Past Lives

Seventeen

Simone was allowed to stay with Macandrew until he came round — another concession won in her psychological battle with Stroud. She had noticed in her dealings with him that he was distinctly uncomfortable in the presence of women — something she intended to exploit ruthlessly, suspecting now that he would give in just to see the back of her. It turned out to be a long vigil: Macandrew was out cold for nearly five hours but the fever had gone and she could see that he was just making up for lost sleep: the rest would do him good. For her part, she passed the time reading old magazines or simply sitting by the porthole, looking out at the sea. She still felt close to mental exhaustion. Every hour that passed without incident would help.

In the last hour, the sea state had changed and the boat took on a roll as it started to ride a heavy swell. Simone started to feel uncomfortable at not having a stable horizon to concentrate on. She was about to turn away from the porthole when she thought she glimpsed land. She looked again but they were now down in a trough and, at that moment, Macandrew let out a low groan. She hurried over to him.

Macandrew blinked against the light. ‘God, what happened?’ he asked in a hoarse whisper. His throat was dry.

‘You passed out,’ said Simone, giving him a glass water. ‘You’ve been out for several hours.’

‘My foot... did you do it?’

‘Just like you told me,’ said Simone.

‘God, you are bloody wonderful,’ said Macandrew, flopping back on the pillow.

‘You seem a lot better,’ smiled Simone. ‘Your fever’s gone.’

‘God, I feel better,’ said Macandrew, ‘definitely better.’ He squeezed her hand.

‘I think the voyage is almost over. I’m sure I caught sight of land a few minutes ago.’

‘I wonder where.’

‘We’ve been heading south east ever since we left Marseilles,’ said Simone. ‘I caught a glimpse of a chart in the wheelhouse. Corsica? Sardinia maybe, I don’t think there’s been enough time for us to reach Sicily.’

‘I’ve lost all track of time,’ said Macandrew.

Simone went back to the porthole and said as they rose on the swell, ‘We’re getting quite close. Another fifteen minutes perhaps.’

‘And then what?’ muttered Macandrew under his breath.

Simone reported what she could see until they reached harbour and clattering feet in the gangway outside the cabin suggested that they hadn’t been forgotten. Parvelli secured Simone’s hands behind her back without speaking and tied her to the chair beside Macandrew’s bunk. In spite of her protests, he fixed a length of adhesive tape over her mouth before turning his attention to Macandrew.

‘I promise not to run away,’ said Macandrew sourly but Parvelli didn’t smile. He tied and taped him too. As he left the cabin, the engine note dropped to an uneven burble and they could hear voices. Parvelli had drawn a curtain across the porthole so Simone and Macandrew could only listen to what was going on.

The snatches of conversation they picked up from the quayside were in French so Simone’s guess at Corsica was probably right, thought Macandrew. On the other hand it soon became apparent that their current location was largely irrelevant. The smell of diesel in the air and the sound of boxes being slid across the deck above them suggested that they had just stopped to take on fuel and supplies.

In a little under an hour the engine note rose again and once more they were under way. Shortly after that, they were released from their bonds. Simone rushed back to the porthole to see what she could see. ‘It’s my guess that we’re in the channel that runs between Corsica and Sardinia,’ she said. ‘We’re still heading east.’

‘To somewhere on the West coast of Italy?’ suggested Macandrew.

‘Or down to Sicily,’ said Simone.

‘Or even North Africa,’ said Macandrew.

‘Or anywhere,’ sighed Simone.

‘As far as I’m concerned, the longer we’re at sea the better,’ said Macandrew. ‘It’ll give me time to get better. Then maybe I’ll be a bit more help round here. I’ve been about as much use as a paperweight.’

Simone was pleased to see the improvement in Macandrew’s spirits. It was good to see him clear-eyed and alert again. She gave him a hug.

They were at sea for two more days, by which time, Macandrew knew that he had beaten the infection and was gaining strength by the hour. He had replaced the packing in the wound twice but now he thought that he would let the wound start to heal naturally.

On the afternoon of the second day, he and Simone were allowed on deck to get some fresh air. Macandrew sat with his back to the mast with his legs stretched out in front of him. Simone sat beside him at ninety degrees. The sky was blue and the sea state calm. Their eyes were closed and they were enjoying the sunshine.

