caller, making no attempt to disguise his identity. His voice was silky and his manner impeccable. They spoke in English. “I hope you have some reasonable explanation for why you asked me to locate this Chinese peasant. Do you?”
Martin laughed, but not easily enough to conceal his nervousness. “A Chinese peasant—is that who the name is? I hope I do, too.” He sat on the edge of his desk. “Several days ago Cardinal Cadini came to me to ask me to help him locate this person. I tried my usual academic contacts and learned nothing, and then Cardinal Cadini said I need not bother. Which is why I contacted you. Whoever this person is, Cardinal Cadini wants to find him, and he does not want to use the Vatican intelligence service. That makes the Chinese peasant interesting, don’t you think?”
There was a slight hesitation. “You do not know why they are seeking her? You have not discovered the purpose for the inquiry?”
“No, to both questions. And there was no extracting information from Cadini. He may be famous for the witty stories he tells, but about this he’s politely closed-mouthed.” Martin narrowed his eyes as he looked at the clock, calculating the time in Moscow. “What are you doing up at this hour?”
“It is not so late,” said Dmitri. “I have been at a reception at the German embassy. It was a grand occasion: six hundred guests or so and everyone in formal clothes. The champagne was German and they served it lavishly, and savory pastries. Very smug, the Germans are, at least on the surface. But they are in trouble, and we all know it. This time it is more than the question of where the borders go. So I was ordered to attend, as was Borseyev of Military Intelligence. We’re to…compare notes later this morning. There are a few leaks that must be plugged.”
“I’m sure having you there made the Germans feel much better,” said Martin with a cynical laugh, remembering how his father had railed at the Germans for not immolating their entire country on the altar of anti-Communism.
“You’re disrespectful, like all Hungarians,” said Dmitri with his own version of good humor which vanished as quickly as it appeared. “I returned only ten minutes ago and there was a message waiting for me. Shall I tell you what it said?”
“About Zhuang Renxin?” Suddenly Martin Bell was paying close attention.
“Yes,” said Dmitri slowly. “Word was relayed to my office by modem and my night secretary delivered the information.” He paused, letting Martin recognize the magnitude of the favor he had requested. “I warn you that I expect a full disclosure from you as soon as you learn why Cardinal Cadini wants to find this woman.”
“Woman?” asked Martin, startled; he realized he had heard Dmitri call Zhuang her before, and it had not registered with him.
“Woman.”
“A nun, do you think?” Martin ventured, his theories all in disarray.
“A widow,” said Dmitri bluntly. “Aged forty-one years. She is a local magistrate—I forget the specific title they use for them now. Her reputation is excellent; they say she strives for fairness.” He waited, and when Martin said nothing more, he asked, “What about the Cardinal?”
Martin shook his head, then answered in a distant voice, “I haven’t any idea. I thought it had to be one of those missing priests you hear about from time to time, or someone who had important information about one of the Cardinals being considered for Pope. I thought it might be something the Church wanted to hide. But this.…” He noticed that it was two minutes later than the last time he had glanced at the clock.
“A past…embarrassment?” suggested Dmitri.
Martin faltered. “I don’t think any of the current College of Cardinals served in China. Tayibha comes from India, Madras; that isn’t near enough.” He checked his pockets for his lighter and cigarettes. “A middle-aged woman magistrate from Szechwan Province. I wonder why.”
“Do
Martin laughed, but not easily enough to conceal his nervousness. “A Chinese peasant—is that who the name is? I hope I do, too.” He sat on the edge of his desk. “Several days ago Cardinal Cadini came to me to ask me to help him locate this person. I tried my usual academic contacts and learned nothing, and then Cardinal Cadini said I need not bother. Which is why I contacted you. Whoever this person is, Cardinal Cadini wants to find him, and he does not want to use the Vatican intelligence service. That makes the Chinese peasant interesting, don’t you think?”
There was a slight hesitation. “You do not know why they are seeking her? You have not discovered the purpose for the inquiry?”
“No, to both questions. And there was no extracting information from Cadini. He may be famous for the witty stories he tells, but about this he’s politely closed-mouthed.” Martin narrowed his eyes as he looked at the clock, calculating the time in Moscow. “What are you doing up at this hour?”
“It is not so late,” said Dmitri. “I have been at a reception at the German embassy. It was a grand occasion: six hundred guests or so and everyone in formal clothes. The champagne was German and they served it lavishly, and savory pastries. Very smug, the Germans are, at least on the surface. But they are in trouble, and we all know it. This time it is more than the question of where the borders go. So I was ordered to attend, as was Borseyev of Military Intelligence. We’re to…compare notes later this morning. There are a few leaks that must be plugged.”
“I’m sure having you there made the Germans feel much better,” said Martin with a cynical laugh, remembering how his father had railed at the Germans for not immolating their entire country on the altar of anti-Communism.
“You’re disrespectful, like all Hungarians,” said Dmitri with his own version of good humor which vanished as quickly as it appeared. “I returned only ten minutes ago and there was a message waiting for me. Shall I tell you what it said?”
“About Zhuang Renxin?” Suddenly Martin Bell was paying close attention.
“Yes,” said Dmitri slowly. “Word was relayed to my office by modem and my night secretary delivered the information.” He paused, letting Martin recognize the magnitude of the favor he had requested. “I warn you that I expect a full disclosure from you as soon as you learn why Cardinal Cadini wants to find this woman.”
“Woman?” asked Martin, startled; he realized he had heard Dmitri call Zhuang her before, and it had not registered with him.
“Woman.”
“A nun, do you think?” Martin ventured, his theories all in disarray.
“A widow,” said Dmitri bluntly. “Aged forty-one years. She is a local magistrate—I forget the specific title they use for them now. Her reputation is excellent; they say she strives for fairness.” He waited, and when Martin said nothing more, he asked, “What about the Cardinal?”
Martin shook his head, then answered in a distant voice, “I haven’t any idea. I thought it had to be one of those missing priests you hear about from time to time, or someone who had important information about one of the Cardinals being considered for Pope. I thought it might be something the Church wanted to hide. But this.…” He noticed that it was two minutes later than the last time he had glanced at the clock.
“A past…embarrassment?” suggested Dmitri.
Martin faltered. “I don’t think any of the current College of Cardinals served in China. Tayibha comes from India, Madras; that isn’t near enough.” He checked his pockets for his lighter and cigarettes. “A middle-aged woman magistrate from Szechwan Province. I wonder why.”
“Do
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