“Don’t worry about it. You already have the keys, don’t you? Let’s go and look at it tomorrow.”
They agreed to this before parting.
Davide wandered down the hill under a full moon.
At the Residence Monteverde he let himself in but instead of going to his bedroom he went to their work room to sit and think. Almost half a million dollars was a lot of unexpected money, plus a six-month contract with the opportunity to stay in Rome. He couldn‘t believe it.
He smiled to himself. It might be fun negotiating with Father Federico but that meant he needed to find other people to bring in to support him beside the part time Father Giorgio. The prospect of working with the latter was good. He pulled his laptop towards him.
He heard a knock. He looked at his smartphone. Just after midnight. Who could it be? The door opened. Caterina entered.
She was different. Ah, the hair. It was no longer white-blonde but a very light brown and cut shorter. She was dressed differently too, in short grey boots, figure-hugging black trousers that almost seemed like leggings, and a black jersey top. She was Italian chic at its best, and without the rather younger yet rougher presentation of the weeks before. This was not Australian aggression but something way more subtle and European.
“May I come in?”
“You have already. Sit down. What can I do for you?”
“Conor has left with Paulino for Lyons. He asked me to apologise that he couldn’t say goodbye in person but hopes to see you in London before long.”
She paused, as if uncertain.
“He also said that if I was going home I should ask you what happened with the cardinal.”
“Nelson told me you have resigned from Interpol and that Paulino was disappointed. Why did you do that, especially after all you’ve contributed? You were set for great things in Lyons, if I understood correctly.”
“I looked at myself and didn’t like what I saw. I was offensive to you, Conor and even to the Condesa and Smith ladies. I know I cracked a few computer problems but I wasn’t contributing in the ways I hoped to. In some respects it was a gut decision. I’m renting a car to go to Certaldo, my namesake, for a long weekend and then dropping it off to catch the Quantas flight to Sydney on Sunday evening, via Dubai, worst luck. But don’t change the subject. What else did the cardinal tell you? Conor hinted at something special.”
Davide said nothing, just picked up the cheque and handed it over.
“Oh my god! $475,000 dollars! You are not bullshitting me?”
“What do you have in your hand, drawn on JP Morgan no less? And, as an extra, he wants me to set up a team in Rome to work on validating and extending the HolyPhone for six months. Plus he made a large apartment available to José Antonio for the duration of his life. I’m even invited to move in.”
Caterina squawked, her black eyes flashing.
“I am pleased for José Antonio. The only decent one of you,” she added cattily. “Are you going to accept the project?”
“Probably.”
“Why only probably?”
He pointed to the cheque, saying, “Think how much free time that buys me.”
“You couldn’t do it. You would be bored.”
“I could write a novel about a HolyPhone, perhaps? That would keep me occupied.”
“You wouldn’t dare. The church would chase you to hell.”
“In that you are certainly right.”
“Okay. Now that I know I have a proposition for you.” She hesitated again. “Actually it’s two propositions.”
Davide looked puzzled: “What propositions? I don’t understand.”
“The first is that I want to be part of your business, your business partner if you like. I know you can use my computer skills and I know I need your business sense.”
“A modest little proposition. And the second one?” Davide was giving nothing away. Would he really want to work with her again? But he knew she knew her stuff.
There was another longer gap, as if she couldn‘t make up her mind. A gentle flush suffused her face and neck. Eventually Caterina burst out, speaking far too fast: “I want us to sleep together!”
Internally she cringed at how she’d expressed it, more Australian-crude like Emilia than the European-sophisticated she intended. He hadn’t even noticed her hair or how she was dressed; she had taken such pains. Caterina glared at him indignantly, as if it was his fault that she’d said what she had.
For his part Davide was equally taken aback. The business idea had logic and he did need her. He certainly trusted her abilities. But her second suggestion stunned him. He had no idea what to say. He was not used to being propositioned. This had not ever happened to him before.
They looked at each other; Caterina reluctant but expectant, Davide struck as always by those black eyes. He prevaricated.
“You surprise me. We haven’t liked each other since the first day. You’ve snipped and snapped at Conor and me consistently. Why would I want –”
She interrupted. “In some ways you are a fool, Davide Shape. I’ve watched enviously at how smoothly you navigate church politics with a cardinal, police politics with Conor, Paulino and Pedro, and your simple decency with José Antonio and the Condesa. I got zilch out of my Ms Smith in the car whilst in the same time you opened up the whole can of worms with the Condesa. You’re a pain, even if you are polite and considerate. Yet I like you for this. I want to know more.” She stared intently at Davide before lowering her eyes temporarily. “I’m sorry for being brash, Australian, and gawky. I don’t want to –”
“Gawky? Have you become the fool now? Have you inspected yourself in a mirror this evening? I have no clue what you’ve done but the Aussie has disappeared and instead I see the sophistication and elegance of Rome or Milan.”
He looked at her again. It was true.
“I do like your suggestion about working together on the HolyPhone, if you want to stay in Rome. About being a business partner, I’m not sure.”
“Why not?”