‘A pity we’re not doing this under different circumstances,’ said Macandrew.

Simone just smiled.

‘Maybe, if we come out of this?’ suggested Macandrew.

‘Maybe,’ answered Simone, giving his arm a little squeeze.

‘I think I’ll just throw Stroud and his cronies over the side right now and take over the boat.’

Simone looked at Macandrew’s foot and said, ‘Isn’t there a saying in English about walking before you can run?’

‘Touché,’ replied Macandrew.

‘Besides,’ added Simone. ‘We are approaching land.’

Macandrew could see that she was right. There was something solid on the horizon. They stood up to get a better look.

‘An island,’ said Simone.

They watched in silence as it seemed to take an eternity for the Astrud G to near the island. When they had closed to about half a mile, Simone whispered, ‘I think know where we are; I’ve been here before. It’s Malta.’

‘Well done,’ murmured Macandrew.

‘I came here many years ago when I was a student with a group of friends on a SCUBA diving trip.’

‘Does that mean you know the island well?’ asked Macandrew.

Simone shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago but it’s not that big really.’ Almost as an afterthought she added, ‘Strongly Catholic.’

Their conversation was interrupted by Stroud directing that they be taken below.

This time, they were not tied up or blindfolded. They watched from the porthole as the Astrud G was brought close to a rocky outcrop and her anchors were dropped.

‘We’re not going into harbour,’ said Simone.

‘I guess they’d have to explain us to the authorities,’ said Macandrew. ‘It’s my bet we’ll be transferred to a smaller boat for landing somewhere quiet along the coast.’

When darkness fell and nothing happened, Macandrew grew tense. He and Simone had both been feeling the strain of the wait and their conversation had fallen away to nothing. Eventually Macandrew said what they had both been thinking. ‘Maybe this isn’t our destination after all. Maybe we’re just stopping here overnight.’

No sooner had this been said when they heard the distant sound of a powerful outboard motor. It grew louder and they could hear activity above them on deck.

‘Well, well...’ said Macandrew, feeling adrenaline start to course through his veins.

Simone started plundering items she thought would come in handy from the boat’s medical kit. She passed them to Macandrew who stuffed them into his pockets.

‘They’re coming!’ warned Macandrew as he heard footsteps on the deck ladder.

Simone hastily shut the lid of the wooden box. The cabin door opened and they were herded up on deck by Parvelli. The night was clear and an almost full moon shone down on a calm sea. A large, rigid, inflatable boat was tied up alongside the Astrud G, her powerful twin Yamaha outboards murmuring as they idled impatiently. Simone was helped over the side first and made to sit at the back of the boat while Macandrew — who had hopped across the deck to reach the rope ladder — took the weight on his arms and lowered himself to stand on the sidewall of the inflatable. Although the sea was calm, there was still a bit of swell and he couldn’t find enough balance on one foot to allow him to hop down on to the floor of the boat. He took an ungainly dive forwards and clattered down hard on his elbows.

‘Are you all right?’ exclaimed Simone.

‘Apart from lost marks for artistic merit.’

The crew freed the inflatable from the Astrud G and pushed her away from the side. The Yamahas responded to the throttle like eager greyhounds and the inflatable creamed over the water towards the dark shoreline. No one spoke. There was no point; the engine noise was deafening. Macandrew sat with his arm round Simone, both holding their free hands to their faces against the intermittent spray thrown up from the bow. In other circumstances it might have been fun.

The engines died and they drifted in the last few metres on their momentum. Macandrew braced himself for what he though might be a sudden grounding but the operation was carried out with such skill that the boat came smoothly to a halt on the gritty bottom.

There was a van waiting on the shore. It looked very old — even by the light of the moon. Macandrew and Simone were ushered into the back and the doors slammed shut. It was pitch black inside and there was a smell of rotting vegetables. It didn’t mix well with the smell of the sea from their clothes and hair. After several attempts the van’s engine was coaxed into life and they fought to steady themselves as it lurched forward over a patch of rough ground to join the road. A final jolt as the back wheels scrabbled up on to the tarmac, sent the pair in the back reeling against the sides.

They were now travelling along a smooth highway and, as the minutes passed, Macandrew became aware that he could see periodic flashes of light through the crack where the back doors joined. He crabbed across the floor and found that he could see out through it. He said to Simone, ‘Maybe you should be doing this. You might be able to figure out where they’re taking us.’

