by Bunn, Davis
Elena assumed they were in her back garden, though everything she saw was blurred, as though Antonio’s presence affected her so powerfully that she could focus on nothing else. She turned her face upward. She watched as heavy clouds peeled back like sky-bound drapes. The sun turned the cloud’s leading edge to fire. The sky was blue-black and pure and achingly empty. Antonio said something to her. She wanted to reply. She wanted to tell him how blessed she felt, how happy.
But she could not speak, because suddenly she was gasping for air. The stench of old smoke became so fierce that she could not breathe. She tasted the cold sulfur eat into her lungs. She was dying and there was nothing she could do about it.
Antonio leapt from the bench. He ran toward the danger. He was going to protect her. But the smoke opened like the maw of a gray beast, and it consumed him.
Elena gasped and shot up in bed, then opened her eyes. She rose from her pallet, greeted the two women, and padded into the bathroom. She stared into the mirror and told herself over and over that it was just a dream.
42
WEDNESDAY
The scene awaiting Elena in the kitchen was achingly similar to her second dream. Even so, it was not the same. Elena did not so much wonder what the differences meant as wish she could simply cast the dawn aside. All the goodness was gone. All the hope. All the divine assurance. In their place was only dread.
Lawrence stood by the kitchen window. His wife stood beside him and rubbed a spot between his shoulder blades. Soft circular strokes, a reassuring touch. Feeding a need that was evident on Lawrence’s face. A folded newspaper dangled from Lawrence’s hand. Elena recognized the masthead for the Wall Street Journal. Antonio was seated at the kitchen table. The Financial Times was spread out before him. Rumpled copies of The Times and The Independent and The Guardian were piled at the table’s far end. Shirley Wainwright and Janine were both seated at the table as well. Brian stood in the corner. The vicar was the only person to acknowledge Elena’s arrival. “Coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Brian poured her a mug. “Milk and sugar is on the counter there. How did you sleep?”
“All right. What’s the matter?”
Lawrence Harwood walked over and seated himself across from Antonio. Sandra moved to where she could place one hand on his shoulder. Her eyes were softly tragic. She did not look Elena’s way.
Antonio said, “They have named the commissions. Both of them.”
Lawrence rubbed a hand across his mouth. The firm resolve he had shown the previous day was gone now. In its place was a hollow vacancy.
Antonio said, “All of our allies have been erased from the list. Every single one. They have been replaced by the banks’ lackies.”
Shirley Wainwright said, “That can’t happen.”
Lawrence looked at her but did not speak.
Antonio said, “People will think the commissions are there to protect them. But they are a sham. A mask. The banks will actually have more freedom than before.”
Shirley Wainwright said, “We have to stop them.”
“We don’t even have an ally we can trust to pass on what is actually happening,” Antonio said. His voice was flat as pounded tin. “They have won.”
Shirley Wainwright’s voice cracked softly. “My Teddy did not die in vain.”
Elena walked to the kitchen window. The morning light was gray and dimmed by a heavy rain. But there was no army. Her view was of a garden that had been left fallow for three years. A few perennials pushed through the blanket of weeds, defiant splashes of color and hope. Elena watched Gerald make another silent pass around the rear of the house. The bodyguard’s face was lost inside his hooded parka. Elena lowered her head until her forehead met the window. She prayed, or tried to. But the words felt as empty as the sound of rain striking the window’s other side.
She hated the doubt as much as she hated the fear. She assumed she had moved beyond all that. Toward what, she had no idea. She figured she would know when the time came. The days were already too full. Elena opened her eyes and lifted her head. The rain still fell.
She turned around and said, “Last night I had a dream.”
Even Lawrence turned around.
“Actually, I had two. Or three. I’m not …” As she raised her mug she realized her hand was trembling. “There is some confusion. And it’s left me uncertain whether it really was the truth that I saw.”
“Tell us,” Lawrence said.
She related her dream about the army, then described the feeling that had accompanied it. She finished by saying, “But all around this was such confusion that now I’m just not sure I should even have told you.”
“It was absolutely the truth.” Shirley Wainwright did not quite shout the words. “This is from God. I know it.”
“Shirley is right,” Brian said. “The Scriptures are full of accounts where man is called to do his best, then stand aside. Which is precisely what is happening today.”
Sandra Harwood asked, “What do we do now?”
“That’s simple enough. Elena has brought to us the divine call to wait.” Brian reached out his arms, motioning for the others to join hands. “And pray.”
Whenever Elena opened her door on Boars Hill, she always breathed deeply enough to carry the country fragrances into the city. The action was so natural that she had not thought about it until this morning, when she opened the vicarage’s front door and tasted a wet metallic tint. She wore a wool turtleneck with a cotton shirt underneath. The defunct store’s top floor was stuffy and tended to get overheated. The air-conditioning worked in name only. The windows were papered over and would not open. She could not imagine what it would be like working there in July. Elena waited while Gerald flagged a passing taxi and she wondered where she would be in another month’s time.
