The Temple Deliverance

by D C Macey

  Nonetheless, most of the island was green. A peat surface had built up through thousands of years of mosses and rough grasses growing and dying. The current generation’s growth knitted together to protect the underlying peat whose continuity was frequently interrupted by exposed outcrops of black-grey volcanic bedrock.

  Nature’s constructions were supplemented by the works of long-dead hands; their efforts using the same stone to create the boundary walls that spread out across the southern end of the island. Walls built thick enough to withstand the harsh weather and high enough to provide permanent shelter from the wind for the island inhabitants as they went about their daily business.

  The visitor centre itself was a low-slung modern structure, built of wood. A central core of locked storerooms and toilets had an all-round overhanging roof, reminiscent of some great broad mushroom cap sprouting up from the island’s rock core. The public space was open sided and open plan, but the solid central core ensured visitors could always be certain of finding at least one side where they could shelter from the wind. The construction’s design perfectly met its role of offering a sheltered rallying point for summer visitors while they waited to board a departing ferry.

  ‘Pete visited the island’s coordinator yesterday afternoon. He got us a key for one of the old lighthouse keepers’ cottages; it’s the accommodation used by the duty heritage staff. They won’t be out here until next week, so we can use it for now. He said we should leave the key in the front door when we’re finished.’

  ‘Sounds good. Where is it?’

  ‘Just up the hill. According to my map, the track runs up from the jetty, past this visitor centre and continues to some cottages, the pump station and a reservoir. It’s called Fluke Street. And at the top of the hill, beyond all that, is the lighthouse.’

  ‘A pumping station. What’s that for?’ said Bill.

  Sam glanced at some notes he’d made. ‘It seems there is a run of thick cast-iron pipes that carried compressed air to the fog horns at either end of the island. Not needed any more.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Bill. ‘Shall we have a quick cuppa here? Get some warmth into our bones before we start the search?’ Bill pulled a thermos flask from his rucksack. ‘I had them fill this when I arrived at Edinburgh Airport this morning. Expensive but good.’ He sat down at a sheltered wooden bench and table with a wonderful open view across the jetty below. ‘Only these plastic mugs I lifted from the servery counter, I’m afraid. But it’s still hot.’

  ‘Oh, that’s got a kick,’ said Sam.

  ‘It should have, I added a good measure of whisky,’ said Bill as Angelo, quiet but reassuringly attentive, grinned in appreciation.

  • • •

  Helen stood on the steps of St Bernard’s. She felt proud of the changes that were taking place. Under Elaine’s guidance, the renovations and alterations in the nave continued apace. It would soon be a true community centre; right now, the social and support activities were focused in the former church hall next door. As soon as the works were complete in the church, the hall’s activities would decant across, and the hall would then receive its upgrade.

  A dark blue car drew to a halt outside the church, and Helen stepped down to greet the occupants. A wince flashed across her face, signalling the pain she felt in her leg wound, but that was quickly masked when Brogan and Price got out of the car. Brogan shook Helen’s hand; Price gave a tight smile of acknowledgement.

  ‘There’s a lot going on here,’ said Brogan, raising his voice above a burst of machine noise that sounded from within the church. He gestured towards the skip, full of rubble, outside the church.

  ‘Yes, we’re keeping busy. I think it’s going to be great once everything is finished. Though it’s Elaine who is managing the work. Seems I’m only needed now to sign cheques from time to time. Thank you for coming inspector; let’s go to the office. Best we go round the outside. As you can hear, it’s a building site in there.’ She led the way along the side of the church and in through the new solid, wooden back door.

  ‘Hey, this is great,’ said Brogan as he settled into one of the comfortable office chairs arranged in an informal meeting cluster to one side of the room. What had been the vestry was now a welcoming open office.

  ‘Yes, I like it. Elaine made sure this back area was finished first. Coffee?’ She stepped to the window wall where a new worktop supported a freshly installed coffee machine.

  ‘Thanks, I will.’

