‘Did anyone worship Isis?’
‘Not as such, though smaller pockets of dedicated followers carried on the practise in isolated places.’
‘Where?’
‘Well the most famous was on the island of Samothrace but……,’ She stopped and stared at him, ‘Shit,’ she said quietly
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘The Samothrace mysteries,’ she said,’ That’s our link, I can’t believe I missed it.
The obvious question was halfway to his lips when he saw the slightest movement of her eyes widening in horror as she changed her focus to over and beyond his shoulder. For the next few seconds everything seemed to move in slow motion to Brandon. The horror on India’s face, the forming of the words on her lips as she screamed and the echoing thunder of the gunshot outside the window as he leaned backwards and twisted to one side. The action saved his life as the bullet meant for the back of his head scorched its red hot passage across the flesh of his forehead to ricochet of the stone kitchen wall. He threw his self to the floor and rolled under the ledge of the window cutting off any direct line of sight between himself and the would-be assassin.
‘India, are you okay?’ he shouted.
‘Over here,’ she answered.
He looked towards the open door of the walk in pantry where she had crawled.
‘Stay there,’ he said, ‘Don’t come out till I say so.’ He crawled to the corner of the kitchen and opened one of the cupboards to withdraw a red lidded casserole dish. Frantically discarding the lid he reached inside and withdrew a 9mm semi automatic pistol, pulling back on the slide to load the chamber. He glanced towards the pantry and met the gaze of India who was at in the shadows. ‘India,’ he said, I need you to do something for me.’
‘You’ve got a gun,’ she said half in fear, half in astonishment.
‘I’ll explain later,’ he said, ‘But for now just do as I say, there isn’t much time.’ He outlined the task but when he saw the hesitation on her face spoke calmly. ‘We have to do this India,’ he said, ‘I can’t do it from here.’
‘Okay,’ she answered, ‘Go for it.’
‘On the count of three,’ he said, ‘One, two, three!’
As he shouted the last number he spun onto his knees and, pointing his gun over the worktop, fired six shots through the window. At the same time India burst from the pantry and crouching low, ran to the kitchen door to slam it into the ancient oak frame. She turned the giant key and dropped to the floor again, crawling as fast as she could to join Brandon below the window.
‘What now?’ she gasped.
‘That’s bought us a few minutes,’ he said and pointed at the chest of drawers. ‘Open the bottom one and look under the tray. Pass me what you find.’
Doing as she was told, she lifted the moulded cutlery tray and looked underneath
‘This is nuts,’ she said as she withdrew two Luger magazines and a box of ammunition.
‘Pass them here,’ said Brandon, and flicking the lever on the side of the pistol grip, dropped the half empty released magazine into his lap.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, watching as he handled the weapon with obvious familiarity.
‘No time,’ he said,’ I’ll explain later. Now, in a moment I am going out of here through the door. I want you to open it and as soon as I am gone, lock the door behind me. Whoever it is has probably left but I need to make sure.’
‘And what do I do while you’re gone?’
‘Go down into my study, this is the only entrance. Lock the door behind you, you will be safe there. I wont be long I promise.’ He loaded the full magazine into the handle of the pistol and made his way to the door.
‘Ready?’ he asked and receiving a silent nod in return, reached up to turn the key. Without any further hesitation he opened the door and crouching low, ran out into the night.
India locked the door and crawled across to the entrance to the stairwell down to the study. A few minutes later she was in the familiar surroundings, the door locked safely behind her. She looked around the room, not quite knowing what to do next. Eventually her eyes fell on an antique globe and, realizing its purpose opened it up to retrieve a bottle of vodka. She poured herself a drink and sat in one of the red chairs to wait for Brandon.
The glass was finally empty when she heard a noise up in the kitchen and with relief, ran up the stairs to open the door for Brandon, her brain registering a familiar but disturbing smell as she ran. She reached for the key but as her fingers made contact, she cried out in pain as the searing heat burnt into the nerve endings. It took a few seconds for the implications to sink in and dropping to her knees she peered through the keyhole into the kitchen, only to have her worst fears confirmed. The other side of the door was a wall of flames and suddenly she recognised the smell. It was petrol.
India stepped back and looked in horror as wisps of smoke started to creep through the door frame. There was no way she could go through the kitchen and she turned to run back down the stairs. She searched frantically for any other way out but realised quickly that Brandon had been right, there was no other way. She was trapped!
‘Phone,’ she said to herself and frantically searched her pockets for her mobile before realising it was missing, and probably lay on the floor of the kitchen where she had fallen. Smoke was beginning to crawl its way across the ceiling and she dragged the chair to underneath the stained glass window. Reaching up she started to bang her fists against the glass.
‘Brandon, help,’ she screamed, ‘Someone please, get me out of here!’ Over and over again she hit the glass without success as the underneath of the poisonous cloud rolled across the ceiling. As the choking wisps started to enter her lungs the world in front of her eyes exploded as the stained glass window smashed in towards her and a pair of hands reached down through the smoke to grab her arms.
‘I’ve got you!’ roared Brandon’s voice, ‘Come on India you need to help me here, push yourself up.’
Choking on the black smoke, she stood on the back of the chair and levered herself upwards. Within a few seconds she lay alongside Brandon on the gravel path, both coughing violently as the clouds of black smoke escaped from the broken basement window. Brandon got up and threw her his phone.
‘Phone the fire Brigade,’ he said.
‘Who’s that?’ she said sombrely, staring at the prone body of a man lying on the gravel.
‘That’s our attacker.’
‘You killed him!’
‘I had to,’ he said simply, ‘It was him or us. You phone the fire brigade, I’m going to find Agnes.’
India watched him disappear into the darkness before returning her gaze to the dead man.
Ten minutes later Brandon returned with Agnes. She was wrapped in her housecoat and carried her dog under one arm.
‘Agnes, thank God your okay,’ said India.
‘The rest of the house is unaffected,’ said Brandon, ‘It seems it was a Molotov thrown through the kitchen window.’
‘Molotov?’
‘Petrol bomb,’ he explained, ‘As long as the fire brigade are on the way we should be able to save the building. Kitchen and study have probably had it but the walls are solid stone and over three feet thick.’
‘What about him?’ she said pointing at the body.
‘He’ll be dealt with,’ he answered, ‘There are people on the way.’
‘What people?’
‘Enough talking,’ interrupted Agnes, ‘You had better get out of here.’
India shot a look at Brandon.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘You have to tell her Brandon,’ said Agnes after a pause, ‘She’s part of this now, tell her everything.’