The Messiah Secret

Then he shook his head and crossed to the door. Just like the outside door of the building, the lock had obviously been jemmied. He pressed his ear to the opening, but the only noise he could hear was the regular ticking of Angela’s old long-case clock that he knew stood in the hallway.

He took a deep breath, pushed the door open very slightly, just wide enough for him to see through the gap, and looked inside.

Immediately Angela started to run she heard pounding footsteps behind her. She risked a quick glance back, which confirmed what she already knew – her pursuer was much quicker than she was, and was gaining on her with every step. He’d be on her in a matter of seconds.

She’d never reach the main road, she knew. She took a deep breath and screamed; a loud, panicky yell that echoed off the walls of the buildings. But as the sound died away, the only noise she could hear was the thudding of the man’s feet behind her. He was getting closer with every second.

To her right was an apartment block, the lighted entrance lobby offering a safe haven. If the door was open, and if she could reach it before the man caught her.

She changed direction abruptly, cutting across the road towards the lobby, but she was still twenty yards short when a hand seized her shoulder.

Angela screamed again and jinked to her right, shaking off the man’s hand and trying to dodge away from him. But almost immediately he grabbed her again. She spun round, reached for his face and scratched her nails down his cheek, digging as deep as she could.

Then she ran again.

The hall of Angela’s flat was empty, and it looked as if nothing had been disturbed. Bronson swung the door wider and slipped into the flat. On one side was the kitchen, the light switched on but the small room clearly empty. To his right, the open door led into the lounge, and it was obvious even from where Bronson stood that the room had been comprehensively searched. Every drawer on the sideboard had been pulled open, the contents scattered all over the floor. But, again, the room looked empty and there was no noise from anywhere in the apartment.

Making as little sound as he could, Bronson stepped over to the lounge door and glanced inside the room. Nobody was there. Moving more confidently now, he strode further down the hall, checking each room. But within a couple of minutes he’d confirmed his initial suspicions – the burglars had already left.

Angela felt a blow to her side that slammed her hard to the right. The next instant, she was gasping for breath, pinned by the man’s left hand against the rough brick wall of a building. She stared in terrified silence at her attacker.

He was short and stocky, with a bandage covering one side of his head. The clerical collar didn’t fool her for an instant. Perverts, she assumed, would adopt whatever guise they thought would put their victims off-guard, and most people deferred to priests, even if they never went to church.

But what happened next utterly amazed her.

‘You’ve got something I want, Angela,’ the man said calmly, his voice measured and level. Blood trickled steadily down his neck from the ragged scratches on his cheek. ‘Give me that case.’

‘How do you know my name?’ she stammered.

‘Just give me that,’ he snapped, grabbing for the leather-bound box of papers Angela had removed from Carfax Hall.

But Angela didn’t let go. Instead, she pulled back, trying to wrench the box from his hand, and herself out of the man’s grasp.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade knife and pressed the button. The ‘snick’ of the five-inch blade snapping open was ominously loud in the quiet street. He drew back his arm and then swung the knife forward in a vicious under-arm blow aimed directly at Angela’s stomach.

Bronson pulled out his mobile phone, cancelled the triple nine that was displayed on the screen and dialled Angela’s phone. There was no answer.

In that instant he guessed that something was wrong. Stuffing the mobile in his pocket, he ran out of the flat, ignoring the lift and pounding down the stairs towards the ground floor.

The moment she saw the knife swinging towards her, Angela reacted instinctively. Grasping the leather-bound box with both hands, she slammed it downwards to meet the blade.

She felt a sudden blow as the switchblade slammed into the wood and staggered with the force of the impact. She looked down. The blade had penetrated both sides, and a couple of inches of it were sticking out.

The man tugged on the knife, trying to pull it free, but the blade was stuck fast.

Angela wrestled the box from side to side, but couldn’t loosen the man’s grip on it. So she did the next best thing. She kicked upwards, as hard and as accurately as she could, and felt her foot connect firmly with her attacker’s groin.

He grunted in shock and his eyes clouded with pain, and for a moment it seemed as if he might let go of the knife. But then he tightened his grip on the weapon and pulled back his left arm to punch Angela in the face.