'How can I help you exactly?'
‘
I have a patient back home. I carried out an operation on her to remove a Hartman’s brain tumour. She’s now confined to a mental institution.'
'I see.'
'John gave me the impression that you might be able to help? He gave me a token to give you,' Macandrew added, 'a silver St Christopher medallion.’
'I gave it to John when he decided to give up science,' said Simone distantly. 'You said you had a warning for me?'
'John seemed to think that you were in danger. Something to do with having his research notes?’
'What do you know about the people who killed him?’
'Absolutely nothing. I sort of stumbled into this whole damned thing and believe me, I wish I hadn’t.’
‘
You must know something?’
‘
I suspect that there’s some kind of Israeli connection.'
'Israeli?' exclaimed Simone.
Macandrew told her about the Israeli news story and how Burnett had reacted. Simone went quiet. 'Mean anything?' he asked.
'Someone used it,' said Simone.
‘
That’s what
he
said. What's going on?'
Simone ignored the question. 'Do you still intend coming to Paris?' she asked.
'You tell me,’ said Macandrew. ‘Will I hear something that might help my patient? If so, I’ll come.’
'I can only tell you what I know,' said Simone.
'Can’t ask for more than that,’ said Macandrew. ‘But it might be safer if you kept a low profile for the time being,' he added.
'We must arrange a meeting place,' said Simone.
'Just say where,' said Macandrew.
'Somewhere public,’ said Simone.
Macandrew admired her caution.
'The square in front of Notre Dame. Tuesday afternoon at three.’
'How will I know you?'
'I'd prefer if I were to recognise you,' said Simone.
'I'm thirty-six, six foot two, dark hair. I'll be wearing . . . a grey suit over a dark blue roll neck sweater.'
'If for any reason you can't make it, you can get a message to me at the number you've called today. Ask for Aline D'Abo; she's my research assistant. She’ll pass it on.’
'Understood,' said Macandrew, noting down the name.
'More sight-seeing doctor?' asked the girl on the front desk when Macandrew passed on his way out the hotel in the morning.
'Such a lot to see,' replied Macandrew with a weak attempt at a smile. The prospect of the long drive north again had done little for his spirits but four hours later he was walking up the drive to the abbey and asking to see the abbot.
The monk he’d asked put his hands together as if in prayer and shrugged apologetically. He beckoned him to the door and Macandrew followed him into the abbey where they stopped outside a small, gloomy side chapel. The monk pointed to a figure kneeling in front of the altar. It was the Abbot. Macandrew gestured that he would wait. The monk looked uncertain but Macandrew ushered him away with a series of reassuring nods and hand gestures.
Macandrew stood immobile at the entrance to the chapel, staring at the back of the kneeling Abbot as if trying to engage him through telepathy. It was absolutely silent here but the sound of Latin chant came from somewhere else in the building. Snowflakes started to drift past the high windows.
'Father Abbot,' said Macandrew softly but firmly.
A slight raise of the head told Macandrew that he had heard but he continued to pray.
'Father Abbot, I need to speak to you.'
The kneeling man seemed to stiffen then got up slowly and with some difficulty to his feet. He genuflected to the altar and turned round, his eyes betraying annoyance.
'You've heard about John Burnett?'
‘
I was praying for his soul.’
Macandrew ignored the implied rebuke. 'You know more about this business than you told me yesterday.'
The Abbot remained impassive.
'Lives are in danger. You must tell me what's going on.'
'I've already told the police all I know.'
'Will you tell me?'
The Abbot, after appearing to consider for a moment, said, ‘Would you care for some tea, Doctor?’
'Thank you,' replied Macandrew. He felt both surprised and relieved as he followed him out of the chapel. He had been expecting a bigger mountain to climb.
The Abbot filled two earthenware mugs that looked as if they had seen better days but Macandrew was glad of the hot tea and cupped both his hands round his to warm his fingers.
'There are things that I cannot and will not tell you because of the confessional but I can say that John Burnett did uncover something in his research that upset him greatly. His faith was important to him and he came here to seek reassurance and find help in saving it. In the course of my duties I submitted a report to Rome - as I'm obliged to do on any man who wishes to join our order. It appears now that the reasons given in the report for John wanting to join us may have fallen into the wrong hands.'
'I don’t understand.’
'After I sent the papers, I received a request from Rome. A bible scholar named, Dom Ignatius, working in the Vatican, asked if he could come here to speak to John about his research work. John was reluctant so I didn't grant the request at first but then Ignatius called me personally and sought my help in persuading John to speak to him. He was very persuasive and I finally agreed. Ignatius came here to the abbey and interviewed John at some length.’
'This man’s a priest?'
'Yes, but he’s an academic, a biblical scholar who had been working in the Holy Land for many years, engaged in the study of Holy relics and their validation.’
‘
Like the Shroud of Turin, you mean?’
‘
There are many lesser-known relics in the Church’s possession. Ignatius has given his life to establishing their authenticity through the interpretation of ancient scrolls and manuscripts, or not. Many of these documents have still not seen the light of day . . . for one reason or another.'
'I suppose translation must be very slow and difficult,' said Macandrew.
'That's just one of the problems. There was an unhappy time in our history when Holy relics appeared to . . . multiply.’
'A piece of the genuine Cross for five ducats and no questions asked,' said Macandrew.
