THE COLONEL EYES brushed over the details in the file, “Captain Lechaim, Francis, Lewis - born 20th May 1964 in Cardiff, Wales. Son of Robert and Elizabeth Lewis now deceased. Adopted by Elizabeth's sister, Joan Davies. Husband, Edward Davies, now deceased. Grammar School education. Entered the British Army as a cadet. At the age of just eighteen, won the Military Cross in the Falklands War when a sub-lieutenant.”
Then the Colonel’s eyes came to rest on the comments regarding the soldier's one misdemeanour.
'Lieutenant Lewis on the night of June 12, 1982 disobeyed direct orders by rescuing an Argentinean soldier from a mine field. The unofficial orders of the day were quite specific, 'Take no prisoners.' A severe reprimand had been considered by his battalion commander but the lieutenant’s actions the following night on Mount Harriet were considered sufficient grounds for no further action.'
Colonel Ryan, a professional soldier himself for many years, was full of admiration as he then read of the man's citation and award for bravery.
'For his actions on the night of June 13, 1982 on the slopes of Mount Harriet, during the Falkland Islands Conflict, Lieutenant Lechaim F. Lewis was awarded the Military Cross. Lieutenant Lewis single-handedly neutralized two machine gun posts, which were pinning down his platoon. Lieutenant Lewis, who the night before had rescued an enemy soldier from a mine field at great personal risk to himself, then led his men on a charge up the slopes of the west ridge under sustained fire from enemy forces that were well dug-in.
Lieutenant Lewis' exemplary conduct and leadership under fire during this engagement were pivotal in the subsequent surrender by Argentinean infantry who were holding the upper ground.'
Yes, Captain Lewis with his background and record was just the man he was looking for, the Colonel decided.
The man sitting facing him on the other side of the desk shifted his feet impatiently to remind the Colonel that he was not alone.
“Well, Doctor Webster, what's the verdict?”
“Quite frankly, Colonel, the man's extremely lucky not to be a vegetable. As for his eyes changing colour, that's a new one! I've never come across such a case before.” The doctor was in his element now. “Some memory loss, of course, is quite common in these cases! After all, the brain's a complex thing and apt to go wrong when subjected to trauma.”
The Colonel could see that the neurologist was about to elaborate on his pet subject and he leaned back in his chair impatiently.
“In Captain Lewis's case, a sizable portion of his brain was damaged causing a massive trauma. Any retrograde and posttraumatic amnesia Captain Lewis suffered...”
“Doctor Webster! Is Captain Lewis ready to return to duty or isn't he?” the Colonel snapped impatiently. “You've had him for three months now!”
The doctor, the Colonel knew was liable to give long technical lectures if he were at all encouraged. The Colonel for one did not have the time or patience to indulge him.
The balding young intellectual noted the bulldog-like expression on the Colonel’s face, which had caused many a young soldier's pulse to race when that expression had been directed at them. The doctor, however, was made of sterner stuff.
“It's true that Captain Lewis has recovered physically. However, we don't know the long-term effects of his injury. He may go for years and suddenly have a relapse.” He crossed his legs as he went on, “These cases are impossible to predict. However, I can see no reason why he cannot return to light duties with immediate effect. I feel that a little more time is warranted before Captain Lewis can return to normal duties again though.”
“I see! Well, thank you, Doctor. Please let me have your full report in due course! That will be all.”
“But..”
“That will be all, doctor.”
The doctor was in a surly mood when he shut the door behind him, giving vent to his feelings. “Stupid prat!” he muttered. “Old farts! We’re being led by old farts!” He said it loud enough to bolster his flagging ego but not audible enough to the man within. His temerity did not extend that far.
It was then that he became aware of Lechaim who was sitting outside the Colonel’s office waiting to go in. The doctor sought at once to hide his embarrassment.
“Captain Lewis! There you are and how are you today!”
“I’m very well, Doctor!” Lechaim responded. He had heard the doctor’s mutterings and had wondered what the Colonel had done to upset him.
“That’s good! Very good! Well, I must be getting along! Time waits for no man and all that!” With that, the doctor made a hasty departure and Lechaim was left to wonder at the arrogance of youth. The Colonel was a fine soldier, Lechaim had long ago decided, even if the doctor did not agree. He then began to wonder what the Colonel wanted to see him about. Not for long though because the door opened and the Colonel appeared.
“Come right in, Captain Lewis!”
“Thank you, sir!” Lechaim said getting to his feet and walking through.
“Please sit down, Captain,” the Colonel insisted as he returned to his chair behind a desk devoid of any paperwork. The Colonel was a stickler for neatness and his office advertised the fact.
“A cigarette perhaps?” the Colonel inquired offering one from the packet he took out of his jacket pocket.
“No, thank you sir, I don't smoke!”
“Ah, yes, that’s right! You don’t smoke, do you? A wise man to be sure!”
Colonel Ryan lit one himself and leaned back in his chair. He was eighteen years older than Lechaim, but still lean and handsome. In no man’s language other than the doctor’s could he be described as an old fart. It was true that his once jet-black hair was now almost completely grey, but he was Sandhurst trained, and the ultimate professional. Certainly, he was well respected by all that served with him, bar one. But then the Colonel had little time for 'tinpot' soldiers as he called them and he had placed the good doctor in that category some time ago.
Smiling, the Colonel asked, “How do you feel about returning to duty, Captain?”
“Fine, sir!'