“Because it could become complicated,” ducked Davide, knowing he wasn’t saying what he should.
“Complicated? How so? Explain.”
“What would happen if we went down your second proposition route? Mixing business and romance usually doesn’t work.”
Caterina stared at him, in outright surprise. He had noticed. Might he mean?
“You’ve taken two steps forward with me tonight, Caterina. I’ll only tell you about one, though. You apologised. That is a first in the last month. Don’t get all Aussie-affronted! Think about it.
“If, however, you invite me to go with you to Certaldo, let’s find out what happens. Maybe something will and maybe nothing.”
Caterina jumped up to hug Davide. He could only respond.
“Book two rooms if we are staying there. What about your flight?”
“I’ve a confession to make – actually three. The first is that I had found out the flight time but I have not booked. The second is that I asked José Antonio what to do.”
“You mean he knew about this all evening? That shrivelled clown of a priest! I had wondered if there was something he wasn’t saying. Now it makes sense. And the third confession, or do you need a HolyPhone?”
“This time, no; and please don’t blame José Antonio. I went to him. The third one: I agree with you.”
“Agree with me? About what?”
“Do you remember an argument you were having with José Antonio about the good and the bad St Peters?”
“Yes, it is an entertaining ongoing dispute from when we first met.”
“I asked him. I was intrigued about what the difference was. José Antonio explained about some German art historian that you always quote at him.”
“You mean that ‘Art is in a state of decline when it aspires to massiveness through colossal proportions’?’”
“Yes, something like that. In the last week I went to both churches. The Basilica of St Peters is gigantic.
It overwhelms. It crushes you with its size and pomposity. When I saw the Tempietto in San Pietro di Montorio for the first time I understood. You don’t know if it is five or fifty metres across or high. It is not simple but it embraces you. I wasn’t oppressed. Rather I felt encouraged to explore. I’ve been back twice.
“You will probably think me very naïve. I hope not. If you can see like that I am sure I can like you and you me. I decided it would be worth risking rejection.”
Davide felt overwhelmed, yet somehow encouraged.
“Next I will introduce you to Donatello’s Davide and Michelangelo’s one in Florence. Then let’s see what you think.
“Stop, Caterina, before you say any more! I’ve had too many shocks this evening. But roll on Certaldo if you mean it.” He picked up his cheque and took her by the hand. “Now we are going to bed. Separately. I’ll see you to your room.”
“You are a scumbag, courteous to the very last. But I accept.”
They smiled to each other – another first.
Thursday, El Roble, Yuste
Miriam was making dinner. Inma was due back from Madrid any time now. As she chopped vegetables she listened out for the little bell that sounded when someone was part way along the drive, acting as both an alarm or to warn of impending visitors. She was feeling pleasantly relaxed now that Inma was almost home. Being alone the previous night, despite their phone call, had been harder than expected.
The bell tinkled quietly. It was easy to miss. A minute or so later Miriam heard the crunch of tyres on the gravel. She carried on even when she sensed Inma coming in. This was a game they liked to play to see who would touch the other where. It was fun. She had quickly identified that a certain spot on Inma’s inner left thigh was inexplicably erotic for her, while Inma had needed gentle guidance to find her own special place at the base of her throat. She felt a breath on the back of her neck and was twisted round so that Inma could first kiss and then gently suck. As Miriam felt its arousing effect she reached down and her fingers slid up inside Inma’s skirt to reciprocate. Within a minute they were heading upstairs, already breathless.
A couple of hours later they sat down for dinner. Inma poured some good wine.
“How was Madrid?”
“Unexpectedly good. And I have so much to tell you, including about two interesting phone calls.”
“And …?”
“Well …”
“Stop it, Inma! Don’t tease now! I just want to know.”
“You are right. I must not tease, but remember it was you who taught me.”
“More fool me.”
“First I saw my sisters for a typically late Madrid dinner last night.”
“You didn’t tell me,” Miriam accused. “What happened? What did you wear?”
“I didn’t know for sure until the last moment. I arrived deliberately late, wearing the black jeans we bought in Rome, that man’s shirt and my leather jacket. I walked up to their table and they didn’t recognise me until I sat down.” It felt good telling Miriam this.
“They looked at me in disbelief before asking me what had happened. I said I had met someone. They made me stand up and turn around in front of everybody. That unnerved me. When I was allowed to sit again they agreed that he must have excellent taste. They loved the clothes. So I just said ‘She’.”
“And then? Come on Inma, tell me!”
Inma grinned in fond remembrance.
“‘She?’ they exclaimed together. They put two and two together, particularly that a woman must have done my make-up, as they knew all too well that I am hopeless. I told them that ‘she’ is called Miriam and is from New Jersey and how we met on a business trip.” Inma laughed at that mild misrepresentation. “They swarmed round to hug and congratulate me, demanding to meet you as soon as possible. Don’t worry. It can be whenever we want. I put them off. But they were so generous and pleased for me, and you — just as I’d hoped.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“Yes, it felt like that.
