by Ken Fry
Their deliberations were interrupted by the booming sound of the alarm drum and a cry from George who was situated at the main gate. “We have visitors.”
They all rushed to look. Barreling towards them in the distance, with headlights glowing, was the unmistakable outline of a Navara pickup truck. It drew closer and they didn’t have to ask who it was.
“Right,” shouted Brodie. “You all know what to do.” He looked up at the dark sky and made sure the flares were nearby.
They all watched the truck as it switched on its full headlights. They were being surveyed.
“Stay down and keep out of sight,” Brodie half shouted, “and dowse those lights.”
The area was plunged into darkness.
The truck doors opened, and Shepard and the two others stepped out, all holding shotguns, dressed in black. Bruno and Alexis moved to the rear of the vehicle and swung down the tailgate. They reached in and pulled out bundles of straw, more guns, army blankets, and carried them around to the front.
Shepard stood straight and tall in front of the 4x4, shotgun across his chest and legs apart. “You know what we’re here for, Brodie. You may have a chance, if you hand it over. You can’t win this. We not only have the means to finish you all off, but we’ll torch this place as well. God, I know, is on our side. What’s it to be, Lazarus or the death of you all, including your pretty young daughter?”
For a moment, Brodie faltered. But then, he called out. “There is no painting, Shepard, whatever you think. It has vanished like all the others. A new one has taken its place.”
Everybody was silent, listening to the shouted interchange.
“You must think I’m stupid to fall for that. You have it, I’ve seen it and held it, so you can’t pass another off and pretend that a new version you painted yesterday has now got powers. Rubbish! You’re trying very badly, Broderick Ladro. If you don’t cough up, you and this cozy beehive will all be burnt to the ground.
“Ignore him, Dad, that’s never going to happen.” Martha gripped his arm. She gave him a tight smile and he saw her strength shine through.
“Go to hell, Shepard. Try your worst. We’re ready for you.”
“So be it,” came the reply.
Shepard fired a round into the compound and signaled to the other two, who picked up the grenades and moved forward, only to be halted by bullets thudding into the ground directly in front of their advance. They retreated.
“Grenade! Let them have a grenade.” Shepard was beside himself. He hadn’t expected a show of force.
Bruno reached for his grenade, unpinned it, counted to three and threw it at the gates. It landed a few feet from the entrance and then exploded with an immense force, sending dirt and debris into the night sky. The gate survived but had been weakened when one hinge was blasted away.
The defenders were shocked. They couldn’t survive if many more were to be thrown at them. But they had to stand firm.
Brodie had assumed total command. “John, over there, and get ready with the log swing and mind the trip wires.”
Bower did as he was asked. A large heavy log had been mounted on a giant rope, and when swung, would zoom across like a lethal, silent, swinging pendulum.
“Abbot and Ned, take these pistols and go to the back wall. They may try that to get in. If I use this whistle,” he held up a referee’s whistle on a lanyard, “return immediately. This is what it sounds like.” He gave it a powerful blow, and it emitted a high-pitched screech. Turning to the three ladies, he asked, “Where have you put John’s painting?” They ducked low while he spoke, as a volley of shots bounced off the nearby woodwork.
“It’s in the car, in case we need to get away,” Maria shouted over the noise of gunshots.
“Martha, put these in your belt.” He held up a pistol and a very lethal-looking knife. She tucked the knife out of sight in the back of her belt and the gun in the front. “ You too, Luciana. The gun’s loaded and ready to fire so be careful.” My God, what would Ulla think! “Maria, you have your own pistol?”
“Yes.”
“You know where the tools and knives are located?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good. Keep close to them.” Brodie surveyed what was now the battleground. “I don’t like the look of that straw they’ve piled up out there. It looks like they’re preparing for a firework party! This should do the trick.” He brandished one of the flare pistols. “I hope its sell-by date hasn’t passed.” Keeping low, he made his way back to George.