Antonio slipped into the taxi beside her. “Is everything all right?”
“I have no idea.” When she had announced she was going to the hospital to check on Charles, the bodyguard who had been injured in the attack on her home, Antonio had said he very much wanted to go with her. Which was a surprise, since he had never even met the man. Elena disliked how looking his way brought up the nightmare images. She opened her mouth to tell him of her fears. But the air did not come. It felt as though an invisible fist had closed around her throat. Denying her access to her own words. She watched the gray world swish past, wondering where God had gone.
Antonio checked the controls above his door. These new black cabs were fitted with Plexiglas screens behind the driver’s compartment. If passengers wanted to speak with the driver, they had to flip a switch by the reading lamp. A light burned green on the switch when the microphone was activated. The light was off now. Antonio asked, “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
“I had a dream last night.”
Only when she swiveled in her seat did she realize he was nervous. “Why didn’t you say something when we were all together?”
He gave her what she could only describe as a mechanical smile. His lips compressed and turned up at the edges. His features rearranged into familiar creases. But the nervous look of his gaze said it was all a mask. “Two reasons. First, it was not really a dream. I was awake. Or almost. I really don’t know how to describe it. I woke in the middle of the night and lay there listening to the rain.”
At that instant, Elena knew the other reason. The dream had been about them. She clenched the wool over her racing heart.
“I was drifting. I knew I was almost awake, and almost asleep. It was a wonderful feeling. I remembered how I used to do this when I was young. There was a meadow near my grandparents’ home. Their village was on a hill in the region known as Umbria. The meadow was communal, an ancient right handed down for centuries. All the villagers could graze their animals. There were a few very old trees. My favorite was a truly massive chestnut, where we lads would climb for hours. One day it was a pirate vessel, the next a castle being attacked b
y dragons. When we grew tired I would lie on the soft grass and watch the clouds until I drifted away. Just another cloud in a beautiful blue sky. I had not thought of this in years.”
Elena could not take her eyes off him. Antonio’s features gradually refitted themselves into new lines. He stared at her, but his eyes saw something else entirely. The act of looking back opened his gaze to where she felt as though she could fall in and never come out again. It only caused her grip over her heart to tighten.
“I was drifting like I did as a boy. And then something entered the room. A man who was not a man. Perhaps I should have been frightened. But the feeling was beautiful. I do not use that word lightly. The man entered the room, and my heart was filled with wonder.”
She watched his hand reach over and take hold of the one not gripping the sweater over her heart. She heard him say, “The man did not speak so much as share with me a message. I had an opportunity. One that was a gift from heaven.”
Antonio focused on her now. The openness at the center of his gaze deepened. He said, “The impression was very intense and very vivid. It was of you sheltering me. But shelter is not the right word. You stretched your spirit out around me. And I felt as though I was lying there beneath angel’s wings.”
She released the hold on her heart. Not because it had eased its frantic beat. The worry was still there, the fear. More intense than before. She let go because she needed both hands now to hold on to this good and gentle man. She lowered her head so she could nestle Antonio’s hand up close to her cheek. Wishing there was something she could do to make certain she could keep hold of this moment. And this man.
43
The taxi left them by the hospital’s north entrance. The staffer monitoring the Accident and Emergency entrance checked the computer and announced that Charles had been moved to a ward on the sixth floor. As they walked the long interior hallway to the elevators, Elena explained to Antonio that the move was very good news. The sixth-floor wards held all A&E and surgical patients that were deemed noncritical.
They arrived to find Charles sitting up in bed, white bandages wrapped around his forehead and chest. He talked softly with Detective Mehan and a uniformed officer. Nigel hovered by the foot of the bed, dressed in tones to match the weather. Elena spoke a few words while Antonio waited in the hall. She did not need much time. She merely wanted to show her gratitude and concern.
Nigel and the detective followed her from the room. The security chief asked, “Are you holding a meeting today?”
“At noon.”
“In the shelter?”
“I imagine so. Is there a problem?”
“The place is very exposed. I’d need a small army to do an adequate job of protection.”
Antonio said, “There is the matter of cost.”
Elena said, “Long-term security is not a part of our equation.”
“We’re not discussing the long term,” Nigel said. “My aim is to keep you alive today.”
Mehan said, “We can assign police protection for only so long.”
“Your attackers are still at large,” Nigel added. “And we still don’t have a line on that woman. I can pare your expenses down to what it costs me, but—”
Antonio said, “Why not speak with people at the shelter?”
“Pass out that photo of the woman, ask them to keep an eye out,” Elena agreed, then glanced at her watch. She had no intention of adding Nigel’s fears to her own. “I have to go. My first appointment starts in twenty minutes.”
“Actually, there is another matter I need to speak with you about.” Nigel looked uncomfortable for the first time. “A few days back, I showed you a photo of Mrs. Wainwright and her husband. Do you recall what I said about face recognition software?”
“Of course.”
