Jae wondered if that had happened within the underground. They didn’t enjoy anyone’s “goodwill,” not that she knew. Were they having any impact on the public at large? And if they were, who would risk their lives by admitting it?
Jae called Straight. “Can you talk?” she said.
“For a minute. What’s up?”
“Do you know anything about the Bible?” she said, noticing a man on the other side of the street, striding as if he knew where he was going. He did not look toward her or even at the house, but she did not recognize him. Stranger Danger? She chuckled to herself. But it would be no laughing matter if he was still around when the kids got home.
Straight didn’t respond at first and she wondered if he had heard her or if they had a bad connection.
“The Bible?”
“Yes, you know. Old Testament, New Testament.”
“Know anything about it? I know Paul used the New Testament to bring himself up to speed on the thinking of—”
“Yeah, but do you know anything about it?”
“Like what?”
“Like Old Testament prophecies about the birth and death and resurrection of Jesus.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Don’t worry, Straight. I won’t get you in trouble if you do.”
“Thanks.”
“But I thought maybe when you were a professor, you know, you studied ancient texts or something.”
He hesitated again. “Well, yes, I’ve had some exposure to such things. Why?”
Jae told him she had been listening to Paul’s discs and how puzzling yet fascinating she found them. “I just have a lot of questions, that’s all.”
“Try me. What do you want to know?”
9
EAGER TO MAKE A FORAY into the Rome night, Paul was frustrated when he reached only Straight’s answering device. When his friend finally called back, he said, “Paul, between babysitting you and Jae, I’m getting precious little of my own work done. Good thing I’m not on salary. I’d have been fired today.”
“You were on with Jae?”
“Yeah, and know what? She’s listening to your New Testament discs.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Seems innocent enough, honestly.” Straight told him of Jae’s curiosity about references in the New Testament to prophecies from the Old.
“I should have left the Gospels there for her. That’s where she should start.”
“God knows, Paul. And listen, when you’re praying about this, remember what God Himself says about the Bible.”
“I’m listening.”
“In Isaiah 55:10 and 11 He says, ‘The rain and snow come down from the heavens and stay on the ground to water the earth. They cause the grain to grow, producing seed for the farmer and bread for the hungry. It is the same with my word. I send it out, and it always produces fruit. It will accomplish all I want it to, and it will prosper everywhere I send it.’”
“But, Straight, Jae was raised as I was. It has to sound as strange to her as it did to me.”
“You turned out all right.”
“But look at all the complicators with Jae. Her father. My work.”
“She’s got more complications than you do?”
“Well, no, but look what I had to go through before I could see the light.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Paul. I think Jae is too much for God to deal with. Probably hopeless.”
“All right, Straight.”
“Paul, we do have a problem. Our guy there isn’t sure he wants to risk seeing you.”
“What? Why? I face as much risk as he does, if not more.”
“Not in his mind. The Bern situation has swept the underground there. And a lot of the predrought tragedies of L.A. have too.”
“So they deduce that where I go, trouble follows.”
“That’s hard to argue, Paul.”
“Tell me about it. But c’mon, I’ve got to make contact. What do I have to do to break the logjam?”
“Abraham and his people are still working on Enzo. Apparently Enzo knew Gregor or at least knew of him. Thought highly of his contribution.”
“Now wait a minute, Straight. I told you that story. I appreciated the young man and his commitment, even his bravado. But his contribution was not good and wasn’t going to be. He was way too thoughtless and reckless. He came very near to exposing me. I feel terrible speaking of a martyr that way, but what does it say about Enzo if he admired a kid like that?”
“This is second- and thirdhand, Paul. I didn’t say he admired him. I said he appreciated him and his commitment, and I’m telling you only what I’ve heard. They’re hurting. There’s division in the ranks over what this Styr Magnor has done. Some applaud the overt attacks. Others, naturally, say there’s no way he’s really one of us.”
“Where do you stand, Straight?”
“With you, of course.”
“You know where I stand on Magnor?”
“I know where you’d better be standing, Paul. He’s not one of ours, and if he is, we ought to eliminate him ourselves.”
“Wow, you feel strongly about this.”
“Caught that, did you?” Straight said. “Tell me you’re not thinking the same thing. You want a guy on our side who kills innocents? I don’t. That’s not of God. Even in L.A., God struck down the opposition. His own were spared. We lost brothers and sisters in the Bio Park there, and also in Paris and London.”
“How many?”
“No one knows yet.”
“Then why doesn’t Fabrizio mourn them and cut me some slack? Does he seriously wonder if I’m for real?”
“You can’t blame him for being careful.”
“I don’t blame him, Straight. But if he honestly thinks I’m a phony, that means I have the full backing of the International Government and the NPO to infiltrate the underground.”
“Naturally.”
Paul sat on the bed. “Honestly, Straight, I’d think more of the man—provided he truly believed that—if he agreed to meet with me tonight and put a bullet through my brain.”
