A Sacred Storm (20 page)

Stratton relaxed back in his seat, listening to Cronin's fumbling excuses and trying not to laugh. The power was still gushing through him and he was finding it difficult to take anything too seriously. His brain knew that the situation warranted his earnest attention, but his body and soul were quite happy to go with the immediate flow.

Five minutes later Cronin hung up the phone and sighed.

“I take it he's not best pleased then?” said Stratton.

“No,” said Cronin. “Not really. He's been trying to get hold of me for about four hours. Vittori called him in early this morning and informed him about the imminent announcement. The Vatican press office leaked it to every news agency in the world about half an hour before the Pope made his speech. So I guess nearly everyone on the face of the earth must have heard about it by now. Desayer wants us to meet him in his chambers as soon as possible.”

“I suppose we ought to get going then,” said Stratton.

Out in the street the horn honking had almost stopped, but chaos still reigned. Cronin barged his way through the crowds, excusing himself by telling people he was on official Vatican business. Stratton followed close behind tingling with the buzz of the masses. He pictured similar scenes all over the globe, with businesspeople throwing aside their corporate shackles, offices and call centres devoid of life, factories brought to an abrupt standstill, empty schools and colleges. At this moment in time, he thought, the whole world could very well be one giant street party. From New York to Beijing and from London to Sydney, people might be celebrating like never before. This was a fanciful notion of course, considering the amount of non-Catholics on the planet, but it heartened him to think that something could unite people on such a large scale, even though the premise was fundamentally false.

It took them a good two hours to reach the Vatican and another fifty minutes to get into the building. By the time they arrived at Desayer's chambers Cronin was exhausted. Stratton, however, was still fresh and brimming with enthusiasm.

Desayer welcomed them gravely. “It is good to meet you at last,” he said to Stratton. “I am sorry it is in such circumstances.”

Stratton shook the cardinal's hand and sat down next to Cronin.

Desayer poured coffee for each of them and settled in his chair on the opposite side of the desk. “It has been a long and busy day,” he mused. “And I fear this is only just the start.”

“It was all a bit sudden,” said Cronin.

“Yes,” said the cardinal. “It caught me by surprise as well, and I am supposed to be part of this conspiracy. As I told you before, I was summoned very early this morning to a meeting with Vittori and the Pope. They told me they had received word that the Muslims were about to officially reveal the Mahdi, and that we had to act quickly. We gathered all the resident cardinals and informed them of Christiano's coming. There was a lot of disbelief as you can imagine, but the three of us were most persuasive, and by the time he appeared they had more or less accepted our word. After he had cured Cardinal Botti's sciatica and Cardinal Stein's damaged knee – both in seconds – there was no further doubt.”

“So this guy's good then?” said Stratton.

“Yes,” said Desayer. “He is very good. He knows how to use every symbol on the box.”

Stratton thought for a moment. “And I guess we can assume that the ‘Mahdi' does too,” he said. “Although I'm surprised that they've taken so long to unveil him.”

“They probably thought they had all the time in the world,” said Cronin. “They wouldn't have known that the Catholic Church had Christiano lying in wait. But it won't be long before they counter-strike. It wouldn't surprise me if they make an announcement before the day is out.”

Desayer nodded sagely in agreement. “I fear you are right, Father. They will have been shaken by the news, but not destroyed. They are safe in the knowledge that they have a legitimate miracle worker of their own to show the world. They will make their claim and then do everything they can to discredit Christiano. For all they know he could be a charlatan. They will not be aware that he has access to exactly the same information as the Mahdi.”

Stratton sighed. “I think it's inevitable now,” he said. “The world is going to have two redeemers and there's nothing we can do to stop it. Our mission's changed from prevention to cure.”

“Yes,” said Cronin. “But what exactly can we do?”

Stratton shook his head and stared out into the dusk. “I don't know Pat. I just don't know.”

