Exit Alpha (18 page)

‘Good. Let’s leave about nine.’ She began to clear the plates.

He said, ‘We’ll wash up. Won’t we, Father?’

Stromlo stood unsteadily. ‘Right.’

Eve got up. ‘Then I’ll see if my plaster’s a disaster.’

As they entered the kitchen, Cain glanced at the clock. The hands were still as he’d last seen them. He looked at the commercial dishwasher.

Stromlo said, ‘Don’t bother. You need a pilot’s licence. Detergent under the sink.’

Cain ran hot water and the priest found a tea towel. He said, ‘Has she corrupted you yet?’

‘Mattress mambo?
Si
.’

‘Disgusting.’

‘For someone who checks out their arses . . .’ He let it slide. ‘So is this place dry-cleaned?’

‘I had it scanned two days ago. Our tennis partners aren’t the Komitet. They’re not after secrets, just phenomena.’ He swayed to a drawer with a fistful of damp forks.

A drunken, self-pitying Stromlo. It was his chance to find out about John. ‘Ron told me about your run but I found it very confusing. She said you’d fill me in.’

‘Ah, yes. Security again,’ Stromlo said. ‘A case of it being too extreme.’

‘How’s that?’

‘The Vatican is a nest of secrets and manipulations presented as piety and Church procedure. Certain curial
monsignori
I do not name . . . One was a Jesuit. You know of the Arrupe matter?’

‘No.’

The priest polished plates dry with a drunk’s slow deliberation. ‘John Paul was a practical man with an inquisitive, topical mind. He called people by their first names, waved at people from his window, talked to Swiss Guards, the gardeners. Such a gift with people.’

‘Hasn’t changed.’

‘He wished to help the oppressed, the poor, to unite the Christian churches . . .’ The priest slammed plates on a shelf. ‘. . . and so some schemers in the Curia got to loathe his guts.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the pope is infallible. But — my God! My GOD! He mustn’t do as he likes. Padre Albino was fresh air — an outsider they found uncontrollable.’

Cain started washing pots. ‘I wonder what they’d think of him now.’

‘Even back
then
he was beyond them. Most of them just want to preserve Church authority — see human rights and democracy as an invention of the devil. They grind obedience from people’s pain — because original sin equals power over others. And Albino’s progressive agendas undermined that autocracy.’ The priest thrust pots into a cupboard. ‘Albino wasn’t afraid of the Curia — intended to reform it. There’d never been such hope, such promise in a pope.’

‘Then you were ordered to nobble him.’

He groaned. ‘No plenary indulgence will absolve this soul.’ He dried another pot with furious despair. ‘They demanded that we switch him before the meeting with Washington. That gave Pat no time to complete the surgery on the surrogate.’

‘How’d you cope?’

‘He arrived with a partial latex mask.’

‘Shit.’ It was worse than his predicament with Zia. ‘He couldn’t fool them for long like that.’

‘He had no chance to try. The night he was installed, a faction involved with the Vatican bank, not knowing about the scheme, killed him with digitalis. Or thought they did. Too much security, you see?’

‘Killed the duplicate — thinking he was John?’

‘Then Sister Vincenza found him dead and raised the alarm.’

‘How did you slide out of that?’

‘We sent the nuns and secretaries away but the damage was done. Vincenza and Father Magee saw him before Villot could rearrange the room. Lorenzi had to be told, of course.’

Stromlo assumed that he was familiar with the pontifical household. It showed that the drama, echoing in his head for years, had been amplified into an apocalypse that blurred reality.

‘We called the undertakers quickly and paid them well. Later we had to make the partial mask more waxen so it blended with the rest of the face.’ He dabbed his brow with the tea towel although it wasn’t hot in the room, touched the bench-top to steady himself. ‘He had to be displayed on a bier in the Sala Clementina and the latex was a nightmare. It looks wrong on a dead, relaxed face.’

