The Fifth Gospel

by Grubb, Michelle

  Flic felt the champagne numb her senses, and she wanted to pinch herself. Was this really happening? It was hardly the Oscars. There was no red carpet, only green, and even then it was just to cover the electrical wiring that was likely to trip someone arse over head at the foot of the stairs. But still, for an author no one had even heard of just months ago, a couple of thousand people crammed into a street outside a bookstore seemed a pretty impressive feat.

  “You okay?”

  Flic heard the voice first then felt the familiar hand rest comfortably in the middle of her back, only this time, instead of an empty space between them, Anna’s entire side touched hers. She tingled all over, and for the first time, she refused to fight the addictive sensation.

  She pulled her phone from her breast pocket and navigated to a picture of them both at her debut appearance in Dublin. “We’ve come a long way, don’t you think?”

  “You look nice in chinos and a blazer.” Anna smiled. “But you do look terribly smart in your suit.”

  “What about my hair back then?” It was only weeks ago, but Flic cringed at the photo and her hair falling in her eyes.

  “It’s okay to be complacent when the world isn’t watching you.”

  It was true. Flic had always thought her hair was trendy, but then when the stylist showed her some pictures of how it could be, she’d laughed, suggesting she was an author, not a rock star. The stylist had smiled crookedly and said, “You’re not a normal person anymore. Stop looking like one.”

  Her reaction was similar when her makeup artist arrived at the hotel. Flic barely had five items in her makeup routine, and all of them produced a subtle and natural look. When the artist wheeled in a sizable case and took over half an hour to complete a job she’d mastered in under a minute, she was convinced she’d run to the bathroom and wash it all off. But of course she didn’t. She looked amazing, and when the artist explained about lighting and the cameras and the fact that the majority of people would be seeing her from a distance, it all made sense. The reflection staring back at her in the mirror looked so foreign she had to stare long and hard to recognize herself. She liked what she saw. She felt ready to be the new Felicity Bastone.

  “You know I couldn’t have done any of this without you.” Flic faced Anna and immediately missed the warmth of her hand on her back. “I’m sorry you were practically ordered to come with me, but I’m so very grateful you did. I think we make a great team.”

  Anna blushed, but it suited her. “We do make a great team, don’t we? And while I know you would be standing here today regardless of who was your right-hand woman, I’m pleased it was me in the end.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really, you clown. Oh, don’t get me wrong. It’s more stressful than I could have ever imagined, but it’s worth it. Sales are soaring, your popularity is soaring, and although I’m not sure how I’m going to do it, I’d like to try to convince Dee to keep me on in this role.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Flic that Anna wouldn’t continue in her current capacity, but then, she was the head of marketing and PR; there must have been loads of other projects in the pipeline that Griffin’s needed her to manage.

  Flic stalled, trying to find the right words to mirror Anna’s sentiment, but it all became lost in the rush to have Flic ready to take the stage. As she strode through the bookshop, flanked on both sides by two of her security people, she received nothing but praise and congratulations from onlookers. She heard enthusiastic whispers of, “that’s her” and “there she is,” and as she swelled with pride, she lifted her chin a little, straightened her back, smiled, and took in every single moment. As she exited the bookshop, the crowd erupted into applause. One man, middle-aged and smiling, grabbed her hand and spoke Italian or Spanish, she wasn’t sure, but he was beaming at her. “Ti amiamo. Brucia all’inferno.” Her Italian wasn’t all that good, but she recognized one part as “we love you.” She nodded her thanks before her security team moved her on.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Felicity Bastone.” Dee beamed a triumphant smile, and the Love is Love chant echoed around the entire street and beyond. After a kiss and warm embrace, Flic stood behind the speaker’s podium waiting for the applause to die down. She was able to find Laura in the crowd, and as per their usual routine, she spotted Anna directly in her line of vision, this time easily distinguishable as the most attractive person at the sound desk.

