Michael swung round to aim his gun at the door. The light of reason fading from his eyes to be replaced by a glint of mania. He looked excited, happy even.
‘Today we’re going to sample the fruits of eternal life.’
‘I’ll settle for a fish supper,’ said Farrell, trying to jolt him out of his fantasy and back to reality. ‘Look, Michael, there’s been enough killing. End this now before anyone else gets hurt. You’ve found us now. It’s not too late to have a real family; have what you’ve always craved. Is it, Mum?’
Farrell shot a glance at his mother, who had mumbled incoherently. Her eyes were round with fear as the strain of their desperate situation took its toll. He wondered which of his colleagues were outside with Mhairi, whose voice he had heard. His eyes flicked to the side door he had come in by. Mhairi’s face peered out at him from the gloom and his eyes slithered quickly away lest he give away her position. The responsibility of his situation weighed heavily upon him. How to get everyone out safely without a bloodbath? Was it just his unarmed team outside or was there an armed response unit on its way?
Michael advanced on him and Farrell tensed in readiness.
‘Give me your mobile phone,’ he snarled.
Wordlessly Farrell handed it over after keying in the password.
Michael flipped it open and looked at his contacts.
‘Let’s dial out for a bit of female company,’ he drawled, hitting the speed dial.
The sound of a phone ringing in the sacristy made them all jump.
‘Mhairi, why don’t you come out here before I blow your pal’s brains out?’ Michael yelled, his voice thick with menace.
‘No, Mhairi, don’t do it,’ Farrell yelled. ‘Run! That’s an order.’
‘Did you say something, Sir?’ asked Mhairi, sauntering over, like she was walking to the park instead of to almost certain death.
‘Pull up a seat next to lover boy,’ Michael said, waving his gun in her direction.
‘Which one?’ Mhairi asked, giving Michael a come-hither glance.
She was trying to play him, realized Farrell, marvelling at her bravery.
Michael regarded her coldly.
‘Another whore to seek forgiveness in the House of God,’ he said.
Farrell heard the ugliness creeping into his brother’s voice. The expression in his eyes seemed even less rational somehow, as though the curtain of madness was about to fall. He had to try and reach him one last time.
‘Michael, you’re sick. You need help. These things that you’ve done are because you’re ill. It’s not too late. End this now.’
‘It was too late the minute I was sold into slavery by that bastard priest!’ his brother yelled; his voice amplified by the acoustics into a roar of thunder.
He walked slowly and deliberately over to the older woman and put the gun to her head.
‘Wait!’ yelled Farrell. ‘At least allow her to confess her sins before she meets her maker. Please, I’m begging you.’
Michael considered Farrell for a long moment. Then he moved over to Mhairi, who tried not to flinch as he rammed the gun into the side of her head.
‘Make it quick,’ he snarled.
Farrell took out the small stole and rosary that he carried in his inside pocket. He approached his mother and kneeled down in front of her so his face was angled away from Michael.
‘If you think I’m confessing my sins to you, you’ve got another think coming,’ she hissed in his ear.
‘Play along, dammit!’ Farrell hissed back.
By now the building would surely be surrounded and the firearms unit in place. He had to buy them some time.
‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession,’ his mother said reluctantly.
As the words of the sacrament of penance slipped from his mouth like well-worn pebbles, Farrell was still assessing the situation from the corner of his eye. He noticed Mhairi had managed to hike up her already short skirt and unbuttoned her blouse to reveal some cleavage. She was trying to engage his brother in conversation and appeared to be making some headway. It was now or never. The gun had come away from Mhairi’s head and fallen down against Michael’s side.
Suddenly, Farrell pushed his mother off her chair and sprang at Michael with all the force he was capable of. A split second behind him, Mhairi flung herself down, knocking Michael off his feet in a rugby tackle that would have done Gavin Hastings proud. The three of them were grappling on the ground, trying to gain control of the gun, when there was a deafening explosion. Thick acrid smoke filled the altar area making it impossible to see. Shouts rent the air and the sound of running footsteps and harshly uttered commands seemed to be advancing in all directions. Farrell felt something sticky on his hand. Blood. But whose? With a last kick, Michael sent him flying. Farrell made a grab for him; his eyes streaming as he tried to pierce the gloom. His hands clutched at thin air.
In the midst of the ruckus he heard Lind’s authoritative voice shouting out orders. Michael was getting away. Farrell lurched to his feet, dimly realizing that Mhairi and his mother were being taken care of. All the exits would be covered by now. He had to be hiding somewhere inside the church.