  ‘Not for me, thank you,’ said Price, settling in the chair next to her boss.

  Helen joined them. Passing Brogan his coffee, she gently lowered herself into the chair opposite him.

  ‘That looks sore. Are you sure you should be out and about?’

  ‘I’ll be fine, thanks, got to keep it moving.’

  So, what can I do for you?’ he said.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid I’ve something of a confession to make.’

  Price leant forwards very slightly.

  ‘Go on,’ said Brogan.

  ‘Our old trouble is back.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean?’

  ‘The killers have resurfaced. I … we hoped it was all resolved after the incident in Crete last year but apparently not.’ Helen noticed that Price had produced her notebook.

  ‘Where are they? What have they done?’

  ‘Everywhere, everything. Running me off the road here, a priest was killed in Malta recently—’

  ‘Were they responsible for your gunshot wound?’ said Price.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why didn’t you report this at once? You realise withholding information is an offence. It’s especially serious where firearms are—’

  ‘Thank you, sergeant. You’re quite right, but there are extenuating considerations here.’ Brogan gave his sergeant a cautionary glance and she fell silent.

  ‘It’s all coming to a head now,’ said Helen.

  ‘What about the old Italian priest who’s been around recently … Xavier, isn’t it? Where does he fit in?’ Price could not contain her curiosity.

  ‘Sergeant, I said, enough.’ Brogan turned to look at Helen. ‘What about you and Sam, don’t you need protection? In fact, where is he?’

  ‘He’s gone out to the Isle of May, something he needs to investigate there.’

  ‘I see, and who’s he gone with?’

  ‘Angelo and an old friend from his service days.’

  ‘Angelo?’ said Price.

  ‘The young priest from Sardinia, Xavier’s assistant.’

  Brogan was silent while he considered what Helen was telling him. Finally, he spoke. ‘Bearing in mind your reluctance to share information with us in the past, what’s triggered this sudden revelation?’

  ‘As I said, it’s all coming to a head. I can look after myself, but there are innocents involved. We saw what they did to Elaine last year, how they killed John Dearly. I can’t risk any more innocent bystanders suffering over this.’

  Price was bristling with a score of questions, but Brogan used a cautionary glance to restrain her. He cleared his throat, hesitating.

  ‘Tell me, Helen, does the name Rupert Peterson mean anything to you?’

  ‘Of course, I know him. Why do you ask?’ Helen was suddenly doubly on her guard. She had mixed feelings about Rupert Peterson. Yes, the British Secret Service officer who Sam had said was from MI6 had helped them out in Africa, but she was acutely aware that he had been instrumental in putting them in trouble’s way to start with.

  ‘A little while back, I had a visit from him. He expressed a particular interest in you and Sam, wondered if I’d keep him in the loop if anything brewed up here. In fact, I’d go further, he required I keep him closely informed.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Sir, who is this Peterson? I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘No, sergeant, you won’t have done. He’s MI6. And please, don’t write his name in your notes. As far as the likes of you and I are concerned, he doesn’t exist.’r />
  Price pursed her lips in frustration. Then she sat in silence while Helen recounted the events of the past few days.

  ‘Helen, I’ll lay on security for your people at once. Under the circumstances and knowing the history that won’t be a problem. But you understand, I must inform Peterson. He will do whatever his people deem appropriate, and that will be out of my hands.’

  ‘Sir, why are the security services so interested in all this? It’s not terrorism. It seems more like gang crime, not a mainstream security concern.’

  ‘I don’t know why; they move in a different world to ours. Do you know, Helen?’

  She shook her head and Brogan stood up. ‘Right, I’m going to need to make some calls. In the meantime, please make sure you and your connections don’t do anything to put yourselves in danger. Oh, and Helen, please, once I’ve made arrangements, don’t go off the grid or do anything provocative.’

  21

  Friday, January 24th - p.m.

