Listen to me, the Americans voice hissed in his ear. Somethings happened.
Struggling to clear his head and afraid of waking Michaela, Simeon sat up and swung his legs out of the bed. Hold on, Wesley. In the darkness of the bedroom he padded over to the ensuite bathroom, closed himself quietly inside and turned on the light. All right. Whats happened?
Theyre after the sword.
What? Who?
The armed men who broke into my house tonight. Or whoever paid them to come here to steal it.
Simeon sat down heavily on the edge of the bath, his mind swimming with horror. Oh, Lord. Are you all right?
Im safe. The cops are on their way as we speak. Wesleys voice quavered with emotion. They shot Coleman, Simeon. A sorrowful pause. Hes dead.
Dead!?
So are Hubert and Abigail.
Simeons heart began to beat even faster. He could feel it thudding violently at the base of his throat. He suddenly felt as if he might need to lurch the two steps across to the toilet and throw up.
Then the suspicions Fabrice had expressed to him just before his death had been true. Someone really was taking an unhealthy interest in the research theyd all tried so hard to keep secret. Someone really was after them.
Someone who was prepared to murder to get what they wanted.
Simeon swallowed back the urge to gag. Is it safe?
Its right here next to me, Wesley said, patting the case.
Didnt I tell you, Wesley? Didnt I tell you something strange was happening that I was sure Id been followed about the man I saw in the church a couple of weeks ago? Simeon visualised the scene clearly in his mind as he spoke. The stranger had materialised as if out of the blue while hed been helping put up the Christmas decorations at one of his churches in a rural part of Oxfordshire. When Simeon had gone to welcome him, the man had slipped away as suddenly as hed appeared. And didnt I tell you that Fabrice would never have killed himself like that? Or done those appalling things?
Theyd been through this over and over, ever since receiving the news of their colleagues death and his shocking circular email. I dont know whether Fabrice did those things or not, Wesley said impatiently. Or why hed have confessed to them if he hadnt. And I dont know if he threw himself off that damn bridge or not. Neither do you. All we can be sure of is that you and I are both in danger and it has to do with this sword. Thats the reality were facing right now.
Who are these people? How do they know about us?
Did you talk to anybody? Anybody at all? They even seem to know what it looks like.
Nobody, Simeon blurted. I swear.
Youre absolutely positive about that?
Wesley, I would never
Good. Keep it that way. Listen, I cant stay on this line. The cops will be here any minute. When Ive dealt with them Im going to call my lawyer and arrange some private security for you and your family over there, okay?
Theres no need for that. Ill be making my own arrangements.
Can you get armed bodyguards in England?
I dont think so, not unless youre the Prime Minister or something. But I have an old friend with a lot of experience of that kind of thing.
Hed better know his business, Wesley said. This is serious.
What about you?
Me? Im going to Marthas. Got to get the sword somewhere safe. Its more important than any of us. You said that yourself, remember?
Simeon nodded. He was still reeling. Yes. Yes, it is.
Ill call you from the road. You watch your back, hear me?
Chapter Six
Sometime before sunrise, Ben flipped himself out of the comfortable bed in the Arundels guest annexe, stretched and warmed his muscles and dropped down to the floor to knock out fifty press-ups without a break. He followed those up with fifty sit-ups, and was about to go straight into another set of press-ups when he heard the unmistakable throaty engine note of the Lotus from outside. He rubbed condensation off the window pane and peered out to see Simeons taillights exiting the vicarage gates. It seemed the vicar was off to an early start this morning.
The thoughts that had been swirling around Bens mind before hed finally drifted off to sleep the night before were still lingering. The life that Simeon and Michaela had created for themselves here in this serene heart of rural England had made a strong impression on him, and he couldnt stop thinking about how a life like that might have been possible for him, once, too. Thered been a time, many years ago, when he couldnt have imagined his future any other way.
As hed done so often in the past, Ben tried to imagine himself in the role of a clergyman. The ivy-clad vicarage, the dog collar, the whole works. Ben Hope, pastor and shepherd of the weak, beacon of virtue and temperance.
The fantasy had always been there, but it was a self-image hed never found it easy to believe in with all his heart. If he was a Christian himself, he was an extremely lapsed one and it had been that way for much too long. Compared to the blazing supernova of Simeons faith, Bens was a guttering candle. He seldom prayed with anything approaching conviction, even more seldom picked up a Bible. The old leather-bound King James Version hed hung onto for years had ended up being tossed out of the window of a moving car on a road in rural Montana; it had been a long time before Ben had come round to regretting his rash action.
