should ever become ill again. But now she knows she's not going to be ill anymore. She's cured, and she won't need her nest egg.
Yes, rm ready to toss in the whole sum, the entire fifty thousand pounds—"
Jamet had been listening stonily. He interrupted. "Sorry, not enough." He dumped the remnants of his lunch into a wastebasket, prepared to terminate the meeting. "For you to come in, you'd have to have much more to offer."
"But I have much more," Reggie exclaimed. "I have something far more valuable than a mere fifty thousand pounds to invest. I have something unique, a surefire thing that'll make the Lourdes end of your business boom."
"Oh, yes?" said Jamet with unconcealed boredom, twisting to look in the desk mirror as he combed his hair.
"Listen to me. My wife, Edith, was called to a meeting by Archbishop Henning a few hours ago. It was to report something important to her about her cure at Lourdes over three years ago. The Medical Bureau of Lourdes and the Canonical Commission have decided that Edith's cure is of a miraculous nature, and she is being officially added to the 'Cures of Lourdes Recognized as Miraculous by the Church.' Since 1858 there have been only sixty-nine of these—only five since 1978—and now Edith Moore will be the seventieth."
For the first time, Reggie had Jamet's undivided attention. "Really? This is true?"
"You can confirm it. Call Archbishop Henning's office. Tell him I told you."
"I congratulate you," said Jamet, cautiously but interested. "This will be good for both of you."
"Good for both of us?" said Reggie, jumping up from his chair. "It'll be slam-bang sensational. Overnight, Edith will be famous, a living legend. Everyone will want to meet her, everyone. In fact, she's going to Lourdes again, the center of everything, to be honored. She's probably the one the Virgin Mary is coming to see. Now, as to the rest of my proposition, Jean-Claude. Besides the fifty thousand pounds, I'm ready to throw Edith in as well, Edith Moore the authentic miracle woman. Can't you see it? Edith to go along on your pilgrimages and give advice. Why, you could immediately raise your rates for the next pilgrimage groups. And at the restaurant—after you enlarge it, improve it—Edith could be the star, the special attraction, in effect the hostess. In order to meet her, see her, touch her, listen to her, even dine with her, the wealthier tourists and pilgrims would order from a Miracle Menu at our new Miracle Restaurant at double your present prices. I tell you, you'd triple your profit. Pilgrimages arranged at one end, restaurant waiting at the other—and Edith Moore, the latest miracle
woman, your main attraction." Reggie gulped for air. "Now, what do you say to that?"
For the first time, Jamet's stony exterior displayed a fissure. It was a reluctant smile, but an actual smile. He stood up, hand extended. "Reggie, my friend, now you are talking my language. Let's shake on our partnership."
Grinning, Reggie pumped the other's hand. "We're celebrating tonight at Le Caprice. Join us, partner, and get to know the miracle woman."
Mikel Hurtado sat tensely at the wheel of the dusty blue Seat Panda parked in the Calle de Serrano across from the iron gate at the entrance to the massive Catholic church and kept an eye on the schoolchildren and Madrid matrons going inside for nine o'clock Mass. This was the tenth and last day of their scouting vigil. If their quarry arrived today, as he had the previous nine mornings, the pattern was set. They would place the dynamite in the tunnel beneath the street tonight. They would detonate the explosives and assassinate their hated enemy tomorrow morning.
Hurtado peered at his wristwatch. "You better go in now," he said quietly to the girl in the front seat beside him. "If our man is on schedule, he should be here in five minutes for Mass."
"Do I have to?" Juha Valdez protested. "What purpose? He'll never get to the church tomorrow morning."
"For positive
Yes, rm ready to toss in the whole sum, the entire fifty thousand pounds—"
Jamet had been listening stonily. He interrupted. "Sorry, not enough." He dumped the remnants of his lunch into a wastebasket, prepared to terminate the meeting. "For you to come in, you'd have to have much more to offer."
"But I have much more," Reggie exclaimed. "I have something far more valuable than a mere fifty thousand pounds to invest. I have something unique, a surefire thing that'll make the Lourdes end of your business boom."
"Oh, yes?" said Jamet with unconcealed boredom, twisting to look in the desk mirror as he combed his hair.
"Listen to me. My wife, Edith, was called to a meeting by Archbishop Henning a few hours ago. It was to report something important to her about her cure at Lourdes over three years ago. The Medical Bureau of Lourdes and the Canonical Commission have decided that Edith's cure is of a miraculous nature, and she is being officially added to the 'Cures of Lourdes Recognized as Miraculous by the Church.' Since 1858 there have been only sixty-nine of these—only five since 1978—and now Edith Moore will be the seventieth."
For the first time, Reggie had Jamet's undivided attention. "Really? This is true?"
"You can confirm it. Call Archbishop Henning's office. Tell him I told you."
"I congratulate you," said Jamet, cautiously but interested. "This will be good for both of you."
"Good for both of us?" said Reggie, jumping up from his chair. "It'll be slam-bang sensational. Overnight, Edith will be famous, a living legend. Everyone will want to meet her, everyone. In fact, she's going to Lourdes again, the center of everything, to be honored. She's probably the one the Virgin Mary is coming to see. Now, as to the rest of my proposition, Jean-Claude. Besides the fifty thousand pounds, I'm ready to throw Edith in as well, Edith Moore the authentic miracle woman. Can't you see it? Edith to go along on your pilgrimages and give advice. Why, you could immediately raise your rates for the next pilgrimage groups. And at the restaurant—after you enlarge it, improve it—Edith could be the star, the special attraction, in effect the hostess. In order to meet her, see her, touch her, listen to her, even dine with her, the wealthier tourists and pilgrims would order from a Miracle Menu at our new Miracle Restaurant at double your present prices. I tell you, you'd triple your profit. Pilgrimages arranged at one end, restaurant waiting at the other—and Edith Moore, the latest miracle
woman, your main attraction." Reggie gulped for air. "Now, what do you say to that?"
For the first time, Jamet's stony exterior displayed a fissure. It was a reluctant smile, but an actual smile. He stood up, hand extended. "Reggie, my friend, now you are talking my language. Let's shake on our partnership."
Grinning, Reggie pumped the other's hand. "We're celebrating tonight at Le Caprice. Join us, partner, and get to know the miracle woman."
Mikel Hurtado sat tensely at the wheel of the dusty blue Seat Panda parked in the Calle de Serrano across from the iron gate at the entrance to the massive Catholic church and kept an eye on the schoolchildren and Madrid matrons going inside for nine o'clock Mass. This was the tenth and last day of their scouting vigil. If their quarry arrived today, as he had the previous nine mornings, the pattern was set. They would place the dynamite in the tunnel beneath the street tonight. They would detonate the explosives and assassinate their hated enemy tomorrow morning.
Hurtado peered at his wristwatch. "You better go in now," he said quietly to the girl in the front seat beside him. "If our man is on schedule, he should be here in five minutes for Mass."
"Do I have to?" Juha Valdez protested. "What purpose? He'll never get to the church tomorrow morning."
"For positive
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