He paused, his pickled mind haunting the apostolic palace. ‘Later we staged an autopsy and removed all signs of disguise before burial. We couldn’t have him embalmed. Now what’s left is safe inside three coffins which I pray will never be reopened.’

‘So — without a presentable duplicate, and because of the witnesses — you had to say he’d died.’

‘Yes. Total disaster. The Conclave convened again. And Wojtyla won the ballot.’

‘And now the Church has two popes.’

‘Not for the first time in its history.’

Cain chuckled. ‘What a cock-up.’

‘You think it
funny
?’ Stromlo’s affronted look. ‘You think it
funny
that I’ve destroyed the greatest chance God’s kingdom on earth ever had — dethroned a pope . . . killed my best friend Wolf . . . ?’

‘I think you did an amazing job — turned crud into apple pie. And Wolf wasn’t your fault. He did it to himself.’

‘In despair. In de-
spair
!’

‘And you saved John’s life. Without you, he’d be dead now.’

‘
Che Dio le renda merito
.’ He touched Cain’s shoulder in thanks, dabbed a sudden tear, fumbled the tea towel over the oven rail with a sot’s protracted attempt at care. ‘Do you pray?’ His sepulchral tone.

Cain said dryly, ‘I’m secretly devout.’

‘Then pray for this Judas burning in the furnace of his shame.’ Head bowed, he dragged from the room.

For some reason the performance struck Cain as hilarious. When he judged the man out of earshot he spluttered with mirth.

Eve opened the door. ‘Something funny?’

‘Stromlo,’ he laughed. ‘Funny man.’

‘He is? I must be dense.’

‘He’s dialectically defrocked. Reminds me of the French guy who said that his life had been full of tragedies — most of which never occurred.’

Her deep chuckle. ‘Spot-on for Stromlo. The frogs see life pretty sharply.’

‘It’s the precision of the language. Has a downside, of course. Takes them nine words to say “flush the toilet”.’

‘This is becoming such a meaningful exchange I think we should continue it in bed.’

‘I’m invited back?’

Her wicked look. ‘Command performance.’

E
ve left him around six and headed for the shower. ‘Deadlines. Got to hit the ground running.’

He went back to his room for his togs and walked down the back stairs to the atrium. As he passed Stromlo’s room he heard him moan. ‘Am I not myself when I’m asleep, oh Lord?’

The quote was from Augustine. Did the old boy have nocturnal emissions? Gandhi had confessed to them into his sixties, so it was physically possible.

He dived into the pool, struck out and, on the way back from the deep end, had a view of the gymnasium. Jane was seated on an inclined bench doing dumbbell curls, her slim body in a one-piece swimsuit.

On the return lap, he saw the red light on above the sauna door. Alpha, like many Antarctic bases, had a sauna and he enjoyed them. So, after four hundred strokes, he climbed from the pool and went in.

He was met by pleasing dry heat. He ladled water onto the coals, sat on the second bench up, closed his eyes and thought of Eve. She was proving the most sensuous of women — her body, moans, movements, a delight.

Muffled splashes outside. Jane was having her plunge. He let his mind drift, moisture pouring out of him.

The door clicked. The towel-draped Jane entered and ladled more water on the stove. She undid the towel and sat on it next to him, expressionless and naked. Slim strong legs and arms, trim hips, underdeveloped breasts. She was an exercise freak, his brief had explained. She looked like a bent schoolboy on oestrogen. She leaned against the wooden wall. ‘You shouldn’t wear a costume in here.’

‘Want me to take it off?’

‘You’d feel better.’

‘Okay.’ He stripped.

‘How was Eve? Satisfying?’

‘Very.’

‘I suppose you know we share things.’ She put her hand on him, working him hard. Then she moved over and impaled herself on his lap. He cradled her small moist breasts. ‘You’re an unconventional family.’

‘You mean, honest about what we want?’

Soon they were lying on the bench. It was pleasant but odd. He had his fingers on her clitoris, but his knuckles were being mashed into the wood. She raised herself a little to help him. She was awkward, determined. No sound. No frills. Just the intention to be satisfied in the most practical, efficient way.

