The Lazarus Mysteries- Omnibus Collection

by Ken Fry

  CHAPTER 36

  Martha sat alone in the balcony of her hotel room. She was avoiding the others. She had spoken to Ulla and had given her details of everything that had transpired since their last conversation, except the murder of Man One and other violent episodes. She had reassured her mother of their safety, and that her father would be calling her in a while. She also omitted telling her of the vision she had experienced that morning. That would have put her mother into depression or panic, judging from the way her father, Brodie, had reacted. When the call was finished, she felt a deep sense of peace. But the unease had not totally left her.

  All she wished for was to sink her fears and anxieties into the distant Troodos mountains – where they would be buried for eternity, out of everyone’s reach. Her vision of the world had altered in a way few people experienced. The ancient ruins of the island had come to symbolize the impermanent nature of what we hold and love so dear. How could she relate that very personal experience to anybody?

  Her vision that morning had been glorious, and for her, intensely moving. She had felt the brush of angel’s wings and the soft breath of grace upon her. How could she relate that? Not that she thought she should. It was profoundly personal. What this episode had in store for her, she could not say.

  She thought of Bower. He was an unidentified piece in this strange game. She had reached into his psyche and had found in him a deep yearning and a hidden sense of unrealized compassion. In her vision, she had sensed his struggle, his burning desire to know ... really know and understand what was, and the mysteries that invade our normal existence. There were, in many ways, great similarities between him and her father, Brodie. Their interests ran parallel, although they expressed them in vastly different ways.

  Things were building to a peak, she sensed. Where it will all end was anyone’s guess. That decision was out of her hands. Whatever it was, she knew she would have to accept it.

  §

  Brodie found himself nibbling at his fingernails, a habit he thought he had lost in his teens, which had resurfaced after all these years. He attributed it to the stress and strain he had to endure of late. His days as Brother Baez, the monk, were almost over. He’d served his penance well, sacrificing his own life, and loves, in the process. But he couldn’t prevent the thought that Christ had suffered so much more. Such was the influence of a decade and more of monastic life. He’d now become uncertain whether he believed any of it anymore. He had loved the Brotherhood dearly, but come what may, he suspected that the time had arrived for him to say farewell to it all.

  Underlying these thoughts and fears were his concerns for the fate of his daughter and of Ulla. The shock of meeting Martha had intensified his feelings that the cement of his monastic life was crumbling. It had held him together all these years but never removed from him his deep and intimate sadness. Running close to this, he was concerned for Maria. He would die rather than see her harmed in any way.

  How close these events might be, there was no way of telling.

  He had seen a man murdered and a woman shot but he had also seen a miracle. There were things in this world he would never understand, and the worst of these were the lengths men would go to gain money, power or whatever they thought they needed. Men like Silas Shepard, who would dress up to deceive and steal to achieve just that. Shepard had no idea what he was dealing with.

  Brodie expected more bloodshed and mayhem from him, and he had weapons he wasn’t afraid to use.

  The painting had not, as yet, perished, so the time was not ripe for a new artist.

  What of Bower?

  He’s an enigma. I sense he has no love for me, but that’s his problem not mine. He seems to me like a man split in two ... wealthy beyond dreams but with a restless soul. A man looking for his true home.

  A knock on the door caused him to start. Opening it, he was surprised to see Bower standing there looking hot and sweaty.

  “Come in.” He still found it difficult to use his Christian name. “You look as if you’ve been in a shower. Let’s have a beer.” He opened the fridge and pulled out a cold bottle of Keo. “Try that. What can I do for you?”

  Bower related the events of the afternoon and what he had done to lose his trackers.

  Brodie spoke. “It’s getting worse. He’s hiring muscle to back him up. If he can do that, he will get other things he wants, like guns. If he can recruit people like them, we are in worse danger than we imagined.”

  Bower took a long gulp. “Now, look at this.” He handed him the leaflet.

  Brodie read it through. “A clever bastard, isn’t he? He’s whipping up interest across the island and next, he will be on TV and the radio stations. He will repeat this across the globe. That’s how Scientology started. What worries me is how he will convince his followers that the painting is authentic. He can’t command it to perform, it’s unpredictable.”

  “Let’s wait for the first meeting. We’ll know more about his schemes then. I don’t think we’ll have to wait long.”

  §

  That evening, Abbot Louis had arranged to meet the Prelate of the Church of Saint Lazarus to discuss the leaflet and newspaper article. He understood clearly that their recent adventures were not to be mentioned. Garcia was shaping out his newspaper report. He was now considering turning it into a book and had prepared a list of questions for Brodie.

  Martha accepted Bower’s offer of an evening stroll, with perhaps a drink afterwards. He had thought it would, at last, give him a chance to talk to her alone.

  The night air had cooled. Streets, restaurants and bars looked busy with flocks of tourists, all illuminated by a medley of streetlights and signs. As they walked along, Bower described the morning’s events regarding the two men who had been following him.

  She warmed to him as they spoke, and the more he did, the more it confirmed her understanding of him. They reached a point where the parade of bars was dwindling, and the lighting was less intense. One bar, seemingly constructed out of wood, beckoned. They took a table and a couple of seats.