The Colonel sat looking at him for a moment before inquiring, “I believe that you are on friendly terms with a family called the Cronins?”
The question was so unexpected that Lechaim could only reply, “I'm sorry sir?”
“A family called the Cronins. Shaun, Maureen, and their daughter!”
God, they must be on the list! Lechaim thought as he waited for the Colonel to continue.
“Don't worry! They're not in any trouble!”
“I'm relieved to hear that sir!” Lechaim exclaimed. “Yes, I know the Cronins!” he acknowledged wondering what was behind the Colonel's question.
“I understand that you are…” the Colonel hesitated for the right expression, “…seeing Shaun Cronin's daughter?” Before Lechaim could confirm or deny this fact, the Colonel dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “No matter! The point is, Captain, that Shaun Cronin is the brother of an important man in the Vatican; namely, Monsignor Michael Cronin. Were you aware of that?”
The name, Michael Cronin, echoed in his ears as he responded, “Yes sir! I am!” Indeed, how could he forget? Lechaim had given much thought to Sinead’s uncle of late. For one, his name was Michael. The name in itself was significant for in his mother's letter she had written, “ ... My son would receive the word of Yahweh when he met Michael....” Could Sinead’s uncle be the one referred to in her dream? The fact that he had been imagining things with regard to the photograph of Michael Cronin did not dismiss his dreams or his late mother’s letter. Lechaim ‘s adrenaline was pumping as the Colonel continued.
“The Monsignor is paying a visit to his brother next week which leads me to my reason for asking you to see me,” he said stubbing out his half-finished cigarette. “The Monsignor's life may be in danger. Someone tried to blow up his car recently in Rome. Fortunately, the bomb didn't go off but they may try again.”
“Good God!” Lechaim said. “But the Cronins never mentioned anything to me!”
“That’s because they don’t know anything about it! The Monsignor doesn’t want to worry his family just yet”
“I see, sir! Any clues as to who may be behind it?”
“None at this stage!” Monsignor Cronin is an official of the Vatican Bank and it might be some radical group trying to make a point.” The Colonel paused to consider before he continued. “Or it might be something to do with his Irish connection. Who knows these days! Whatever, we can't let anything happen to him while he's in Ireland.” He paused again to allow Lechaim to absorb the information. “At least that's the British Government's view, and I have now been asked to provide protection for him. This country is a powder keg, as you well know, and one spark will set it off. If anything happens to the monsignor while he's over here!” He spread his hands and exclaimed, “Well, I needn't tell you what that might mean!” He quickly added, “We’ll provide a backup team, but we need someone with the monsignor at all times. Frankly, Captain, you seem to be the ideal man for the job.”
“Why me, sir?” Lechaim asked although he had already guessed the answer.
“For one, you are a friend of the family, so to speak. That means that your presence will be less suspicious than assigning a stranger to protect the monsignor. You also have the necessary training and, last but not least, you are available. Our medical people have recommended light duties for you at this time so wining and dining with the Monsignor should be just the ticket for you!” The Colonel grinned as he added, “Half your luck, Captain!” Then he asked more in jest than anything else, “You still remember your SAS training, I trust?”
Lechaim remembered full well his tour with the Special Air Services and smiled as he replied, “Yes, sir. I think so.”
“Just thought I'd ask!” Colonel Ryan said looking at him. The tall, muscular soldier before him would inspire confidence in anyone. “As I have already said, the fact that you are a family friend will not make your being seen constantly with the monsignor so obvious. The main thing is not to be too obtrusive as far as he is concerned. I've been told that he's a private sort of man and does not like a great deal of fuss.”
“Suits me, sir.”
“The Monsignor will arrive in Belfast tomorrow week. I want you to meet him and stay with him until he leaves Ireland again.”
“How long is he here for sir?”
“About two weeks from what I understand. I'll let you have his flight details in a couple of days.” The Colonel leaned back in his chair, “Well, that's the assignment. What do you think?”
Lechaim did not relish the job he had just been given but he kept his feelings to himself. Time spent away from Sinead was time lost, and, besides, Church dignitaries were the last people he wished to associate with at this time or any other. But, more than anything else, he sensed that the monsignor's life and his were on some preordained collision course. In fact, if anything, Lechaim had been anxious to avoid the man and now he was being thrown together with him. Whatever, he knew that the die was cast and he now had no choice in the matter. It would be impossible to explain his reluctance to the Colonel, and he, therefore, had to feign some enthusiasm, so he answered him in a positive manner.
“I'll be glad to look after the Monsignor, sir.”
“Well, thank you, Captain. That's what I thought. That, I think is all for now. I'll see you later in the week, and we'll discuss your duties as far as the Monsignor is concerned in more detail. I'll also introduce you to the backup team that will be supporting you; a special SAS force that we've drafted in.”
“SAS! Well, there won’t be much for me to do in that case, sir!”
“That’s right! Just keep the monsignor happy and liaise between the backup team and him. Piece of cake, really!” The Colonel then concluded the meeting by rising and holding his hand out. It was a gesture he was noted for and it endeared him to his subordinates. “Well, good luck, Captain, and keep out of trouble!”
Lechaim took the hand offered and shook it. “Thank you, sir!”
In truth, though, Lechaim felt far from thankful. Events were overtaking him once again and he felt himself being led into a very uncertain future.
Fine soldier, the Colonel decided as Lechaim closed the door behind him.