I got changed and went outside to hide my laptop and the package given to us by Merry. Bill knocked on the door shortly after that and we discussed tactics. I expressed my concern about keeping Caro safe, and we agreed to keep her between us at all times. If things took a turn for the worse, we would both move in front of her. We could do no more.
She came down the stairs and greeted Bill.
‘How’s Merry?’ he asked.
‘Sounding a bit better. I’m going to call her every day. I don’t mind if she wants to come back to France with me for a few weeks. I’m going to suggest it anyway.’
There was more banging on the door, and I let the bishop in. As usual he looked immaculate, and like he had just stepped off a catwalk: black trousers, black jacket, and a beautiful white linen shirt that even I would have liked to own.
I decided at that moment that I would let Caro take me on a shopping spree. It would make her happy, and I really did need to get a few things. I would even let her choose where, so long as it wasn’t London. I wanted to tell her now, and did so, whilst the bishop was engaged in conversation with Bill.
‘I can’t wait, Ben. We’ll make a day of it, and it’ll be fun, you’ll see,’ and she reached up to kiss my cheek.
My mobile phone began to ring, and I answered it to hear who I assumed to be Aldo, telling me he was waiting outside.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
‘Here we go, guys… the car’s here. Please remember, safety first. Now, let’s finish Harcourt off, the vile snake.’ Oddly, and to my surprise, the bishop put his arm across my shoulder.
‘Don’t worry, Ben. I believe Franco’s men are already outside. We’ll be fine.’
A different car to the one Franco had arrived in yesterday was waiting outside. It was large enough for all of us, and Aldo opened the doors to let us in. There was another man behind the wheel, and Aldo and I sat on the wide front seat, with the others in the back. He spoke in his highly accented English.
‘If I say get down, you must get down on the floor. If I say run, go to the car – she will be waiting for you. Do not wait for me. There will be other cars for me.’
We acknowledged what he had said and fell silent as we sped through the countryside. My previous apprehension now gone, I felt alert, angry, and ready to tackle whatever came my way. Looking back to the others I nodded my head and they all nodded back.
Was this how it had been for my parents and Hortense – danger, fear, and excitement? I could quite see how addictive it must be to live in this way, with just sharp wits and instinct to keep one safe. Instinct… I remembered my mother’s advice from long ago.
My instinct tonight said that we were all in huge danger, but that instinct wasn’t enough to make me stop the car and take us all back home. So be it, then.
I popped the chewing gum into my mouth to block Harcourt’s door spyhole and smiled, remembering Caro and Bill’s reaction.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
The car pulled into the lay-by just before Harcourt’s house, totally hidden by trees and shrubs. There were no street lights and I could see nothing; no men in trees or anything else to suggest that there was any type of back-up there.
We all got out and walked in silence; the house now in full view. A few pools of light from the windows shone over the bushes at the front but, at the side, we remained unseen. The light over the door was off, and after one more nod to each other, we walked up the path. All humour now gone, I plugged the spyhole with the gum and pressed the doorbell. The light came on immediately and, after a few seconds, I heard movements from behind the door and Adrian shouting.
‘Who is it?’
My heart was thumping, but I held my voice steady and shouted back.
‘It’s Benoît. I’ve got something for you.’
Aldo had moved to my side, his hands in his pockets, his face impassive. Then came the sound of a chain being undone and the lock turning. The door opened and there he was, smaller than I remembered, thinner and pale.
The look of shock on Adrian’s face as we all pushed by, was, for me, one of the highlights of the night. Aldo grabbed him by the throat, shoved him through the hall into the sitting room, and then threw him onto the sofa. He pulled out a small pistol, aimed it at him and stood back.
‘What the bloody hell’s going on? How dare you barge in here? I’ll call the police.’ Hearing this, we all laughed.
‘Go ahead, Harcourt. Why don’t you?’ I snatched his phone from the side and threw it at him. He didn’t move. ‘Well, go on… call.
