Solo - Jack Higgins [30]
As they moved out to the churchyard thunder rumbled in the distance and the first heavy spots of rain dotted the flagstones of the path.
'One of life's great cliches,' Baker observed. 'Eight times out of ten it rains at funerals. That's why I brought this thing.'
He opened his umbrella and he and Stewart followed at the tail end of the villagers as they made their way between the headstones towards the freshly dug grave.
Most of them stayed at a respectful distance while Helen Wood stood at the edge of the grave facing her husband. Asa Morgan was behind the rector, his red beret tilted forward at the exact regulation angle.
Francis Wood continued with the committal, raising his voice a little as the rain increased in force. His wife, at the correct moment, dropped to one knee to pick up a handful of soil to cast into the open grave. She remained there for a moment, then glanced up and found that Morgan had moved forward to stand beside her husband.
Francis Wood carried on without faltering, Earth to Earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection.
Morgan took the red beret from his head and dropped it into the open grave on top of the coffin. His wife stood up slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. He turned, marched away through the tombstones and went into the church.
'Which should give them something to talk about in the village for quite some time,' Baker observed.
When Francis Wood went into the church a few minutes later, he found Morgan sitting in the front pew, arms folded, staring up at the altar.
Wood said, 'Well Asa, you didn't come to pray, so what exactly do you want?'
'Not if that's the best you can do, the claptrap you handed us out there,' Morgan told him. 'Forasmuch as it hath pleased God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear sister here departed. What in the hell is that supposed to mean, Francis?'
'I don't know, Asa. You see, for me, it's a matter of faith. Faith in God's purpose for all of us.'
'That's really very comforting.' Morgan stood up and climbed the steps to the pulpit.
'All right, Asa, say what you have to say.'
At the back of the church Baker and Stewart stood in the shadows by the door, listening.
Morgan said, 'I'm trying to reconcile the fact of God's mercy with a little girl on a bicycle getting in the way of a rabid fanatic, fleeing from an attempted murder. You'll be interested to know, by the way, that an Arab terrorist group named Black September have claimed credit. A nice word, you must admit. All in the terminology.'
There was an unnatural calm to him now and he gripped the edge of the pulpit so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Wood said, 'Asa, God punishes, men only take revenge. I think I know the road you wish to take and I tell you this now. You will find nothing at the end of it. No answer - no satisfaction - nothing.'
Morgan looked around him. 'I never realized before what a good view you had up here.' He came down the steps, walked briskly up the aisle and went out.
Baker and Stewart followed him. It was raining harder than ever now and they watched him march, bareheaded, to the lych gate and cross to the Porsche.
Baker said to Stewart, 'You take the car and get after him. I'll take the train back to London. Stick to him like glue. I want to know where he goes and what he does. Lose him and I'll have you.'
Stewart had little difficulty in keeping the silver Porsche in plain view, for even after skirting London and joining the Ml motorway north, Morgan seldom did more than seventy, moving into the fast lane only when it was necessary to pass a heavy lorry or some other particularly slow-moving vehicle.
Just outside Doncaster, he pulled into a service area for petrol. Stewart did the same, keeping well back. The Porsche moved across to the car park and Morgan got out. reached inside and pulled out a military trenchcoat which he put