  Martha ordered a spritzer and Bower settled for a straight scotch. They sat there for a short time without saying anything. At last, Martha gave a little shrug, which seemed to acknowledge that they needed to say something to each other. She leant towards him.

  “Where do you think this is all going to end, John?”

  “I’ve no idea. I’m more confused than ever and you are the only one who seems capable of understanding me.”

  “Not so. Dad does too, more than anyone.”

  Bower gulped distractedly on his drink. Tears lurked mysteriously behind his eyes and his voice seemed to tremble as he spoke, but somehow, he retained control. “I don’t know which way I’m supposed to jump. Everything I’ve ever known or worked for seems unimportant now – meaningless and about to fall apart. I’m not certain I want that. I worked long and hard to be where I am now. Anything else apart from this life scares me. I’ve never told anybody that before.”

  “Just let it be, John. Don’t fight it. These dilemmas have their own way of sorting themselves out. Whatever you decide will be the right one for you.”

  “How do you know all this? You’re only seventeen years old, yet you sound like some old wise woman. I sense you reading me like a book. It’s unnerving.”

  “Thank my parents for that. They are remarkable. Let me tell you about them...”

  For the next hour, she related Brodie and Ulla’s dodgy background and the story of the painting and how it transformed their lives, and how Maria had shot and killed Throgmorton.

  Bower’s jaw hung open. “That changes everything. How wrong I was about you all.”

  It was only then she noticed that they were the only ones left in the bar. They still hadn’t finished their second drinks. Bower looked up as the door swung open, and two bald men, dripping with gold chains and rings, barged in.

  Bower went cold. “Martha, look at me, and do not turn around.”

  Too late,
she already had, and immediately caught the eye of one of them.

  “Hey look, Bruno, you have a fan!”

  “It looks that way, Alexis, and just look at the guy she’s with.”

  “What do you know? Yes, it’s him. It looks like him.”

  “Bingo. Playtime! It’s him alright.”

  They moved to both sides of their table. Bruno leered at Martha. “Out with Granddaddy or is he your sugar daddy?”

  Martha bent her head, refusing to look or speak to him. Bower felt the other man’s hands on his shoulders, as heavy as lead weight, before the man hauled him up by his shirtfront, lifting him as if he was as light as a puff of air.

  “Who are you?” Martha’s voice had raised an octave when she saw Bower dangling from the man’s hands.

  Bower struggled, without success, to free himself from the ox-like, steroid-fuelled ape who had hold of him. He failed, and a large, gold-ringed fist smashed into the side of his face. Pain shot up, but he made no sound. “They’re those men I told you of earlier,” he spoke from the side of his mouth. “They were following me.”

  Bruno yanked hard on Martha’s hair, pulling her head and face backwards to look at the ceiling. Her mouth hung open and a gun appeared in his hand. He threw it across to Alexis, who caught it before smashing the butt onto Bower’s head.

  He still didn’t make a sound.

  “You gave us the slip earlier and I bet you thought how clever you were. Now, you’re going to tell me exactly where you’re staying and who’s with you, but we aren’t going to discuss that here, are we? No, we’re not. We are all going for a little walk. Now, get up!”

  Bruno pulled hard on Martha’s hair, forcing her to her feet as Alexis dragged Bower towards the door.

  “That’s far enough, guys,” a soft, low, American voice came from behind them. “Raise those hands now. One dodgy move and I’ll feed your brains to the dogs. Now, drop that gun.”

  They heard a safety catch click. The gun was dropped.

  “Move away slowly, and don’t turn around. Head back the way you came and don’t stop on the way.”

  As seasoned hoods, they knew whoever was behind them wasn’t making idle threats. They did as the man instructed.

  Both Martha and Bower remained frozen to the spot, not daring to look. Bower could see Martha’s face was as white and cold as a cameo.

  The voice said, “You can turn around now.”

  Martha held on to Bower’s arm.

  They saw a smiling man putting away a gun, and they looked at each other in astonishment.

  He picked up the discarded weapon and offered it to Bower. “I think you may need this, boss.”

  “Holy Mother ... it’s you! George, by God! I’m so happy to see you, man!”

  Martha’s hand went up around her mouth, her eyes as large as a pinwheel and filled with tears.

  “It’s me alright, boss. Just didn’t fancy a trip home, so I stayed close by. I followed you around and guessed that sooner or later you’d need help. I could see trouble coming and I was right.”

  His words came as a great relief to Martha. To her, he was a rescuing knight in shining armour. She felt like hugging him and declaring her friendship for life. She reached out to him and did just that. “I’ve never been so scared in my life! Thank you, George.” She kissed him on the cheek.

  Bower was jubilant. “You’re a most welcome sight, George. We were in real trouble back there.”

  George looked embarrassed. “It’s time we left here. Those mutton heads could be back with more firepower and we don’t want a repetition. I’ve got something I can tell you.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Father Ignatius, the priest in charge of the church, had been highly perturbed by the report he had read in the Cyprus Mail concerning the healing power of a painting of Saint Lazarus, which was said to be somewhere on the island.