  When the applause and chant reached a level which she could speak over, Flic addressed the crowd. “Thank you, everyone. It’s a great pleasure and honor to be here. You certainly know how to make a girl feel welcome—”

  Twenty-two words was all Flic said to the crowd that evening. The twenty-second word was drowned out by a thunderous crack. Stupidly, Flic’s first thought was confusion as to why the fireworks had launched prematurely. Her second thought was that there were no fireworks. Before blackness overtook her, she realized a bomb had exploded in Marchmont Street.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Everyone was a suspect when chaos reigned. By the sheer fact of her survival, it appeared even Flic was a prime suspect.

  If the fact that two attempts had been made on her life in a matter of months wasn’t enough to make her crazy, the incessant ringing in her ears certainly would. The smell of antiseptic gave away her location. Her thumping headache cemented the fact that she should be there, and when she attempted to open her eyes or move her head, the pain was so exhausting, she succumbed to a sedative-induced sleep.

  It was the gentleness of the touch on her hand that woke her. She’d been stirring for an indeterminate period of time, but the touch, which was most certainly Anna’s, warranted an extra effort on her behalf to wake up.

  “Good girl, wake up for me.” An unfamiliar voice encouraged her.

  It wasn’t the smooth, velvet voice she was expecting, and she forced her eyes open.

  “Welcome back.” A middle-aged nurse with a cheerful round face beamed at her. “I’m Val. How are you feeling?”

  On the third attempt, Flic managed to form words and make a sound. “Where’s Anna?”

  “I’m not sure where Anna is, love. You received a pretty hard knock on the head and a few scrapes. The doctor will be here in a minute.”

  “What about Laura? Is Laura okay?”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, my love. The doctor isn’t far away now.”

  Flic didn’t possess the confidence to determine if Val hadn’t understood the urgency of her questions, or if she deliberately evaded answering. She tried again. “Are my friends okay?”

  “I don’t know who Anna or Laura are, love.” She glanced desperately toward the door and looked relieved when someone entered. “Ah, here’s the doctor.”

  Flic felt ill.

  “Hi, Felicity, I’m Dr. Phillips. How are you feeling?” Dr. Phillips was probably in her fifties, friendly, with a broad smile, and she smelled of antibacterial hand wash.

  “Where’s Anna and Laura?” She could feel the throbbing in her head become fiercer and louder.

  Dr. Phillips glanced at the machine attached to the wires attached to Flic. “You need to calm down, Felicity.”

  Frustration and fear gripped her, a dangerous combination when you were pumped full of drugs. Flic projectile vomited all over the doctor.

  “Felicity, this isn’t doing you any good at all.” She checked the monitors again. “You’re working yourself into a right state.”

  Felicity ripped the machine sensors from her chest. “This isn’t right.” Her brain and mouth were functioning at different speeds. “Are my friends dead?”

  Dr. Phillips and Val stopped in their tracks as Flic wiped bile and spit from her mouth. The acrid taste of vomit was nothing compared to the fear that was constricting her heart like a steel vice.

  Dr. Phillips and Val exchanged glances before Val shook her head and took Flic’s hand. “Your friends are okay, but other than that, we’re not supposed to tell you anything.”r />
  Relief inflated Flic’s chest again, and the urge to vomit began to subside. “What happened at the bookstore?”

  After Val eased her from her soiled hospital gown and began cleaning up, Dr. Phillips replaced the sensors on her chest. “I know this must be difficult for you, but by law, we aren’t allowed to say. As it is, we shouldn’t have told you about your friends, but your health is my priority. The rest is the priority of the authorities. Do you understand?”

  “Something bad happened, didn’t it?” Flic was thinking out loud, not expecting an answer. “It was a bomb, wasn’t it?”

  Dr. Phillips smiled. “The police will be here soon. They have a job to do, but so do I, so if you need anything from me”—she patted Flic’s shoulder—“just let me know.”