“The authorities in this country have since done a more extensive check but turned up nothing more. On a hunch, I had my allies within the service pass on a request to Interpol. They’ve come up with something that might interest you.” He unzipped his briefcase. “Have a look at this, if you would.”
Elena stepped in close enough to smell the city rain on Nigel’s clothes. The security agent hesitated, then revealed his image.
The photograph was of Antonio. Elena found herself staring down at a very different man. In the picture, Antonio smiled with his entire being. He was dashing and strong and vibrant and powerful. He stood in a very grand chamber, beneath a glittering chandelier. He held the arm of a woman with dark hair and expressive features. The woman so captivated Antonio’s attention that he gave the grand hall and the sparkling people no notice whatsoever. The woman smiled up at the man who held her arm.
Antonio’s hand trembled as he reached out. “I remember this. It was …”
Nigel’s voice had become deeply apologetic. “The night before your wife passed away.”
The photograph was brutally sharp. Behind the couple walked a lovely elfin figure with a refined oval face. She also gave the palace no mind. Her attention was tightly focused in a manner that turned her smile into a lie. She stared intently at the woman walking alongside Antonio.
Mehan demanded, “How did you know where to look?”
“I simply asked if they might scan whatever records they had of events within a week of Signora d’Alba’s demise. And up this popped.”
Elena could not take her eyes off the photograph. She knew she should be doing something to ease Antonio’s shock. But the man in the picture held her captive. This was who he had once been, her mind said. Yet her heart whispered that this was the man he might once again become.
Mehan shifted his gaze from the photograph to Antonio and back, clearly uncertain how far to take it. Nigel appeared willing to wait all day.
Antonio said, “Why would they use the same assailant?”
Nigel’s gaze tightened slightly. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Mehan said, “We don’t know for certain that they have.”
Elena said, “Oh, please. This woman just happens to repeatedly pop up?”
Nigel said, “Most people willing to commit murder have a criminal record. They leave a trail. They are notoriously unstable. They follow traceable patterns. This woman is … different. Remarkably so.”
They were all watching him now. Mehan was the only one who spoke. “Just exactly what were you doing before you went into security?”
Nigel ignored the question. “This woman has the ability to vanish. She crosses borders with impunity. She shows up on no records. She is a ghost. Which makes her unique. And extremely effective.”
Antonio returned his gaze to the photograph. “She has help.”
Nigel’s gaze tightened a second time. Elena realized the man was smiling. In approval.
Antonio said, “She has an organization who is sheltering her.”
Nigel said, “That is my thinking.”
Mehan said, “You mean, a government?”
“Doubtful,” Nigel said.
Antonio said, “The largest banks employ a security force that numbers in the hundreds. They have to. They manage billions. Their reach extends to some of the world’s most dangerous quarters.”
“It would certainly be possible for an organization with that sort of international clout to hide such an asset.” Nigel slipped the photograph back into his briefcase and zipped it shut.
Antonio stared at the empty space where before his wife had smiled at him. “What do we do now?”
“That’s simple enough.” Nigel’s cold fury gave his speech an almost musical lilt. “We must find a way to shut this lot down.”
By the time Elena finished with her morning appointments, the entire shelter knew about Antonio and Shirley Wainwright and the possible tie-in to the assault on Elena’s home. Elena saw photographs of the female attacker everywhere.
When it came time for the noon gathering, Nigel broke off discussions with a group of the shelter’s occupants and joined them. They brought folding chairs into Elena�
��s cubicle and clustered close together, as if they had been going through the same routine for months. People working in neighboring cubicles glanced over, then away.
Elena started with verses she had selected from the fifteenth chapter of Exodus: “‘The Lord is my strong defender, he is the one who has saved me. He is my God, and I will praise him; my father’s God, and I will sing about his greatness … In your steadfast love you led the people whom you redeemed; you guided them by your strength to your holy abode.’”
But when she shut her Bible, she had no idea where to go. There was no image for them to focus upon. The book of dreams remained locked inside the police evidence room, which according to Mehan was a safe that filled half the headquarters’ basement and was manned around the clock. She could not draw up the photograph of that image because her laptop had been lost to the fire. She knew she should offer a brief homily. Something of spiritual significance. But the words would not come. All she wanted to talk about was Antonio. The final dream remained imprinted behind her eyes. It carried the force of a branding iron.
Antonio was seated next to her, silent and withdrawn. He stared at the floor by his feet. She knew he was seeing the photograph of that elfish woman studying his wife. She knew Antonio’s words in the taxi, saying she would cover him with love strong as angel’s wings, were gone now. She wished she could say something to return them to that moment. She felt powerless.
Lawrence said to Antonio, “We need to talk about what Nigel has turned up. The question is, can you handle it?”
Antonio straightened in his chair. “Why not? It’s all I’m thinking about.”
Sandra looked across at Elena. “But perhaps we shouldn’t talk about such matters while we’re gathered in our prayer group.”
“I told you the first time we met,” Elena said. “There are no rules except the ones we make for ourselves.”