by Ken Fry
He couldn’t fake one either, that was just not possible. The others, including George, were equally upset, and were unable to comfort him. All he could do was wait for some sort of message from Shepard. Surely this mad man can’t mean to go on with this threat. He’s supposed to be a man of God. He could try and speak to Shepard, but as yet, he had no idea where he could be.
A shout from George who was stationed out by the gate, caused them to rush outside.
“What is it, George?” Brodie shouted.
“It looks like a motorbike and it’s heading this way.”
Brodie hauled himself to the top and shielding his eye, he saw the motorbike hammering towards them.
Brodie made sure his shoulder holster was in place, but a lone biker couldn’t mean an assault of some sort. This was something else. With a roar, it came to a halt, and Brodie realised it was a Correos motorcycle courier from Toledo. He swung the gate open and rushed outside. He was handed a small box, which he signed for. There was no indication of where it had come from, but it was addressed to him. Fearing the worst, he pulled frantically to open it. The others gathered around, and all looked anxious.
Brodie lifted the lid and what he saw filled him with dismay. Sitting at the bottom of the box was a button, a belt loop, and more worrying, a handful of hair. He had no doubt they were Martha’s. He tilted his head to the heavens and gave a small cry.
Maria spoke. “Look, there’s a note of some sort in there.” She pulled it out and opened it, and without reading it, handed it Brodie.
He took it from her and read it out loud. “As you see, here are some little keepsakes for you to remember her by, if worst comes to worst. It needn’t be that way. Just surrender the painting to me and an exchange can be made. You will be called within the next forty-eight for the details. Before you think of going against my wishes, remember the note with my pet rat.”
He looked around at them all. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t have the painting, and nobody knows where it is. It’s a catastrophe and it’s my entire fault! I shall never forgive myself. What must she be going through?” He slapped his hand hard to his head.
The Abbot placed his arm around him and addressed him as Brother. “All is not lost. I am not a lot of use in these situations, but I can pray. I can also try and talk to him as he is supposed to be a man of God.”
Brodie refrained from saying what was on his mind. Fat lot of good. Prayers won’t rescue her ... only direct action will do that. Man of God, my arse! He’s a bloody psychopath.
“Custodio Baez.”
He turned to face her.
Maria’s soft voice used the name only they knew between them. “You were Guardian of Lazarus and Christ’s Holy Eyes. That has not been taken from you. I still sense your thoughts and deep sadness, but that is not the way forward now. Let us remember what we were and still are. It has to be the way of the warrior. The painting has gone to join its brothers. Where? Only you know. It cannot be retrieved. You suspect as I do that Martha or John will be a carrier of the burden, or even Abbot Louis. All past artists have had a chequered background. In biblical terms, they have all been sinners. Look at Cortez, look at us two. We killed people back then and you were a thief. Yet, the spotlight of God fell on us and more so you. I was healed, saved in more ways than one, although I killed Throgmorton. But you have suffered for me and everybody else who has been in contact with the legend.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to say several things. If past history is anything to go by, the guardianship will fall on a sinner, I don’t like that word, but it will have to do right now.” She paused and lowered her head.
“Carry on.”
“Martha hardly falls into that category. She’s a normal girl with very exceptional gifts and talents. That White Horse, I suspect, is from where your home and heart is. I believe a complex plan has been afoot and it carried her out here so that you could return. It also carried Bower and Abbot Louis. I’m only making guesses, I cannot be certain, but I’m sure you understand what I’m hinting at.”
“I see what you’re suggesting, and I wish I could believe it. But as long as she is a prisoner, I don’t, and I won’t.”
“You are still Custodio, the warrior. You listened to him then and it’s time to listen to him again.”
“I haven’t heard him since then. He’s gone quiet on me.”
“No. It’s you refusing to listen. If you bend your ear hard enough, you will hear.”
“I don’t know what to do next.”
“All we can do is sit and wait. We can’t take the fight to him as we have no idea where he is. He will contact you and with any luck, he won’t know the painting has gone.”
“There has to be a way to get him here and to rescue Martha, but it will take some smart planning. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Let’s get inside and talk about it. If we can lure him here, with what we’ve rigged up, we’d have a better chance of dealing with him. Her safety is paramount and he can have all the paintings he wants for all I care.”
They found the Abbot on his knees in prayer, Garcia pounding away on his laptop and George glued to the TV.
There was nothing else to do but sit and wait. The night would be long.
§
Every so often the door would open and either Bruno or Alexis would check on her. Her attempt at the Houdini technique was still underway and her hand remained tied to the bed but was much looser now. If it ever got free, she would be able to release the other hand and escape.
Then what? She had no idea where she was being held or where the men were in the building. If she managed to free herself, should she turn left? Right? She had no idea. From the low noise of traffic outside, she guessed she was probably in Toledo, and could find her way back to the hotel she had stayed in previously.
She had succeeded significantly in loosening her bond, but the last part refused to yield. An air of deep frustration descended over her as she let out a strangulated sob. It wasn’t working.
