“Yes, very much,” said Stratton. “What’s in it?”
“Ah, that is a secret. Special jungle herbs, similar to the ones in the stew I made you.”
“Well, whatever it is, it’s absolutely delicious.”
Stratton relaxed back in his chair and gazed out of the window. The sun was just peeking into the clearing, lighting it up in a misty gold. In the branches of one of the banyans he spotted a curious monkey staring straight at him. He stuck his tongue out at the creature and found the gesture returned. He laughed and proceeded to make comical movements with his hands and arms, all of which were mimicked by the little simian.
“I see you have found our little friend Samson,” said Majami.
“Yes. Interesting little fellow, isn’t he? Does he ever come in the hut?”
“He has been known to occasionally, but he usually stays out there in his tree just watching us.”
Stratton heard footsteps behind him and turned round to see another monk, similar in size and looks to Majami, come through the door. The new monk bowed his head and clasped hands in greeting. “Namaste,” he said.
Stratton returned the compliment.
Majami introduced his friend. “This is Tawhali,” he said. “And Tawhali, this is Stratton.” Both men nodded in acknowledgement. Majami continued, “Tell me Tawhali, where are our other guests? You have not lost them I hope.”
“No, they are washing down in the stream. They will be with us shortly.”
“Other guests?” said Stratton.
“Yes,” said Majami. “You are not the only person we picked up on our little journey.”
Chapter 5
Cardinal Vittori’s office was much like Desayer’s own: grand, imposing and rich in religious detail and iconography. The two grave men sat opposite each other across the desk in a respectful silence. Desayer stared up at Jesus on the large rosewood crucifix and, not for the first time, wondered what he would make of the overly opulent surroundings that had been built in his name. He didn’t doubt for one moment that the carpenter’s son would find it grossly indulgent, and in no way a fitting testament to the message he had propagated, particularly when so many of his children were starving around the globe.
Desayer was first to break the silence. “So, Fabio, what is the matter that needs my attention so urgently?”
Vittori sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers. “We have, Miguel, what I would call ‘a situation’ – a rather delicate situation.” He paused, then added, “Or maybe not so delicate.”
Desayer raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” he said.
Vittori leant forward earnestly. “I am about to tell you something very important, Miguel. Something that very few people in this world know about. I have watched you, Miguel. I have watched you for many years. You appear to be the model of Catholicism: you say all the right things; you make all the right moves; you write the correct words. But there’s something about you, Miguel, that doesn’t quite add up…”
Desayer felt his chest contract but kept his composure.
Vittori continued, “…The thing is, Miguel, I believe you are different from the other cardinals. I think you see things that the others do not. I think you feel things that the others do not. I think you sense things they do not. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“I think you credit me with more than I deserve, Fabio.”
“No, no. Do not be so modest, Miguel. You have vision. You can see beyond this material world. And I am sure in your heart you must know that there is some great secret out there waiting to be unearthed.”
Desayer tried to look perplexed. “I am still not following you, Fabio.”
“Very well,” said Vittori. “I am going to let you in on this great secret of which I speak. Possibly the greatest secret ever kept from mankind.”
Desayer continued to feign puzzlement, but inside he felt like a detective who had cracked the case. He had suspected Cardinal Fabio Vittori for a very long time. Like himself the man followed doctrine to the letter and was never seen to rock the ecclesiastical boat, yet from the beginning of their acquaintance Desayer had sensed that all was not as it seemed with his contemporary. There was nothing concrete for him to go on – a furtive glance here, a silent grimace there, perhaps one too many trips to obscure places – but as a whole Vittori just did not add up. Unfortunately, Vittori had obviously had exactly the same suspicions about him, a case of taking one to know one, although it was yet to be proved that this was a bad thing.
“What if I told you that Jesus did not die on the cross,” said Vittori. “Or rather that he lived on for many years after.”
“There have been many theories propounded along such lines,” said Desayer. “But none of them backed up with hard facts.”
“No, none of them backed up with hard facts,” Vittori echoed quietly. And then loudly: “But it is a fact, Miguel! It is very much a fact!”
Desayer recoiled with the force of the statement.
Vittori smiled. “I am sorry, Miguel, I did not mean to startle you. I only wished to convey the importance of my words. I wish to make sure that I have your full attention, because I am about to change your life forever.”
I doubt it, thought Desayer.
“Where to start,” Vittori mumbled to himself. “Let me start by telling you about Jesus’ missing years. There is no real record of his actions from between the ages of twelve and thirty – am I right?”
“Yes,” nodded Desayer. “At a rough estimate anyway.”
“Well, during this time he was travelling in the East – in India and beyond. He was learning how to heal. He was given knowledge handed down from the ancients. When he returned to his home country he had become the most powerful healer the world has ever known. But he was not only healing bodies, he was healing minds as well – and that proved to be his downfall. Encouraging free thought was not exactly welcome in those days.
“So then we come to the crucifixion itself. The common conception is that he rose after three days and ascended to heaven. But this is not strictly true. He did in fact come back to life, but it was the Apostles that did it.”
“His disciples?!” exclaimed Desayer, playing along.
