The Lazarus Mysteries- Omnibus Collection

by Ken Fry

  She walked back to Garcia.

  CHAPTER 15

  Shepard experienced an attack of nerves. The encounter with the Condesa had exceeded all that he could have possibly envisaged. He had not been prepared for a gun-toting prima donna. Now, he had to explain his failure to Bower. That in itself was ridiculous. How had it come to this?

  He knocked timidly on the door. Bower opened it.

  “Pastor, just the man I’ve been thinking of. Step inside, please. How did it go?”

  Bower’s face had a curious expectancy.

  Shepard steeled himself for the oncoming rage and fury, which he had witnessed previously, and which had reinforced his decision to be rid of this man.

  “It was difficult.” He did not know what else to say.

  “Explain.” Bower moved over to the drinks cabinet. “From the expression on your face, it looks as if you might need one of these.” He poured a generous measure of ‘Widow Jane.’ “Speak.” He handed over the glass.

  “She’s as crazy as a family of meerkats.”

  “More, please. Why?”

  “When I asked about the girl, I was told to go forth and multiply, and then got shot at twice!” Shepard held his breath for the onslaught. There was none. He looked up and Bower was smiling and chuckling.

  “How is it that you can persuade a mass audience that you spoke to God, but fail so catastrophically on a one to one basis, eh? I was wrong in sending you. I’ll think of something else. There is more to this than meets the eye. Now, get out and be thankful I’m in a forgiving mood.”

  Shepard didn’t wait. He left his drink, turned, and made a swift retreat, but not before he glimpsed George playing with a military, steel-wire garrotte.

  He felt a rush of fear.

  §

  Bower sat down and gazed at the panorama of rooftops, chimneys, and the distant rolling hills, his face resembling a half-darkened portrait staring out across a dimly lit art gallery.

  Always, in life, he had been certain of what it was all about. Money, power, which gave to him the joys of wine, women and song.

  It was for him, a certainty, as leaves falling from trees in autumn.

  Now, after his encounter, he was no longer assured. He could not deny or explain what had happened. Any doubts he had about it were dispelled by the evidence of the bloodstained cloth he had used to wipe his hands. It had not been a dream.

  He had always considered himself a realist, a practical person, and he wasn’t going to abandon the principles that had guided his life so. There were matters that needed attending to and discovering. Obtaining the Lazarus painting was a priority. Without it, the proposed enterprise would be severely hampered.

  He began formulating a plan of action … and to hell with what happened out there.

  §

  Abbot Louis thought hard about how he would handle the situation concerning the Condesa’s visit. He had told Brodie or Brother Baez, whichever role he was acting under, that there were developments afoot, and that the Condesa needed to see him.

  Brother Baez was busy framing one of the paintings he had completed in the desert.

  “And who is this you have as Our Lady?” The Abbot held up a painting showing a single angel ascending into heaven with the Holy Mother.

  “It is the face of my beloved partner, Ulla,” Baez replied, not certain if the Abbot would approve.

  “I see … and the angel?”

  “I don’t know, but she rides The White Horse of Uffington. See here.” He unrolled his painting of The White Horse.

  “Her hair hides her face, but this scene is so similar to what the Condesa had described and what I had a faint glimpse of.”

  “I know it’s vague, but I suspect it will be recognisable once these mysteries are resolved.”

  “As you know, she’ll be arriving soon. I have a feeling it will be quite a meeting.”

  “After all these years, I suspect we will have a lot to talk about and of recent events. With your permission, Father Abbot, I would like to be excused from the rounds of Offices.”

  “Of course. She should be here in an hour.”

  “I can see the main gate from here, so I shall know when she arrives.”

  Abbot Louis moved away to complete a slow meditational walk around the cloisters.

  §

  Brodie was now feeling more like his old self, although Brother Baez would never completely leave him. He found himself unable to concentrate on the framing process. His attention was riveted on the main gates. A surge of nerves hit his stomach, and his mind recalled the events that had brought him and the Condesa Maria together into a spiritual conundrum – a puzzle that had never been entirely unravelled.

