‘We need to know more.’
‘He’s disappeared.’
‘Yeah, and the other one died,’ Barnes added. ‘Do you think someone’s throwing down the gauntlet?’
Littel shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s hard to say. I know there’s no trace of the man. We have people on permanent surveillance, but nothing.’
‘I imagine there are plenty of people who want to find him,’ Barnes said thoughtfully. ‘And even more who want to do away with him.’
‘True,’ Littel agreed. ‘But imagine if he’s hiding and then one day shows up here and starts talking.’
‘No one would believe him,’ Barnes asserted.
‘Except his people.’
Barnes made a sign with his lips suggesting his doubts.
‘I don’t think it’d take much to stir up religious conflict. From there a disastrous war is only a step away,’ Littel warned.
‘That’s a little apocalyptic.’
‘That’s what they pay us for, Barnes. To analyze and think up scenarios. That’s what I see.’
‘We have to find a way to bring him out. He has to show signs of life.’
‘If he’s alive.’
‘If he’s not, all the better. Case closed.’
‘But we need to be certain.’
The two men looked at each other circumspectly and with respect. Until a body appeared, everything was left hanging.
‘A Muslim who performs miracles and has visions. This would not occur to anyone,’ Barnes sighed. ‘How did they know about it?’
‘Who?’
‘The religious orders.’
‘Those guys know everything.’
‘And what is it that interests them?’
‘Everything is of interest to those people… even that which is not of interest.’
‘It could be of interest to the orthodox,’ Barnes suggested.
‘For what? To blackmail the Vatican? That game’s over. History.’
‘You never know. A more ambitious priest. He hears things here and there. A Muslim miracle man who knows secrets about the Catholic Church.’
‘Presuming it has secrets.’
‘It’s enough. Presumption has always served as an excuse for a lot of things. Even torture and killing.’
‘I don’t think it’ll start from there.’
‘If you have people taking care of that, all we can do is wait until something happens. Aside from that, we have more important things to take care of.’
‘We have to resolve this mess as soon as possible. Very strange things are happening,’ Littel said.
‘You’re telling me.’
At that moment they heard the tumult of the Center of Operations outside the office again. The two men looked at the door and saw Staughton with his hand on the knob.
‘We have a location,’ he told them hurriedly.
The two got up.
‘Finally,’ Barnes protested, suddenly animated. ‘Where?’
‘Saint Paul’s Cathedral.’
‘They’re pretty brazen,’ Barnes complained, putting on his jacket. ‘Going to a sacred place after so much blood. Those people are such hypocrites.’
‘Are you a believer?’ Littel asked, joining Barnes as he left the office at a fast pace.
‘In our work we don’t have that luxury.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s obvious, Harvey.’ Thou shalt not kill is hard to avoid.
They passed through the Center of Operations, ignoring the busy employees, the running around, the disconnected cries that crossed the room forming the noisy background of voices and equipment that was heard.
Staughton and Herbert joined them with Priscilla and a group of eight agents.
‘And the CD?’ Barnes asked Staughton.
‘It’s still being processed.’
‘Order them to finish it.’
‘They can’t go any faster.’
‘And Thompson?’
‘He’s already gone on ahead,’ Staughton informed him promptly.
‘Wally?’ Littel wanted to know.
‘Same.’
They got to the elevators, the secret four that opened onto the floors the agency used, and descended to a private garage with space for eighteen vehicles. There were three other public elevators, but these four only stopped on the floors occupied by this American institution. The floors weren’t identified by any sign. Everything was perfectly organized, since as soon as the doors open to the garage, we can see four black automobiles, with tinted windows, license plates covered, doors open, the engines running, and drivers at the wheels ready to accelerate. American efficiency in all its splendor.
The garage door opened as soon as they’d all gotten into the vehicles. Harvey Littel and Geoffrey Barnes traveled in separate cars, logical rules of protocol. In the case of an attack it was more probable that one of them would manage to escape, thereby avoiding a crisis of leadership and any unanticipated promotions. Another fact of no minor importance was to ride in the middle, shielded from the car’s exterior by the other agents. This works for both democracy and dictatorship, capitalism and communism, the weak and the strong, intelligent and stupid — to always protect the most important person with one’s body, life, and soul. All the rest, Staughton, Priscilla, Thompson, Wally Johnson, and the remaining agents in the field, were expendable. Barnes and Littel were the ones who had to be protected at all cost, although it was improbable that something would happen to these two. The generals make war far from the front; there are no differences in the field.
Barnes assumed the position of generalissimo, since Littel had given him precedence, and they communicated by way of microphones on the sleeves of their shirts. They also had wireless earpieces placed in their ears.
‘What’s your position, Thompson?’
Static.
‘Thompson, what’s your position?’
‘They… in one… direction… Luton,’ were the disconnected words they heard over the phone. It was Thompson’s voice.
‘We have interference. Repeat, Thompson,’ Barnes ordered.
‘The subjects have entered a taxi and driven off toward Luton,’ Thompson announced. ‘I’m behind them, near Hemel Hempstead on the M1.’
‘ Okay. Did you hear, gentlemen? Go toward Luton fast.’
In Barnes’s car were Herbert and Staughton, who immediately began to find fault with the plan.
‘Will he be waiting there?’ Staughton asked.
‘Who?’
‘Rafael.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Don’t you remember what the journalist said?’ he reminded him. ‘He’ll wait for you there.’
Barnes thought about it for a few moments. He scratched his head and beard and breathed heavily.
‘Charades. I am sick of games,’ he grumbled. ‘Do you have something on the CD?’
‘I have people working on it. As soon as they know something, they’ll tell me.’