Desayer's desk phone trilled ominously. He listened intently, his face growing paler by the second. He hung up and faced Stratton and Cronin. “That was Vittori. The Muslim's have made their announcement. The war has begun.”

Jenna grabbed a handful of popcorn and topped up her glass of wine. Tariq had popped out to the local shop to get her some chocolate, cigarettes and another bottle of chardonnay. They had spent the whole day slobbing about watching DVDs. She was supposed to be going out with a couple of old school friends, but was having such a chilled-out time that she had cancelled by text at the last minute and stayed in her pyjamas. After all the hours she'd put in at work over the week she just wanted to curl up on the sofa in the arms of her man. She was just about to get up and change discs when a breathless Tariq burst through the front door.

“What's up?” she said, taken aback.

“Turn on the TV,” gasped Tariq.

Jenna switched from the DVD to BBC One. Early-evening programming had been interrupted by the news. Tariq sat down and they watched in stunned silence as the day's events gradually became clear.

“Christ,” said Jenna, breaking her fragmented thoughts. “What the hell is going on? This is surreal. I feel like I've walked into a parallel universe. I can't get my head around it.”

Tariq shook his head. “It's fucked up,” he said. “Totally fucked up.”

Jenna took a large mouthful of wine and reached for her cigarettes. She lit one and had a couple of heavy drags. The news was still trying to bury its way into her head. “I mean – is it good? Is it bad? What's going to happen?”

“It's good I guess,” said Tariq. “That's if it's all true. Think about it – God has sent us two messengers. All our questions are going to be answered. That can't be bad can it?”

Jenna got up and paced about the room taking frequent agitated puffs on her cigarette. It had been a long time since she'd thought about God. Having attended a Roman Catholic secondary school the whole concept had become repetitive, stale, and not a little hypocritical. After leaving she'd put the whole religion thing firmly behind her and concentrated on more earthly pursuits. Now it was coming back to haunt her like some kind of divine vengeance.

“Are you okay?” asked Tariq.

Jenna stubbed out her cigarette, gulped some wine, then lit another. “I don't know,” she said. “I'm confused. I don't know what's going on. My head just can't cope with it all.”

“I didn't think you were particularly religious.”

“I'm not,” she scowled. “I left all that shit behind me years ago, when I left school.”

“What do you mean, left it behind?”

“We had fucking religion shoved down our throats every bloody day. Fucking priests and nuns telling us how to live good, honest lives. Making us pray and sing to some imaginary all-seeing being. Every day there was some bloody guilt trip or other. Telling me I was no good, that I'd go to hell if I didn't change my ways. I wasn't even one of the bad kids.” Hands shaking, she took long draw on her cigarette. “And then there was the hypocrisy of the whole thing. These priests telling us what and what not to do, and the whole time they're abusing their power and touching up our classmates. There were a couple of lads in my form – really good kids – who I don't think will ever get over what was done to them. It's going to stay with them for life.”

Tariq hung his head, not really knowing what to say.

Jenna sensed his awkwardness. “Sorry sweetie,” she said. “It's not your fault. It just makes me mad thinking about it all.” She sat back down and gave him a hug.

“I read about it in the local paper a few years ago,” said Tariq. “It made me feel awful. The priest in question had been doing it for years.”

“Yeah,” said Jenna, wiping a small tear from her eye. “The thing was, we never really knew anything about it at the time – if we had, maybe we could have done something.” She looked away and began sobbing. “I guess we knew though, deep down, that something was up. Maybe we were just too scared to say anything.”

Tariq put an arm around her. “It's not your fault. The priest was in the wrong, not you.”

“I know, but it doesn't stop me feeling guilty.”

They sat quietly for a while, Tariq holding her gently to him. He'd never seen her like this before. Throughout their time together she had never once broken down about anything. It was one of the things he loved about her, the fact that she could face the world and its trials without overreacting. And this made the moment all the more poignant. Whereas previously he may have been slightly in awe of her, now, in the midst of her trauma, he felt suddenly protective. It was as if one illusion had been shattered, only to be replaced by something even more wondrous. A layer of beautiful vulnerability, an imperfection that somehow completed her flawlessness.