  It was about an hour later when he heard the main gate bell ring out its echoing chimes. He laid down his tools, rubbed his hands down the side of his cassock, and watched as another monk began to open the solid, wooden double gates. He didn’t know what to think and his mind froze.

  The splendid white Delage drove in slowly and Brodie smiled. It was typical of her and so in her stylish character. He walked to the shade of the cloister and watched as his Abbot strode across and opened the door for her. She stepped out, dressed as he always remembered her – stately, immaculate in her usual black, and bedecked with the odd diamond and solid silver adornments. She looked no different from the last time he had seen her. His nerves and fears vanished. It was like he had only seen her yesterday. With more life in his step, he strode out to the middle of the cobbled compound and stood still.

  The Abbot stood back as she moved forward. When she saw Brodie, she stretched out her hands as she walked closer, reaching out to touch him. Not a word was spoken, and they embraced in complete mutual understanding.

  They pulled back and stared at each other.

  A tear glistened in her eye. “Brodie, we’ve missed you all these years. You look older and sadder, my friend. We have much to talk of the years between us. But I fear there will be an attempt to take the painting. We will need you once more.”

  “There is much we need to discuss.”

  “Yes, but before we do, there is somebody I would like you to meet.” She turned and nodded to Abbot Louis. He retreated back to the car.

  “You know I’m not good at meeting strangers and don’t enjoy it. Who is it?”

  “Wait and see.”

  She said nothing more and watched as the Abbot opened the door and a young lady stepped out. She was wearing simple sneakers, faded Levis and a bright green T-shirt with an unmistakeable icon emblazoned on the front. Long, blond hair hung on her shoulders. She moved towards them at a steady pace.

  Brodie gasped. “Who is this?” His tone was laced with incredulity. He could see The White Horse clearly. “Is this a joke?”

  The Condesa said nothing, took several steps back and turned away, knowing this was going to be an extremely private and emotional moment of which she had no part.

  The young lady stopped a few feet away from him and they both stared at each other.

  “What’s going on here? Who are you and what do you want?” His words came out snappier than he had intended. The iconic garment mesmerised him. “Why are you wearing that T-shirt? I know that emblem.” He looked around for the Condesa, but she had resolutely moved away and turned her back. “Say something. Are you mute?”

  She spoke in a soft, gentle, but tremulous voice … and her fists tightened.

  “Hello, Dad.”

  “What? Say that again?”

  “Hello, Dad.” This time, a large, wet tear trickled down her cheek. “I’m Martha Stuart, Ulla’s daughter. Your daughter, Dad. Be happy, the time has come.”

  Brodie’s jaw went slack. The numbing, shocking realisation struck him like an electric current. “I know those words.” He was unable to say another word. Seeing her simple sincerity, he didn’t doubt what she had said was true. He turned to Maria.

  “Yes, it’s true, and it’s a remarkable story.”

  Brodie b
egan to sob, and Martha moved to embrace him.

  When their tears had subsided, he pushed her at arm’s length as he regained his composure.

  “Let me look at you. You were taken from me and I never knew you nor saw you growing up.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her as he ran his hands through her hair. “Oh, sweet Jesus. What can I say? You have her eyes and looks. How is she? Where is she?”

  “She’s well and will come if you ask her to. We live in Uffington, hence the shirt. She has never stopped loving you and mentions you almost every day. She’ll always be waiting for you.”

  Speechless, Brodie could not stop trembling.

  The Abbot approached them. “This is an unprecedented occasion for you all. Let us go to my room and we can have a drink. I understand from Maria, that you are all invited to her home in Guadamur, to stay as long as you wish.”

  “I need that,” Brodie said. “I think we all do."

  “Before we have that drink, I would like very much to see the Lazarus painting that has caused such a stir,” Martha said, excitement clearly written on her face.

