Sarah looked at him collapsed, white, and turned her glance to Rafael.

“A heart attack,” he said.

“That’s right,” the Russian agreed.

“Oh my God,” Sarah exclaimed.

“We have to get him to a hospital as soon as possible,” Rafael advised.

“We’re already taking care of that,” Ivanovsky said. “Let’s go to the veterans’ hospital.”

Speaking Russian, he and Rafael separated a little from Sarah.

“He knows something we need to know,” he whispered.

“It seems to me there is someone above all of us who knows much more,” Rafael reflected.

“Who?”

“Your friend someone. I think I know who he is.”

The other looked at him, frightened.

“Pray to God this one survives,” Rafael said, turning around next to Sarah, who was on her knees over Phelps, pressing his inert hand.

60

The man sweated profusely. Perspiration stuck to his nude body. Pleasure required effort; with every lunge there was an answering moan. Sex is the mixing of bodies, in general two-but there is no limit to the human imagination-the exchange of fluids and sweat, saliva and one’s desires. During the coupling almost nothing exists but the one and the other; the fire has to be put out.

“I really needed that,” said the man.

“Me too. We’ve got to do it more often,” the other suggested, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from on top of the table.

“It’s dangerous,” the first one cautioned. “Our uniforms could give us away.”

“Don’t be so hardheaded, Paul. I don’t play when I’m on duty.”

“We can’t afford the luxury of being careless,” Paul reaffirmed. He got up and sat on the edge of the bed. “Give me one.”

His companion handed him the cigarette he’d already lit for himself and took another. He leaned against the bed board, almost sitting.

“They’re not going to give up,” Paul commented, exhaling smoke.

“Are you sure?”

“They already would have.”

“That’s not the impression I got when I contacted them,” the other said.

The cigarette smoke created a haze in the poorly ventilated room, forming a shadowy atmosphere around the two men.

“It wasn’t a good idea to call yourself the American,” Paul grumbled.

“It’s what popped into my head.”

“You have to be careful. They might get suspicious.”

“Let me worry about those things,” the other said complacently. “After all, why do you want the Turk out? He’s only going to create problems.”

“This doesn’t smell right to me. I heard the Pole was thinking about going to see him,” he answered circumspectly.

“And what could happen? He doesn’t know who he is,” the other reiterated.

“The two of them together in the same room. It’s not good.”

“In the same cell, you mean,” the other joked, getting a smile from Paul.

“I’d like to see the Pole in a cell. I have to find out his intentions. I think he’s suspicious.”

“It’s just in your mind. He has no reason to distrust you,” the other asserted.

“It must have been JC who carried out the plan. Hell. The Turk drew me in.”

“JC has other plans.”

“He only does what Licio tells him.”

“Licio doesn’t give any orders now.”

They were silent for a few moments. The sweat had dried. They’d recovered their energy.

“Did you get rid of the car?” Paul asked.

“It won’t be a problem for anyone now. It was sold up north. I’m going to have to buy another one.”

“Buy it. A different brand. I don’t like BMW.”

“I was thinking of a Mercedes.”

“Good idea. Buy a Mercedes,” Paul agreed.

Paul finished his cigarette and continued looking at the ceiling, his hand behind his head. He didn’t say anything for several minutes, just stared at the ceiling worn from the passage of years.

“I want you to find another one for me,” he finally said.

The other looked at him disapprovingly.

“Another? It’s dangerous, and it’s a lot of work.”

“Not if they’re from far away. I don’t want more from Rome or the Vatican. That was a mistake. I prefer one from Naples. They should be daring. Or even farther south. No more Romans,” he demanded.

“Really, I don’t ask them for their identifications ahead of time.”

“And don’t use the Avon trick again.”

“What do you think I am?” the other protested, looking insulted. “I don’t use the same trick twice.”

“A pope’s bodyguard should have no imagination,” Paul kidded him.

“Take back what you said.” The other got up. “Take back what you said.”

“And if I don’t?” Paul dared him.

The pope’s bodyguard laughed.

61

I stanbul. Formerly Constantinople. The imperial city, cradle of civilization, frontier between Europe and Asia, point of separation or arrival for each of the continents, clash of ancestral cultures, land of European emperors and Arab sultans, Byzantines and Ottomans, the most prosperous city of Christianity for more than a thousand years.

They drove around the center for hours, this time more tightly crowded in the back where JC, Elizabeth, and Raul sat. In front was a Turkish driver with expert knowledge of the city, obviously, and the cripple, saturnine, cold, an observer alert to everything, inside and outside the car, in spite of the thousands found in this city, inhabitants, tourists, businesspeople.

They’d started with Beyoglu, where they saw the Galata Tower, built in the sixth century. A couple of hours later they’d entered the route that ends at what is now an imperfect circle that covers the Bazar quarter, with the Süleymaniye Mosque marking the most distant point, the edifice built by Sinan over the Golden Horn in honor of Suleiman the Magnificent, where both are buried, though at opposite ends. The interior of the circle covers the Seraglio, as well, which includes the Topkapi Palace, the official residence of the sultans for four hundred years, and the Sultanahmet, that shelters within itself two other pearls, facing each other, the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia.

JC played the part of tourist guide, explaining the multicultural and historical points of each monument and place in that immense city.

“What’s the purpose of this excursion?” Raul wanted to know, exhausted by such a tour shrouded by secrecy.

“I told you already. We’re here to see a friend.”

“And where is he?”

“He should be on his way to our meeting.”

“What time is that set for?” the cripple asked.

“At eighteen hundred hours.”

“See? Only a half hour from now.”

“Where are we meeting him?” Raul asked again.

“You’ll soon see,” the old man replied evasively.

“Why Istanbul?” It was Elizabeth’s turn to ask for answers.

“Why does someone move from England to a mountain in the Alentejo? How can you answer something like that? These are the imponderables of life. The tastes, desires. Some are able to fulfill them, others not.”

“Do you always have an answer for everything?” Raul asked. He considered the ability both impressive and irritating.

“My dear captain, the day I don’t, you can lower the flag to half-mast because I’ll be dead.”

“This friend we’re going to visit. Is he like you?” Elizabeth asked.

She’d only looked at him twice, but she didn’t have to do so again to know he didn’t like her or her husband. The cripple in the front seat tolerated them only out of respect for the old man who gives him orders, thank God. As much as she tried, she couldn’t imagine this old man, so frail and in precarious health, hurting a fly or leading such a vast organization with the purpose of… whatever their purpose was.

JC laughed at her question.

“No, men like me are dying out. I must be the last of a very under-appreciated species. We’re going to see a cardinal in the Church. A man much older than I.”