Solomon Creed: The only thriller you need to read this year. Simon Toyne
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Название: Solomon Creed: The only thriller you need to read this year
Автор: Simon Toyne
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Приключения: прочее
isbn: 9780007551378
isbn:
He blazed like a grotesque torch, all signs of identity razed from him, his head thrown back in agony and fire pouring from his open mouth as if his screams were made of flame.
Captain Smith, the officer in charge, ordered someone to throw a rope round him and drag the cross to the ground and away from sight, but no rope could ever drag the image of that burning man from my memory. I uttered a prayer, commending his immortal soul to God where it would be forever at peace and free from whatever demons had made their evil sport here. And when I finished I heard a murmur of ‘Amens’ around me and realized that my prodigal companions, normally so cavalier and contemptuous of God when in the warm embrace of a bottle or by the light of a campfire, were drawn straight back to His goodness and love when faced with this bleak and terrible example of its opposite.
We set to work smothering the smouldering church with shovels of dirt and I wondered how an all powerful and merciful God could allow such monstrous sport to be visited upon His faithful servants and lay waste to His own house of worship. I could see no purpose in it and wondered if, in the battle between God and the Devil, it was the Devil who had already won. It was only then, in the deepest depths of my doubt, that Christ Himself appeared to me, rising from the ashes of His father’s ruined church to show me the way and the truth.
I saw His face first, shining white against the grey-black ashes. He was staring straight at me with an expression of such agony and anguish that I stumbled back in shock and my boot trod heavy on the charcoaled remains of a roof spar, which levered the thing up further and I saw it entire. It was the Christ crucified, carved from pure white marble and fixed to a cross of hard wood that had been burned by the fire but not destroyed.
I guessed from its position in the ruined church that it must have hung above the altar and I imagined how the Christ must have stared down in lament as flames consumed His father’s house. It was a miracle the cross had survived, a miracle that I had found it, and I recalled the words of the raving priest as he had pressed the Bible into my hands and transferred his mission to me.
– You must carry His word into the wasteland. Carry His word and also carry Him. For He will protect you and lead you to riches beyond your imagining.
And here He was.
I walked into the smoking ruin of the church and took the pale Christ in my arms – His cross now mine, my burden now His. I could feel the trapped heat of the fire radiating out of the solid wood and it felt like the warmth of His love flowing into me and I realized then why God had allowed the savages to slaughter good Christian folk and burn His house to the ground.
It had all been for me.
He was showing me, in such a way as a simple soul like mine could understand, that the church I had to build must be stronger than this. If it was to stand against such evil as thrived here in this blasted wilderness, it had to be like the pale Christ who had been untouched by the fiery instruments of evil that had destroyed all else.
The church I was to build had to be made of stone.
‘He said we should stay right here?’
‘That’s what the man said.’ Mulcahy was standing by the window of the motel, cell phone in hand, staring out through the grey sheer curtains at the parking lot beyond.
Behind him, Javier paced, stamping dust and the smell of mildew from the carpet. ‘He didn’t say nuthin’ else?’
‘He said plenty, but the main thing he said was that we should stay put and wait for him to call back.’
Javier shook his head and continued to pace. He’d already visited the john several times in the twenty or so minutes they’d been in the room and Mulcahy had only heard him flush once, suggesting either that he had terrible hygiene or he was doing something in there other than pissing. The slime-shine in his eyes gave Mulcahy a pretty good idea what.
‘You think Papa knows where we’re at?’ Javier said, twitching and flicking his fingers as if they had gum on them.
‘Probably.’
‘Probably? The fuck does “probably” mean? Either he know or he don’t.’
The only illumination in the room was coming from the TV. It was tuned to a local news station with the volume turned low. Carlos sat silently on the edge of one of the beds, his eyes fixed on the flickering screen as if he’d been hypnotized by it. He’d been like that ever since they’d walked in the door and heard what Papa Tío had to say. Mulcahy had seen that look a few times before: once in a jail cell outside of Chicago when he was still in uniform and Illinois still had the death penalty, and a couple of times since when he’d been the cause of it. It was the look someone got when they’d resigned themselves to whatever was coming their way, like a rabbit when the headlights were speeding towards it and there was no time to get out of the way.
‘You got a cell phone, either of you?’ Mulcahy asked.
‘Yeah, I got a phone.’ Javier said it like he’d just asked him if he had a dick or not. He held up a BlackBerry in a gold-and-crystal encrusted case, the blank screen angled towards Mulcahy. ‘I switched it off though, motherfucker. I ain’t stupid.’
‘Good for you. Who pays the bill?’
‘The fuck’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Because if Tío pays the bill then he’ll be able to track it whether it’s switched off or not. Does he pay the bill?’
Javier didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
Mulcahy nodded. ‘Then he knows where we’re at.’ He turned back and looked outside, squinting against the brightness. Beyond the reception building he could see the traffic out on the highway.
He checked his own phone, making sure the Skype app was still running. Tío had said he was going to call some people then call him back, but that wasn’t why he was checking. His pop still hadn’t called.
‘How come your phone’s still switched on, pendejo?’
Mulcahy stared out at the day, felt the heat of the outside burning through the window and the cool air from the ancient air-con unit blowing feebly against his legs.
‘I asked you a question, motherfucker.’
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If he had to kill Javier in the next few minutes – which was entirely possible – it would definitely be the highlight of an otherwise shitty day. ‘Papa Tío doesn’t pay my bill,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t pay my bill, so he doesn’t know the number or the network, and I called him on Skype so it would take him at least a few hours to trace the call and I don’t plan on being here in two hours’ time. But the main reason I’ve still got it switched on is because he said he was going to call me back – on Skype – so if I switched my phone off he wouldn’t be able to. And if he couldn’t get hold of me he might get all suspicious and send a bunch of guys round to find out why I’d turned my phone off. And he’d know exactly where to find me because you’re too cheap to СКАЧАТЬ