‘
Quite,’ said the Abbot coldly. ‘This tended to fog the issue greatly. What I didn’t know about Ignatius when he came here was that he had recently been recalled to Rome from Israel in disgrace after being caught misappropriating certain parchments originating from the Essene community at Qumran. He’d kept them for his own exclusive use and had failed to share the information with his colleagues.’
'Sounds serious.'
'The Vatican thought so too. The commission in Jerusalem had to be appeased so they reprimanded Ignatius, recalled him and put him to work on routine administrative duties in Rome - quite a comedown for an academic with an international reputation - even for one taught to fight against the sin of pride. In the course of these duties he must have come across my report on John.'
'Why should such a scholar be interested in John Burnett’s research?' asked Macandrew.
'I don’t know,' replied the Abbot, 'but when you pointed out the Israeli story to John, he was extremely upset. He wouldn’t say why exactly but insisted that he had to speak to Ignatius as soon as possible. He asked that I contact the Vatican to arrange it.’
‘
And did you?’
‘
I called Rome and was told that my request had been noted and would be passed on but that Dom Ignatius was currently unavailable; no one would tell me why. John became very upset, so much so that I couldn’t make much sense out of what he was saying – something about Ignatius probably wanting more of the stuff.’
‘
Why did John go to Edinburgh?’
‘
We had a call, requesting John’s presence in Edinburgh. We were told that the bishop wanted to see him before his vows were finalised. We saw him on to the train and wished him well but he never got there.’
‘
And the call?’
‘
It turned out that none of the bishop’s staff knew anything about it. 'I had sent John to his death.'
'You weren't to know,' said Macandrew. 'Have you told all this to the police?'
'I said nothing about Ignatius. I called Rome this morning after the police had left and refused to be fobbed off with “unavailable”. It appears that Dom Ignatius had recently made an unauthorised return to the Holy Land and was the priest involved in the convent scandal in Jerusalem. Apparently he has formed some kind of an association with a doctor he met out there; a shadowy character named, Stroud. They’ve both now disappeared.'
‘
John was tortured before he was killed.’
The Abbot swallowed hard. ‘How awful.’
The small aircraft operated by Air France on the Edinburgh to Paris service landed with an uncomfortable bump at Roissy Charles de Gaulle airport but Macandrew didn’t notice; he was preoccupied with other things. It had been a while since he’d last been in Paris but it was one of his favourite cities and one which he always associated with fun and laughter – an enduring legacy of his first visit when he had been a nineteen year old college kid, travelling on a shoestring budget.
This time it was different: the city seemed austere, less welcoming, suspicious of him, as if it knew it had a role to play as a link in a chain of intrigue and death. Macandrew took in the sights on the journey in from the airport without any stirring of emotion. The overcast sky didn’t help the uneasy feeling he had in his stomach.
As the bus drew into the Air France terminal at Porte Maillot, he checked his watch and saw that he had plenty of time. The arrangement with Simone Robin had included a two-hour margin for possible delays but the flight had landed ten minutes early.
He walked up to the head of the
Boul’Mich
and bought a copy of International Herald Tribune from a street vendor before finding a café where he could sit and read it over coffee. Choosing to sit outside – it was dull but not cold - he thumbed through the pages and caught up on the news from home until, bored with that, he watched the world go by until it was time to make a move. With the slightest suggestion of drizzle in the air, he started to make his way to Notre Dame, crossing the Seine at Pont Royal and pausing briefly to watch a barge glide under the bridge. The huge twin towers of the Cathedral loomed up in front of him, reminding him of the timelessness of stone when compared with human life.
Even this late in the year, the forecourt in front of the great west doors of the cathedral was crowded with tourists, many of them in formal groups being lectured to in a variety of languages by their guides. There was no likely woman standing on her own near the doors so he walked down the narrow street on the north side of the building and looked in the windows of the souvenir shops until it was time to check again.
He found a place where he could command a good view of the comings and goings at the west doors and had only been there a few minutes when he caught sight of a slim, dark-haired woman hurrying across the forecourt, carrying a briefcase under her arm. Feeling reasonably confident that this might be Simone Robin, he started out on a path to intercept her but stopped suddenly in his tracks when something about the body language of three people off to his right, caught his attention. Two men, one tall and well-built, the other short and fat and wearing dark glasses appeared to be holding on to a young woman between them. Although there wasn’t much movement, Macandrew got the distinct impression that the girl was being held against her will. As he watched, one of the men shook the girl by the shoulder and she responded by pointing at the woman he was walking towards. The tall man detached himself and started walking towards her too while the fat man remained, holding firmly on to the girl.
Macandrew, sensing danger, ran towards the woman. He took her firmly by the arm and steered her in through the doors of the cathedral before she had any real time to protest.
'Doctor Robin?'
'What on Earth do you think you’re doing?’ asked the woman, struggling to free herself from his grip.
'You were followed.'
'Don’t be ridiculous!'
Macandrew pulled her behind one of the pillars in a corner to the left of the door. 'Please, just watch the doors.’
Macandrew was conscious of the sound of his own breathing as the seconds ticked by without sign of the man.
'This is ridiculous!' hissed the French woman angrily.
Macandrew was beginning to have doubts himself. 'There were two men,' he said. 'They had a young woman with them. She pointed you out.'
Simone Robin’s response was stifled when three people came in through the doors. It was the two men, holding a girl between them. Macandrew heard her gasp, ‘Aline!’
'Your assistant?’
Simone Robin nodded mutely.
'You told her you were coming here?'
'I saw no reason not to.'