  After some skillful maneuvering and with the expertise of someone who’d performed the task a million times, Val changed the mucky sheets and rested Flic comfortably back on the pillows.

  A purposeful knock sent Flic’s pulse racing.

  Dr. Phillips smiled and nodded encouragement. “I’ll stop it if it becomes too much for you.”

  Flic inhaled, filling her lungs.

  Agent Stark and a stranger entered the room.

  “Hi, Felicity, how are you feeling?” Stark didn’t wait for a response. “This is Agent Supervisor Colin Murphy.”

  Murphy was wrinkly, too wrinkly for a human being, but the strong smell of cigarettes suggested he’d aged prematurely. His face gave nothing away. “We’re glad you’re awake, Miss Bastone. Do you mind if I call you Felicity?”

  Something told Flic to be wary. She simply shrugged.

  “Do you know why you’re in hospital, Felicity?” Stark asked in a singsong tone that seemed out of context.

  Flic frowned. Stark was acting weird. Was this a good cop, bad cop routine? Flic needed answers just as much as they did. It wasn’t constructive to offer anything but her full cooperation. “Something happened at the bookshop appearance.”

  “Do you know what happened?” Murphy asked, deadpan.

  She had no idea. She guessed a bomb had gone off, but she felt reluctant to say. “Something bad happened, I think, otherwise my friends and family would be here.”

  “They are here. After we speak to you, you can see them.”

  “They’re here? At the hospital?”

  “Yes, but we need to ask you some questions first. Is that okay?” Murphy was thawing. “Felicity, a bomb went off at the bookstore.”

  Somehow, through the haze of drugs and nausea, Flic finally understood. “And you think I had something to do with it?”

  Stark shook her head without hesitation, but it was Murphy who spoke. “Did you? Your book sales increased dramatically after the attempt on your life in Paris. You’ve managed to survive two assassination attempts. You’re like a cat with nine lives.”

  “And you’re just plain fucking daft if you think I could have orchestrated any of this.” She looked at Stark. “I know you don’t have a shred of evidence to suggest I’m involved. What the hell’s going on here?”

  “Agent Murphy had a hunch.” Stark eyed him and scowled. “But I think we’ve cleared it up now.”

  Flic stared at them both. “Jesus, you’re actually serious.”

  Stark turned to stare out the window.

  “What the hell happened to the three wise men from the Order?”

  “They’ve completely disappeared,” said Stark.

  “So now you think I did it?”

  “No. We still believe it’s the men from the Order, we just needed to eliminate you.”

  Flic closed her eyes momentarily, longing for the incoherent drug haze to take her over again. Clarity was a bitch.

  Stark moved forward to speak, probably to assure Flic they were doing everything they could but they needed to cover all angles, when Dr. Phillips stepped in. “I think you have the answers you came for today. My patient needs rest now. You can see her again tomorrow if need be.”

  Before the officers reached the door, Flic asked, “Was anyone killed?”

  Stark shook her head. “Five seriously injured, including you. The bomb was disguised as part of the speaker system, and it failed to detonate correctly. Everyone was very lucky.”

  “We know who we’re looking for,” said Murphy. “We just haven’t found them on the CCTV yet. When you look for something suspicious, you see it in every movement. We’re in the process of eliminating footage minute by minute.”

  “Can I see the footage?”

  “Why?”

  Flic remembered nothing beyond the moment she stood in the window next to Anna. She certainly wasn’t a sadist, but she wanted to piece together the final moments before the bomb exploded. She hated not knowing. “I barely remember it; in fact I don’t remember being outside at all. Can I see it for myself? I might be able to help.”

  The agents exchanged glances, and Murphy indicated for Stark to step outside. Flic observed, through the open doorway, the officers deep in conversation, obviously weighing up the pros and cons of her request.

  Murphy and Stark returned. “Be our guest.” Stark handed Flic her tablet.