Straight sighed. “I know where you’re coming from, Paul. But why don’t we let Abraham try to calm him and—”
“I’m dead serious, Straight. The man has a chance to eliminate the most dangerous enemy he could ever have, so why doesn’t he do it?”
Straight didn’t answer, and Paul immediately realized that was what he loved so much about him. He had to know Paul was venting and that there’s no reasoning with an angry man.
“You finished?” Straight said finally.
“Yeah, I think I am.”
“Don’t give up the ship. In my personal opinion, Enzo ought to meet with you, and the sooner the better. If we can still arrange it for tonight, you in?”
“’Course I’m in. I’ll be waiting.”
“And hey, Paul?”
“Yeah.”
“I might have been followed home tonight.”
“By?”
“Not sure. It was just a feeling.”
“Well, if it was obvious enough that you knew, it’s no one to be worried about.”
By 10 p.m. Paul had despaired of anything developing that night. He turned off the lights and opened the drapes before the great picture window that looked out to the northwest. A heavy rain made the traffic slow, but millions of lights shone through the mist and made the City of Hills—which he knew to be dark and corrupt—hearken back to its legendary beauty. The way pedestrians rushed about, shoulders hunched and collars up, told Paul it was unseasonably cold.
To his far left, beyond and over the Termini Station, he could see the opera house. Scanning right he spotted the National Roman Museum. And to his far right he could make out the Piazzale Porta Pia and the National Library.
Not having to venture out into such weather was just fine with Paul, and he allowed the fatigue created by his schedule and exacerbated by the tension of his double life to wash over him. It invaded the back of his neck, the tops of
his shoulders, and traveled down his spine. He put one foot forward and bent his knee, placing his palms high on the window and hanging his head.
The cool moisture on the glass confirmed the nastiness outside. And the tone sounded in his molar.
“Stepola.”
“Straight. You ready?”
“You bet. For what?”
“Well, maybe not Fabrizio, at least initially.”
“He’s still scared of me?”
“Who isn’t? C’mon, Paul. Put yourself in his shoes.”
“I can’t even put myself in his presence.”
“Well, here’s the first step. You know where Trevi Fountain is?”
“Saw it today. I can find it.”
“Supposed to be within two miles west of your hotel, between the Pantheon and the Quirinal Palace. Be there at half past. Sit on the edge of the fountain with your back to it, facing east. They’ll find you.”
“Got it. Like a sitting duck. Who am I supposed to meet?”
“Two of Fabrizio’s men. They’re giving us only first names. A big, bald guy named Baldassare and a small, thin man with a limp. Calls himself Calvino. You much of a linguist, Paul?”
“What? No.”
“Baldassare’s the bald guy, making his name easy to remember, but Calvino means ‘bald,’ and he’s not.”
“You’re a fount of useless information, Straight.”
“Just here to serve.”
“I’d better get going.”
“Unarmed,” Straight said.
“You serious?”
“Of course. And they’re reserving the right to search you.”
“And they’ll be unarmed too?”
“No.”
“We’re getting off on the wrong foot, Straight. I’m risking my life, and they’re treating me like an infiltrator.”
“Stop fighting everything, Paul, or I’ll start wondering about you myself.”
“Straight—”
“Stop it, Paul. You know I’m with you and USSA underground is counting on you. The people over there have hardly any history with us, let alone you. Let ’em have their caution. Win them over.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“You can’t expect to waltz in there like a hero.”
“I said yeah, Straight. And I’ve got to get moving. It’s raining and I’ve just about enough time to get there.”
Paul dug through his stuff, finding a plastic coverall that would protect him, including his head. He didn’t like the smell or the confining nature of it, but it would keep him dry and out of the wind. He was sorely tempted to plant a weapon at his ankle, but he didn’t want to give these fragile Italians cause to kill him.
Besides making his way to Trevi Fountain, Paul knew he had to allow time to check for any tails. Legit as he was, carelessness could lead International or Rome police right to the rebels. He had found Venito Hotel personnel personable and friendly, so he decided not to leave through the lobby. They’d wish him the best, ask if he needed anything, and definitely remember having seen him leave.
He got off the elevator on the second floor, walked down a back stairway, and exited into the parking lot at the rear of the hotel. He walked around the block twice, alert for foot or auto traffic that might be shadowing him. Persuaded he had been unnoticed, he headed west toward the fountain, avoiding main thoroughfares. With two taps of his thumb to the tips of both his ring and middle fingers, he set the phone receivers embedded in his molars to privacy mode. He didn’t need a call in the middle of this meeting.
Paul began to warm as he quickly strode the several blocks toward his destination. The plastic allowed no wind to reach his skin, except where it sneaked in at the neck. He had to keep adjusting the hood, and the rustling of the material was louder than the storm. Twice he stepped in puddles that pushed icy water above his shoes and into his socks. He was going to be in a mood when he met Baldy and Limpy.