The door opened again. This time it was Shepard, looking pleased with himself. “Well, my little Miss Martha, I thought it better to keep you up to date with what is happening, and from that, what your future might be. The little snippets we took from you were delivered to Guadamur for everyone there to digest. All we are asking for your safe return is that damned painting. If it gets difficult, we can always take more bits off you – like a finger, an ear, or your underwear. All these items, small they may be, can be wonderfully persuasive. I don’t wish to alarm you, but I’m playing a waiting game and letting dear Daddy sweat. My church is waiting, but I can’t keep them waiting too long. They want to see miracles, and miracles they shall have. What you don’t know is that in that box you took from my driver, was a present. Do you want to know what it was?”
Martha shook her head and closed her eyes “No, I don’t.”
“I didn’t think you would, but I’m going to tell you anyway. Are you ready for this? It was a big, decomposing and smelly rat to which I attached a rather touching verse. You won’t like it, but I’m going to let you hear it anyway.” He sat down on the bed, fished around in his pocket and removed a slip of paper, which he unfolded and silently read through. “It’s all about you, Martha. Here we go.” He read it in a theatrical manner, waving his arm as his hand motioned like a slicing knife. He watched her horrified expression with glee. “Wasn’t that fun, Martha?”
She didn’t reply.
His jocular tone turned into a snarling spittle. “You stupid little bitch.” He swung the back of his hand smartly across her cheek, sending her head reeling into a sideways lurch.
A rush of stinging pain shot through her face, and her eyes filled with tears that rolled down her face.
“You’ll have plenty to say when it happens, when that knife gets closer and closer to your pretty bits and Bruno and Alexis take turns with you. I wonder if Daddy will cough up then, eh?”
&
nbsp; “You’re a complete animal,” Martha spat out. What Brodie and Martha must be going through filled her with dismay. That verse, the dead rat, the barely concealed threats. She was being used as a pawn on a chess board, ready for sacrifice and even death.
I’m not ready for this. Please, let it not happen.
Without another word, Shepard left the room. When he called Brodie again, he wanted her there.
The door slammed with a sinister crash that epitomized her predicament. She recommenced on the binding, but it steadfastly refused to move that one inch more for her to be free.
CHAPTER 47
Time crawled by as if it had a massive weight on its back. No one knew what to say. Brodie paced up and down like a caged wild animal, waiting for the phone to ring. Even George looked uncomfortable and had taken to biting his nails and acting as butler, forever asking if anybody would like a drink.
Nothing happened that night, nor did the phone ring. Brodie had discussed what his response would be when Shepard called. Bower agreed, along with Maria, but they would be playing a dangerous game. There was no other way for them to rescue Martha safely.
Brodie couldn’t sleep. When he did, it was in fits and starts of ten to fifteen minutes at a time. Every so often he would pour a splash of scotch. The only alcohol to cross his lips for over seventeen years was the communal wine of daily Mass. That had now gone to the dogs, and he had to admit to a slight feeling of guilt. Yet, the circumstances allowed for a discretional deviation from the norm. He no longer cared if the Abbot knew or not.
Amidst all the events, he could not fail to ask himself again why the two paintings Martha and Bower had done, had so miraculously vanished. Would they both, or one of them return? If so, which one? He was in no doubt that the three paintings vanishing more or less at the same time had significance.
In some ways, he no longer felt part of it. While he looked on, the mantle had been taken from him. So far, he was the last in line of the ancient and not so ancient artists that had gone before him, but now, he didn’t want to pass it on if it was going to direct its intent on his daughter, Martha. There was also Ulla to think of. The current drama had been kept away from her, but sooner or later, she would know. She was far from stupid and could and would work out that things were amiss.
Brodie dozed on and off. It couldn’t be called sleep. All through the early hours, he had fretted and willed the phone to ring for some news or information. He needed to talk to him and stage his plan. The cards were not all in Shepard’s hands.
§
A lemony looking sun creeping over the edge of a dark horizon heralded the new morning. It looked insipid and lifeless and Martha could relate. She had been allowed to use the bathroom and once she returned, both Alexis and Bruno guided her into a kitchen area. She was given a plate of typical Spanish breakfast, consisting of churros and a mug of hot chocolate. As much as she was determined to resist the offering, she was hungry. Part of her understood now how a condemned man on death row must feel, eating his last meal. Please God, don’t let it be that.
Neither men spoke. They had been instructed not to talk to her or ask her questions Shepard had said it was better for her to worry and fret. That made her more vulnerable, and the more so, the easier it would be to make a trade-off. Dear daddy would be prepared to die for her. But that wasn’t the end of it. The man named George, and the slobby bum Bower, had to be dealt with – and dealt with severely up to the point of death, and beyond if needs be. To achieve this would need some careful planning, but he had already formulated a few ideas, and those he was about to discuss with his men. He saw that Martha had finished her breakfast.
“Get her out of here and tie her back to the bed, and then get back here fast. We have plans to discuss.”