Short on many things George might have been, but he was a first-class marksman and was keeping the attackers back.
Brodie nudged him. “George, take this flare pistol. It’s ready to fire. You see those straw bales there?” He pointed at them although they were barely visible in the evening gloom. “Do you reckon you could get a flare into them?”
“Is Santa Claus Father Christmas?” He grunted. “Give it here.” He picked it up and aimed. “Now?”
“Yes, now!”
“I’m going to enjoy this.” He pointed it through the small gap he was hiding behind and squeezed the trigger … WOOMP!
There was a loud, rushing noise and the flare honed in on the centre bale, which exploded into a dangerous pyrotechnic display of a riotous colour of red.
“Yahoo! Bull’s eye!” George shouted.
The bales had vanished in a storm of heat and flames, and the entire perimeter was lit up as bright as the noonday sun. The three attackers could be seen running behind the truck. They were now totally exposed.
§
“Holy Shit!” Shepard screamed as his ace weapon went up in the fierce heat of the fiery blaze. “Those bastards are going to pay for that. Alexis, your grenade … at the gate, and don’t miss it!”
Alexis fumbled around his waist and unclipped a grenade, held it in his hand, before ducking low and manoeuvering himself out of sight along the bottom of the wall. When he was certain he was in accurate throwing range, he abandoned caution, stood, dislodged the pin and lobbed the grenade straight at the gate, before turning around and throwing himself flat to the ground.
It exploded, and the blast brought the gate tumbling to the floor in a whirling mass of splinters and brickwork.
“We’ve got them,” Shepard shouted. “They’ve got no defences now.” He debated whether he should attack through the front or try getting over the wire at the rear of the building.
He decided to do the front. With all their guns firing, they rushed to the cover of the sidewalls and from there, and through the smoke, he could make out Brodie and the other asshole – one of the men who had made a mess of him.
His flare works for me as much as it does him. Thanks, Brodie! He took aim and fired. His shot was true.
George, his neck suddenly split wide open, collapsed in a fountain of blood before hitting the floor like a bag of wet cement.
“One down, one more to go!” Shepard oozed with malicious satisfaction.
Brodie was shocked. He crouched low and tried to reach George, but there was no point. He was dead before he hit the floor. Dear God! Is this necessary? His concern now was for the women and the remainder of his team. He gave several sharp blasts on the whistle. There was going to be no attack from the rear now that the gate had collapsed.
The Abbot looked deeply disturbed and breathless as they rushed back. He had decided he would not shoot, harm or kill any person. His allegiances to his vows were of the utmost importance to him. They were his solemn promise to God. He would, however, assist where permissible.
Garcia had read things similar to this in novels and had seen it in movies, but here he was, in the middle of a real live battle. He was scared. If he survived, he knew he had a major scoop – a bestselling book and a possible movie deal. The story was dynamite! He was determined to stay alive, come what may.
They found Brodie sheltering behind a large wooden post. “Down, you two, you’re going to get killed standing up like that.”
Bull
ets were whining and thudding through the air and into the woodwork.
“Look!” Brodie pointed to the prostrate body of George, oozing a soft flow of blood from his throat.
Stunned, they needed no second asking as they flung themselves to the ground.
§
Bower remained out of sight, but he had clear view of where the ladies were positioned and had seen George go down. He felt responsible for his friend and of Man One. They had been loyal to him, and for what? He felt sorrow, but this was not the time or place for such sentiments. There would be another time for that. He knew where the Lazarus painting had been placed, and knew he would die if he had to, in order to protect it. For but a moment, he was staggered at that resolution and what had happened to him.
All had gone quiet by the gates.
He paused, Martha’s face and presence flashed gently into his mind and she was riding The White Horse. He was no longer worried or startled by anything. He understood.
She was pointing, and his gaze followed. A mixture of monks and knights who had once dwelt in this ancient monastery, and bearing swords, moved in hypnotic fashion around its age-old structure. Their chant was a call to arms that had been part of the place since the Crusades.
