Magnificat (8 page)

There was a slight hesitation. “You do not know why they are seeking her? You have not discovered the purpose for the inquiry?”

“No, to both questions. And there was no extracting information from Cadini. He may be famous for the witty stories he tells, but about this he’s politely closed-mouthed.” Martin narrowed his eyes as he looked at the clock, calculating the time in Moscow. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“It is not so late,” said Dmitri. “I have been at a reception at the German embassy. It was a grand occasion: six hundred guests or so and everyone in formal clothes. The champagne was German and they served it lavishly, and savory pastries. Very smug, the Germans are, at least on the surface. But they are in trouble, and we all know it. This time it is more than the question of where the borders go. So I was ordered to attend, as was Borseyev of Military Intelligence. We’re to…compare notes later this morning. There are a few leaks that must be plugged.”

“I’m sure having you there made the Germans feel much better,” said Martin with a cynical laugh, remembering how his father had railed at the Germans for not immolating their entire country on the altar of anti-Communism.

“You’re disrespectful, like all Hungarians,” said Dmitri with his own version of good humor which vanished as quickly as it appeared. “I returned only ten minutes ago and there was a message waiting for me. Shall I tell you what it said?”

“About Zhuang Renxin?” Suddenly Martin Bell was paying close attention.

“Yes,” said Dmitri slowly. “Word was relayed to my office by modem and my night secretary delivered the information.” He paused, letting Martin recognize the magnitude of the favor he had requested. “I warn you that I expect a full disclosure from you as soon as you learn why Cardinal Cadini wants to find this woman.”

“Woman?” asked Martin, startled; he realized he had heard Dmitri call Zhuang
her
before, and it had not registered with him.

“Woman.”

“A nun, do you think?” Martin ventured, his theories all in disarray.

“A widow,” said Dmitri bluntly. “Aged forty-one years. She is a local magistrate—I forget the specific title they use for them now. Her reputation is excellent; they say she strives for fairness.” He waited, and when Martin said nothing more, he asked, “What about the Cardinal?”

Martin shook his head, then answered in a distant voice, “I haven’t any idea. I thought it had to be one of those missing priests you hear about from time to time, or someone who had important information about one of the Cardinals being considered for Pope. I thought it might be something the Church wanted to hide. But this.…” He noticed that it was two minutes later than the last time he had glanced at the clock.

“A past…embarrassment?” suggested Dmitri.

Martin faltered. “I don’t think any of the current College of Cardinals served in China. Tayibha comes from India, Madras; that isn’t near enough.” He checked his pockets for his lighter and cigarettes. “A middle-aged woman magistrate from Szechwan Province. I wonder why.”

“Do your best to find out, Martin-my-friend. And quickly. If you don’t, I will not be so…helpful in future. I might have to alter the nature of our relationship.” He changed his tone. “You have been a very useful agent, Martin. Who would suspect a Stanford Professor who fled Hungary in his youth to be a Colonel in the KGB? And in these days, too. We have few agents with so flawless a cover. It is this very usefulness of yours that has convinced me not to question the occasional assistance you ask of the KGB; still, I can’t help but regard all requests with…suspicion is too strong a word, but I believe it makes my point.”

Right between the ribs, thought Martin, who had few illusions about what lay beneath Dmitri’s courteously smooth exterior. “Dmitri, no one is more perturbed by this than I. You have my word that I will devote time and effort to learning more about this woman. I promise you.” He could hear rising panic in his voice but told himself that Dmitri could not possibly be aware of it. And he knew he was lying to himself

“You are a reliable and persevering fellow, Martin,” said Dmitri. “You’ve handled puzzling situations before, like that biological experiment back in California. No one ever traced the information to you or anyone near you. You remember how pleased we all were. I know you’re capable of doing it again. It would be useful for us to know what the Church wants from this woman. Shall we say by this time next week? I’m afraid I must ask you to give us a little more than your usual excellent report.” He was silent for a carefully calculated three seconds. “If you can’t do this, I doubt I can continue to protect you as I’ve done in the past.”

“I see,” said Martin Bell, feeling his bones go cold. “Rest assured, I’ll give it my highest priority.”

