Confessional - Jack Higgins [62]
What happened then was strange, yet perhaps not so strange if one considered the circumstances. The shock was so profound that it seemed to drain all strength from her and she remained in the half-darkness at the back of the church while people moved out and Cussane and the acolytes disappeared into the sacristy. It was very quiet in the church and she sat there, trying to make sense of things. Cuchulain was Father Harry Cussane, Devlin's friend, and it explained so many things. Oh, my God, she thought, what am I going to do? And then the sacristy door opened and Cussane stepped out.
Things were almost ready in the kitchen. Devlin checked the oven, whistling softly to himself and called, 'Have you laid the table in there?'
There was no reply. He went into the living room. Not only was the table not laid but there was no sign of Tanya. Then he noticed the French window ajar, took off his apron and moved forward.
'Tanya?' he called into the garden, and in the same moment saw that the door in the garden wall stood open.
Cussane wore a black suit and clerical collar. He paused for a moment, aware of her presence although he made no sign. He'd noticed her almost at once during the Mass. The fact that she was a stranger would have made her stand out, but in the circumstances it had been obvious who she must be. Knowing that, there was the ghost of the child there in the face, the child who had struggled as he held her that day in Drumore, all those years ago. Eyes never changed, and the eyes he had always remembered.
He turned at the altar rail, dropping to one knee to genuflect, and Tanya, in a panic now and terribly afraid, forced herself to her feet and moved along the aisle. The door to one of the confessional boxes stood partially open and she slipped inside. When she pulled it close, there was a slight creaking. She heard him walk down the aisle, the steps slow, distinct on the stone flags. They came closer. Stopped.
He said softly in Russian, 'I know you are there, Tanya Voroninova. You can come out now.'
She stood there, shivering, very cold. He was quite calm, his face grave. Still in Russian, he said, 'It's been a long time.'
She said, 'So, do you kill me like you killed my father? As you have killed so many others?'
'I hoped that wouldn't be necessary.' He stood there looking at her, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and then he smiled gently and there was a kind of sadness there. 'I've heard you on records. You have a remarkable talent.'
'So have you.' She felt stronger now. 'For death and destruction. They chose you well. My foster-father knew what he was doing.'
'Not really,' he said. 'Nothing is ever that simple. I happened to be available. The right tool at the right time.'
She took a deep breath. 'What happens now?'
'I thought we were supposed to be having dinner together, you, I and Liam,' he said.
The porch door banged open and Devlin walked in. 'Tanya?' he called and then paused. 'Oh, there you are. So you two have met?'
'Yes, Liam, a long, long time ago,' Harry Cussane told him, and his hand came out of the right pocket of his jacket holding the Stechkin he had taken from Lubov.
At the cottage, he found cord in the kitchen drawer. 'The steaks smell good, Liam. Better turn the oven off.'
'Would you look at that?' Devlin said to the girl. 'He thinks of everything.'
'The only reason I've got this far,' Cussane said calmly.
They went into the living room. He didn't tie them up, but motioned them to sit on the sofa by the fire. He stepped on to the hearth, reached up inside the chimney and found the Walther hanging on its nail that Devlin always kept there for emergencies.
'Keeping you out of temptation, Liam.'
'He knows all my little secrets,' Devlin said to Tanya. 'But then