Relic of Time (33 page)

When they left the plane and crossed to the waiting car, they noticed that there were two cars. Don Ibanez stepped out of one. Hannan headed for the old man as if he might tackle him.

“How did you know I was coming?” he demanded.

“A man named Boris told me that you were on your way.”

“My chef.”

“Is he always so grumpy?”

Nate decided that they would not cancel the car Laura had arranged for.

Nate said, “I'll go with Don Ibanez and you can follow.”

Ray saluted, but Nate was impervious to sarcasm.

On the drive, following Don Ibanez and Nate, Ray said, “Well, out of the loop again.”

Laura, too, would like to have known what the old man was telling their boss.

Neal Admirari had not come back nor had he telephoned. Catherine tried to regain the old love 'em and leave 'em attitude that had carried her through some pretty pleasant years. Until Lloyd. And this silence was too painfully reminiscent of Lloyd. Had Neal, too, run off to do penance somewhere? She had caught a glimpse of him in the bathroom mirror, before she closed the door, his head propped on the pillow, a stricken look on his face. What had that meant?

He came on like a seasoned man of the world and even when they had gone up to his room, she had cynically assumed that for him it was instrumental; he would win her heart, or at least her body, and then she would open up and tell him whatever it was he needed for his stupid book. And it was a stupid idea. She didn't care if a publisher had fallen for it and given him a contract and a decent advance. A decent advance.

She smiled. He was fun, she had to give him that. She called the El Toro and asked for him. Would she like to leave a message? So he was still there.

“Try paging him in the bar.”

She waited. The bartender came on. She heard him call, “Is Neal Admirari here? Call for Neal Admirari.”

He repeated the message against a background of voices, laughter. Half a minute went by. She could hear the name repeated, others taking it up.

“I guess not.”

“Thank you.”

She felt twice as ignored as she had before. She had used her cell phone to make the call, going out into the backyard for privacy. Jason was at his desk, sniffling. It had been two days since she had taken his nap with him. At her age she could hardly claim the time-honored excuse. Besides, what would it have mattered? A concubine can always find a way to please. It seemed more important than ever that it had not been a fleeting one-afternoon stand with Neal Admirari.

Jason had slept until ten this morning and a young man named Miguel Arroyo joined him for breakfast, coming through the tall doors from outside. She was introduced to the head of Justicia y Paz. Arroyo seemed annoyed that she did not know what that was.

“Ah, my dear. We are living in historic times and you are dozing through them.” Jason wagged a finger at her. At his age, he should not try to be cute. Catherine saw that Arroyo was wondering at her presence in the house. She looked at him speculatively, as if he could be a means of revenge on the fickle Admirari.

“You slept through it all?” Arroyo asked.

“All what?”

Now Jason was wagging a finger at Arroyo. Catherine left them, going into the office, looking at her work table, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here. Like at the El Toro bar. She went up to her room and turned on the television, a sign of how bored she was. There were riots in Mexico City. She watched uncomprehendingly and turned the set off. She became aware of the sound of a television downstairs. Television? Jason? She went down to see the two men huddled in front of the set.

“What's happening?”

Arroyo help up his hand, ignoring her. She could have slapped him.

“The best-laid plans,” Jason murmured.

“Oh, I don't know,” Arroyo said.

He rose and turned to her, turning on the charm. “I'm so glad to have met you.” And to Jason, “I must get back to San Diego.”

“San Diego?”

“I've made that my command post. I thought you had heard.”

“Sometime you must explain all this to me,” Jason said. He rose and went with Arroyo to his station wagon. Arroyo shook hands with Jason and was off.

Her cell phone sounded in her purse, and Catherine felt her heart skip. She pulled it out and answered it, scooting into the front room as she did so.

“You must think me a beast,” Neal said.

“Why would I think of you at all?”

“Reciprocal bumblepuppy.”

“What on earth is that?”

“Are you free?”

“Of what?”

“I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

She hesitated. She did not want him coming here. Going off with him would require some explanation to Jason.

“I'll meet you at the El Toro.”

He hesitated. “The El Toro it is.”

Margaritas again, why not? But she would not go up to his room again. If he asked. He was as enigmatic as Jason and young Arroyo, chattering about Mexico City.

“Explain it to me.”