  Dr. Phillips coughed. “Are you up for this?”

  Flic nodded a little too enthusiastically, and it made her head hurt, but she wanted to see. She knew her family and friends were waiting, but it would only take a minute. She didn’t want to be in the dark a moment longer, and she hoped reality was better than her imagination. In her mind, it was bloody and horrific, and she needed the truth to replace that disturbing image.

  She pressed play and skipped forward, checking her progress every now and again by watching a snippet of the footage.

  The images were surprisingly clear.

  Stark checked the time on the footage. “They’re only just beginning to set up now. You probably haven’t even begun to get ready at this stage.”

  Flic looked at the CCTV time in the bottom left hand corner of the screen. It was early afternoon.

  The footage was from a building opposite, and she calculated about two doors down. She starred at the window where she and Anna would look out from later that day. Her stomach lurched at the thought of Anna being hurt, but calmed again when she reminded herself she was safe and nearby. It was Anna she was desperate to see, and she let the feeling of need rest in her chest.

  Stark was about to skip forward again when Flic saw it. “Stop!”

  Stark jumped.

  “Go back!”

  Murphy moved in.

  “Please, just a few seconds. Go back.”

  “What is it?” Murphy asked. “What did you see?”

  Stark played it again, and this time Flic was sure.

  “That man spoke to me. That man there.” She pointed to a bald man with olive skin. She was sure it was him.

  “What did he say?”

  Flic’s initial excitement began to fade. She closed her eyes to help remember. “I don’t know.”

  “Please take a moment to think,” said Stark.

  Flic shook her head. “It couldn’t have been anything much or else I would have mentioned it at the time, wouldn’t I?” She felt deflated.

  “Just give it a few moments. If it is the same man you saw, then it’s worth taking a look at simply because he was there so early in the day. We’ll also have the facial recognition team check it out against the three missing men from the Order. It’s something, Flic.” Stark reassured her with a pat of her shoulder. “Get some rest.”

  Stark and Murphy were just about to close the door when it came to her. “He said something about loving me, my Italian isn’t great at the best of times, but I recall thinking how nice it was that he loved me. Can you look that up on your tablet?”

  Stark didn’t need her tablet. “I love you in Italian is io ti amo.”

  “Of course. I know that. It was like that, but something else. He said two things.”

  Stark typed on her tablet. “How about ti amiamo?”

  “Yes. T
hat’s it. What is that?”

  “He said we love you.”

  Flic felt relief that she hadn’t misinterpreted the man’s sentiment. “And he also said something about light or fire, and something about food, like bruschetta or something.” Her head hurt from thinking. “Maybe he was asking me to lunch?”

  Stark tapped away on her tablet. She frowned. “Did he say brucia all’inferno?”

  Flic repeated the words silently with her best Italian accent. She felt her blood pressure drop. “That’s burn in hell, isn’t it?”

  Stark nodded.

  Murphy was already making a call before he rushed from the room.

  “Holy shit. I’m so fucking stupid.”

  “Not at all.” Stark closed her tablet cover and squeezed Flic’s shoulder. “It’s a start. I have to go.” She paused at the door. “You know we’ll need to keep you safe, don’t you?”

  Flic understood.

  “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  Flic nodded.

  “We can take two of you. As long as the other person has clearance, they can come along.” Stark smiled awkwardly before disappearing down the corridor.

  Flic knew what she had to do.

  Dr. Phillips ensured Flic was comfortable before sending in her family and friends. Her poor mother sat hunched and had possibly aged twenty years in the last twenty-four hours, but her father suggested that with a good feed of Indian that night, she would perk up and look better tomorrow.

  Laura held her long and close. “Are you wishing you’d never written that damn book?”

  There was no way she’d wish that. If it weren’t for the book, Flic would never have met Anna, and soon she had something important to ask her, but in the meantime, she needed Laura to do some things for her.

  “Laura, will you make sure my mum’s okay?”