  A knock on his door announced the arrival of Abbot Louis from Spain. The Abbot was ushered in.

  Father Ignatius rose, extended his hand and inclined his head towards the monk. “Abbot Louis, you are most welcome.”

  The greeting was returned.

  For a short time, they talked about general church matters and international issues, until they reached the true reason for the meeting.

  “You’ve seen the reports in the Cyprus Mail about this so called miraculous painting?” Father Ignatius asked.

  “Indeed, we have had the same phenomena in Spain. There were reports of terminally ill people being cured.” The Abbot confirmed.

  “Do you mean ... by this?” He jabbed his finger at the photograph in the paper.

  The Abbot pretended to scrutinize the shot. “Well, it looks the same, but that’s why I’m here ... to try and see if it is true or not.”

  “I heard that this Reverend Shepard wants to arrange a demonstration and a press conference. Do you know if that’s true?”

  “That’s what I heard. I am also trying to pin this down. I would like to make a request, Father.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “If you ever talk to Reverend Shepard or one of his people, can you persuade them to conduct one of these events in this church? What place could be more appropriate than where our blessed saint was buried? Don’t you agree?”

  Father Ignatius sat back and considered the request. “I don’t see why not. How do we get hold of the man?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody seems to know where he is, but I’m working on it. Of course, as soon as I know I’ll inform you.”

  “It’s agreed then. Personally, Abbot, I don’t believe a word of it.”

  “That’s what Thomas said. Look how wrong he was.”

  They both laughed, and a bottle of wine and two glasses were produced.

  §

  Shepard was less than pleased when he heard of the evening’s mishap at the Larnaca bar. He had been a whisker away from getting six sacks of shit knocked out of Bower and taking the girl as hostage. A stranger, who the fuck was that, had robbed them of that chance. He had no idea who it was. He took refuge in the fact that Bower and his pals had to be lucky all the time – and he, only once. They were around here somewhere and sooner or later he would flush them out.

  The hotel had conference facilities and he planned to invite the media from all over the island to attend. To do that, he had to make it attractive and worth their time. The media and journalists were a hard-bitten bunch, and the promise of food and drinks was one way of enticing them. Add the first-class facilities and they would be convinced this was not some cheap show. He settled for a capacity of one hundred and forty participants who would be served food, cocktails and an assortment of distractions, enough to tempt the Pope himself.

  Alphonse and Jeremiah had drawn up a list of names spread across the entire media spectrum of TV, radio, magazines, newspapers, and various churches. It was well over the number he was aiming at, but not everybody would turn up. It would be a by invitation only event, and they wrapped it in a shroud of mystery and secrecy. It was classic promotional strategy. It rarely failed.

  §

  Brodie and the Abbot were horrified when they heard of the assault on Martha and Bower. The thought of what could have happened to her – beatings, torture, rape, and the list went on, was too dreadful to think of.

  She seemed to have recovered and the presence of George, given his former role, caused them both to paradoxically feel reassured.

  Martha had recovered from the ordeal and Brodie swore he would not let her out of his sight again, let alone allow her to walk around outside at night.

  The more Brodie thought about it, the more he realised that he would kill any bastard who harmed her in any way. He found himself grinding his teeth and clenching his fists. When he last did that, he couldn’t remember. If Ulla found out...

  Garcia and the Abbot both turned away to look out of the window.

  There was a knock on the door. It was Martha, plus Bower, and George who looked out of place.


  They greeted each other, and Brodie rushed to give George a huge bear hug. “I would never have believed it possible, but we owe you a huge debt of gratitude, George.”

  “It’s what I do. Forget it.” He looked uncomfortable again. He was not used to being praised or gushed over.

  Bower spoke. “George discovered we were coming here and had arrived before we did. He hasn’t been idle while he’s been here and reckoned we might need some help. Tell them what you found out, George.”

  George was clearly unused to being thrust into the limelight. He spoke almost in a mumble, so they had to lean forward to understand what he was going on about.

  “I saw Shepard arrive and he booked into the Garden Bay Hotel, that’s about twenty-five miles from here. He has two of his religious buddies with him and they are busy arranging a press conference and hopefully a demo at another date. I followed him one day to Paphos. It was there he found the two muscle men. From local gossip, they are known hoods, gunrunners and grifters. They come from some dump called Latvia, wherever that might be. I heard they are not to be messed with. Even the police give them a wide sidestep. Shepard must be funding them well for them to do his bidding, and it doesn’t need a mind reader to know they will deliver what he wants. You are all in danger. I reckon if he gets his hands on one of you, he will use that to get juice out of that goddamned painting.”

  “So that’s where he’s holed up. Thanks, George, you’ve been a massive help. We owe you.” Brodie shook him by the hand.

  “Well, you can start thanking me by pouring me a drink,” he quipped. His eyes gave a rare sparkle.

  A large drink was poured and delivered.

  The Abbot had been quietly listening, then he said, “I can’t be part of violence and I know you now have two weapons. But that doesn’t mean I won’t support you. I went to see the priest in charge of the church and we agreed that once we know more, we will attempt to persuade Shepard to hold one of his demonstrations at the church. That would be an attractive offer for him, surely.”