  They left their tools and the heavier bags on the visitor centre’s table. Sam hoisted a small rucksack onto his shoulders and set off with Angelo and Bill. Initially, they retraced their steps towards the jetty. Then Sam opted for the higher-level path from where they would be able to look down on their RIB as they passed above it. Sam pointed them to the right.

  ‘Up this way. The priory isn’t far.’

  ‘And there’s a tourist information sign,’ said Bill.

  ‘Sorry, guys, I should have mentioned this already. Pete passed a warning on to us that we should not leave the designated paths under any circumstances. The island supports a huge breeding population of puffins. They nest underground, so the earth is one big honeycomb. If you manage to miss the puffins, you’ll catch a rabbit burrow. So be careful.’

  The three turned off the main track and followed a path up a steep incline. It was little more than four feet wide but was sheltered by head-height stone walls built to either side. The walls appeared designed to protect weary travellers from the weather while channelling them up to the priory. Each was bookended by sturdy pillars of dressed stone, and between the pillars, Sam could see ahead to St Adrian’s Priory. His heart sank immediately. The ancient buildings were in a worse state than suggested by the pictures he had tracked down, mostly gone. The roof, beams and walls of the support buildings had been stripped away to foundation level, he guessed to provide building materials for subsequent generations of island inhabitants. The main building had lost its roof and parts of the walls too. It stood forlorn. Scanning about, he spotted the stumps of a couple of columns. The last remains of something grand.

  The three men stepped out from the sheltered path onto the tight-cropped green turf that surrounded the buildings. They all stopped abruptly in response to a flurry of movement. Then they relaxed, realising it signed only the exit of a group of rabbits whose daily grazing routine had been rudely disturbed by the unexpected arrivals. The bowling-green-short grass beneath their feet seemed to be emitting crackling sounds. Sam knelt and smiled to himself - snails, rather empty snail shells, thousands of them. Standing again, he began an inspection of the priory grounds. His every step signed by the cracking of shells.

  Angelo and Bill sensed Sam’s disappointment and hung back while he quickly traversed the priory site. It was all bare and broken stone walls, flagstones and, in places, only foundations. However, the whole priory site was still bounded by a functional stone-wall perimeter. What remained of the priory itself had clearly been gutted hundreds of years before. The shell offered no clues as to what hiding place the Templars intended them to find.

  ‘It’s not looking good,’ said Bill.

  ‘No, it’s not. I think we should push on. Just over the crest of the hill behind the priory, we should drop down into Pilgrim’s Haven.’

  ‘It’s a narrow island,’ said Angelo.

  ‘Certainly is here at the south end. It gets broader in the middle, nearer the lighthouse, but this is the area we need to focus on. In the Middle Ages, the landing at Pilgrim’s Haven was an access point for the priory. I’m not sure what we’re looking for. Everything leads us to this part of the island, either here at the priory or over there at Pilgrim’s Haven. Let’s see what the haven offers. We discovered previously that the Templars concealed everything really well but, if you have the clues and can figure them out, things can be found.’

  ‘You have any more clues?’ asked Bill.

  ‘Well, I’ve got the medallions - they seem to represent the island. Three of them form the shape of the island, so there’s just one left to understand.’

  ‘Let’s go then,’ said Bill, heading up the slope past the priory in the direction Sam had indicated. Higher up, set into the boundary wall behind the priory were two further sturdy pillars marking an exit point. They headed for the pillars. Bill passed through first. ‘Hello, look what I’ve found,’ he said.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Sam as he and Angelo caught up.

  ‘Nothing bad. See, it’s the air pipe you were talking about.’ With his boot, Bill prodded a brown, rusted and flaking pipe. Perhaps eight inches in diameter and suspended about a foot off the ground on a long series of brackets, the pipe stretched away towards the unseen south horn.

  ‘I do not understand this. If the pipe is not needed now, why is it here?’ said Angelo.

  ‘Money,’ said Bill. ‘It’s always money. Probably cheaper just to leave the scrap in place.’

