He was shown into a room with bare stone walls where the abbot sat behind a dark oak desk. There was a Spartan simplicity about the room, its only focal point being a large crucifix hanging on the wall behind the desk. It seemed to Macandrew that particular attention had been paid to highlighting the agony of the figure hanging on it. Blood ran from wounds inflicted by the crown of thorns.
‘I’ve been expecting you,’ said the Abbot.
‘I arranged to meet John Burnett this morning,’ replied Macandrew. ‘I’m told he’s no longer here.’
‘Brother John told me about your arranged meeting.’ The Abbot paused to see if this would elicit any sign of guilt from Macandrew. He continued when Macandrew held his gaze without flinching. ‘He told me of your concern for your patient and asked that I give you this letter and also this.’ He handed Macandrew a silver St Christopher medallion along with a sealed envelope.
‘Can I ask why Dr Burnett was called away so suddenly?’ asked Macandrew.
‘I can’t say,’ replied the abbot.
‘Can’t or won’t?’
The Abbot shrugged his shoulders.
‘He was very upset when I told him about a newspaper article concerning a Benedictine convent in the Holy Land,’ said Macandrew. ‘Did that have anything to do with it?’
‘You are a persistent man, Doctor,’ said the Abbot. ‘But I will not be cross-examined. Suffice to say, the life of the monastery has been upset more than I care for by John’s coming here and now by your presence. I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other.’
Macandrew got up to leave. ‘Please relay my thanks to Dr Burnett when he returns.’
‘God be with you.’
Macandrew thought the valediction colder than charity.
He started back towards Elgin to join the main road south, relieved that he had the all important letter and token for Simone Robin. The prospect of being able to help Jane Francini was something he couldn’t have hoped for at the outset of his trip and it excited him. Perhaps the French researcher would be more forthcoming than Burnett for it still seemed odd that anyone would want to cover up a success story. He hadn’t reckoned on a visit to Paris but it was something he was now looking forward to. In the meantime, he faced the drive back to Edinburgh through snow and sleet.
A large malt whisky arrived from room service and gave Macandrew his cue to pad through to the bathroom, take off his towelling robe and sink down into the deep, warm bath he had just filled. He propped the glass up on the side and savoured the moment of immersion with a deep sigh of satisfaction. The stiffness from the long drive was just beginning to fade from his limbs when the telephone rang.
‘Go away,’ murmured Macandrew, still keeping his eyes closed. It couldn’t be anything important. Probably someone on the front desk asking what time he wanted to eat. Why should telephones always get priority anyway? People stopped in the middle of doing all sorts of important things just to answer the damned phone. Why?... ‘Because it gets on your damned nerves if you don’t!’ he said out loud, getting to his feet and dripping water over the carpet as he tip toed over the floor, pulling his robe around him. ‘Yes?’ he snapped.
‘John Macandrew?’ asked the voice. ‘It was male; it sounded afraid; its owner was speaking in a whisper.’
‘Who is this?’
‘John Burnett. I need your help. They’re holding me prisoner.’
‘Burnett?’ exclaimed Macandrew. ‘A prisoner? Where? Who’s holding you?’
‘Listen!’ urged Burnett. ‘He’s mad and he’s dangerous. You’ve got to warn Simone.’
‘Who is? Where are you? You’re not making any sense.’
‘I managed to steal a mobile phone from one of them. I’ve only got a minute.’
‘Tell me where you are,’ urged Macandrew, beginning to establish priority in his questions.
‘I’m being held at a seminary in East Lothian. It’s called St Bede’s. You’ve got to warn Simone. I haven’t told them anything yet but she has all my research notes. They’ll stop at nothing.’
‘Who are “they”? What should I warn Simone about?’ asked Macandrew. He heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line and suddenly felt afraid. ‘Burnett?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Are you still there?’
There were muffled sounds of a scuffle. Macandrew heard Burnett gasp and then the line went dead.
With trembling fingers, he dialled 999 and asked for the police. Explaining this wasn’t going to be easy.
‘Police.’
‘I’ve just had a call from a Doctor John Burnett. He’s in serious trouble. I think his life may be in danger.’
‘Where about is this, sir?’
‘He’s being held at the seminary of St Bede in East Lothian.’
‘Saint...? How do you spell that?’
‘I’ve no idea. Look, the man’s in danger...’
‘And you are...?’
Macandrew gave his particulars and said where he was calling from.
‘Any idea where in East Lothian, sir?’
‘None. In fact, I don’t even know where East Lothian is. I’m an American.’
‘Oh well, I’m sure we’ll find it. Don’t go out sir, will you. We’ll be sending someone round to take a statement.’
‘I wasn’t going anywhere,’ said Macandrew wearily.
The police arrived at the hotel within ten minutes.
‘Mister Macandrew?’ asked the first policeman as Macandrew approached the desk.
‘Doctor Macandrew,’ corrected the girl on duty.
The policeman acknowledged her contribution with a blank stare then turned back to Macandrew. ‘Well, at least it wasn’t a hoax call.’ The policeman flipped open his warrant card. ‘DI Clements. This is Sergeant Malcolm. The fact of the matter is sir, that we have no record of a seminary called St Bede’s in East Lothian, or in Mid or West Lothian for that matter. We’ve checked.’
‘I see,’ said Macandrew with a sinking feeling. No one was on the way to help Burnett. ‘But there must be! That’s what he said, I’m sure of it.’
‘Have you any idea why this man should consider himself to be in danger sir?’ asked Clements.
Macandrew shook his head and confessed, ‘I hardly knew him.’
The policemen exchanged glances then Clements said, ‘Have you any idea why he should call you instead of say... us, for instance?’
Macandrew shook his head again and said, ‘No. I haven’t. He’s a monk.’
‘A monk?’
‘Sorry, a postulant. Benedictine.’
‘Good God, do they still have such things? And he telephoned you?’
‘Yes.’
‘From St Bede’s?’
‘On a mobile phone.’
‘A monk with a mobile phone,’ said Clements slowly. His sergeant covered his mouth to hide a smile. ‘They do say everyone’s got one these days.’
‘He said he had stolen it from whoever was holding him against his will. This is serious, God damn it!’ said Macandrew. ‘A man’s life is in danger.’
‘Just trying to establish the facts sir,’ said Clements.
‘Did you check the phone book?’ asked Macandrew.
‘And the local tax and rates registers. No St Bede’s.’
‘Maybe the church authorities?’ suggested Macandrew.
‘We thought of that too. It’s just a bit difficult to raise them at this time of night. Office hours, you know. Jesus apparently knocks off at five too.’
The sergeant’s radio crackled into life and he half turned away to respond to the call. When he turned back again his face had taken on a new animation. ‘It does exist sir,’ he said. ‘The desk sergeant at Haddington remembered it. He says it’s been closed for ten years or more but it was definitely called St Bede’s and he’s told us how to find it. It’s off the road between Haddington and Longniddry. The local blokes are on their way.’