucy. They told me not to interrupt but I was just about to – ‘

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Speak to her,’ she said woodenly.

  Hugo broke into a stumbling run, reached his room and picked up the telephone, already gasping for breath.