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“Give me absolution for my sins,” she said softly. “I harbor murderous thoughts.”
“Have you acted on these thoughts?” he replied in his raspy whisper.
“No, but—”
“Then all will be well, Anunciata.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know what I know,” she said bitterly.
“By all means tell me,” el Enterradorsaid with quiet menace.
She quailed for a moment, then expelled a deep breath.
“I trusted Maceo. I thought he loved me,” she said, her voice abruptly changed, deeper in register and somehow darker.
“You can trust him. He does love you.”
“My mother’s legacy.” She unfolded a sheet of paper, shoved it at him. “Maceo slept with my mother before he slept with me. He’s my father.”
El Enterradortouched the crown of her head. “My child,” he said, just as if he were a real priest, continuing in that ecclesiastical vein: “Fallen from the Garden of Eden, we all come from a dark place. This is our heritage, our collective legacy. We are all si
“And if the worst happens, if he makes me pregnant?” “Of course we must see to it that never happens.”
“I could cut off his cojones,” Anunciata said with no little vitriol. “That would make me happy.”
El Enterradorsaid, “I knew your mother ever since she came to Mexico City. I gave her confession. I have hope that I helped her through difficult times because she needed help and did not know where else to turn. Now it’s you who comes to me for help and advice. Go to your father. Talk to him.”
“What we have done!” Anunciata shuddered. “It’s a hideous sin. You of all people should know that.”
“Where is Maceo now?”
“You mean you don’t know? He’s gone. He left with Rowland for the airport.”
“Where are they going?” Bourne said as he stepped into the rectory.
Both Anunciata and el Enterradorturned to stare at him. The priest was clearly more surprised to see him. The young woman registered only curiosity.
“Who are you, señor?” Anunciata said.
“Rebeka and I were at the villa early this morning.”
“Then you—?”
But Bourne was already turning away from her. “I should still be at the airport. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
“How would I—?”
“The crystal-encrusted skull you gave me. I found the transmitter inside it.”
El Enterradorwithdrew a long-bladed stiletto from beneath his robes, but Bourne shook his head, leveling the handgun he had taken from Maceo Encarnación’s guard. “Put it down, Undertaker.”
Anunciata’s eyes opened wide. She seemed even more beautiful now than she had earlier. “He is a priest. Why do you call him el Enterrador?”
“That’s his nickname.” Bourne gestured with his head. “Show her the tattoos on your forearms, priest.”
“Tattoos?” Anunciata echoed. She stared at her companion, clearly stu
He said nothing, didn’t even look at her.
She reached out, pushed up the sleeves of his robe, and gasped at the intricate handiwork displayed.
“What is this?” It seemed unclear who she was addressing.
“Tell her, Undertaker,” Bourne said. “I’d like to hear it, as well.”
El Enterradorglared at him. “You were not supposed to come back here.”
“You weren’t supposed to track me, either.” Bourne nodded. “Now let’s get to the truth.”
“About what?” el Enterradorwhispered. “Maceo Encarnación asked for my help. I gave it to him.”
“Rebeka—the woman—my friend—is dead. Put the knife on the desk.”
After a hesitation, el Enterradorcomplied.
“The truth,” Bourne said. “That’s what I’m here for. How about you, Anunciata?”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Ask the Undertaker. He’s the one who is in real need of forgiveness.”
She shook her head again.
Bourne said, “Rebeka and I got into Maceo Encarnación’s villa via a mortician’s hearse. In order for that to happen, someone inside the villa had to die.”
“My mother.”
Bourne nodded. “Your mother. But how would anyone know beforehand that she was going to die?” He stared directly at the priest. “People had to know your mother was going to die. Which means she was murdered.”
Tears were standing out in Anunciata’s eyes. “The doctor said she died of a heart attack. There wasn’t a mark on her. I know. I dressed her for the...the mortician.”
“Poison doesn’t leave an external mark,” Bourne said. “And if you’re clever you can find a poison that won’t leave an internal trace, either.” He nodded. “I think that might have been your part in the murder, Undertaker.” He turned to Anunciata. “Hence his nickname.”
She whirled on el Enterrador. “Is that true?”
“Of course not,” he scoffed. “The very idea that I would harm your mother is absurd.”
“Not if Encarnación asked it of you.”
“Did you do it?” Anunciata’s cheeks were flaming. Her entire frame was shaking.
“I already told you—”
“The truth!” she cried. “This is a church. I’ll have the truth!”
He went to reach for the stiletto, but she was quicker. Or perhaps she had already prepared herself. Snatching up the knife, she strode forward, and, in one powerful swing, thrust the knife into el Enterrador’s throat.
His eyes opened wide in shock and disbelief. He grabbed on to the edge of the desk as he was falling, but his already numb fingers slipped off, and he crashed to the floor in a rapidly spreading pool of his own blood.
22
THE BEIJING CENTRAL Committee Earth and Sky Country Club lay only five miles northwest of the capital.
But it could have been a hundred. Here, beyond the massive layer of industrial smog that hung above the city like an intimation of a permanent twilight, the skies were clear. Within the twelve-foot-high spiked fence, electrified for added security, could be seen endless rows in meticulous parallels of cabbage, cucumbers, peppers and beans of all varieties, onions, scallions, gai lan, bok choy, and chilies, among many others. What made these vegetables special, necessitating the heavy security, was that they were all organic, grown pesticide-free in pristine conditions. In the northern section of Earth and Sky was the dairy farm, where cows were fed an all-organic diet, the milk processed in sterile conditions.
It was to Earth and Sky that Minister Ouyang was being driven in his state-provided limousine for his twice-monthly visit. The produce of Earth and Sky was the sole property of the state, for consumption only by the Central Committee and those high-level ministers who, like Ouyang, were privy to its largesse. There were twenty-five levels of power within the many ministries of Beijing’s central government. Each level was entitled to a specific amount of organic food. The higher up the minister, the larger the monthly allotment. This feudal system was a holdover from Mao’s regime, made necessary by the severe pollution of China’s earth and sky, which was nearing crisis level.
However, today Minister Ouyang had an altogether different reason for visiting the country club. As the cantilevered front gate opened to his driver’s electronic code, he saw another car waiting just inside. The man in army fatigues stood beside the car, eating a cucumber he had apparently just pulled off the vine.
When Ouyang stepped out of his limousine and approached, he saw the livid scar down the side of the man’s face.
“Colonel Ben David,” he said, do
“You know,” Ben David said, lounging against the car, “I still prefer Israeli cucumbers.” He chomped on the Earth and Sky vegetable, chewing slowly. “Something about the desert sun.”
Minister Ouyang produced a curdled smile. “Bring your own food next time.”