by Amy Cross
She stared at him.
“It's not sex,” he added, wincing a little as if that word upset him. “It's nothing like that, nothing so... base and foul. It's actually something rather beautiful, almost divine. I could easily lure some crackhead off the streets with an offer of a little cocaine or heroin, but that would defeat the point. I want someone like you, someone pure. Can you understand my predicament?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out.
“You've trusted people in the past and they've let you down,” he continued. “Believe me, I'm familiar with that feeling. I don't know how I can prove my good intentions, I can only promise you that despite all the horror and cruelty in the world, there are still people who are honest and who only want to help one another. I know you're probably thinking of running right now, but please, won't you at least consider the possibility that I'm making you a genuine offer that can help us both? All I want is to carry out a few small, harmless tests on you. Does that really sound so scary?”
She paused, waiting for him to continue, but after a few agonizing seconds had passed she realized that he was waiting for her to say something.
“Meg,” she told him finally. “My... My name is Meg.”
“Meg,” he replied with a broad smile. “So lovely. Now... Meg, if you're willing to come with me and these fine gentlemen, we'll get you some food, get you somewhere warm to stay, and I'll explain the full nature of the study I'm conducting. If, after all that, you decide you don't want to participate, you'll be free to leave with absolutely no obligation.” He paused. “I can also get a doctor to look at you. You're in pain, aren't you? I saw the way you limped to this bench, as if your feet are causing you some discomfort, and I can get someone to fix you up. Not just painkillers, but actual, permanent help. Would you like that?”
“I...”
“And new shoes,” he added, looking down at the rotten, stinking trainers that were just about staying on her feet. “Dear God, you need new shoes.”
“They're wet,” she whispered.
“And are those plastic bags you're using to line them?”
“Keeps the water out.”
“Take a leap of faith,” he continued. “I've been as honest as possible with you, and there are two reasons for that. First, I just believe in telling the truth, I guess that's how I was raised and I can't shake the habit. And second, I'm convinced that when you see the nature of the study I'm proposing, you'll be more than happy to help out. Meg...” He paused, watching her every move, her every twitch, waiting for precisely the right moment to seal the deal. “The world is not all pain. Come on, let's at least talk.” Taking his hat, he set it back on his head, took a moment to adjust it properly, and then got to his feet. “Have I convinced you?”
She gripped the edge of the bench for a few more seconds, before letting go and finally – after a moment longer's consideration – getting to her feet.
“Hallelujah,” the man replied with a smile. “I'm very grateful for this opportunity, Meg. If you'll come this way, we'll get you something to eat, maybe some new clothes, definitely some new shoes, and then I'll explain everything.”
Leading her across the park, he kept glancing back, as if he expected her to run. By the time they reached the van and his assistants slid the door open, Hanson stopped and turned to watch as Meg cautiously approached.
“I'm in the mood for steak,” he continued with a broad, friendly smile. “With all the trimmings, all the seasoning, plus a side salad and fries. I know a great steak house, if you'd let me tell you my plans over dinner? I'll even shout dessert, although I'm against alcohol so you'll have to make do with water or a soda. Sorry, I just can't abide people taking substances that make them pollute their bodies.”
“You're not going to hurt me?” she asked, her voice sounding frail and thin.
He shook his head.
She looked around for a moment, spotting a few people wandering past the other side of the park, before finally climbing into the van. She stopped for a moment, seeing that the interior of the van was mostly empty except for a set of thick metal railings running from one end to the other, and then she turned back to Hanson.
“Will -”
Before she could finish, a hand slammed into the back of her neck from inside the van, knocking her forward until Hanson caught her by the shoulders and then crunched her head into the side of the door. As her body fell limp, he quickly shoved her into the vehicle.
“God, that took long enough,” he muttered, taking a step back as his assistants slid the door closed. “Get her out of here. Put her with the others, and tell Doctor Leach that Subject C has been acquired. She'll need to get the chamber ready.”
Chapter Three
“I'm sorry,” the woman on the front desk said delicately, “but the cathedral isn't open to visitors at the moment.”
“Excellent,” Robinson replied. “They'd only get in my way.”
“I'm not sure you understand,” the woman continued. “On Monday afternoons, the cathedral is closed for private matters. Bishop Carlyle likes to -”
“And how's Bob doing?” Robinson asked.
“I...” She paused, clearly at a loss for words for a moment before finally she forced a smile onto her make-up-heavy face, cracking her foundation in the process. “I'm afraid our policy can't be amended. If you'd like to come back tomorrow -”
“No can do,” Robinson replied, taking a card from his pocket and holding it out for her to see. “I need to speak to Bishop Carlyle now.”
The woman opened her mouth to reply, but as her eyes fell on the card, she seemed to freeze for a moment, before getting to her feet. Suddenly she seemed panicked, almost terrified.
“Of course,” she stammered, “I'll... I'll tell him you're here. He's a little busy, but I'm sure he'll...” She paused, before turning and hurrying out of the office.
