“Don Federico had the reputation of a good scholar,” she continued. “The attack on him happened when he was in Rome. His visit there was closely related to those artefacts and texts. He went to meet with the two experts in pre-Colombian South American civilization you mentioned about. The detectives took statements from them both.”
“Do the statements contain details about them?” asked James.
“No. Paolo Donato and Leo Goodman declared that the meetings never took place. Don Federico was attacked before that.”
“In Don Federico’s diary there’s a note saying that he’d sent a copy of ‘Dreams from the Old World’ and photos of anthropological findings to Donato and Goodman,” he reminded her.
“That wasn’t in the file. I don’t think the police ever saw Don Federico’s diary. It’s not included in the list of evidence.”
“If the police considered the attack on him to be burglary, they didn’t pay attention to the diary.”
“Yup. It’s clear that Don Federico had attached great importance to the ‘Dreams’. Sending copies of it to Paolo Donato and Leo Goodman would have been one of the first things he did upon returning from Ecuador.”
“He definitely considered this text important because he asked both experts to see it. They were prominent figures in their discipline I suppose.”
“Correct. Professor Donato was an internationally recognised anthropologist. He did field work in Ecuador and almost the whole of Latin America. Leo Goodman was a well-known linguist. He was a Canadian citizen but at that time lived in Italy. Both are now dead.”
“It’s normal that Don Federico would want to consult with such people. What bothers me is that there’s no information about the letter with the copy of the ‘Dreams from the Old World’.”
“I’ve thought about it, too, and decided to concentrate my research on the two scholars exclusively. I had another reason to do that. The archive file was two huge volumes and I needed to prioritise. Otherwise, I would have had to spend all night reading it.”
Her tone hinted to James that she was heading to the surprise she had promised to reveal.
“So, what I did next was dig up personal information about those two men,” she continued. She opened her laptop and put it on the table between them. She quickly typed in some passwords and opened a file. At first glance, it looked to James like a family tree. “As I was in a police station, I linked my computer to their system. Thus, I got access to all their channels. That includes direct access to tax and commercial archives, civil registers and so on. In this PC I have special track and trace software. Once it’s been given starting parameters for cross-referencing it searches through protected systems as well as through the Net and the Interpol database.” As she spoke she was opening and closing files.
“Is that legal?” asked James.
She smiled and turned the display to him. “It bypasses bureaucracy and is a great timesaver.”
“I see Paolo Donato’s name … but not Leo Goodman,” said James, pointing at the file.
“I simply couldn’t find anything suspicious about him. In contrast with professor Donato.”
James took a closer look at the file. It consisted of linked personal names and the names of different firms and companies. At the top was the name Paolo Donato. Next to it was the name Sabatini’s Auctioneers and Valuers.
“Sabatini’s Auctioneers and Valuers was founded forty-nine years ago as a partnership between Italian and USA businessmen and antique collectors. See this …” Irina opened another file which contained a description of the company’s structure and activities. “Registration in Rome. Offices in Buenos Aires, San Francisco, London, Hong Kong. Paolo Donato was its long-term consultant.”
James saw copies of some articles with intriguing titles related to the company: ‘Auctioneer’s chain finances expedition in the Indian jungle’; ‘Atlantis can be discovered’; ‘Scandal with a company sponsoring seekers of Eldorado’.
“They invested money in some quite adventurous enterprises,” he said.
“Yes. They put money in similar endeavours during the entire existence of the company. Sabatini’s Auctioneers and Valuers was erased from the commercial registers twenty years after its registration … or rather it was restructured. From its ashes one peculiar formation appeared. It’s called ‘The Historic Fellowship Foundation’. The purpose of this foundation is to preserve world cultural heritage. On its trust board are quite a few names. Amongst them the main shareholders of Sabatini’s Auctioneers and Valuers.” Irina displayed a file showing the schematics of the board members and some activities of the foundation. Paolo Donato had been chairman of one of its committees.
“The foundation is clearly a continuation of the auctioneering company. The professor’s chairmanship indicates his commitment to those people,” said James.
Irina re-sized three pages of the last file and arranged them in succession on the display. “Here’s a summary of the information about The Historic Fellowship Foundation,” she said.
The pages comprised Interpol reports regarding questionable financial operations and antique smuggling – none of which had reached court. Articles and audio-visual media materials were mentioned linking the foundation directly to a ‘black’ Masonic lodge, the successor of the notorious Italian Lodge P2, which was outlawed in 1981 by the Italian authorities for its conspiratorial, illegal and anti-constitutional activities.
“According to Lino, the cult has been infiltrating and establishing control over many old secret societies. The P2 Masonic Lodge could be one of their projects. If the foundation is connected to the P2 successors, it’s very probable that it’s actually a part of the cult. That information is a breakthrough,” said James.
“I think the same.” Irina sounded content. “That’s not all.” She displayed another three pages. “Here’s a list of the known donors to the foundation. The biggest amounts have come from offshore companies. Several financial funds are its earliest and most faithful donors. They later merged into one offshore fund-family. Its name is Macao House Capital Partners – registered in Macao. On the managers’ team are people who at some point worked for one man. Actually, they worked for firms and companies which officially or unofficially were owned by him. I’m talking about a Russian businessman with a kind of hazy reputation. His name is Alexander Rodnov. The name of one of the manager’s team is Vinchenzo Donato. He’s a grandson of our professor.”