And yet faith, of some kind, was something that had never quite left Ben although whenever he tried to ponder on its nature, as he did now, he was left with only the vaguest, cloudiest impression of the strange yearning he felt somewhere deep inside, at the core of his being. Some indefinable sense that one day, maybe, he could find peace within himself. That one day, a guiding hand would appear out of the darkness to steer him on the right path.
Ben closed his eyes, and for a brief moment he had a vision of himself, a different Ben Hope altogether, living this serene, idyllic life, with Brooke by his side.
The vision made him flinch and open his eyes again. He cursed himself for allowing such a hopelessly absurd and romantic notion to enter his head. Brooke as a vicars wife it was nuts. She was as different from Michaela as Ben was from Simeon. Shed have laughed in his face at the very idea of it.
Brooke would probably never want to see him again anyway.
Youre a fool, Ben Hope, he said out loud. He chased away the darkness in his mind with more rapid-fire press-ups, eighty of them without a rest, so that his muscles screamed and his T-shirt clung damply to his skin.
After a cool shower, he dressed and stepped outside into the frosty dawn and crossed the yard to where the Land Rover was parked. Lets see if we cant figure you out, he muttered, raising the battered matt-green bonnet lid and preparing to get his hands dirty.
Hed been there quite some time before he heard the footsteps on the gravel and looked up to see Michaela approaching, a mug of something hot and steaming in her hand.
Brought you coffee, she said, setting the mug down on the Landys wing. Youre covered in grime. She reached over to Bens face, touched his cheek, looked at her blackened fingertips and grimaced. Yuck. Any joy?
Jeff was right, Ben said. I shouldnt have come in Le Crock.
Michaela had the decency not to rub salt into Bens wounds by mentioning old bangers again. Can you fix it? she asked, peering over his shoulder into the rusty engine compartment.
Not without a spare part or two, Ben said.
Worry about it later. Come inside and Ill make you the best scrambled eggs youve ever had in your life.
Coffees fine for me, he protested.
I insist. Youre officially on holiday, after all. And its all beautiful fresh local produce. The eggs are just a day old, courtesy of our neighbours, the Dorans. You cant possibly refuse.
Ben relented. Scrubbed clean and tucking into a plate of what were indeed the most delicious scrambled eggs hed ever tasted just a smidgen of organic butter, just a pinch of sea salt, a little fresh-ground pepper he said, Simeon was off early this morning.
He had to drive into Oxford for a radio interview, Michaela said, sipping her tea. The eggs were all for Ben. Trying to diet, shed said.
You werent kidding about him being a celebrity.
Man on a mission. Fighting a one-man war against the decline of the Church.
Is it declining that much? Ben asked.
Youre a little out of the loop, arent you?
Just a little, Ben admitted. But hed seen the signs, in France as well as in England. The chains and padlocks on the church gates. The silent bell towers. Buildings falling into decay, with grids over the windows to stop the vandals smashing the stained glass, whose beauty few people seemed to appreciate any more.
Simeons determined to bring youth and vigour back to the Christian faith. Thats how he puts it. Heaven knows, it needs someone with his dynamism to give it a shot in the arm, or else its just going to crumble away to nothing before too long, the whole institution and its churches to boot. When Simeons father passed away three years ago he left him almost four hundred thousand pounds. Simeon donated every penny of it towards church restoration projects. But as he says, churches are worth nothing without the people inside them. So he fights, and he fights, and he never stops. Twelve hours is a relaxing day for him. When he isnt in church, its one radio interview after another, as well as the odd television appearance. His blog. His podcasts. Anything he can do to raise the profile of Christianity for a modern audience, he throws himself into it with a passion you wouldnt believe.
Hes a hard-working guy, Ben said through a mouthful of egg.
You have no idea, Ben. Gone are the days when a vicar only had his own cosy little corner to tend to. The C of E is so strapped for cash, old vicars being pensioned off all over the place and a shortage of new recruits, that Simeon now has three churches to look after, and hes constantly zapping about from one to the other. Some of his colleagues have even more, but none of them has managed to boost attendance the way he has. Hes amazing. How he still finds the time to research his book is beyond me.
Whats he writing about? Ben asked as he helped to clear up the breakfast dishes.
I only know the title, Michaela said, piling plates in the cupboard. And then only because Simeon accidentally left the draft title page lying on his desk one day. Hes calling it The Sacred Sword.