Read Online Magnificat by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
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blame. Or for guilt. You have done more than anyone in the Church to discover who this man is, and you have done it with dispatch and without questioning the reason for the search.” Father Hastin, the Cardinal knew, had been a priest for little more than three years and was still caught up in the newness of his work, and in the need to prove his worth. “There was only the slimmest chance that you could have found the man. God asks the impossible of us only when He performs a miracle.”
“But there was no reason for me to fail,” said Father Hastin, his words all but lost in a burst of static.
“There was also no reason for you to succeed,” said Cardinal Tayibha. “You have my thanks and blessing and I will pray for you, as I hope you will do for me and for all the souls in God’s world.”
“Certainly,” said Father Hastin.
“Good,” whispered Cardinal Tayibha, and started the ritual phrases of farewell while he cudgeled his brain in an attempt to think of another way to locate the unknown Zhuang Renxin. As soon as he was off the telephone he left his apartments and went toward the chapel which had been set aside for his use, shared only with Sylvestre, Cardinal Jung; Tokuyu, Cardinal Tsukamara; Jaime, Cardinal O’Higgins; and Bruno, Cardinal Hauptberger. He found the chapel empty and was secretly gratified; much as they were each other’s exalted equals in the Church, they were also an Indian, a Swiss (conservative), a Japanese, a Mexican, and an Austrian (liberal), which was not always comfortable. As he knelt before the altar, he prayed for knowledge so that the importance of this man in Szechwan Province would become clear, for then he would have something other than disappointment to report to the rest that evening.
* * *
As he dialed the number, Willie Foot held his breath, as he always did using the Italian telephone system, although this time there was an added tension that had more than the idiosyncratic telephone to fuel it. Service was not quite so capricious on international calls as Italian ones, but he had had enough experience to be prepared for he worst. To his amazement, the call went through on the first try. He hoped that was a good omen. He shook his head once as he heard the rings nearly half-way around the world. Listening to the rings, counting them, he rehearsed again what he would say, for he was calling a private line, a personal line, not the more public exchange where the ambassadorial staff might be privy to the conversation. He did his best to pretend no one else would be listening to a private conversation between an Ambassador and a reporter.
At last the receiver was lifted in Hong Kong and a voice that never failed to stir him said, “Leonie Purcell.”
“Hello, Leonie,” said Willie, and held his breath.
There was a pause; then, “Hello, Willie,” she said. “Willie. Willie. What a…I didn’t think I’d hear from you…so soon.” By which he knew she meant ever again.
“This is business,” said Willie, doing his best to make the call wholly professional, and afraid—as he knew she was—that in spite of this precaution, there might be an eavesdropper who would hear more in their voices than information; it had happened before. “Listen, I know I have no right to ask, but I need a favor: I need you to find someone for me. Very hush-hush.”
Her short laughter was not entirely natural, but only those who knew her well would recognize that. “A newspaperman asking me to find someone? Isn’t that all rather backward? What is the occasion?”
“I’m following up on a hunch, that’s all,” said Willie, picturing the way the sun glinted on her hair, as if she were in Rome with him and not in Hong Kong. “I’ve heard about a man in Szechwan Province who is said to have some information that might be useful to some inquisitive clergymen. Sometimes a story like this can lead to bigger things.” He had not told Cardinal Mendosa he was going to call
“But there was no reason for me to fail,” said Father Hastin, his words all but lost in a burst of static.
“There was also no reason for you to succeed,” said Cardinal Tayibha. “You have my thanks and blessing and I will pray for you, as I hope you will do for me and for all the souls in God’s world.”
“Certainly,” said Father Hastin.
“Good,” whispered Cardinal Tayibha, and started the ritual phrases of farewell while he cudgeled his brain in an attempt to think of another way to locate the unknown Zhuang Renxin. As soon as he was off the telephone he left his apartments and went toward the chapel which had been set aside for his use, shared only with Sylvestre, Cardinal Jung; Tokuyu, Cardinal Tsukamara; Jaime, Cardinal O’Higgins; and Bruno, Cardinal Hauptberger. He found the chapel empty and was secretly gratified; much as they were each other’s exalted equals in the Church, they were also an Indian, a Swiss (conservative), a Japanese, a Mexican, and an Austrian (liberal), which was not always comfortable. As he knelt before the altar, he prayed for knowledge so that the importance of this man in Szechwan Province would become clear, for then he would have something other than disappointment to report to the rest that evening.
* * *
As he dialed the number, Willie Foot held his breath, as he always did using the Italian telephone system, although this time there was an added tension that had more than the idiosyncratic telephone to fuel it. Service was not quite so capricious on international calls as Italian ones, but he had had enough experience to be prepared for he worst. To his amazement, the call went through on the first try. He hoped that was a good omen. He shook his head once as he heard the rings nearly half-way around the world. Listening to the rings, counting them, he rehearsed again what he would say, for he was calling a private line, a personal line, not the more public exchange where the ambassadorial staff might be privy to the conversation. He did his best to pretend no one else would be listening to a private conversation between an Ambassador and a reporter.
At last the receiver was lifted in Hong Kong and a voice that never failed to stir him said, “Leonie Purcell.”
“Hello, Leonie,” said Willie, and held his breath.
There was a pause; then, “Hello, Willie,” she said. “Willie. Willie. What a…I didn’t think I’d hear from you…so soon.” By which he knew she meant ever again.
“This is business,” said Willie, doing his best to make the call wholly professional, and afraid—as he knew she was—that in spite of this precaution, there might be an eavesdropper who would hear more in their voices than information; it had happened before. “Listen, I know I have no right to ask, but I need a favor: I need you to find someone for me. Very hush-hush.”
Her short laughter was not entirely natural, but only those who knew her well would recognize that. “A newspaperman asking me to find someone? Isn’t that all rather backward? What is the occasion?”
“I’m following up on a hunch, that’s all,” said Willie, picturing the way the sun glinted on her hair, as if she were in Rome with him and not in Hong Kong. “I’ve heard about a man in Szechwan Province who is said to have some information that might be useful to some inquisitive clergymen. Sometimes a story like this can lead to bigger things.” He had not told Cardinal Mendosa he was going to call
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