  “This way then.” The Abbot led them into the gallery.

  Martha linked arms with Brodie, who for the first time in many years, felt a long-forgotten sense of pleasure and happiness. He could not stop shaking his head and muttering, “Oh, my God … Oh, my God. I can’t believe it!”

  “Many of these were done by your father, Martha. See if you can spot the one we’re looking for.” Abbot Louis waved her forward.

  Martha moved slowly along, looking at each painting in turn. “This is difficult, and here I was planning to take a Fine Art degree.” She stopped and looked closer. “Ah, is this it?” She indicated the Spencarian work; contemporary, bursting with energy and power, and almost industrial.

  “Clever girl, Martha. What do you think?”

  “It’s uncanny. It has something, but I can’t say exactly what.” She reached out to touch it and as she did, she swore a distinct jolt of energy passed through her. “Ooh … what was that?” She stepped back and shook her arm.

  Brodie and Maria looked at each other and didn’t say a word.

  The Abbot raised his eyebrow. “Nothing, probably static from any nylon you might be wearing. C’mon, let’s get that celebratory drink. You have to drive back later, and we still have much to discuss. It’s been a wonderful moment seeing you all together. I am honoured.”

  CHAPTER 16

  One hundred metres outside the monastery and away from the main gates, a darkened Seat Ateca SUV was parked. Leaning against the doors on one side stood Man One. He idly spun the chamber of his revolver and made firing noises to imitate gunshots. Next to him, George was fondly twirling his beloved garrotte, not making gunshot noises, but strangulation sounds. On the other side of the vehicle, Shepard stood tall and motionless, taking care to keep the weight off his damaged foot. He carried, as usual, his Smith & Wesson pistol. He was staring through a large pair of binoculars aimed at the main gate.

  “Hold it, guys, there’s something happening,” Shepard said.

  Both men swung around, shielding their eyes to get a better look at the monastery gates that had slowly opened.

  “What is it?” Man One asked.

  “A man, looks like a senior monk of some sort, has just walked out. There’s a girl and another monk behind him. They are talking … now shaking hands.” He snorted. “That’s her alright, the mad cow, and it looks as if they are about to leave. When it moves off, follow that piece of junk, but not too close. Understood?”

  “Understood.” George got into the driver’s seat.

  §

  Brodie and Martha sat in the rear seats with Maria driving. They decided to take the A1 Autopista route as it was less wearing on the vintage Delage. They waved goodbye to Abbot Louis who stood motionless as he watched them until they were out of sight. If he saw the SUV go past, he made no note of it.

  Brodie remained in his monastic attire. It hadn’t occurred to him that he could change clothes. They were all silent as they drove, wrapped in their own private thoughts and memories.

  Brodie recognised many of the landmarks. He had travelled this way with Ulla so many years ago. After the sedate pace of the monastery, the speed of events took some getting used to. But already, he could feel old attitudes surfacing and he felt more like his old self.

  He found himself looking behind them – an old habit from when he and Ulla were being followed everywhere. A worried frown creased his face.

  “Are you ok, Dad?” Martha squeezed his hand.

  “I’m not sure. Something’s not right.”

  “What is it?”

  He ignored the question. “Condesa, pull over. NOW!”

  She looked startled but obeyed. Jerking the Delage to the side, she slammed on the brakes. “Why?”

  “We’re being followed. Watch out!”

  She saw what he meant. The SUV narrowly missed the rear of the Delage and veered violently to the left to avoid a crash. It carried on without stopping.

  “Just as I thought. I spotted them as we left. It has matched our every move and speed. Now, let’s wait a few minutes before we move off. I guarantee we’ll see them again."

  “Who can it be?” Maria asked.

  “I don’t know, but this is about the painting. Someone has their eyes on Lazarus.”

  Maria looked thoughtful as they waited for a couple of minutes more, before she started the car and drove on as before. As Brodie had said, less than a thousand metres further up the Autopista, the SUV had pulled over, its warning flashers on.