“Yes, his disciples, Miguel. Before he was crucified Jesus gave Peter instructions on how to bring him back. Peter and the other Apostles took him to the cave and performed a ritual that returned his soul.”
“So he lived on after the resurrection?”
“Yes, Miguel, he did. He gave each of the Apostles their own specific mission, and then returned to India where he lived a long life. Some say he made it to 120, but we do not know for sure.”
“This is amazing,” said Desayer. “But how do you know all this?”
“The knowledge has been handed down from Pope to Pope right the way back to Peter.”
Desayer pretended to be flustered. “So our religion is built on a lie?!”
Vittori held up his palm. “I would not call it a lie. We give billions hope. But I do not wish to get involved in that discussion. This is not a time for arguments, this is a time for pulling together. We very much need your help, Miguel; the Pope needs your help; and if you let me finish my story I would be most grateful.”
“Of course, Fabio. Forgive me. It is just a bit of a revelation, that is all.”
“I understand. But if I did not think you could handle this information then I would not have begun to tell you.” He stood up, cleared his throat, and continued. “When Jesus eventually died he left his knowledge in the safe keeping of an order of monks in India. This knowledge was in the form of symbols that could harness the power of the universe to cure all ills. They were to be kept safe until such time as the monks deemed the human race fit to utilize them in a compassionate way. Unfortunately, we believe that this knowledge has now been compromised.”
“Compromised?” said Desayer.
“We believe it has been stolen,” said Vittori. “We believe that the Muslims have taken the symbols
and are using them for their own purpose. We suspect their intention is to convert the entire human race to Islam.”
“And how are they going to do that?”
“By producing a Messiah of course. By unleashing their very own messenger of God, or Allah as it would be. With a divine being at their head they would be absolutely uncontainable. All they have to do is give one man the knowledge and then…” He made a sweeping gesture out of the window.
“Are you saying that these symbols can give someone the same powers as Christ?” said Desayer.
“Exactly,” said Vittori. “And I am afraid that the deed has already been done. We have had news from a source in Mecca that there is a man in the city claiming to be the Hand of Allah. He has been healing all manner of illnesses.”
“If that is true, Fabio, then where is the problem? Surely healing is a good thing.”
“Yes, yes, of course it is,” Vittori said sharply. “But that is only the start of it – don’t you see? The healing is just a ruse to get the world on side. Then will come the laws, the rules, the beatings for people who disobey. The world will be in eternal subjugation to them. Imagine it, Miguel: a world where thieves have their hands chopped off; a world where adulterers are beheaded; a world where women have no rights. What about forgiveness, Miguel? What about turning the other cheek? What about freedom for all men and women? It cannot be allowed to happen. We have to stop them.”
Desayer stared impassively. Yes, he thought, of course you want to stop them, because if you don’t this whole façade will come crashing down around you. It is not their gain that you fear the most, it is your loss.
Vittori interrupted his meditation. “Well, Miguel? What do you think?”
“I am not sure what to say, Fabio. It is all a bit of a shock. I cannot pretend to comprehend all your talk of symbols and how they work, but I think I understand what you are saying in more general terms. How can we hope to stop them though?”
Vittori sat down and faced Desayer once more. “We create our own Messiah.”
Chapter 6
Stratton poured himself some more of Majami’s herbal tea and sipped at it trying to contain his excitement. He had given up all hope of ever seeing Jennings again, but from Majami’s expression it appeared that he was very much alive. He was, however, intrigued to know who the other ‘guest’ was.
“Out of bed at last then, Rip van Winkle,” said a voice.
Stratton turned to see Jennings standing in the doorway grinning at him. He got up and gave his friend a spontaneous embrace. He held him briefly and then let go. “It’s good to see you, mate. I thought you were a goner.”
“So did I, mate,” said Jennings. “To be honest there’s been times over the last couple of weeks when I wish I had been.”
“Have you got a hug for me too, honey?” said another voice. This one had an American twang. Scott Grady poked his head into the room.
“What the hell…?”
“It’s a long story,” said Grady.
Stratton laughed. “It always is where you’re involved, Grady. Come on, let’s sit down and have some breakfast.”
Tawhali procured another chair and Majami dished up the food: rice, vegetables, and jungle herbs and spices. Stratton ate avidly, his appetite surprisingly hearty after weeks of fasting. Whatever Majami put into his cuisine was certainly working wonders. After finishing his second helping he lay down the small wooden spoon and sat back with another cup of tea.
Grady related the tale of Cronin being shot on the beach and how he’d been persuaded to take the priest’s place. “…Of course, I didn’t want to,” he said. “I just wanted to go home to Brooke. But he laid so much guilt on me, in the end I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”
“I didn’t think guilt was part of your psyche,” said Stratton.
“It isn’t,” Grady replied. “Or rather, it wasn’t. I’m finding my conscience growing with age. Or maybe it’s love – I just don’t know. Either way I wish it would shut the fuck up and let me go back to being selfish.”
“Too late,” said Stratton. “You’re a human being now Grady – get used to it. Anyway, you make it over here – what happened then? How did you meet up with Jennings? Have you still got the box and the parchment?”
