Evensong

Again his memory flicked up the pattern of words. “The Church’s founders come straight out of urban mythology. The Bilderberg Group, the Trilateral Commission, the Atlanticists, and others who won’t identify themselves. But the New Anglican Church has moved beyond them. It still takes their money but it’s also very rich in its own right—because it’s well-led, commercially successful and has a wide offer.”

“It’s them. Not the Bilderbergers and the rest, they’re just the public face. It’s the others, the ones who won’t identify themselves. And Rafiq knows nothing about them.”

“Yes he does. Rafiq knows everything.”

A sideways glance. “He doesn’t know about them. But he will.”

“Rafiq had some more to say, about you. He said that among the founders, you’ve got friends and enemies. Your friends support you because you’ve made the New Anglicans rich and powerful. Your enemies distrust you for the same reasons.”

“Yes. They don’t like the direction the Church has taken. They originally set it up to be something else. They wanted to pull its strings, write its scripts, send it out on stage, and eventually I said No. I decided to reinvent it. Rafiq’s briefing probably covered that.”

“And only a Consultant can protect you from them?”

“Yes.”

“Why? And why only during the summit?”

“Because that’s when they’ll move. Probably at the signing. At the end of the summit, when everyone is looking at the politicians, when they’re all signing whatever they’ve cobbled together. The move won’t be at them, but at the host. Live, and in public. And when they come for me, it’ll be with something beyond even Gaetano. Something unstoppable. It’s how they work. Stay hidden, then emerge once or twice in a generation to give history a nudge.”

“How do you know these people will move for you?”

“I know how they think. And they aren’t people.”

Before he could ask her what she meant, the food arrived. It was brought in personally, on white porcelain and silver dishes, by Gaetano and Luc Bayard. They set it out on the table, efficiently and tidily. Anwar knew without asking that Gaetano would have been present while it was cooked, and wouldn’t have let it out of his sight.

Bayard still bore the red abrasion at his throat caused by Anwar’s Verb. Or Adverb. “How’s Proskar?” Anwar asked him. He’d meant it genuinely, but Bayard didn’t take it that way.As he left with Gaetano he murmured to Olivia, while smiling at Anwar,“Inferior. Only the inferior ones get bodyguard duties, and they don’t like it.”

There were several dishes, all Thai. Including Anwar’s particular favourite, a Thai green curry. It had a thin consistency, like dishwater. It didn’t look appetising, but when cooked properly, as this was, it had a delicate aromatic taste.

“How did you know I like Thai food?”

“I asked Rafiq. Or rather, I got my staff to ask his staff.”

They finished the meal quickly, and without much conversation. He watched her while they were eating. She was small and immaculate. Her dress was similar to the one she wore earlier: like a ball gown, with a fitted bodice and floor-length bell skirt. This one was also velvet, but purple. Perhaps indeference to the occasion, she wore evening gloves.

And she ate like a starving tramp: far more, and far more voraciously, than he did. Her appetites, he remembered. She must be one of those irritating people who never seem to put on weight.

“Mm, I do like food.”

“Yes,” he said, “I think it’s here to stay...Why did you say they aren’t people?”

“The same reason you aren’t. You were made like you are, you never had to work at it. And you move in and out of the world, with an ID that isn’t your real one.”

“Wasn’t this evening supposed to be a briefing about them?”

“It was, but I changed my mind. You’re scheduled to see Gaetano tomorrow at nine. He’ll brief you. Until then, I’ve told you enough.”

He shot her an irritated glance.

“Don’t worry, there’s time. We have more than two weeks before the summit. And whoever-they-are won’t do whatever-it-is until the final day.”

He didn’t like her tone, and told her so.

“I don’t like yours. What, you thought this was going to be simple and tidy? In and out, like your other missions?”

“I hope Gaetano will be more informative than you...”

“He usually is.”

“...because I have trouble buying what you’ve said. Dark forces threatening you? So dark that even Rafiq doesn’t know about them? So threatening that you question whether a Consultant can protect you? And then you describe them as if they don’t really exist. As ‘whoever-they-are.’ As if you don’t need protection at all.”

“Why don’t you like being a bodyguard?” she asked, as if she hadn’t been listening.

He wanted to press the point, but decided not to; he’d rely on Gaetano’s briefing. “Because we’re seen by the person we’re protecting, and by others around them. It compromises our identity in the outside world.”