‘To Canterbury, my friend, where Blessed Thomas Beckett died for God’s sake.’
The Father General reached to kiss the ring on the extended hand. ‘Then your Holiness will excuse me. There is much to do.’
He went out. John Paul stood at the window for a while, then crossed the room, opened a small door and entered his private chapel. He knelt at the altar, hands clasped, a certain fear in his heart as he remembered the assassin’s bullet that had almost ended his life, the months of pain. But he pushed that away from him and concentrated on all that was important: his prayers for the immortal soul of Father Harry Cussane and for all sinners everywhere, whose actions only cut them off from the infinite blessing of God’s love.
Ferguson put down the phone and turned to Devlin and Fox. ‘That was the Director General. His Holiness has been informed in full about Cussane and the threat he poses. It makes no difference.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t, would it?’ Devlin said. ‘You’re talking about a man who worked for years in the Polish underground against the Nazis.’
‘All right,’ Ferguson said. ‘Point taken. Anyway, you’d better get kitted out. Take him along to the Directorate, Harry. Grade A Security Pass. Not just another piece of
plastic with your photo on it,’ he said to Devlin. ‘Very few people have this particular one. It’ll get you in anywhere.’
He moved to his desk and Devlin said, ‘Will it entitle me to a gun? A Walther wouldn’t come amiss. I’m one of nature’s pessimists, as you know.’
‘Out of favour with most of our people since that idiot tried to shoot Princess Anne and her bodyguard’s Walther jammed. Revolvers never do. Take my advice.’
He picked up some papers and they went into the study and got their coats. T still prefer a Walther,’ Devlin said.
‘One thing’s for sure,’ Fox said. ‘Whatever it is, it had better not jam, not if you’re facing Harry Cussane,’ and he opened the door and they went out to the lift.
Harry Cussane had a plan of sorts. He knew the end in view on Saturday at Canterbury, but that left the best part of three days and three nights, in which he had to hide out. Danny Malone had mentioned a number of people in the criminal world who provided the right kind of help at a price. Plenty in London of course or Leeds or Manchester, but the Mungo brothers and their farm in Galloway had particularly interested him. It was the remoteness which appealed. The last place anyone would look for him would be Scotland and yet the British Airways shuttle from Glasgow to London took only an hour and a quarter.
Time to fill, that was the thing. No need to be in Canterbury until the last moment. Nothing to organize. That amused him, sitting there in the bus speeding up the motorway to Carlisle. One could imagine the preparation at Canterbury Cathedral, every possible entry point guarded, police marksmen everywhere, probably even the SAS in plain clothes dispersed in the crowd. And all for nothing. It was like chess, as he used to tell Devlin, the world’s worst player. It wasn’t the present move that counted. It was the final move. It was rather like a stage magician. You believed what he did with his right hand, but it was what he did with his left that was important.
He slept for quite a while and, when he awakened, there was the sea shining in the afternoon light on his left. He leaned over and spoke to the old woman in front of him. ‘Where are we?’
‘Just past Annan.’ She had a thick Glasgow accent. ‘Dumfries next. Are you a Catholic?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ he said warily. The Scottish Lowlands had always been traditionally Protestant.
That’s lovely. I’m Catholic myself. Glasgow-Irish, Father.’ She took his hand and kissed it. ‘Bless me, Father. You’re from the old country.’
‘I am indeed.’
He thought she might prove a nuisance, but strangely enough, she simply turned her head and settled back in her seat. Outside, the sky was very dark and it started to rain, thunder rumbling ominously and soon the rain had increased into a monsoon-like force that drummed loudly on the roof of the bus. They stopped in Dumfries to drop two passengers and then moved on through streets washed clean of people, out into the country again.