Лесли Чартерис - The Saint

The Saint is the title of a mystery novel by Burl Barer published by Pocket Books in 1997. It was based upon the screenplay for the film The Saint , which in turn was loosely based upon the character Simon Templar, created by Leslie Charteris. Val Kilmer portrayed Templar and is pictured on the book’s front cover.

This was the first book featuring Templar since Salvage for the Saint ended the original series of books (which began in 1928) in 1983. It is also the first Saint story to be published since Charteris’ death in 1993 and the first to not be published by either Hodder & Stoughton (UK) or The Crime Club (US).

Barer wrote the book based upon the screenplay by Jonathan Hensleigh and Wesley Strick. Barer himself is a longtime fan of the Saint books and in 1993 had published a comprehensive study on the many literary, radio, and television stories featuring the character of Simon Templar. Barer uses as a framing sequence around his historical work then-current plans to launch a new film series based upon the Saint; these plans ultimately failed and the 1997 film resulted.

The film only loosely adapted the Simon Templar character, making many wholesale changes to the concept of The Saint and Templar; Barer nonetheless incorporated elements from Charteris into his manuscript, including characters from past Saint books such as Roger Conway. Barer would go on to write an original Saint novel (more closely related to the character) entitled Capture the Saint , which was also published in 1997.

The St. Ignatius Home for Foundling Boys was once a warmhearted orphanage dedicated to improving the lives and saving the souls of Hong Kong’s illegitimate offspring. By the seventh decade of the twentieth century, however, it had become as cold and unpleasant as its bleak, stony exterior.

Some one hundred boys, ranging from seven to twelve years of age, could call St. Ignatius “home.” They didn’t. They called it “The Prison,” “God’s Tomb,” and most appropriate, “Brennan’s Hell.”

Father Brennan, a cruel and domineering discredit to the cross, lorded over the youths with harsh tones, severe punishments, and sadistic glee. His only kind words were reserved for his pack of high-strung Doberman pinscers — sinister, slavering creatures who shared his bed and personality.

Both dogs and boys jumped at the sound of Brennan’s voice, and all offered instant, exact, and complete obedience to the priest’s shrill and insistent commands. All except one boy, the youngest and skinniest of Brennan’s hapless charges. He was not intentionally rude and rebellious, he was merely mischievous and adventurous. Playful, outgoing, and possessed of a ready wit, his many talents derived from the unique pairing of his biological parents.

His mother was a versatile British actress best remembered for her lead role in the late sixties revival of Homer Quarterstone’s famous play. Love, the Redeemer.

His Anglo-Asian father, a former bishop turned high-tech entrepreneur, created and implemented the Hong Kong production’s dazzling special effects.

The couple’s only offspring spent the first three years of his life immersed in a make-believe world where identities and locales changed with the application of makeup and the altering of backdrops. As with most theater families, they lived out of trunks and suitcases, called no man boss and nowhere home.

The child’s world of endless make-believe ended in the famous Hong Kong Theatre Fire of 1967. Hundreds of patrons died that night, as did most of the cast and crew. The child, entrusted to a dedicated Catholic baby-sitter for the evening, was orphaned.

Devoid of kin, the thirty-six-month-old boy was shuffled from foster care to foster care before being secured permanent residence at the St. Ignatius Home for Foundling Boys.

His outgoing and entertaining nature earned him immediate friendships with not only the other lads, but with the young girls at the St. Patricia Home for Girls, the orphanage’s female resident adjunct.

The likable scamp was blessed with limitless energy and a core of steely toughness that bolstered his resolve. Fueling his overactive imagination was the decidedly unorthodox reading matter he managed to sneak into the orphanage — tattered action-hero comic books, dog-eared paperbacks with lurid covers, and yellowed editions of Thriller — The Paper of a Thousand Thrills!

While the other boys studied Church history and memorized Bible passages, he delighted in blood-and-thunder adventures. The dreary reality of St. Ignatius happily evaporated as he escaped into a world of primitive chivalry, battle, murder, sudden death, damsels in distress, and valiant crusades for justice.

One particular and memorable morning, not dissimilar from any other in the seemingly endless chain of miserable mornings at St. Ignatius, the little rascal bravely smuggled his favorite paperback into Brennan’s classroom, secured it behind his open Bible, and became completely absorbed in the action-packed adventure classic. Knight Templar.

He became so engrossed in the swashbuckling derring-do of its hell-for-leather hero that the numbing drone of Father Brennan’s lecture never reached his ears. The high ceilings echoed back Brennan’s boring discourse, but the avid young reader’s mind and senses were far away from the cramped wooden desks and dusty stained-glass windows.

Wide eyed and grinning, he was knee-deep in adventure, neck-high in danger, and moments away from a real-life crisis.

The students were arranged in three rows of ten, with the St. Ignatius boys on one side of the room and the St. Patricia girls on the other. The youth sitting two rows over was called Bartolo. He would never have called himself Bartolo, but Brennan gave each charge a new name upon admittance to St. Ignatius.

“The answer, Bartolo,” demanded Brennan, “what is the answer? What happened to Simon Magus in Sumeria?”

The boy hazarded a glance at the well-thumbed Bible on his scarred, wooden desk.

“Jesus’ disciples performed miracles,” began Bartolo haltingly, waiting for his fear to recede and his memory to surface. “When Simon Magus saw them, he offered Peter gold for God’s powers.”

Bartolo held his breath. Something resembling a smile distorted Brennan’s face. The answer accepted, Bartolo cautiously exhaled.

Brennan’s piggy eyes scanned the classroom, seeking another student upon whom to pounce. He found the perfect prey in a surprisingly happy youngster staring intently at an open Bible.

“And how did Peter respond...” Brennan looked directly at the reading child. “John Rossi?”

The boy behind the Bible did not respond.

“John Rossi.” Brennan repeated the name slowly, ominously. The boy, immersed in an alliterative paragraph packed with adjectives and adverbs, ignored him.

Twenty-nine students cringed in their seats as Father Brennan crept up on the youngster and yanked away the Bible, revealing the gaudy cover of Knight Templar — a garish full-color rendering of mayhem featuring the semi-exposed bosom of a distraught female and an equally artistic representation of her manly hero.

Muffled giggles lost themselves in the rafters; perspiration dripped from Brennan’s twisted upper lip. The boy threw a quick glance across the room to a darling, doe-eyed ten-year-old girl named Agnes. She enjoyed his antics, and her sweet giggle was music to his ears.

“What’s this? ” barked Father Brennan, grabbing the paperback and shaking it violently. The yellowed pages fluttered in the priest’s grip like a sparrow captured in a falcon’s talons.