In desert march or battle’s flame
In fortress and in field
Our war cry is thy holy name...
Deus Vult!
Beauséant!
The medieval war cry was now part of him, and it was his honour to use it. He knew there could be no turning back. He had become the chosen one, the guardian of this most precious work. It could last a thousand years, or a day only. He had no way of knowing, nor did he have a map or compass to steer by.
He gripped the rope he was holding on to and balanced the massive log, steadying himself for the expected assault.
Brodie fired the remaining flare into the night sky. Night was turned into day.
CHAPTER 51
Shepard gave the signal to attack, the light suited him as much as Brodie. All three moved in at speed, into the central area, guns blasting in all directions. Bullets spattered around the courtyard. In their charge, they hadn’t been prepared for the trip wires. They had barely reached ten metres inside, before they were upended in a tangle of wire and their own feet.
Before Brodie could achieve anything, they picked themselves up, their weapons still in their hands.
“Let it go, John!” Brodie roared.
Bower responded with a mighty shout, “Deus Vult!” He pulled on the thick rope, and attached as a pendulum, the massive log swung at speed towards the three entangled men.
Shepard saw it coming. “Down!” he shouted.
Too late. It missed him but struck Alexis full in the middle of his back, sending him ten feet into the air with a broken shoulder blade. He screamed in agony as he hit the ground. Nobody went to his aid.
One bonus less. Shepard stayed close to the ground as the swinging log began its swooshing return journey past his head. He looked around and couldn’t see where Bruno had gone. Things weren’t going too well.
“You’re beaten, Shepard. You’ve lost. Lay down your weapons.” Brodie’s voice echoed around the courtyard.
Shepard looked uncomfortable but still held on to his gun. Alexis was rolling in agony and Bruno had disappeared. His dream was fading before his eyes. Then, what he saw emerging from the shadows began to change everything.
Bruno emerged and held a very frightened Martha close, with a pistol to her head. In the commotion, he had slipped unseen around the building and found himself somehow behind her. He had surprised and overcome her, and at the same time, he managed to disarm the gun from her belt
“I think not, Brodie. Look again.” Shepard pointed at the captive Martha.
Jesus, no! But it was true. Martha, his daughter was in deep peril ... again. He knew what was coming next. He was in danger of being hoisted by his own petard.
Shepard stepped over the wires to stand next to Bruno. He swung a shotgun from off his back and aimed it towards Brodie. “I could take you both here, right now, but that’s too easy. There’s something else I want, and you all know what they could be. So, everyone out there in the shadows, get here right now and stand next to Brodie. No sudden moves or tricks or her death will be on your own conscience. Do I make myself clear? C’mon, be quick about it and drop those tools.” He blasted a shot into the air.
Axes, iron bars and shovels clattered to the ground.
§
Bower’s brain was racing. He knew Shepard would barter for the painting, but it wasn’t the one he had originally stolen. That had vanished into that great hall somewhere. Shepard would also exact revenge on him, as he had done with George. He knew the danger, but the more he saw Martha at his mercy, the more enraged he began to feel. If it hadn’t been for her gentle ways, he wouldn’t have discovered all this. His fists tightened, and his jaw began its set.
Not yet. Not yet. It’s too soon.
The Condesa’s voice awoke in his mind and he looked over to her as she gave him a small nod. He was no longer amazed.
He turned to Shepard. “It is true, as Brodie has said. The work has vanished. There is now a new one in its place. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but it’s true.”
“I owe you a gift, Bower, don’t I? Before I leave here you will receive it in full.” Shepard slammed the rifle butt into Bower’s ribs.
Bower gave no sound as he slumped on one knee, clasping at his chest.
“That’s just for starters.” The next blow was aimed at the back of his neck, and Bower sprawled face down into the dirt.
“Hold it,” Brodie shouted. “That’s enough!”
Martha struggled to free herself, but Bruno was far too strong for her and the gun stayed to the side of her head.