Both Grady and Jennings looked at the floor.
“That’s a ‘no’ then,” said Stratton.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” said Grady. “It’s my fault really. I tried to stick to the plan, but I guess my newfound humanity got in the way.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, I was taking the path that Cronin instructed me to when I heard gunfire in the distance. I should have ignored it, but somehow I couldn’t. There was this little voice in my head telling me to check it out. Anyway, I felt confident of finding my way back to the path so I headed off in the direction of all the shooting. I was hiding in the undergrowth when I noticed this clown,” he pointed to Jennings, “about to surrender. I pulled him into the brush, but eventually we got noticed. Then this crazy fool jumps on top of me and tells me I can’t use my gun. Needless to say – we were captured.”
“And they took the box and the parchment?” quizzed Stratton.
“Yeah,” said Grady, “and that’s not all they took.” He looked sorrowfully down to his crotch. “Little Grady may never be the same again.”
“You will be fine,” said Majami. “I have already told you.”
“So that was all the screaming I heard then,” said Stratton.
“Yeah,” said Grady, “and I’m not ashamed to admit it. They strung the pair of us up and…well, you heard.” He winced. “Anyway, moving on – I blacked out and the next thing I knew we were here being tended to by these guys. And that’s it really.”
Stratton sighed. “Well, at least we’re all alive, that’s one thing I guess. I’m glad that you two are okay anyway. I don’t suppose either of you knows what happened to Stella?”
“No,” said Jennings, shaking his head sadly. “The last time I saw her was when we were running down the jungle path. The only saving grace is that we haven’t found her body.”
“What do you think in your heart?” asked Stratton.
“What do you mean?”
“What does your instinct say?”
Jennings closed his eyes briefly and thought. An image of Stella flashed through his head. “She’s alive, I guess. But I don’t know if that’s just wishful thinking or what. You’re the one with the sixth sense, mate, why don’t you tell me?”
“Because I can’t,” said Stratton. “Everything’s still a bit hazy at the moment. And besides, I think your call will be better on this one.” He gave Jennings a knowing glance.
Jennings held his gaze for a moment and then looked away uncomfortably. It was as if his friend had crawled inside his head and was picking through his emotions like a worm in a harddrive. And what was he thinking? Did it amuse Stratton that he had feelings for Stella? Did he pity his devotion to someone he could never have? Was he playing with his mind?
Majami cleared away the bowls and they all went to sit outside in the early morning sun. Titan who had been hunting, returned licking his lips. He trotted up and sprawled himself out in front of them for a post-feed nap.
“So what do we do now?” asked Grady, pointing his question at Stratton.
“I don’t know. I’m not too sure what we can do. They’ve got over two weeks start on us. The box will be in the hands of someone who knows how to use it by now.”
“So, basically, we’re fucked,” said Jennings.
“I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but yeah, I guess for the moment we are,” said Stratton. “We really need to get back into the outside world and get some news. What do you think, Majami?”
“I think perhaps you should rest for another couple of days before you go racing back to civilization. None of you are fit for a journey yet.”
“No. I suppose you’re right,” said Stratton. “But the longer we leave i
t, the worse it’s going to get. And it’s not only the box. If Stella’s still alive then I’d hate to think what’s happening to her at the moment.”
“Exactly,” said Jennings, echoing the sentiment. “After what they did to Grady and me it really doesn’t bear thinking about at all.”
For a while they sat in silence, each of them collecting their own thoughts and reflecting on the situation. Jennings knew what he wanted to do. Much as he appreciated the importance of reclaiming the box and parchment, there was only one thing on his mind – and that was finding Stella. His long recuperation had given him plenty of time to contemplate, and nearly all of that time had been devoted to her. More than anything he regretted not telling her how he felt. True, the time had never been quite right, but he’d come to realize that he could spend the rest of his days with the time not being quite right. When it came down to it he’d just been too damn scared to say anything to her, fearing rejection right to the core of his fragile soul. All he wanted to do now was put that right and, more importantly, save her from any further harm.
Grady had spent his time thinking about his wife and impending fatherhood. After too many years of travelling the world and doing the US Government’s dirty work, he’d finally found himself. He knew it was a bit of a cliché, but the minute he’d laid eyes on Brooke he felt like he’d come home. Before that moment he hadn’t realized that he’d spent his entire life without one. As a child his family had moved from city to city, following his father’s work. One day they would be in Washington, the next they would be heading for New York or San Francisco. Although some secondments had lasted longer than others they were never in one place for more than a couple of years. Whether consciously or not, Grady had followed this pattern into adulthood, even though as a child all he had wanted was to stay in one place like all his friends (he recalled being extremely upset, bordering on traumatized, every time they upped sticks and relocated him at a new school). It was perhaps why he found it so difficult to make lasting bonds. But Brooke had heralded a new era, one where he found himself settled, not only geographically but emotionally as well. Whatever the others’ goals, his personal objective was to get back to the States as soon as possible. He was, however, under no illusion that this was going to be easy. Any plan that Jennings or Stratton came up with was inevitably going to involve him, and ducking out wasn’t an option.
A Sacred Storm Page 3