  ‘Perhaps, or it might have been left to minimise disturbance to the bird colonies. Maybe a bit of both. Anyway, watch you don’t trip over it; we don’t need any broken legs right now. Let’s keep moving,’ said Sam, taking the lead and following the line of the air pipe. A short distance on, he turned, making his way along the crest.

  Sam stopped and pointed downwards to where rock outcrops and freestanding boulders lined the drop to a stony shingle beach. The sound of the waves rolling in and out of the inlet carried up the slope to mix with the whistle of the wind and the cries of passing gulls.

  ‘I need to be down there. I want to see what the Templars saw when they came here. Coming?’

  He set off cautiously, scrabbling down the steep slope. Bill and Angelo held back to give him a clear passage before following him one after the other.

  Reaching the rocky beach, Sam stepped away from the slope towards the water’s edge. The rough rocks began to give way to more rounded stones then shingle which crunched as it shifted under foot. Sam looked out to sea and traced the progress of a wave running into the inlet. To either side of him, sheer walls of rock soared above. Behind him, the steep green bank closed the exit. Ahead, the wave continued remorselessly on into the inlet. It seemed to swell, rising then rolling up the shingle in a hissing rush and crash before drawing away only to be replaced by the next in line.

  ‘This is a haven?’ said Angelo.

  ‘Get it wrong, and you’ll be smashed against the rocky cliffs. Get it right, and you’ll come straight in with the waves and end up beached on the shingle. No problem,’ said Bill.

  Sam had been studying the rock formations. ‘I’m not sure what I’m looking for exactly, but I’m certain the clue must be here.’ He swung his bag down to the ground, unfastened it and fished inside to pull out a sturdy waterproof storage box.

  ‘What’s that you’ve got?’ said Bill.

  ‘The medallions. I’ve mounted the three that represent the island, and here’s the fourth, which ultimately must be linked to either here or the priory, I guess. If it’s the priory, we’re stuffed. So let’s hope it’s Pilgrim’s Haven.’ He carefully flicked open the box and withdrew the fourth medallion.

  Bill looked at it and shrugged. ‘Over to you, mate. I haven’t a clue.’

  Concentrating on the engraving on the fourth medallion, Sam tried to find a pattern. Nothing. Yes, the pattern could represent a cove, but it could be any cove. He had to trust that its position on the glass sheet reflected actuality. It was set at the lower end of the other medallions, so placing
it here, where they now stood at this end of the island. Surely, it must represent a larger scale plan of this little part of the island.

  The fourth medallion’s engraving seemed to split into two halves. To one side, an engraving of a three-sided shape, like a coastal opening or cove. Yet its shape bore only a partial resemblance to the shape of Pilgrim’s Haven. One side of the cove’s cliff walls did just about match, as did the steep slope behind him, but the shape of the other cliff wall showed no likeness to the engraving at all.

  He had no idea what the simple Y shape engraved on the other half of the medallion meant. It was clear, bold and, on a map, might have represented two tributary streams flowing together to form a single river. The tail end of one tributary stream reached across the centre line of the medallion to touch the cove engraving, assuming he was correct about that. Could it mark an entrance? He stepped further out onto the wet shingle, seeking a new angle but still finding nothing.

  The tide had turned, just on the flood. The water level was near its lowest point, revealing a flat bed of rock off to one side of the inlet that had been submerged and quite invisible when they had inspected the inlet from the boat earlier in the day.

  ‘Watch your step, Sam. There are some sharp rock splinters among the shingle, and they look pretty lethal,’ said Bill, following him out.

  ‘Right, thanks,’ said Sam, re-focusing, trying to find the pattern that wasn’t there. He knew the Templars had used coastal profiling to map the hiding place of their treasury in Crete. Surely, they could have done the same here. It was logical, but he could not find the profile in the engraved medallion.

  ‘Ahh!’ said Sam, stumbling then lifting his foot in pain.

  ‘Steady, man,’ said Bill, grabbing Sam’s arm. ‘I told you to watch out.’