“This morning I went to my now old employers and resigned. They did not seem to care much except about what would happen to the Opus investment accounts. I said I was leaving Opus, which did shock them, because most are sheltered Opus bigots to be honest. I departed on chilly terms. I intentionally forgot to tell them that they might have problems in the future fighting the Vatican for possession of the funds.
“Next I must explain something. Do you know what Bitcoins are?”
“Sort of,” replied Miriam. “I did some investigation of them at Lehmans, before they became fashionable.”
That was not quite the whole story. She waited for Inma to continue.
“I began collecting Bitcoins soon after they started. At first nothing much happened. The odd Bitcoin was mined and credited to me. Then I was asked to spend time supervising the Opus Dei personal computers across Spain. One day it occurred to me that most of the time these computers were doing nothing. I decided to put them to work at night for me and worked out a way to pool their computing resources in the days when it took much less processing to mine a Bitcoin. I installed my programme on all of them, some many, many dozens. Yet I forgot about all this when I was taken off that task. About a year ago I read that the value of Bitcoins was rising. I checked my anonymous Bitcoin wallet and over several years of my inattention I found I had nearly ten thousand.”
“Ten thousand? But that number would be now worth millions of dollars.”
“They would be if I hadn’t started selling them when their value went over $250 each. I had to stop when we were taken to Rome. This was why I was so nervous about others having access to my laptop. My Bitcoin wallet was stored in that encrypted partition.”
“Does that mean that Interpol has them? How many had you sold?”
“About $3 million dollars’ worth, all of which went into a personal overseas account. But I need to explain something else. Have you heard of plausible deniability?”
“No, never.”
“The easiest way to break encryption is not via vast amounts of computation but quite simply to persuade, blackmail, extract by force or torture the password from the encrypted data’s owner. In effect this is what the Australian lady did to me when she demanded my password. If I had not given it then we were in deep trouble.
“Plausible deniability hides a second encrypted volume inside the first. What happens is this. Until decrypted, an encrypted partition appears to consist of nothing more than random bits in which it is impossible to prove how that data is filed or divided. You can have what I might call outer data and inner data with different passwords for their decryption. I gave the Australian the password to the outer data, containing all my Opus Dei material, which filled over 90 per cent of the encrypted partition space. There was no way she or anyone else could prove there was an additional inner partition. It was in this where I kept my Bitcoin wallet and the details of my overseas account.”
Miriam stared at Inma in disbelief.
“That was why I wanted the laptop back. I couldn’t say so. All I could do was try to seem helpful and hope. But we got it back when we returned here. Today I sold the remainder of the Bitcoins and when I am paid that will amount to another $4 million-plus dollars of which one million is for you if you want to start a business here in Spain. And stay.
“No, it’s not a bribe. I think your suggestion the other day that we work together in the same business is probably not a good one. Pleasure and business and all that. But I’m happy to invest in something you want to do, like I did with María.”
If Miriam had at first been astounded, now she was shell-shocked.
“But does that money coming from selling the Bitcoins not belong to the Vatican?”
“No way. I suppose Opus could argue that the creation of the Bitcoins was calculated on their computers, but it was me who did the work to set up the mining pool and I do not feel very pro-Opus at present, in case you hadn’t noticed. Opus has already benefited hugely f
rom my past efforts. No, I decided these were mine. I didn’t say anything so as not to distress you.
“My first call was relevant to today’s selling of the Bitcoins. Early this morning Pedro – the polite, suited CNP policeman at Barajas – phoned me. He verbally confirmed that he had heard from Lyons that all we offered had checked out and we should expect no more questions about the HolyPhone, providing we keep our noses clean and say nothing, which is what we propose to do.”
“That is truly wonderful news! I knew we were 99 per cent in the clear but to be 100 per cent sounds way better. I am so relieved.”
“Me too. It made my day doubly because this cleared the way to access my Bitcoin wallet and to sell the rest, which is what I did.
“I’m not sure what you will make of my second call. It was from Davide who is still in Rome. He was sweet in the way he asked about us without quite saying too much or implying anything.”
“What did he want?”
“To let us know that Noach is still at Barajas and driving El Al crazy. Apparently the Vatican has made a formal request to the Spanish government to interview him, thus enabling the government to resist Israeli pressure to allow him to go. In fact he thought that the Israelis would eventually try to smuggle him out. He intimated that the Spanish would be rather pleased if this illegal act occurred because it would provide a future negotiating edge with the Israelis, which they rather like the idea of having.
“He also mentioned Michele. Apparently he was not quite straight with us in Tel Aviv, or with the Vatican, surprise, surprise. He had taken much more than he indicated to us for himself.”
“So what is happening to him?”
“That is the part I am not sure how you will react to. He eventually told all, formally confessed, and turned everything over to the Vatican. In its wisdom the Vatican has sent him to live in an austere monastery in Rome where he can only go out to perform his penance by doing some daily task for two years. That task is to work, wait for it, cariño … in the Call Centre hearing confessions. As Davide said, even if he does make it through and still wishes to remain a priest, he will go back to a US parish. The ultimate irony: he will encounter a HolyPhone every day.”
The HolyPhone Confessional Crisis Page 38