“What's on that thing?” Katie asked, leaning out from behind Robinson and trying to see the card as he slipped it back into his pocket.
“My credentials.”
“And what exactly are your credentials?”
“They're wonderful, thank you for asking. They're a great help in such situations.” He turned to her. “Katie, I have a hunch, and I've learned over the years that when I ignore a hunch, I get a terrible rash. Hopefully I'm completely wrong and the incident at the other church has nothing to do with so-called angels, and there has simply been some kind of terrible misunderstanding. I just... I need to be certain. You can understand that need, can't you?”
“Well, I -”
“Robinson!” a voice exclaimed from nearby.
Turning, Robinson and Katie saw an elderly man in the doorway. At this sight, Robinson smiled and Katie frowned.
“I suppose,” Bishop Carlyle continued, with an expression of pure dread, “you'd better come inside.”
“Yes,” Robinson replied, “I suppose I had.”
***
“You're asking a lot of me,” the bishop said a few minutes later as he led them into one of the cathedral's back rooms. “The local synod has strict rules against this sort of thing -”
“Lovely weather today,” Robinson replied, interrupting him.
“Yes, it is. Listen, the local synod -”
“Have you redecorated?”
“No, nothing has changed. Robinson, the synod -”
“You haven't met Katie before, have you? She's my apprentice. I'm training her up.”
Carlyle turned and nodded at her, before stopping next to the door of a large safe. “Robinson,” he continued, clearly a little exasperated, “the synod -”
“Bores me,” Robinson replied firmly. “The synod bores me, with its petty rules and its flagrant disregard for the needs of those who want to actually get things done. All I need to do, Frederick – and I hope I can still call you Frederick – is to make sure that your inventory is complete. After all, this cathedral has certain relics, and I hesitate to call them holy rel
ics but I know that's how you like to think of them... You have certain relics that might prove tempting to others and I am here purely to assist you.”
“But the bones of...” Carlyle paused, as if even saying the words would be too much.
“The cathedral has a bone,” Robinson continued, turning to Katie, “that is allegedly from an archangel who visited this world nine hundred years ago. I say allegedly, because of course angels and archangels aren't real, so obviously the story has become a little twisted over the years. The synod, bless their little cotton socks, were rather too eager to believe that they were in possession of something remarkable, when any fool can see that they were well and truly conned.”
Tapping at the screen of her phone, Katie brought up a webpage. “The bone of the Archangel Lucas,” she read, “is said to have been left behind when Lucas returned to the kingdom of Heaven. It was kept in the possession of private individuals for many centuries, before being acquired by the church in the late nineteenth century and placed in sacred trust at the cathedral of -”
“How much did the church pay for the bone?” Robinson asked the bishop.
“I'm not at liberty to -”
“I bet it was expensive.”
“I really can't -”
“A million?”
Carlyle sighed.
“More?” Robinson continued, clearly shocked. “My God, you really were duped, weren't you?”
“The relic has been tested,” Carlyle told him, clearly struggling to remain patient, “and we have no doubts about its provenance.”
“An independent study was carried out,” Katie said, reading from her phone, “and the results suggested that the age of the bone is consistent with -”
“We already know all this,” Robinson replied, interrupting her. “There are various people in the world who claim to have the bones of angels, but most of them are just full of rubbish. Angels don't exist, therefore their bones don't exist either. Still, people do insist on believing in this guff, don't they? Pure desperation, that's what it is.”
“But this bone?” Katie replied, still reading from her phone. “Is this one more special than the others?”
“This bone...” Robinson paused. “To be perfectly honest with you, this is the only one I haven't yet managed to disprove.” He cleared his throat, as if the admission disquieted him. “Yet being the operative word.”
“So you're saying it might be from an angel after all?”
“Of course not,” he replied. “I'm just having a little difficulty pinning down my rebuttal to the whole ridiculous tale. When one is faced with such a massive amount of fantasy, one struggles to know where to begin.”
“Opening the safe is frowned upon,” Carlyle interjected. “Is there no other way to -”
“No,” Robinson said firmly.
“But perhaps -”
“I need to see it,” he continued. “I need to know that it's still safe, because I have a very strong suspicion that someone has their eyes on your precious bone. Rightly or wrongly, it's widely regarded as a prime specimen.”
“No-one could take it without my knowledge. There's really -”
“Open the damn safe, Freddie.”
Sighing, Carlyle turned and slipped a heavy old key into the lock, turning it with difficulty before the bolts slid aside and he pulled the door open. A cloud of dust immediately emerged, causing him to stand back and wave his hand through the air, and finally Robinson stepped past him and peered into the safe.
“The synod mustn't know about this,” Carlyle continued. “Robinson, I trust that you won't go telling people that I let you look at the bone. I could be disciplined!”
“I thought you liked a bit of discipline,” Robinson replied, reaching into the safe and rooting through the various items. “That's what the nuns said at the coffee morning last week. They really are a bunch of gossips, you know, apparently you have a particular fondness for being -”
“Can we get this over with?”