  “Ignore them and don’t look at them, whatever you do.” Brodie’s old authority had returned. “Just as I said. It’s a bit like old times once more.”

  “It’s pulling out.”

  “Now, there’s a surprise. As long as we’re moving, I don’t think they’ll try any muscle manoeuvres.”

  Martha spoke with a hint of nervousness. “I never expected anything like this. I’m beginning to understand what you and Ma went through. Wow!”

  To his own surprise, Brodie let out an amused laugh. “Well … there you go.”

  Bypassing Toledo, they took the road leading to Guadamur. The SUV stayed behind them but when they made the turn to Maria’s home, it went straight and out of sight.

  As they approached Guadamur, Maria slowed down and then stopped. “Look familiar, Brodie?” She turned to him and reached for his arm.

  He gave a deep sigh. “Oh God, it’s exactly as I remember it. I don’t believe it. Nothing has changed. Nothing.”

  He stared across at the contours of ancient hills that had dominated this skyline since time immemorial. They were the same hills that had called to him many years back and had begun his quest and transformation. An emotion, immeasurable, rippled through his entire being. Realisation passed like the drawing of a heavy curtain. “The magic and mystery are still here. I can feel it in my flesh and bones.” He articulated in a voice broken by a sadness he had never truly comprehended.

  Martha and Maria held him tight. His dilemma needed no explanation. It was plain to see.

  The moment was broken when Maria suddenly said, “Who’s that down there? Look, there’s a car parked in front.” A solitary figure was standing near the vehicle.

  Brodie bristled. “Drive forward and leave this to me.”

  The Condesa inched closer to the vehicle.

  “Now stop, and you two stay put. If you have to, drive off like the wind.” Brodie leapt from the car, and at a rapid rate, strode over to the man leaning on the fence, who gave a wave as he approached.

  Brodie’s old radar system was on full alert. “Who are you?” he demanded, “And what are you doing here?”

  “Hi, my name’s Garcia, Ned Garcia, and I was hoping to find Martha Stuart here with the Condesa Maria. Her attendant told me she’s out and doesn’t know what time she’ll be back.”

  Brodie felt wrong footed. “I don’t know who you are, but they’re in th
e car.” He gave the Condesa a thumbs-up and waved them forward.

  As the car stopped, Martha jumped out. “Ned! You found us. Wonderful” They embraced before she introduced him to the others and explained who he was.

  They all went inside, and Maria called Luciana over. “I think we need food and drink, lots of it! This could be a long day.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Clack.

  The snap of a magazine being loaded into a firearm sounded good to him. There was a satisfying masculinity about the sound, more so when he was able to discharge it. Bower looked at the weapon resting in his hands and positioned his eye down the length of the barrel. That would do nicely, he thought. The mad woman would not get the better of him, nor any of the people she had with her. It was amazing how the threat of torture or death to a hostage could loosen tongues into disclosures they wouldn’t normally admit to.

  Of the people around him, the one he trusted the least was Shepard. He knew the man would double-cross him at the earliest opportunity, and if the artwork was discovered, he would claim it as his own and kill if he had to. Many pastors in the USA used miraculous healings to attract members to their church. They were highly suspect. But the painting would be a visible evidence – a religious icon that can be revered. The legend surrounding it would add to its mystery and allure.

  For the time being, he would carry on as normal and Shepard would be dealt with when the time arrived. Right now, there was work to be done.

  He called up his bodyguards and Shepard. They were to follow him at a discreet distance to Guadamur, armed and ready.

  Moving out of the door, he caught sight of the bloody cloth hanging from his easel. It made him stop, and as he did, his mind was taken over by another vision. It was the image of the strange, white horse that had shown itself to him earlier at the Puente de Alcantara.

  “God, no!” he shouted. “You’re not real. Now, fuck off and leave me alone!” I don’t believe this. I just don’t believe it! He stormed out, slamming the door and rocking it on its hinges.