Simone slid across to take Macandrew’s place. He kept her steady with his arm around her waist. After ten minutes she said, ‘We’re entering a small town.’

‘Recognise it?’

‘I was only here once, on holiday,’ protested Simone.

‘Sorry,’ said Macandrew. ‘Keep trying.’

‘Of course.’ Simone sounded irritated but was secretly pleased at Macandrew’s restored positive attitude.

Macandrew could hear traffic noises outside as they started to slow. ‘Sounds like quite a big town,’ he said.

‘I don’t think it’s the capital,’ said Simone. ‘So if it’s not Valetta... it might be... Yes, it’s Mosta. I’ve just seen the cathedral.’

‘Good on you,’ said Macandrew.

‘We anchored off the north coast,’ said Simone, ‘so we must have travelled southeast to reach Mosta... That would suggest that we are probably not going to Valletta at all.’

‘And we are not stopping here by the sound of it,’ said Macandrew as they started to pick up speed again.

‘No,’ agreed Simone, taking up position at the back door again. ‘We’re leaving Mosta behind.’

Neither spoke for the next few minutes. Simone relaxed her vigil, saying that there was nothing to see. It was dark and they were on country roads.

‘The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that Ignatius must have had a good reason for coming here,’ said Macandrew.

‘Why d’you say that?’

‘It’s a long way across the Mediterranean from Israel to Malta. There were lots of other islands a whole lot nearer if he was just looking for somewhere to hide out for a while.’

‘I see what you mean,’ agreed Simone. ‘Why pick a small island in the middle of the Med when it would have been much easier to disappear in Cypress or Crete or even in the mountains of Sicily?’

The van shuddered as the engine started to labour. The gearbox protested loudly at being asked to engage a lower gear and then a lower one still.

‘A steep hill,’ said Macandrew.

‘That’s interesting,’ said Simone. ‘The island is pretty flat except for a high plateau where the old medieval capital stands.’

Simone started to keep watch again as they continued to labour uphill. ‘That must be it,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing else this high on the island. We’re going to the old capital. We’re going to Mdina!’

‘Now we just have to work out, why?’ said Macandrew.

‘Very few people actually live in Mdina,’ said Simone thoughtfully. ‘It’s maintained as a sort of tourist attraction, but I do remember one particular building that was inhabited... It was a convent, a large enclosed convent, a nunnery.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Macandrew. ‘That must be it! If Ignatius has managed to con them into helping him like he did the convent in Israel, it would be the ideal cover for him and Stroud.’

‘But wouldn’t they have been warned?’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Macandrew. ‘It’s not in the nature of the Catholic Church to circulate bad news or encourage adverse publicity,’ said Macandrew. He recalled the Abbot of Cauldstane complaining of how hard he’d found it to get information out of Rome about Ignatius.

The van stopped climbing and was now moving quite slowly. Simone peered out. ‘We’re here. We’re crossing the stone bridge over the old moat outside the city. I remember it. I think the convent is quite near here.’

The streets outside were eerily quiet as the van drew to a halt and the doors opened. Macandrew and Simone were ushered inside a large stone building with poor lighting to be led down seemingly endless steps. Macandrew noticed the smell of incense in the air and, when he was put into a small stone cell with a crucifix on the wall, a religious painting above the bed and a bible beside the lamp, he knew for sure that they were in the convent. He called out Simone’s name but there was no reply. It wasn’t surprising; the walls looked as if they had been carved out of solid rock.

Macandrew lay down on the small, hard bed and stared at the featureless wall in front of him. Things were not looking good if this was where they were to be held. Escape from here would be well nigh impossible. Even if they hadn’t been brought down to the cellars, the glimpse he’d managed of the outside of the building suggested a thick-walled Arab fortress; very few windows and all of them high up. He emptied his pockets of the supplies that Simone had thought of raiding from the Astrud g’s medical box and gave thanks for her foresight. Not for the first time, he reminded himself that if it hadn’t been for Simone, he’d be dead. Such a thought made him feel guilty about his own lack of usefulness so far. Simone had been a tower of strength while he had been little more than a passenger. He owed it to her to get her out of this.