Martha was hauled back to the bedroom and thrown onto the bed. Her wrists were sore and chaffed from her attempts to escape. Again, she had tensed her wrists as they secured her to the bed and once the rope was tightened, she relaxed and felt a very small degree of movement from beneath. She resumed her wriggling and ignored the pain. I have to get out of here!
She guessed she’d be alone for some time.
§
The shrill tones of the telephone brought them all rushing into the room. Maria was first and picked it up. “Yes?” Her usual lofty manner was forgotten.
“Ah … it’s you, the crazy Condesa. I don’t want you. Get me Brodie.”
Without another word, she handed the phone to an anxious Brodie.
“Brodie speaking.”
“I want that painting in exchange for your daughter. Sound familiar? This is what I need you to do. You will go to this address.” He gave him an address on the outskirts of the city. “When you arrive, stay in your car until I appear and tell you otherwise. Your daughter is here, a little uncomfortable but unharmed.” There was a slight pause. “Oh, I forgot something. Aside from the painting, you need to bring your two new friends. Do you understand?”
Brodie took a long breath and hoped his voice would remain steady “I understand, but I don’t think you do. Listen carefully, Shepard, for this is how it will be done. We are not coming to you or meeting you anywhere. The exchange would have to happen here. The painting will be yours once I have Martha back safe and sound.” I pray to God he buys this. “I can see the wheels in your head turning, Shepard. You’re wondering, why here? So, I’ll be upfront with you. You know what my daughter means to me, and to convince you not to harm a hair on her head, we are willing to give you a demonstration. The Condesa has agreed to be a victim of a wound that you yourself may inflict. The painting of Lazarus will be used to heal her right there and then. You can then record it for all your followers to see. An intelligent man like you would understand that this can only be enacted within these walls. It cannot happen anywhere else. That’s the proposition, which you must agree, is far better than you ever hoped for. The painting will be yours, with incontrovertible evidence, but you must bring Martha with you. Think about it.”
Shepard was silent for a long time before he replied, “Interesting, Brodie. I’m not giving you an immediate answer. I need to think it through. I’ll get back to you very soon.” There was a click and the phone went dead.
“Well?” Bower asked, and like the others, his expression was expectant.
“He hasn’t said no, but in his plan, he wanted you and George to come along. I can guess why.”
“You don’t have to be a fortune teller.”
“All we can do now is wait.”
“How long? Do we know?
“No idea, but don’t be surprised if he comes back with another proposition.”
“In between this,” Abbot Louis interjected, “I’ll pray for her and I’ll do that now. Can you all please join in? It will help.”
Garcia rolled his eyes. But sitting on one of the most explosive stories he had ever handled, with reluctance, he stood, bowed his head, and along with the others, joined the Abbot in prayer.
CHAPTER 48
Martha could hear muffled voices from behind her door and guessed it was Bruno, Alexis and Shepard. That didn’t interest her. She was almost free from the restraint on her right arm. If she could get free, the only way out for her would be the window. She hoped to God they didn’t come back into the room. The restraint was now very loose, and she was able to flex her whole hand. Every movement slackened her bonds to a degree.
One final contorted twist and the loop came away and she pulled her hand free. It worked! Can’t hang about. Now able to turn sideways, she quickly untied the tight knots around her other hand and wrist. One last tug and she was free.
She didn’t hesitate and dashed to the box sash window and lifted it. Definitely Toledo! To the front, and in the distance, she could clearly see the cathedral. Confronting her was a drop to the ground of about ten feet. That was nothing. She hung both legs out and propelled herself forward to land with a solid thump on the grass below. She was unhurt. Immediately, she stood and began t
o run to the cathedral. She needed to contact the hotel she had originally booked into, The Hotel Pedro Sanchez. They had been very friendly, and she needed to use their phone to call Maria and Brodie.
She ran as fast as she could and began to recognise the area she was in. Looking behind her, she was expecting a chase, but there was nobody behind. Soon, she was in the main area and weaved in and out of the crowd until she reached the narrow street that led down to the hotel. Once outside, she took a deep breath, feeling conspicuous in her disheveled state, but this was no time for social niceties. She burst through the doors and was relieved to recognise the receptionist, who greeted her with a warm smile.
“¡Hola! Te reconozco.”
She recognised Martha, much to her relief.
Within minutes, Martha was using the hotel landline and speaking to Brodie.
§
“Holy Mary,” Bruno shouted from the room. “She’s gone!”
“What!” Shepard thundered, his voice sounding like an M1 Abrams tank. “What!” He smashed his fist into the door and burst into the room.
It was true, the room was empty. All he could see was a crumpled bed, a billowing curtain and a wide-open window. “I thought you fucking tied her up!” He continued roaring and smashing his fists into the walls and cupboards. His face resembled a bag of spanners.
He had lost his major bargaining chip and was now beside himself with rage and fury.
“We did, we did, I don’t know how she could have escaped. She couldn’t move. We checked it several times.” Bruno looked uncomfortable.
“You two Latvian morons have just caused a major clusterfuck!” He looked out of the window. “She could be anywhere and you’re going to have to find her. If you don’t, then we have a full-scale assault on our hands. Now get out and start looking! Go now!”