“Exactly.” Three more interminable seconds went by. “Next week, then. Good luck with your researches.”

Martin said his adieux to an empty line.

* * *

They arrived in Hong Kong at three a.m. with as little fuss as possible: Cardinal Mendosa had traveled in what he called his civvies and was no more remarkable than any other fifty-seven-year-old business man in first class. Willie Foot had already arranged for Dame Leonie Purcell to send a car for them, and the local Bishop had been warned with regrets that Cardinal Mendosa was on urgent and private business, and was unavailable to him. Very few of the reporters who lay in wait at the airport were around at that hour, and so Willie and Cardinal Mendosa were on their way almost without incident.

One Chinese paparazzo tried to get pictures of the two men, but Willie had too many years’ experience to be caught in the flash. He moved quickly, blocking Cardinal Mendosa entirely as they both got into the limousine; he closed the door before the frustrated fellow could try for a second shot.

Dame Leonie Purcell was waiting for them, a light tea much the same as she had served to Liang laid out, though it was more appropriate for four in the afternoon than four in the morning. Aside from faint shadows under her large, burnt-toast-colored eyes, there was nothing about her dress or behavior to suggest there was anything unusual about the hour or occasion of their meeting. After Hastings left them alone she turned to Cardinal Mendosa and offered him a plate of scones. “We have clotted cream, of course, and preserves.”

“This is excellent,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “I am truly most appreciative, Dame Leonie.”

“Thank you, Your Eminence.” She looked over toward Willie Foot. “Was it a good flight?”

Willie always found it difficult to make small-talk with Leonie. He nodded several times, and was relieved when Cardinal Mendosa took over for him. “We had a few bumps, naturally. You kind of expect that, coming so far. But for the most part it was uneventful. They had two movies and an endless parade of advertisements to entertain us.” He glanced over at Willie, a little puzzled by his friend’s discomfort. “I’ve been trying to figure out what time it is. I’m afraid I tend to get jet lag—more now than when I was younger. It takes this body a while to catch up with itself. I don’t know what the arrangements you’ve made are, but—”

Dame Leonie beamed at him. “Let me tell you what has been arranged. There has been short notice, but as you are traveling without entourage, it was not too hard to make accommodations. Tomorrow night you will go from here into Guangzhou, privately, of course. You will stay with a Danish importer who maintains a house there. He is very discreet and will make sure no information about his visitors leaks out. The next morning you will be driven northwest into Szechwan Province. It is a very long drive even with the new Revolutionary Highway. It is roughly six hundred miles from Guangzhou to Congqing, and over two hundred more to Hongya. I assume you will need three days to make the journey, given the state of the highway and the realities of fuel and lodgings. All those things have been arranged, transportation and places to stay. Provided you do not draw attention to yourselves, there is no reason for this little expedition of yours not to go smoothly.” She looked over at Willie. “I wish I could go along.”

“We’d have lots of attention then. The British Ambassadress to Hong Kong larking about central China with a reporter and a Texan Cardinal. No. You stay here. It’s too risky,” said Willie softly. “I’ll see you when we get back.” He made no move toward her, but watching them, Cardinal Mendosa had the oddest notion that they had kissed.

Her cheeks were a bit pinker as Dame Leonie turned back to Cardinal Mendosa. “You will have two drivers, and in Dushan there will be a second car if you require it.” She regarded Cardinal Mendosa steadily. “This may be a tactless question, but what is so important about this Chinese widow that a Cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church is seeking her out?”

Cardinal Mendosa wondered if the room was bugged and hesitated to speak bluntly because of his doubts. “I have to discuss a few matters with her,” he answered.

Dame Leonie nodded. “Perhaps you’ll tell me what they are if you have the responses you are seeking. On your way back.”

“Possibly,” said Cardinal Mendosa, praying that he would be able to tell her news that would shock the world. “I hope I will be able to.” He tried unsuccessfully to conceal a yawn. “Forgive me. That travel’s getting the better of me. I’m starting to nod off, and I can’t keep my thoughts straight.” He took a generous swig of tea. “I hope you will not find me inexcusably rude if I ask to be shown to my room? I’m quite tired. It would be worse if I fell asleep over the crumpets, wouldn’t it?”