He was awakened by the door being unlocked and the fat man bringing in a tray. He didn’t say anything; he just put down the tray and left. Macandrew got up and found a large mug of black coffee and a lump of bread. The smell of the coffee was good; at that moment it seemed to symbolise the normal everyday things that had been missing from his life and which he desperately missed, not for their own sake but for what they represented. He had been living in a nightmare world for so long that stress had been building up inside him like a cancer. A mug of steaming coffee afforded him a much-needed remission.

Fifteen minutes later the fat man returned and indicated that he should follow him. He did so at his own pace until they stopped outside a door some thirty yards along the corridor where Simone, escorted by Parvelli, was already waiting. Macandrew asked with his eyes if she was all right and she nodded.

They entered what appeared to be the convent sick bay and were then shown into a small office where they came face to face with a tall, slim man wearing the black cassock of a Roman Catholic priest. He fitted the French Police description of Ignatius. He eyed them with a cold dispassion that Macandrew found chilling.

‘I’m Dom Ignatius,’ said the man evenly. ‘This is where you will fulfil your part of the bargain.’

Macandrew exchanged glances with Simone and saw that she was afraid.

‘I have obtained the chemicals listed in the protocol for the synthesis of the protease and the laboratory has been equipped with the necessary apparatus. Let me know if you need anything else but don’t waste my time. I’m not a stupid man. I’ll know if you are stalling. I suggest you start work immediately. There are two rooms. You will work in one and sleep in the other until your work is done.’

Macandrew felt anger at the man before him, calmly issuing instructions like a schoolmaster. The religious garb only made it worse. This man was responsible for torture and murder. ‘What’s this all about?’ he asked.

The fat man tightened his grip on him.

Ignatius regarded Macandrew with a baleful stare before saying, ‘Knowledge, Doctor, that most precious of commodities. I suspect you know by now what the chemical can do. A five-minute conversation with an eye witness to human history is worth more than all the arguing and conjecturing of an institute full of posturing academics for over a decade.’

‘And the Israeli you kidnapped is your eye witness? What do you hope to discover in your five minutes with him?’

‘That needn’t concern you.’

‘The protease will kill him.’

Ignatius fixed Macandrew with a stare and Macandrew stared him out as he felt the tension rise in the room. ‘This isn’t really about knowledge, is it? There’s something else.’

Ignatius replied with icy calm. ‘They thought they would end my career. They took me away from my life’s work and destroyed my reputation. They put me to work as a clerk like some peasant priest when I had the finest brain of the lot of them. They claimed to be teaching me... humility,’ Ignatius lingered over the word, wrapping it in sarcasm, ‘while they themselves played out the traditional Vatican games of back-stabbing, manipulation and double-dealing. Well, I will show them a thing or two before I’m through. Now, I suggest you get to work.’

‘Don’t you care anything about the people you damage?’ asked Simone. ‘They’ll never recover.’

‘Progress has always been painful,’ said Ignatius.

Macandrew shot Simone a warning look about pursuing the argument. She changed tack. ‘How do you expect to explain away our presence here in the convent?’ she asked.

Ignatius said, ‘You are Christian volunteers being trained in basic medical techniques before being sent out to our missions abroad. There is no call for you to fraternise with the sisters of the convent; they are an enclosed and contemplative order. Apart from that, one of you is a man. This clinic and your living quarters have been isolated from the rest of the building.’

Macandrew and Simone were ushered into an adjoining room with white and blue ceramic tiles on the walls. There was a single window with vertical iron bars on it; it looked out on a narrow lane some twenty metres below and across to the wall of a neighbouring building less than three metres away. Lighting came from a fluorescent fitting bolted to the ceiling. There was a long laboratory bench with various pieces of equipment on it and two Bunsen burners, their umbilical tubes attached to the same “Y” fitting gas tap.

There were two boxes containing bottles of chemicals listed in Burnett’s notes and there were several wall-mounted cupboards containing glassware and general lab apparatus. A small adjoining room held two camp beds and a toilet and shower cubicle; it had no window.

‘What do you think?’ asked Macandrew, when the door was locked behind them.

‘He’s raving mad,’ whispered Simone.

‘Right, and he’s only going to keep us alive as long as he thinks we’re going to make him more protease.’

Simone looked about her and shrugged. ‘I’m betting neither Ignatius nor Stroud know very much at all about biochemistry. We can fake problems until we think of a way out of here.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Think of a way out of here.’