She said, ‘On the floor. It’s wider.’

They disengaged and she lay on her back on the floor. The boy’s body, short hair, half-masculine face. He entered her again from the front. Her hands on his bottom were guiding him to thrust higher on her, harder.

She started to grunt, determined to come, body tensed, teeth gritted, hands clamped on him as if arresting him for possession.

After the savage delight of her climax, she relaxed and let him finish in her. Although the floor of the sauna was cooler he felt as if his head would explode.

‘Swim now,’ she said, as if it was the next part of an exercise routine.

They fell into the pool, needing to cool off fast.

When they surfaced, Stromlo was standing by the fernery, sipping orange juice, the cord of his frayed dressing gown trailing on the tiles. He shook his head sadly, turned and shuffled away.

‘Dirty old hypocrite,’ she said. ‘Tells us how sinful we are. But he perves.’

The staff were back and the capable Chinese cook packed them an excellent lunch. He left Stromlo holding the fort, Eve working on her moulds, and went bushwalking with Jane.

She was a practised tramper with a persistent steady pace and, on steep climbs with fewer toes, it was tough keeping up with her. She’d brought a machete and hacked at encroaching branches. For three hours they barely spoke. He tried to relate the trails to a walking map she’d given him of the area.

They ate near the peak of a mountain beside a tarn ringed by daisies where robins fluttered in the underbrush and squabbling parakeets drifted on the air. The view was impressive — thickening forest of beech and rimu dotted by huge tree ferns and mountain scrub.

‘So what’s your take on the poltergeist?’ he asked.

‘It’s a fact of life.’ She stared at mist trapped lower in the valley. ‘I try to work around it.’

‘Nina seems very disturbed.’

‘Don’t cry for that sneaky little minx.’

‘You all need to leave here. The Russians have tried the polite approach. Next time they’ll march in and grab you.’

‘Leave this?’ She waved at the opposite peak. A ribbon of white water cascaded down its rocks. ‘Leave my job, the gym, the sauna, the pool?’

‘But if they pinch you, you’ll have nothing.’

She just stared at the stream of falling water.

It was an all-day tramp. Some of the track was overgrown and they saw no one. On a long descent during the afternoon, they reached a mountain stream, undressed and dunked. The water was very cold and they had no towels so sat on her space blanket, letting the weak sun dry their skin.

She pointed to his holstered SIG and the two clips.

‘What’s this?’

‘Tool of trade.’

‘Fully deductible?’ The expressionless look that could be either dispassion or disgust.

He began to stroke her arms, wanting her again, licked the last droplets from her neck.

Almost irritably, she lay face down, legs apart on the blanket. Her attitude to sex had the rough practicality of a guerilla fighter on the trail.

He mounted her and it was good. Strong back and small neat buttocks — she seemed to prefer it from the rear. She lay as if uninterested for a while before she started to grunt, push back, then came in her repressed, explosive way.

After it, he tried to fondle her but her emotionless manner discouraged him. She pointed to his foot. ‘You’re getting a blister.’ She rummaged in her bag, peeled a sticking-plaster, slapped it on his heel. He imagined it was the nearest she came to an expression of affection.

When they reached the house, it was almost dusk. Stromlo must have picked them up. He was framed in the back door, looking at his perimeter handset, the plonk smell heavy around him.

‘
Buona sera
,’ Cain said. ‘Everything okay?’

‘No. I’m glad you’re back. Intelligence report. Five guests tonight. From Russia!’

Jane took her boots off on the back porch and walked past as if she barely knew them. Cain waited till she’d gone and said, ‘Five? Hell. We’d better get set up.’

He got the large khaki metal box out of his car boot and lugged it to Stromlo’s room. The Grade Four priest had his ordinance spread on the bed. It contrasted oddly with the crucifix on the wall and the statue of the Virgin.