After a while Jenna pulled away and kissed Tariq softly on the lips. “Thank you,” she said. “I'm sorry to go off on one.”

“Don't worry about it. You'd have to be inhuman not to be affected by something like that.”

Jenna reached for her wine. “Yeah, I guess so. But sometimes I don't want to be human.”

Left briefly alone to his thoughts, Tariq began to try and make sense of what was happening. He'd expected the Mahdi to make himself known, but the appearance of this Catholic Messiah had taken him completely by surprise. He wanted to believe that they were both genuine, or at least the Mahdi, but a voice inside told him that something was not quite right.

Jenna echoed his thoughts. “It seems very strange,” she said. “I mean, apart from the whole thing being surreal. It's weird that the Muslim's produced their redeemer hours after the Catholic's had announced the ‘second coming'. It's almost as if they were doing it in retaliation.”

“What are you suggesting?” said Tariq.

“Nothing…I don't know. It's all too confusing.”

“Listen,” said Tariq. “If you think the Mahdi's just a made-up reaction, then you're wrong. I've got a bit of a confession to make – I already knew about the Mahdi before they announced him.”

“What? But how?”

“We were called to a meeting in the mosque the other day. The Imam told us that the Mahdi had surfaced in Mecca. He told us that he was the real thing, that he was a great healer. The Imam has been crippled nearly all of his adult life and I witnessed him dancing about like a little child.”

“Why didn't you tell me any of this?” Jenna asked. “I mean, didn't you think the appearance of a miracle worker was interesting or important enough to bother me with?”

“I couldn't tell you. We were sworn to secrecy. We were not permitted to talk about it until he had proclaimed himself to the world. It was the will of Allah – I couldn't go against it.”

“Fine,” said Jenna, lighting yet another cigarette.

“Listen,” said Tariq. “I wasn't even sure what to make of it myself. Yes, I saw the Imam leaping about, but it could have been a trick. How could I tell you about something that may not even have been true? And besides, I'm a man of my word – I made a promise not to say anything and I didn't. It would be the same if you told me something in confidence – not even the Mahdi would get it out of me.”

Jenna paused and then smiled. “I know. I shouldn't have questioned you. You're a man of integrity, and I love you for it.” She stubbed out her half-finished cigarette. “Come on,” she said, getting off the sofa and holding out her hand. “My brain's exploding. I need you to make love to me.”

Kandinsky drove vigilantly through the night, constantly alert to the threat of repercussions. They had taken a great risk, and had gotten away with it so far, but he knew that the sheik was not a man to give up lightly. He was also a man with any amount of money and power at his disposal. It wasn't difficult to imagine him being able to instigate an air search, or sending the Yemeni army out after them. The road to the harbour was possibly fraught with more danger than their escape from the palace.

Grady had moved into the passenger seat. He was exhausted, but the buzz of the rescue was keeping him from sleep. He felt alive like he hadn't done for a good while. Although his years in intelligence had provided him with many delicate, life-threatening situations, it had been a long time since he'd been shot at with such ferocity. In fact, the last incident he remembered was back in his days with the Marines. There was no other feeling like it though. The rush of adrenaline that accompanied dodging a frenzy of fire couldn't be matched. Forget bungee jumping and sky diving, this was life at the extreme. An inch, maybe only a millimetre, between living and dying.

Jennings sat on the backseat with Stella's head in his lap. He stroked her hair lightly and watched her sleep. Like Grady he was tired but unable to switch off. The joy of seeing Stella again was overwhelming. Weeks of heartache and worry were suddenly washed away by the mere fact that she was alive and near him once more. She looked so beautiful in the muted light that it brought a tear to his eye. He took a deep breath of her distinctive scent and let it inhabit his being. Closing his eyes he held it there, and finally drifted into a warm sleep