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I heard a cell phone ringing and then Mike talking quietly. It seemed like we had been driving for a long time, but it was hard to tell with the hood over my face; time passes differently when you can’t see. We went fast, then slow, then fast again, like we were hitting highways, then getting off again onto lesser roads. Then the engine revved as we climbed up a steep incline. Once we leveled off, I heard the engine stop, and my door opened. A hand reached in, grabbed my right arm, and pulled me out.
Somebody said, “Watch your head,” and guided me by the elbow along a rocky path. The rocks or gravel crunched under my feet and I thought about my dream and scrambling up the slag heap to find the Lady in White with her long black hair and dark eyes staring sadly into space, waiting for the Master to come.
“Step up,” the same voice said, and now I was walking on wooden planks. I shivered in the cold. The air around me suddenly got warmer; I was inside. Somebody pulled the hood off. I squinted in the light, though it wasn’t really that bright inside.
We were standing in a little entryway to a cabin, or maybe in France you call it a château. Wooden floors, a cathedral ceiling, and a huge fireplace. About a dozen guys milled about and I could smell bacon frying. Suddenly I was the hungriest I had ever been in my life. My knees were actually weak.
“So what would you guys like? Shower first, or breakfast?”
“Alfred needs to eat,” Bennacio said.
“All I had was some cheese and grapes,” I said to no one in particular. No one in particular seemed to be listening.
33
An agent named Jeff laid out ham and bacon, biscuits, eggs, sugary things somebody said was beignets (a kind of French doughnut that I ate six of), a couple of T-bones, coffee, juice, hot tea, and fresh hot chocolate. Mike was a big Cubs fan and he talked with this other guy, Paul, about their chances this year and the problem was their bullpen like it was every other year. Bennacio sat beside me, nibbled on some toast with strawberry jam, sipped coffee, and said nothing.
After breakfast, Mike led us up the stairs to the second floor and showed us the bathrooms where we could wash up. I stripped down and laid my clothes outside the door as Mike suggested, so they could be washed while Bennacio and I took our showers.
I stood for a long time under the hot spray. I think I may have had jet lag, because I kept dropping the soap, and everything seemed to be taking a very long time to accomplish: it seemed washing my hair took at least a couple of hours.
I stood in the shower until my fingertips pruned up; then I dried off and slipped into a white terry-cloth robe that I found hanging on a hook by the shower. The bathroom was very small and I kept knocking into the sink and hitting my elbows on the walls, but I felt better with a full stomach and a clean body. I found a toothbrush and some paste in the medicine cabinet and scrubbed my teeth. Brushing my teeth made me think of my mother, who was a real stickler for oral hygiene—I’d never had a cavity in my life.
I was late getting back downstairs. The meeting had already started without me. Mike, Jeff, and Paul were sitting on the sofa in the great room, with Bennacio sitting by himself in the rough-hewn rocking chair near the fire.
A lady sat next to Mike. She had large lips that looked very red and wet-looking in the firelight. Her platinum-blond hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head. She wore a pinstriped business suit and black high heels.
I leaned against the wooden beam in the entryway, feeling kind of silly in my bare feet, my hair still wet. Bennacio was fully dressed. Nobody acknowledged my presence. Mike was talking.
“So it’s all set up,” he was saying. “Last night I got final approval from headquarters. I can’t tell you how much, that’s classified, but I will say we think we’ve topped the highest bid by at least half a billion.”
He stopped, almost as if he was waiting for an answer from Bennacio. He didn’t get an answer, though. Bennacio said nothing. He was staring at the fire.
Mike pulled a piece of foil from his pocket, carefully wrapped his used gum in it, and slipped it back into his pocket. He popped another piece of gum into his mouth, wrapped up the foil, and just as carefully put the fresh foil into his pocket.
The lady with the shiny blond hair spoke up. She had a British accent. “Honestly, we think that was his plan from the beginning, to sell the Sword to us.”
“Really?” Bennacio said. “You presume much.”
“Who else could he turn to?” she asked. “We represent the richest countries in the world. And he can trust us. Not even the Dragon wants to see the whole world go up in flames.”
“Right, Benny-boy, that’s right!” Mike said. “I mean, how’s he going to enjoy his money in a nuclear wasteland? He’s known from the beginning he has to sell it to the good guys.”
“I have told you,” Bennacio said. “Mogart does not intend to give you the Sword. He will never part with it.”
“How come?” Mike was smiling at Bennacio, a hard, unfriendly smile.
“Would you?”
“Hey, come on now, Benny. We’re the good guys, remember? We’re all on the same side here, right?”
“He will take your money and keep the Sword.”
“World domination, huh? King Mogart. Well, we’re just gonna have to take our chances on that one, Benny.”
“You are a fool,” Bennacio said, turning away from the fire and glaring at Mike. “He will betray you.”
“That’s precisely why we’ve invited you to the party.” Mike turned to the British lady. “Right, Abby?”
