She returned to the cabin, red-faced, overheated, and aching all over. The table in front of her seat held a tray with a teapot, cup and saucer, and a roll.
‘Sit down, dear,’ the comforting voice of Myriam said. ‘I asked them to make you both some chamomile tea. Drink it. It’ll make you feel better,’ she added with a knowing smile.
That ‘both’ upset Sarah, since she’d tried to hide it. The word hit her in the face and spread to the rest of her body. Could it be? Was she carrying someone with her in her womb? Was she pregnant?
The feeling of happiness that all future mothers supposedly feel was not there. The feeling Sarah experienced was panic, with no joy. Was she normal? She remembered Francesco just then and how anxious he must be without news of her. At once she imagined him at her side, she with an enormous belly almost at the end of her third trimester, soon to embark on an unknown parental sea. She wanted to force a smile, to feel a minuscule portion of happiness, anything positive, but couldn’t. Worse, she didn’t want it to be true. She enjoyed Francesco, admired him, but she didn’t want to have a child with him. Rafael’s image invaded her thoughts. She enjoyed Francesco, respected him… wanted to enjoy… to admire. She should want to have a child with him. Francesco was a marvelous man. He’d be a great father and loving husband… but Rafael’s image would not leave her mental screen.
‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know?’ Myriam interrupted, not knowing she was interrupting anything.
Sarah shook her head.
Myriam put her hand on top of hers. ‘You don’t have anything to worry about, dear. It’s a divine condition.’ Her voice changed, and it was Sarah’s turn to offer her a friendly shoulder.
‘Don’t be afraid, Myriam. Everything is going to be okay,’ she wished. ‘We’re going to get there on time and resolve everything.’
Myriam dissolved in tears as Sarah hugged her. The sorrow was contagious, but someone had to be strong.
‘It’s not fair, Sarah. No parent should lose a son.’ Myriam wept hard.
‘That’s not going to happen,’ Sarah comforted her. ‘We’re going to look for him. Everything will turn out right.’ What more could she say?
‘Don’t speak about my son as if he were dead, Myr,’ Ben Isaac admonished her, from his own seat, not looking at the women. ‘Little Ben is alive. They’re not going to do anything to him.’
Sarah asked the attendant for a cup of water with sugar. The plane continued northeast, but for Ben it seemed motionless. He spoke with the pilot to move things along, but they were at the maximum altitude and speed the jet could tolerate. The more you hurry, the slower you go, Ben Isaac thought, his heart heavy with sorrow. But he would not be weak in front of a woman he didn’t know.
The cardinal who had surprised them didn’t continue the trip with them.
‘You’re a difficult man to find, Ben Isaac,’ William observed.
‘I’m not hiding,’ Ben Isaac said.
‘Let me introduce you to Sarah Monteiro.’
‘I’m sorry I don’t have time for a longer conversation,’ Ben Isaac said, excusing himself politely. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
‘We know about your son,’ William suddenly cut them off. ‘We received a DVD. I’m very sorry.’
Myriam lowered her head and controlled herself. It seemed like a death announcement. Her chest burned with a torrent of tears she forced herself not to show in front of the cardinal and this Sarah, who remained silent.
‘You received a DVD? Then you know I’m in a hurry,’ Ben Isaac proclaimed. He was losing his patience and had no time for the rules of etiquette or good manners.
‘Certainly. I’m leaving,’ William excused himself. ‘Sarah is current on everything and is going to go with you.’
The situation was strange, but Ben Isaac didn’t protest. Here was a cardinal prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith telling him he was current on everything, knew about his son’s kidnapping, and imposing a woman on him. They were in the same boat, or, in this case, the same plane. She had disappeared into the toilet for half an hour. After freshening herself up, the time had come to lay all the cards on the table.
‘What’s your role in all this?’ Ben Isaac wanted to know.
‘If you want me to tell you frankly, I don’t really know,’ Sarah answered timidly.
‘Did you see the DVD?’
‘On the way to the airport.’
‘What did they tell you?’
‘They talked about the Status Quo.’
Ben looked at her with different eyes. They’d told her everything. Why was she so special?
The attendant arrived with the sweetened water and gave it to Myriam.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ he asked, softening his all-knowing attitude.
Sarah didn’t like to describe herself, but she understood. ‘I’m a journalist, the editor of international politics for the Times. I live in London. My father is Portuguese, my mother English.’
‘I think I’ve read something written by you.’
‘It’s probable. I published two books on the Vatican, specifically on the two popes before this one.’
‘The church trusts you?’
‘Let’s say it trusts me distrustfully,’ Sarah said sincerely. She wasn’t going to hide anything from Ben Isaac. ‘You know perfectly well how these things are. Today’s enemies are tomorrow’s friends. You never know how the world will turn, only that it will.’
‘What do you have that they want?’
The Jew knew what questions to ask.
‘It’s complicated,’ Sarah argued.
‘I don’t consider myself too stupid,’ argued the other with a half smile, the first she had seen. He emanated grief, a life of work and caution.
‘Have you ever heard of JC?’
Ben searched his memory. ‘Jesus Christ?’
Sarah smiled. She wanted to tell him he was right. JC sometimes seemed supernatural, not in terms of love or mercy, but being omnipresent. He knew everything at all times.
‘It could be, but no,’ she answered. ‘JC was a mercenary, responsible for the murder of John Paul the First.’
‘Don’t tell me he was actually assassinated?’ Ben Isaac was truly shocked.
‘I remember that day well,’ Myriam put in. ‘I cried all day long. It was never satisfactorily explained. There were always doubts.’
The day of September 29, 1978, of unhappy memory, dawned with the death of Albino Luciani, the ‘Smiling Pope,’ thirty-three days after he’d been elected by the College of Cardinals. Officially, the death was attributed to a massive heart attack. But many strange things came to light, though the official version was never disproved or changed.
‘He was murdered,’ Sarah confirmed. ‘JC is a very powerful man.’
‘I never heard a thing about this,’ Ben Isaac said, trying to remember any situation involving such a man.
‘Few people know about it. I found out about it without wanting to, by chance.’
‘Life is chance.’
‘Well, yes,’ Sarah agreed. ‘Anyway, the Vatican needs him, and I’m the only contact.’
‘Why do they need him?’ Ben Isaac didn’t understand.
‘I don’t know. But it looks like he’s important in helping to resolve everything that is happening lately.’
‘I can’t see what JC has to do with the kidnapping of my son.’
‘He doesn’t. He has something to do with the death of three of the Five Gentlemen.’
Ben Isaac turned red. Sarah and Myriam looked at him anxiously, fearing he was having some kind of attack.
‘What’s the matter, Ben?’ Myriam asked him in alarm. What a night. ‘Tell me, honey.’
They tore his jacket off and unbuttoned his shirt. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing. He coughed