“No,” Robinson said firmly, taking a moment longer to sort through the contents of the safe before pulling his arm out and turning to the bishop. “We can't get this over with, because the bone isn't here.”
“Of course it is,” Carlyle muttered, pushing past him and taking a look. “Robinson, you really are starting to infuriate me. The idea that someone could get within ten feet of this safe without being spotted is ludicrous, and they certainly wouldn't be able to -” His voice fell quiet suddenly as his hands began to search more frantically. “It's in here somewhere,” he muttered, “it has to be...”
“It's not,” Robinson replied, rolling his eyes as he took a step back. “Dear God, the security in these joints is hopeless.”
“What does this mean?” Katie asked him. “Who would take it?”
“Good question,” he continued. “The how of it doesn't matter right now, that's a vaguely amusing puzzle that some amateur sleuth can take up, but the who... I don't think we're dealing with some kind of common thief. There are items in that safe that are far more valuable, so we're dealing with someone who wanted that particular bone.”
“For D.N.A., maybe?” Katie suggested.
“You mean scraps of organic matter that might have been left behind?” He nodded. “That's my guess.”
“And then what would they do with it?”
“Well...” He paused. “You've seen Jurassic Park, haven't you? Imagine that, but with angels instead of dinosaurs. And not as big. Or maybe as big. Maybe bigger. Yes, giant angels stampeding majestically across the fields.” Another pause, as if he was imagining the scene. “The possibilities are endless, really, if you dare to think big!”
“It has to be here somewhere,” Carlyle muttered, starting to pull other items out of the safe as his search became ever more desperate. “No-one has been near the safe for years! I'm the only person who has a key!”
“Then you must be overlooking something,” Robinson told him. “Anyway, there's no point crying over spilled milk. Katie, we need to get going, Quix should be back by now and I need to conduct a little research before -” Feeling a vibration in his pocket, he pulled out his phone and saw that someone had tried to call him. “Inspector Milhouse,” he muttered, before putting the phone away again. “I'm sure it's nothing important.” Turning to Carlyle, he patted the bishop on the back. “Cheer up, old bean. I'm sure you'll get your bone back soon. Just close the safe and don't tell the synod.”
“This is a nightmare,” Carlyle muttered, still searching through the safe. “If they find out, I'll be lynched. I'm the official Keeper of the Bone, you know!”
“That's why you don't tell them,” Robinson continued, lowering his voice as if he was worried about being overheard. “Come on, the last thing I want is to hear that they've punished you by posting you off to oversee a parish in Siberia or somewhere equally inhospitable.” He reached out and closed the door to the safe. “I'll get your bone back before anyone notices it's gone.”
“I've failed,” Carlyle replied. “The Lord will judge me.”
“Oh, relax,” Robinson told him, “God can't be everywhere at once.”
“You have to get it back! I can't lie, but perhaps I can stall for a while and keep people from asking awkward questions, but you have to get that bone!”
“That's the spirit!” Smiling, Robinson turned and headed toward the door.
“Aren't we going to help him?” Katie asked, hurrying along beside him. “He seems upset.”
“He'll be fine when the bone is returned.”
“But how do you -”
“I will ensure that it's back in that safe before too long.” Leading her out through the side door and into the sun-soaked square on the south side of the cathedral, he stopped for a moment and held his right arm out straight, before shaking it slightly so that a long, gray-yellow forearm bone slipped out. “We'll have to put it somewhere for safe-keeping, though, because someone will be safer it.”
“But...” She stared at
the bone. “You took it?”
“As soon as he opened the safe, I had my arm in there before the dust had cleared.” He passed the bone to her. “I needed to take it before someone else got hold of it, and I can assure you that sooner or later, someone else will try to get their hands on it. Fortunately, I'm hoping it's someone who can sense the bone's approximate location, which means they won't come and bother the good people of the cathedral.” Feeling another vibration in his pocket, he sighed. “What does Milhouse want, for God's sake? That man is driving me up the wall!”
“So the bone's safe,” Katie continued, “that's... That's good, isn't it? I mean, that's the most important thing.”
“Not really,” he replied, hanging the bone to her. “We've just closed off one avenue for whoever's behind all of this, but I'm sure they have other options.”
“Is this really from an angel?” she asked, turning the bone over in her hands.
“Of course not. Angels are not now, and never have been, real. Trust me, I'd have run into one by now if there was any truth behind the story whatsoever.”
“So what does -”
“Oh, for God's sake!” he hissed, as his phone vibrated again. Tapping the screen, he raised it to the side of his face. “Can't you tell I'm busy, Milhouse?” he snapped. “What do you -” He listened. “That's fascinating, but you really don't need to tell me every time you go to an underground station, I don't -” He paused for a moment, and finally he began to frown as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. “Oh,” he said finally, “well, yes, you're right, that does sound like something I should take a look at.”