‘The number’s 999 in case you’d forgotten. Perhaps we should call them for you. Caro, would you like to call for him? As you can see, the poor man’s hurt his leg. What a shame… oh yes, I remember now. Our aunt shot him when he broke into her house to rob and kill her.
‘Pity she didn’t kill you, Harcourt,’ I continued. ‘But then, we wouldn’t all be having such a nice time now, would we? How about pouring us all a drink? Where are your manners? Oh yes, I forgot again, the leg.’ I walked over to the collection of bottles on a side table, poured out five glasses of his best cognac, and handed them round, deliberately not giving him one.
‘I don’t suppose you can drink with an infected bullet wound.’ Adrian looked up at me, surprise on his face. ‘Oh yes, I hear everything – you vile bastard.’
I had stepped into another role. Not an amiable Clouseau, not Benoît, the French priest, but someone entirely different. I was a cold, compressed spring, ready to uncoil at any moment. The feeling of power was tangible and adrenaline surged through me. I listened to myself, as if from outside, and was shocked… but not shocked enough to want to stop.
Caro then stepped forward. ‘You’ve been under surveillance for weeks, Harcourt. Did you know that? The French and British police. Just waiting for their dinner to go down before pouncing. They’ve got blood samples, you see, so you don’t stand a chance. I believe the French justice system is particularly harsh with crimes against the frail and elderly, but then you’ve been in prison before, so you’re probably used to it. Beating up women, I heard. Nice! What a charming man you are.’
His already-pale face was now drained of all colour and, for a moment, I wondered if he was going to pass out. Then he spoke with more venom that I had ever heard any man utter.
‘Go to hell, you filthy whore. You women are all the same… whores. The best place for the lot of you is six feet under, like your aunt. There’s nothing I would have liked more than to feel my hands around her scrawny neck, but she died before I had the chance.’ He then moved his head backwards and spat, Caro quickly jumping out of the way. His eyes rolled upwards and, at that moment, I saw the insanity everyone had spoken of. There was a movement from behind me and Bill moved forward. He kicked at Harcourt’s leg as hard as he could, and the room was filled with screams of pain. We watched and waited for a moment, and then Caro stepped forward again, and spoke, her voice strong and steady.
‘You don’t scare me, you pathetic little worm. I know all about you. Frightened of women, in fact scared stiff! Didn’t mummy love you enough? That’s hardly surprising, is it? Just one look at you would fill anyone with disgust. You’re ugly all the way through, so there’s nothing there to love, but I imagine you know that already; you must have been given some therapy in prison. A typical misogynist, I would say; injured by mother and then transfers all his hatred onto other women. We don’t need Freud to tell us that, do we, Adrian dear?’
She moved even nearer, and Bill and I moved with her. Adrian cowered back into the sofa, covering his face with his hands and whimpering softly. None of us spoke for a moment and then I heard the bishop’s melodic voice.
‘The journal’s gone, Harcourt… burned, as are any copies. I watched them go up in flames myself this afternoon. As for the parchments, the originals are now in the Vatican vaults which is the best
place for them, I’m sure you’ll agree. Oh, they know all about you – they’ve been watching you too, you see. A very famous man you are, film recordings; everything. Oh yes, very famous indeed. Enough there for a movie, I should say, but then you wouldn’t want that, being such a private man and all.’ His Irish accent was as strong as I had ever heard it and, for the first time ever, I saw him for who he truly was: a strong and courageous man who, despite his weaknesses, was full of spirit and fire… traits that I felt I lacked, but in that moment, desperately wanted.
‘I’ve also heard that there’s a contract out on you.’ Adrian uncovered his face and looked up at the bishop. ‘One wrong move and that’s it… curtains… finito… the end. But then, I imagine a strong Christian man like yourself is not afraid of death, especially having lived such a blameless life. Not afraid of going to hell are you, Harcourt? Nice and warm, I hear, although the pitchforks are a trifle sharp.’
The bishop laughed at his own joke, made to move away, then leant in and struck him with a sharp back-hand across the face.