He couldn't believe how disinterested she had been to the sequel of the theft from the shrine in Mexico City. The Holy Heist. He said the phrase as if it had a bad taste. All that theft had meant for her was the loss of Lloyd, as if she had had him to lose. If he hadn't been caught in that gunfire, would she ever have seen him again? She found herself delighted that Neal Admirari had called, that they were sitting here in the bar of the El Toro sipping margaritas. Maybe she would go upstairs with him again. If he asked.

Neal was talking now about the Holy Hoax. An attempt to palm off a copy of the Virgin of Guadalupe to placate the faithful.

“Did you ever meet Traeger, Catherine?”

“Yes.”

“He's the one who tried to pull it off.”

“Tell me all about it,” Catherine said, trying not to look bored.

He actually reviewed the events of recent weeks, the skirmishes along the border, the formation of vigilante groups.

“That had begun to lose steam, but now.” He stopped. “Did you ever read
War and Peace
?”

“
War and Peace
!”

He sat forward, excited. “There they are at Bald Hills, old Prince Bolkonsky, his daughter Marya, and Mademoiselle Bourienne, the saucy French companion. Smolensk has fallen to the French. The invasion of Russia is well under way. But life just goes on as before at Bald Hills until . . .”

“You make me want to read it,” she lied.

“I am suggesting an analogy.
We
are being invaded. It's only a matter of time until San Diego is occupied.”

“Isn't it already?”

“I mean by Latinos.”

“I'll repeat myself. It already is.”

He looked at her, relaxed, smiled. “I'm not trying to frighten you.”

“Oh, but you do.” She looked at him over the rim of her glass. She had licked away the salt without visible effect on him. “Do you know Miguel Arroyo?”

“Of course. Justicia y Paz.”

“He was irked that I didn't know of it.”

“When was that?”

“This morning. He came to see Jason.”

“Miguel Arroyo? I'm surprised Jason Phelps even knows him.”

Well, Catherine had been a little surprised herself. She was more surprised when Neal described Arroyo's call to arms.

“He's as bad as Theophilus Grady, capitalizing on that theft.”

“So where have you been for two days?”

“Resting up.” He smiled.

“Are you all rested now?”

She might have been inviting him to his own room. He was eager and reluctant all at once. Afterward, running her hands through his hair, she said, “I won't tell your wife.”

He sat up as if he were doing exercises. “How did you know?”

“A girl knows.” A girl! But it had been just a teasing remark. No wonder he felt guilty. Catherine tried to remember how it was to feel guilty about doing what she wanted to do.

It was one in the morning when she left him. He made the usual pro forma protests, but she mussed his hair. “You need the rest.”

“Hey, I thought I was pretty good.”

“Compared to what?”

“Lloyd Kaiser?”

She slapped him, hard, and immediately wished she hadn't.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.”

“I'll turn the other cheek.”

He rolled over and was mooning her as she went laughing out the door.

Lights were on in the house when she came in the driveway. Was Jason still up? He was. Waiting for her. He rose from his chair with an effort and stood glaring at her.

“I want you to leave. Move out. Go. Now.”

“Jason, it's the middle of the night.”

“You can get a room at the El Toro Motel.”

All right. So he knew.

“I'll leave in the morning.”

“Immediately. Now.”

He moved toward her as if he would strike her. She wheeled and went up to her room, where she packed a few things helter-skelter, as anxious to go now as he was to have her leave. Not that she could take everything now. Would she come back for the rest? The old goat. Did he think it was a treat for her to cater to his feeble desires?

He was seated again when she came down. She walked past him and out the door without a word. She put her things into the trunk, got behind the wheel, and just sat for a moment. The lights in the house began to dim. She could go to the El Toro Motel. No, for some reason that was out. What then? Feeling like a fool, she called Clare. It took a long while for her to answer.

“Clare, this is Catherine. Jason has thrown me out of the house. I have nowhere to go.”

“He threw you out of the house?”

“It's a long story.”

Silence while she thought.

“Of course you can come here. I'll be looking for you.”

Neal Admirari shaved while he showered, not wanting to look himself in the eye. He was filled with self-loathing. Once was bad, but the second time was unforgivable. No, don't say that. God is mercy. Lulu would be another matter. He could not wait until the weekend, of course. So he must go back to Frater Leone, a wonderfully otherworldly man, and with the same story after two, no, three days. God would forgive him, all he had to do was confess, but Lulu? He did not even dare talk to Lulu until Frater Leone lifted his hand and said the formula of absolution over him. He would feel like a newborn babe then. Oh, there was still the temporal punishment due to sin, of course, the object of all those indulgences, but say what you will, they had built Saint Peter's.