“Shepard, why don’t you just look at the painting? If we had the other one, we would have let you walk away with it. Do you really believe we would let any of us suffer like this if it wasn’t true? But we don’t have it. I swear to God, we don’t.”
Something in the way he spoke caused Shepard to stop and think. His brain could be seen working.
“How do I know it’s got miraculous powers? Let me see it. Where is it?”
“It’s in the back of the car. Here are the keys.” Brodie lobbed them over.
“You.” Shepard pointed to Garcia. “Open it.”
Garcia did as he was asked, and the rolled-up canvas was still there.
“Spread it out.”
He did, slowly and with great care, before securing it beneath two wooden struts of the pergola.
The red glow of the flare subdued and masked the colouring. Everybody stood motionless, as if they were about to witness a major event. Shepard had to agree that it looked superb. Better than the other one.
“Any evidence of its powers?”
“I have.” Bower winced, attempting to mask a torso full of pain.
“You? How on earth could you possibly have anything to show? You’re scum.” He raised the rifle butt.
“No, wait,” Martha shouted out. “It’s true. Don’t hit him. Let him tell you.”
“My psoriasis ... you remember that? You commented on it once. I was always scratching. Well, the painting healed it. Look.” He rolled up both sleeves and held out his arms. “See, blemish free. Now, look at my back.” He pulled up his shirt and again, the skin underneath was clear and smooth. “You see?
“I see.” Shepard paused and gave a smirk. “Modern day medicine can achieve that. Now for the acid test, I’ve a better idea. Let me see your hand. Hold it out straight so I can see it.”
Bower felt uneasy, but did as he was asked, and looked up at Shepard who had placed his shotgun down and replaced it with his Smith & Wesson.
“No, don’t do it!” Bower looked on in horror as Shepard squeezed the trigger almost at point blank range, sending a bullet ripping through his hand, smashing bones and tendons apart in a sea of blood. Bower screamed in total ag
ony. He passed out instantly, as everyone gasped in shocked disbelief.
“A modern-day crucifixion!” Shepard gloated as he looked around at them, revelling in the horror in their faces.
Nobody could speak.
Brodie attempted to reach him, but another shot hit the ground in front of his feet.
“Stay where you are and don’t move. That goes for you all.” He shouldered his pistol, picked up the shotgun and looked down at the writhing figure of Bower. “Well, he had that coming after what he did to me. Don’t cry any tears for him. He’s just scum.”
Bower lay still, fainting from the shock.
“Mad cow, you there!” He pointed at Maria. “See to my man over there, will you?” He indicated the bent figure of Alexis. “Now, let’s see that painting do its stuff.”
Shepard stared at the painting and looked hard at both Lazarus and the figure of Christ. For a moment, he was transfixed, and if he had been drunk, he would have sworn that both the lips and eyes of Christ moved. Impossible. The thing’s a fake. He went to Bruno who was still holding Martha, then turned and addressed Brodie, including all of them. “How much more can you take? How much more are you willing to take? I want that painting and I want it now. If I don’t get it, you know what will start happening.” He pulled at Martha. “It would be such a shame to lose her, wouldn’t it?”
Brodie moved forward, still holding a gun.
“Drop it, Brodie. You are in no position to barter. Back off!”
Brodie put down the gun.
“But perhaps I am.” A quiet voice behind him gave him cause for alarm.
It was Bower and he was standing … unscathed and full of menace. He held up his hand and it was as it had always been.
There was no hole from the bullet Shepard had fired into it at close range.
Shepard’s jaw dropped. He was rendered speechless, as was Bruno, who in his astonishment, let go of Martha. Her hand found the concealed knife, grabbed its hilt and without knowing where, backhanded a violent stab behind her. Where it penetrated she had no idea. She didn’t look. Bruno gave a low, almost inaudible moan, and slumped to the dirt – his femoral artery cut. He would bleed to death within fifteen minutes.