“Any doubt about the double life of professor Donato is almost gone,” said James. “What about Rodnov? I’m sure you didn’t stop there.”
“The search about him opened a Pandora’s Box. See for yourself,” said Irina as she scrolled down to another page of the file. “People and companies that could be associated with him have been involved in money laundering, illegal arms trading, drugs and smuggling. Rodnov himself is an oligarch. His business interests are in Russia, China, India and a good number of Asian and African countries. Apart from his financial enterprises, like the offshore fund, he’s a shareholder in companies exporting gas and petrol from Russia and Mid-Asia. He owns mines containing minerals, precious stones and metals in Russia and Tajikistan, and stocks in a few African mining ventures. His first and the biggest mining investment is the Tajikistan mine. There is some indication of his direct or indirect involvement in political and ethnic conflicts in Asia and Africa in the Interpol database. Based on what I read, I could say that if there was a corruption manual, Alexander Rodnov would have been its author.” Irina fell silent to let James read the file pages.
“This is the first time I’ve heard his name. Strange how such a man could be completely unknown to the public,” said James after a while.
“People with his status can buy many things. Anonymity as well.”
“They can often buy immunity against the law.”
“Here’s another strange fact.” Irina pointed to the text. “During the last fifteen years, Rodnov has acquired several companies from different countrie
s under pretty favourable conditions. It looks like he’s been periodically given billionaire’s presents.”
James experienced a sensation like ants crawling over his skin. He often felt it when his intuition was about to show him the right choice in a dilemma. A stream of thoughts ran through his mind. Could it be possible that Rodnov was the cult’s leader? That could explain their international organisation and financial might … The cult has been consolidating its forces. They’ve procured a global economic presence. At the same time they’ve forged ways for the new ecumenical Gnosticism to become a worldwide religious establishment – as Lino had predicted. Everything’s been done by legal means, or half-legal. That’s why it was so difficult to stop them.
“We already have a main suspect,” said Irina as though replying to his thoughts. “I think it’s highly probable Alexander Rodnov is the man who pulls the strings of this net of international conspiracy.”
James’ mind was feverishly creating the pros and cons for that assumption. It seemed rather possible and it was logical.
“Let’s go back to professor Donato,” Irina continued. “I assume he was a member of the cult. Don Federico sent him a copy of ‘Dreams from the Old World’. The cult recognised themselves in the legend. They decided to steal it, and maybe some other evidence we don’t know about. And to kill Don Federico. During the burglary they stole the artefacts but the diary wasn’t there. They never knew of its existence. Although Don Federico survived the attack, his severe trauma cut the trail leading to professor Donato and the cult. The police didn’t find the diary either. Or they found it but didn’t pay attention to the note with the professor’s name. As a result of all that the case hit a dead end.”
Rodnov is responsible for the death of Elizabeth. And for many other evil deeds as well, thought James. A wave of silent, all-consuming anger rose in him. He jumped to his feet. “I’m going to freshen up,” he said, and went to the bathroom.
He left the bathroom door half open and Irina heard the water running. The next thing she heard was his mobile ringing. He greeted the caller and after a short while he asked why it was really necessary for him to come back and was everything okay with Pema and Malee? “As soon as possible,” he said as he came out of the bathroom, and hung up. His face wore an expression of surprise. “That was Lao – Pema’s husband,” he explained to Irina. “That’s the second time unexpected circumstances have cut short our work in foreign parts. I’ll go back to the UK immediately. Besides, I’ve finished my job here.”
“Nothing bad’s happened there, I hope.”
“Not at all, no. Lao didn’t want to explain in detail over the phone. But he insisted that it’s important I return quickly.”
“We’ll fly back together. You’re right. Our job here is finished.” Irina stood up and went to the phone table, where she had left her handbag. She pulled out a lipstick and, with an experienced hand, painted her lips. She put the lipstick’s cap back on and pressed it twice with the tip of her thumb. Something small and transparent, like a contact lens, dropped into the hollow of her hand. James didn’t notice this. He was already talking to Lino on the phone.
As he finished his conversation with his friend, Irina came close and touched his shoulder. Seemingly unintentionally, she slid her index fingertip over the collar of his shirt and fixed the transparent object there. “I’m going to reception to pay the bill. You could check for available flights in the meantime,” she said.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Gatwick Airport, London, and Central London, UK
Lao waited for them in Gatwick North’s lounge. When James offered to give Irina a lift to a hotel, she noticed a shade of discontentment crossing Lao’s face. He looked like a person in a hurry. She also noticed his relief when she turned down the offer; she said she preferred to take a taxi.
Irina and James agreed to see each other the next day and bade each other farewell.
