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“Fine, sir. You want to give your bag to Sergeant Lewis?”
“There are certain valuables in the bag.”
“Yes, sir. We know, Father. That’s why Sergeant Lewis has that Thompson hanging from his shoulder.”
Welner somewhat reluctantly handed over the bag and allowed himself to be led to the parking lot and installed in the front seat of the ambulance. Lewis got behind the wheel and Cronley got in the back.
“We’re going to drive from here to Kloster Grünau in a vehicle like this?” Welner asked. “It’s in Bavaria, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. It’s in Bavaria. But, no, sir. We’re going to fly to Kloster Grünau. Where we’re headed now is to a little airport not far from here, where my Storch is parked.”
“I’ll take what comfort I can from knowing I am in the hands of God,” Welner said. “I do not share—and you know I don’t—the affection that you and Cletus and Hansel have for that ugly and dangerous little airplane.”
“You and me both, Reverend,” Sergeant Lewis said.
“If you don’t mind, Sergeant, you may refer to me as ‘Father,’” Welner said.
“I’m a Born Again by Total Immersion Abyssinian Baptist,” Lewis said. “Can I do that?”
“I think it will be all right with God, Sergeant,” Welner said.
“Father, to clear the air a little, you can say anything you want to, personal or business, to Sergeant Lewis. Actually, that’s the reason I brought him along with me. He’s as close to Konstantin as anybody. Closer.”
“Konstantin is the NKGB officer?”
“Konstantin Orlovsky. Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be delighted to hear what the sergeant has to say about him. But let me get this out of the way, first.”
“Sir?”
“First, I was very sorry to hear about your loss of your wife.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It was impossible for me to go to the United States with Cletus and the others. If I could have gone, I would have. I hope you understand.”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“What I did do, Jim, was celebrate a mass for Marjorie in the Church of Our Lady of Pilar.”
“That’s the church by that cemetery downtown, in Recoleta?”
“Right. In which Cletus’s father and others of his family have their last resting place.”
“That was very kind of you.”
“Not at all. How are you doing?”
“I don’t know how to answer that.”
“I had a thought on the airplane,” the priest said. “Cletus told me how busy you have been here. I wondered if perhaps that’s been a gift from God, a blessing in disguise, so to speak, taking your mind off your loss.”
What took my mind off my loss, Father, was fucking a married woman.
And speaking of God, how the hell am I going to explain that despicable, inexcusable behavior to Saint Peter when I get to those pearly gates?
“That’s an interesting thought, Father.”