Paul had to admit he was impressed that he saw neither of his contacts as he came within sight of the fountain. That showed some proclivity for this kind of work. He had half expected them to be standing in plain view. Paul circled the fountain. Pedestrians passed through the area, but no one stopped to admire a water show on a night like this. The wind added the fountain’s spouts to the rain, which drummed onto Paul’s hood. Finally he found his spot, facing east, smoothed out the length of his rain gear the way his wife smoothed her skirt before sitting. He sat there, hands deep in his pockets, reminding himself of the people he had seen from his hotel-room window, hunched against the cold.
Paul’s begrudging admiration for his contacts’ abilities took a hit when he saw them coming from more than a block away. He squinted through the downpour to make out Mutt and Jeff, big and small, striding and limping. To their credit they didn’t slow or stare at him, but Calvino did stop to light a cigarette. That told Paul there were likely more than two of them. Who tries to smoke in the rain? It was clearly a signal. And when the little man put out the smoke and coughed, then laughed, Paul could only shake his head.
The two moved past him at the fountain without turning their heads, reached the next corner, took a right, then another, then came directly toward him. They sat on either side of him.
“Get your signal sent, Calvino?” Paul said.
“That?” the little man said. “Yes.” He chuckled.
“Something funny?” Paul said. “I mean, funnier than the three of us sitting next to a fountain in a cold rain?”
Calvino laughed. “I don’t smoke. It was a dumb signal.”
“And who were you signaling?”
A bigger, more serious voice now, from Paul’s other side. “You know who,” Baldassare said.
“The only other name I know here is your boss’s,” Paul said. “So that’s encouraging. You’re like the king’s food tasters, eh? If you don’t die from your encounter with me, he feels safe?”
Calvino was still grinning. “That’s about it, yes.”
“We have to search you,” Baldassare said. “You mind?”
“Of course I mind, but I agreed to it.”
“Stand up.”
“What? You’re going to do it right out here in public?”
“Nobody’s watching.”
“They will if you start frisking me, man.”
“Well, we can’t take you to Fabrizio until we know you’re unarmed.”
“Then let’s find a place where you can make sure.”
“Sounds good to me,” Calvino said, rising unsteadily.
“Just hold on,” Baldassare said. “We have to maintain control here.”
“How’s that working for you so far?” Paul said. “Come on, guys, really. Look, there’s an alley.” Paul pointed behind them and to the left. “It’s even lit, but it’s out of the view of traffic. Go there and wait for me and I’ll be along in a minute. Then you can give me a root canal if you need to.”
Calvino laughed aloud, and Baldassare shushed him. “Yeah,” the big man said. “We get over there and you come in shooting. Then where would we—?”
“Sir, think a minute. The fear here is that I am not what I claim to be. If that were true, which I assure you it is not, what would I gain by taking out you two? I wouldn’t have access to Fabrizio. I wouldn’t know where you assemble. I would have nothing.”
“That’s a relief,” Calvino said.
“You don’t think it’ll look a little strange,” Baldassare said, “two guys walking into an alley?”
“No stranger than you two walking down the street together.”
“Then you and I will go into the alley,” Baldassare told Paul, “and Calvino can keep an eye on you from behind and join us in a minute.”
“And what if I do you in before he gets there?” Paul said. It was like teaching Espionage 101.
“Like you said, even if you’re an infiltrator, that gets you nowhere.”
“Now you’ve got it, big man. Good plan. Let’s go.”
“Just a minut
e,” Baldassare said. “I’m a better shot. You two go and I’ll follow.”
“Anything to move this along,” Paul said, rising.
“Wait,” Calvino said. “We were supposed to ask him the questions.”
“Ask him on the way.”
Calvino limped alongside Paul as they headed for the alley. “Do you believe Jesus Christ came in the flesh?” he said.
“I do.”
“He is risen.”
“He is risen indeed. Hey, Calvino, you want to have some fun?”
“I’m not sure. I’m kinda scared right now.”
“Trust me, you’ll enjoy this, and so will Baldassare.”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t enjoy much. But what?”
“When we get in the alley, you search me and persuade yourself I’m unarmed. Then let’s move out onto the next street and let him wonder what happened to us.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t even know about searching you, because that takes two hands and if you are armed, you could get the drop on me.”
“Truth be told, Calvino, I could get the drop on you right now.” Paul turned and saw the smile fade on the smaller man.
“Baldassare has my back,” Calvino said.
“Then why are you scared?”
“Because I don’t know who you are. You’re trained and an expert and all that. We’re just underground believers.”
“Let me tell you something, sir. I am your brother in Christ. I am no more interested in harming you than the man in the moon.”
“I’d sure like to believe that.”
“You can, and you will, soon enough. Guess I can’t talk you into pretending to scream out in terror as soon as we’re out of Baldassare’s sight, can I?”
Calvino flashed him a double take, then grinned. “Just for fun, you mean? To scare him?”
“Of course.”
Calvino laughed. “Nah. No. We might give him a heart attack. He takes this all pretty serious, you know. I do too, even though it might not look like it. I laugh when I’m nervous.”
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