Evensong

There was a wall screen in Gaetano’s office, playing a newscast. A kidnapping somewhere. The sound was muted, but occasional words and phrases were audible. “Explosives rigged…hostages…list of eleven charities…modest amounts, only a million euros per item…” Anwar blanked it out, concentrated on Gaetano’s briefing. He paused at the oddness of the kidnappers announcing each item one at a time, but he only half-heard it and it didn’t concern him. He left it behind in the detail of what Gaetano was saying, about Olivia.

She had already gone. She’d left the floor at 5:00 that morning, to catch up on meetings cancelled yesterday. Just one day and the media were already sniffing around: when she cancelled meetings to go with Anwar into Brighton, and cancelled more in the afternoon, rumours started. The media were also asking about the man who’d been detained. Only precautionary, had been the line taken by the New Anglicans’ press and PR people, while inquiries continue.

“And something else,” Gaetano added. “She wants to establish an Outreach Foundation for people sucked into fundamentalist cults. She’s got our corporate people doing mission statements, business plans, budgets, everything. She said she wanted their hearts as well as their heads. That she’s running a Church as well as a business. Was that you?”

“Maybe.”

Gaetano looked askance at him, but did not press it.

“And,” Anwar said, “after yesterday I need to know about all your people. What ones I can trust when I’m not around. And she can’t go off like today, not in future. Not without me knowing.”

“Are you going to tell her that?” “Yes.”

“Well,I’ve got the details of my people. Here, I’ve made an implant bead.”

“Thanks, but I need your advice on each of them—who I can trust, who I can’t.”

“That’s there too. I’ve added it, name by name.” Gaetano had ninety staff. About half were frontline ex-Special Forces, and the others were support: analysts, forensics, intelligence, admin, IT. “You might,” Gaetano added drily, as Anwar seemed about to play it there and then, “prefer to read it in detail later. Most of us are loyal to her, including my deputy Arban Proskar and the six people you fought yesterday in the Cathedral. My other deputy, Luc Bayard...”

“Yes?”

“He’s more ambiguous. He isn’t someone you can trust like me.”

“That’s ambiguous too.”

Gaetano smiled briefly, but said, “I’m serious.”

Anwar nodded, and reviewed what he knew about Bayard. He’d done wet work for one of the more obscure of the several agencies attached to the French COS. Large, like Levin. Talkative. Loud. “Quite unlike you,” he added.

“Except,” Gaetano said, straightfaced, “that he makes you uncomfortable. And he also has something in common with you. He detests her cat.”

“I don’t...”

“Rafiq’s briefing,” Gaetano went on, “probably has most of these details about my people, but not the notes of their loyalties. I’ve never put stuff like that on record for anyone before.”

“What made you do it now?”

“If you’re the only one with a chance of protecting her, I decided I had to work with you. And if I have to work with you, I’ll do it properly.”

“I’m grateful.”

“Don’t be. We both want to protect her, whatever our reasons.”

“She wanted to replace me. You know what she thinks of my ability to protect her.”

“And I know what you think of bodyguard duties...But this is different.” The sudden edge to Gaetano’s voice caught Anwar unawares. “Whoever you’ve had to guard in the past—” (“I haven’t,” Anwar said, but Gaetano didn’t hear him) “—they weren’t as important as her. If you protect her, I’ll owe you. If you don’t, you’ll owe me. And I’ll collect.”

Long before he became Anwar Abbas, he’d been fascinated by the difference between containers and their contents. He’d liked to see into things, and people, and catalogue how their exteriors and interiors differed. Gaetano was not unlike him: haunted inside by thoughts that he was good, very good, but not the best. So he understood Gaetano, even the implied threat. Gaetano was only a Meatslab, but Anwar knew that he’d always carry out a threat. Assiduously, intelligently, and persistently. He’d never give up. And, having finally decided they should work together, Gaetano would never give up on that either. He’d do it properly.

All this time the wallscreen had been murmuring more reports about the kidnapping, reports to which Anwar only paid partial attention. Then he heard a mention of Rochester Cathedral, and froze.

“It’s them, Gaetano! Where is she? Where did she go?”

The Quakers still wouldn’t budge.

“It’s nearly seven in the morning,” said Rani Desai. “We’ve been at this all night. You must be as tired as the hostages. Why not just go to your reserve list?”

“What do you mean, I must be as tired as the hostages?”