“Certainly, Eminence,” she said, rising and going to the old-fashioned bell-pull to summon her butler. “I wasn’t sure how you prefer to deal with jet lag. There are those who want to stay up until they are driven to sleep.”

“Well, up or down, it’s getting hard to keep two thoughts together. So I’ll thank you for this wonderful late-night snack, and I’ll look forward to seeing you at late lunch, shall we say?” He bent over her hand but did not actually kiss it.

Hastings opened the door and said, “If you will follow me, Your Eminence?”

When Cardinal Mendosa was gone, Leonie came back and sat opposite Willie. “He’s quite charming.”

“That he is,” said Willie, wishing he dared to take her into his arms again.

“I wonder how much of his Texas mannerisms are affectations and how many are real?” she asked, speaking as much to herself as to him.

“Well, he can lay them on very thickly; I’ve seen him do it.” He knew how much Cardinal Mendosa like keeping others off-balance. “He can also set them aside. He’s no naive wild-west cowboy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, no. That much was obvious.” She gave a small, decisive shake of her head. “I wasn’t thinking that at all.” When she looked at Willie again her expression had changed. “I have missed you.”

“Leonie—” he cautioned, making a gesture to remind her of the danger of being overheard. “I don’t think—”

“I haven’t had anyone to go to films with, no one who shares my interests in them. It’s quite…frustrating. And you know my husband’s tastes don’t run to films.” It was their code: she was telling him she had been celibate since he left.

“I’m…sorry to hear that. But I’m glad I was of some value to you.” He stared down at his milky tea. “I didn’t mean that quite the way it came out.”

“I realize that,” she said, and indicated the tea tray. “Is there anything else you want here?”

“Yes, there is,” he said, looking directly at her. “But I think I’d better follow Mendosa’s example and get some rest. We’re going to have a long couple of days.” He put his teacup aside and rose. “I don’t know—there’s something about being around Americans. They rub off on me. I start catching their slang. It’s quite dreadful.”

“A tough break,” she said, trying to sound like a film gangster.

He allowed himself one touch. His fingers brushed down her cheek to her jaw. His gangster accent was not much better than hers. “Yeah. Ain’t it just.”

* * *

Jeffrey, Cardinal Durand of Baltimore sat in his satin cassock across the desk from the Deputy Assistant Secretary of State and did his best to put the fellow at ease, a task that taxed his skills more than he liked to admit. He had already spoken with the man’s advisor in order to secure their meeting, and realized that if the Deputy Assistant Secretary of State could be convinced to help them, he would have two more such interviews ahead of him. “You can understand why the conclave has been at an impasse.”

“No,” said Tyler Mather, making no effort to cooperate with the Cardinal. He touched his tie-tack to activate his micro-recorder. “I doubt anyone in Washington understands what’s going on with the conclave.”

“Well,” said Cardinal Durand, growing flustered too early on, “I should think it’s obvious, with two Popes dead so close together.”

“Not if it serves your purpose,” said Mather, making no apology for his indirect accusation.

“It does not serve the purposes of the Church, believe me,” said Cardinal Durand with asperity. He decided that he was too old for these verbal chess games.

“If you say so,” Mather responded neutrally.

Cardinal Durand took another tack. “You know, back when I was still a Catholic chaplain, during the Korean War, I used to hear men ask what it was supposed to be all about. They were maimed and dying, no older than I was: I was just a kid myself, and I didn’t have any answers for them, except that in some incomprehensible way, it was the Will of God.”

“And you’re saying that two dead Popes are the Will of God?” Mather challenged. “That’s a pretty facile statement, Your Eminence.”

“It’s not intended to be.” He shoved his chair back a little so he could look out of his office window at the garden. “You can’t imagine how much we all wish this were over and behind us. No one knows.”

“Sure,” said Mather, his handsome, mask-like face revealing nothing.

Cardinal Durand turned back to Mather. “There are reasons for these difficulties, just as there are reasons for the Church to ask the United States to assure us of their support of the new Pope, whoever it may be.” This was the part he hated most, the bargaining and fencing.

“You know we can’t do that, Your Eminence,” said Mather.