James and Lao walked towards the short-stay car park, where Lao had left his car, while Irina set off to the airport taxi rank. As soon as she was outside the lounge, she took a small translucent pellet and a silver box resembling a luxury tobacco case out of her handbag. She put the pellet in her ear and pressed a few buttons which looked like decorations on the box’s surface. The typical noises of a packed airport lounge started buzzing in her ear. She dropped the box into the inner pocket of her coat and walked in the direction of the taxi rank. She passed the waiting cabs and continued towards a black Peugeot parked about twenty metres ahead.
“I hope you finally tell me what’s going on,” she heard James say in her ear.
“Please, accept my apology.” She could hardly hear Lao’s low voice.
“For what, for God’s sake?”
“You’ll find out.”
Silence followed.
A young man in a black suit and sunglasses got out of the black car. He gave an almost unnoticeable nod and walked to the terminal. Irina crammed her suitcase onto the rear seat and got in. As she drove off she heard Lao saying, “You must meet with someone. He’s a high-ranking Buddhist monk and my mentor.”
“That’s the urgency? You wanted me to have a chat with a Buddhist monk?” James sounded genuinely surprised.
“It’s very, very important.”
“I suppose it’s in relation to the recent events that have made us come to grief.”
“It’s connected to everything. Please, allow me to say no more on that subject. Rinpoche is waiting for us. He’ll tell you all you want to know.”
“Rinpoche!” James was surprised again. “I didn’t know you had a Tibetan teacher.”
“He’s not exactly my teacher.”
Irina drove almost to the highway exit but didn’t enter it. Instead, she turned back to the airport, following the signs to the short-stay car park. She passed the car park’s entrance and then turned off towards the exit lanes. She stopped the car about fifty metres from the first exit lane and switched off the engine. She then fixed the silver box onto the dashboard. The upper part of the box lit up and turned into a digital display showing a GPS map. A second after that, a small red dot appeared, and a few minutes later the dot started moving.
Before driving away, Irina waited until the car in which James and Lao sat turned round the corner of the massive concrete-built car park. She didn’t need to see their car. The microphone she had stuck to James’ collar was emitting a signal to the silver box. The only thing she had to pay attention to was not allowing the distance between the cars to get more than three hundred metres. If that happened, she wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation.
James and his companion travelled predominantly in silence. The few words they exchanged were about Pema’s health and something about Lao’s daughter Malee. Irina realised that the relationship between James and Lao was much deeper than she had expected. The way James, prompted by Lao, stopped asking questions, which were surely burning him from inside, spoke of the influence Lao had over him. It seemed to her that their student-trainer relationship was much more personal than the impression James had given her.
At that late hour, London’s streets were relatively quiet. Irina steadily followed the red dot on the GPS display.
They were driving through the north-west part of Central London when the dot stopped moving. It had entered a little side street to the left. Irina also turned into it and stopped. James’ car was parked twenty metres ahead. She couldn’t see them, but the red dot, which was moving again, showed that they were in a residential house built in the George III style. Through the micro-transmitter in her ear, Irina heard the sound of a doorbell ringing. Sounds of a door opening and closing followed.
She then heard the voice of a young woman: “Welcome. Come in. Lama Tenzin is waiting for you upstairs.”
James and Lao returned the greeting, and then Irina heard the sound of squeaking stairs and knocking. A calm, warm, slightly croaky voice with a strong Asian accent said, “I am lama Tenzin.” From the timbre of h
is voice, Irina concluded that he was an elderly man.
“James Whiteway.”
“Welcome,” said lama Tenzin. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
“Lao told me it was something very important.”
There was a brief moment of silence.
“Over the years I have wanted many times to meet with you. And here I am, talking to you,” said lama Tenzin.
James was puzzled by that statement. “I don’t understand,” he said.
The Tibetan monk sighed. Next, Irina heard undistinguishable noise and James’ voice loaded with astonishment: “Please … Rinpoche, Lao. Why these bows?”
Irina heard the breathing of the old monk. She linked this with James’ words and understood that the old lama and Lao were prostrating themselves. She was acquainted with the Tibetan traditional type of bowing. One lies flat on the ground, slides the arms forward, and then rises back to the feet. In combination with visualisations and mantra recitations, the prostrations are used as spiritual and energising exercises. Three prostrations in front of somebody serve to demonstrate respect to that person. Irina assumed that this was the case now. The strange thing was that the Tibetan lama and Lao were prostrating in front of James.
Lama Tenzin’s next words confirmed her assumption. “I know you’re a professor of religion and understand our customs. You know that I wouldn’t bow to you if I didn’t have a reason. Neither would Lao. Unlike me, he has had many opportunities to do it. Yet he didn’t.”
“To say I’m surprised would be an understatement,” said James.
“Let’s take a seat,” said lama Tenzin. There was a low creaking noise before he continued. “Please, be indulgent towards us for what I’m about to say … You’re a descendent of the royal family Shakya from which Buddha Gautama originated. You are the only heir of the holy blood that ran in the veins of the last Buddha – the defender of the light on earth. I, Lao and Pema belong to the Shield. That is an order formed two and a half thousand years ago to protect the heirs of the holy Shakya bloodline. It was founded by King Sudodana, the father of Buddha Gautama. Since then, the order has served the heirs.”
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