‘Hear me, you piece of pond scum. One wrong move, just one, and you’ll be in prison for the rest of your life, or dead and in a gutter somewhere. Do you hear me? Say you hear me – I can’t hear your voice – louder, Harcourt, we all want to hear you… louder.’ He aimed a kick at Harcourt’s leg and screams filled the room.
‘I hear you – yes, I hear you. I understand. Now go… go and leave me alone. You won’t hear from me again, I promise. Please just go… please.’
Adrian was now cowered in the corner of the sofa. There was a blood stain showing through his grey trousers, and he looked so small that, for a moment, I felt for the damaged child he truly was. Then I remembered Hortense, and I moved closer, to stand right in front of him.
‘Just in case you change your mind, Harcourt, remember all that we’ve said. One squeak from you and the game’s up. You’ve got so many people after you, I don’t see how you can leave the house ever again. Or perhaps you should leave it and never come back? Au revoir, Adrian. Think yourself lucky that it’s just us that have paid you a nice sociable visit, this evening. In fact, you should be very grateful indeed. Thanks for the drink!’
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
We filed out, one after the other. Aldo was last, and he stopped by the curled figure on the sofa, and held a gun to Adrian’s head. He whimpered softly, begging Aldo to not kill him. Saying nothing, Aldo followed us out into the dark garden and we moved quickly down the path.
‘Instinct est tout, Benoît.’ I heard my mother’s voice echo loudly in my head. ‘Instinct is everything.’
‘GET DOWN EVERYONE, GET DOWN!’ I shouted. ‘GET DOWN!’ I pushed Caro to the ground and Bill followed. Aldo also started to shout.
‘GET DOWN ALL OF YOU. GET DOWN!’
The bishop looked at me and then moved, in what seemed like slow motion, to stand directly in front of me. He turned his back to me and then a shot rang out – just one, echoing into the dark night… then silence. The bishop fell backwards and I fell under him. Aldo started to shoot at a car as it sped by, black and almost invisible without head lights… and then was gone.
Bill got up first, pulled out his mobile and dialled 999. ‘Ambulance! There’s been an accident! A gun shot! Hurry – he may die – hurry!’ I heard him give directions, and then he and Aldo slowly and gently moved the bishop from on top of me, and laid him on the ground. Caro had started to sob, repeating over and over…
‘Benoît, Benoît, Benoît.’
‘I’m fine – I’m fine. The bishop’s been shot, not me… he took the bullet for me. I saw him do it. Quick, he’s bleeding badly.’
Caro pulled off her scarf, and pressed it to his side.
‘Hold it down hard. I need to check if Harcourt called anyone. I’ll finish him off myself if he did.’
Aldo and I ran back into the house, but Harcourt was still where we’d left him, with the phone on the other side of the sofa. I was sure that he hadn’t moved, nor made any calls, and when he realised we were back in the house he started to whine.
‘No, leave me alone, I won’t ever bother you again, I’ll move away. I don’t care about the journal or the parchments. Just leave me alone. I promise I’ll move away.’
‘Shut up, Harcourt, and listen. The bishop’s just been shot. If it was your men that did it, you’re dead but, for now, gather yourself.’ I slapped his face, and he sat up, startled.
‘The police will be here any minute. Get up and go and put on clean trousers. We were here for a Church meeting, that’s all. None of us knows anything about who might have fired a gun. Do you hear me?’
He dragged himself off the sofa. ‘Yes, I hear you… a meeting – a Church meeting. It wasn’t me, Benoît – I swear it wasn’t. I didn’t move.’ He walked slowly, limping into the hall, and we went back outside.
Caro and Bill were on their knees, Bill now holding his sweater over the bishop’s wound, with Caro’s coat tucked under his head.
‘Hang on, bishop,’ she said, ‘hang on. You’ll be fine. We’re all here, and we love you… just hang on.’
I could hear the sirens getting closer. Was this how it was all to end? The bishop dead? And for what? A few stupid parchments and a journal? Jesus? Religion? Power and money? I couldn’t give a damn for any of them! Caro was right, as were the Templars who made the cube and wrote on the cellar walls in my house. For a human being, love was everything; there was nothing else, and without it we had nothing and were nothing. Without it, we entirely ceased to exist. History was repeating itself, like it always had, and I was powerless to stop it.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
Aldo quickly came over to me as I knelt on the floor to hold the bishop’s cold hand.
‘I have to go. It won’t help you if I am here. Deny everything, Benoît, and all will be fine. Your car will be here any minute, parked around the corner, and you can say you drove here yourselves. Franco will be in touch soon… please understand.’
He ran down to the car and it sped off, silent and dark, like the assassin’s car had done. Of course, he had to go. He had no part in a local church group and wouldn’t be able to explain who he was to the police.
‘Everyone, we’re here on Church business, discussing the needs of the parish, renovation costs, and a new priest. Do you understand? The bishop was shot by someone in a car speeding by as we were leaving. Caro, don’t mention France and Hortense. Start crying if you feel too pressured, and they’ll back off for a few minutes whilst you gather your thoughts. They won’t make any connections instantly, but if they do state the basic facts and no more. Say you don’t understand any of it. Harcourt’s been briefed. Don’t mess up – not now.’
The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics ran up the path. More sirens could be heard, no doubt the police. I looked up and saw Harcourt walking down the path, in blood-free trousers, and doing all he could to not limp.
He spoke, in a voice quite unlike his own. ‘How awful – how awful, why would anyone want to shoot the bishop – such a good man? How can this have happened?’
The paramedics weren’t listening, and had already put a drip in the bishop’s arm, put an oxygen mask on his face, and cut open his beautiful white shirt, now stained red with blood, to apply thick wadding onto the wound. One of them was on his radio, giving instructions to the emergency unit at the hospital where they were headed.
I looked up at Harcourt and mouthed to him ‘don’t overdo it,’ and he nodded. The bishop was now on a stretcher and was being wheeled towards the ambulance.
‘I’m going with him. Don’t try to stop me – he can’t go on his own.’ Caro’s voice was now strong and clear.
‘I’ll go too,’ said Bill. ‘You stay here, Benoît, and we’ll call you from the hospital.’ The police pulled up just as the ambulance was about to drive away. They spoke briefly to
Caro and Bill before they jumped in the back with the paramedic, and I watched until they were gone, with loud sirens, and lights blazing.
Adrian and I went into the house with the officers, and, as was usual in traumatic circumstances, tea was made, and we began to answer the barrage of questions that were repeatedly put to us. Two hours later, and I was finally allowed to leave, with clear instructions for both of us to not leave the country without notifying them first. I needed to get home, take off my blood-stained clothes, and shower before going to the hospital.
As Aldo had said, my car was waiting for me in the lay-by, a shiny new key in the ignition, although most definitely not mine. I had no idea how they had managed it and, frankly, I didn’t care. I drove home as fast as I could and went straight to the main telephone. The message light was flashing and I hit the play button. It was Caro.
‘Benoît, the bishop’s gone into theatre. It’s not looking good. The bullet went straight through him. We’re staying here. I tried to call you on your mobile but it seemed dead. I’ll call again as soon as I know something… I love you.’
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
I peeled off my jacket and reached inside the pocket to get my phone out. It looked odd, and when I studied it closer I could see that the whole thing was bent and twisted. Wedged at its centre, was a long bullet. The bullet that was meant for me… I knew that. The assassin wasn’t after the bishop. He had known that too, which was why he had stepped in front of me to take the bullet instead. If he didn’t survive, I would never know why, nor ever be able to thank him. Pulling off the rest of my clothes, I threw them in a plastic bin liner.
I stood under a hot shower for some minutes, washing the blood off and letting the water stream over my head and face. There was a bruise coming up on my lower ribs, where the bullet had hit the phone. Strangely, at the time I had felt nothing, although perhaps that was because the bishop had fallen backwards on top of me, and I had felt that instead?
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