Fortunato looked back just as hard at Barnett. “What about him?”
“He is, without a doubt, Jesus Christ reincarnate. The Second Coming is upon us and the battle of the Millennium is about to start.” Barnett held out his hand, forestalling Fortunato’s incredulous reply. “Now hear me out. I’m not the only one who realizes that John Fortune will play a critical role in the upcoming Struggle. Contarini and his Allumbrados believe this as well. Only, wrong-headed as usual, the damned Papists think he’s the Anti-Christ. They believe that he must die, while I know, I know as well as I know the love of my God, that he must be shielded. He must be sheltered and protected until he realizes his fate and brings about the Kingdom of God on Earth.”
Fortunato, who had edged forward on his seat during Barnett’s speech, sank back in the chair, flabbergasted at the ex-President’s words.
“I know,” Barnett said at the stunned look on Fortunato’s face. “How can they be so wrong? How can they be that stupid? Well, God has, if you forgive the metaphor, thrown us a curve ball on this one. I could hardly suspect myself that He would chose a stained vessel such as Peregrine to be the mother of His Son, but God does work in mysterious ways—”
“Wait a minute,” Fortunato interrupted, unable to contain himself any longer. “What about me?”
“Well, what about you?”
“I was there when he was conceived. I can assure you that this was not a case of virgin birth.”
Barnett shook his head. “We all have a place in God’s plan. Some of us just aren’t aware of what that place is.”
“And some of us,” Fortunato said, “are so certain that they think they can put others in their place.”
“Well, just so. Look. I know you want to help the boy. I want to help the boy. I showed you my hole cards. Time for you to show me yours. Go ahead. Read my mind. I’m not faking it.”
Fortunato smiled like a wolf. “All right,” he admitted. “I already did. That’s the only reason why I’m still sitting here, talking to you.”
“Outstanding!” Barnett beamed. “You know I’m telling the truth then. You know that I’m sincere.” He stood suddenly and went over to a large window over-looking his domain. “C’mere. I want you to see something.”
Fortunato levered himself out of the chair and joined Barnett at the window. He towered over the nat. They stood on the opposite side of many fundamental beliefs. But Fortunato had the distinct impression that Barnett was not only fearless in his presence, he was actually glad of Fortunato’s prowess and was confident that he could turn it to his service. If ego was a wild card power, Fortunato thought, he’d have it in spades.
“Look down there,” Barnett said, pointing to the square below them, pulsing with activity.
“At what?” Fortunato inquired.
“At all of it. Because all of it can be yours.”
Fortunato queried the ex-President with raised eyebrows.
“You want money? It’s there for the taking. You want power? Say the word and your word is law. You want entertainment, excitement? It’s available in infinite varieties in infinite supply. It’ll never run out. You want women?” Barnett winked at him. “We’re grown men here. You like that sweet little blonde thing out there at the reception desk? You can have her. You can have damn near everyone in this place and let me tell you, the infinite variety, the gut-grabbing excitement of that will never run out, my friend.”
Fortunato smiled again. “And in return all you want is my soul?”
Barnett put his hand on Fortunato’s shoulder and laughed aloud. “Your soul? You think I want your soul? Your soul can go to Hell for all I care, and it probably will.” Barnett shook his head, chuckling. “No. I want your help. I want you to join with my little group as we stand against those damned Papists.”
Fortunato put his hand on Barnett’s shoulder, and the smile on Barnett’s face slipped a bit as he gripped it hard. The decision came to him, suddenly it seemed, but with all the power of a revelation from God. Once this was over he would return to the monastery and rejoin his brothers on the pathway to enlightenment. But from now on he wouldn’t allow himself to be so single-minded. He would welcome messages, even visits, from the outside world, and perhaps he would someday walk in it again himself. But as nothing more than a father, as part of a family, and as a humble monk.
“That’s fine, then, because I don’t want money. I don’t want power. Not even women. I just want to see the boy, and be sure that he’s safe.”
“Hell, son, that’s easy enough. I could have him here in twenty minutes, if that’s what you want.”
Fortunato frowned. “Why haven’t you brought him in earlier then?”
“Jesus Christ, Fortunato, excuse my French, do you have to read my mind again to figure it out? The battle lines are drawn, son. Armageddon is coming as surely as the dawn, and we’re in the weak position. The enemy is legion. We are few and though our hearts are pure I’ve got more faith in guns and big, strong aces than I do in the virtue of our souls.
“He’s safer where he is now. Sure, the Cardinal has made a couple of lame attempts on him, but my people have done all right so far in thwarting the old Papal ass-kisser. I want John Fortune here only when we’re ready to meet them face to face and kick their sorry butts back to the Vatican.”
“And you think my joining your side will tip the battle?”
Barnett looked at him with a calculating expression. “Once you were the most powerful ace on the face of the Earth. Even that prissy little alien Tachyon thought so. Sure, there were guys around who could twist you into a pretzel. If you’d let them get their hands on you. But there was a time when there was nothing you couldn’t do.” He paused for a moment. “There was a time.”
Fortunato smiled. “I’m back.”
“Are you?” Barnett asked him. “I hope so. I truly hope so.” He went back to his desk, and toggled the intercom on his desk. “Sally Lou, sweetie. Get me Bruckner on the phone. Got a job for him. Thanks, honey.”
“Who’s Bruckner?” Fortunato asked.
Barnett smiled. “He’s the man you want when you have a special delivery that just has to make it through on time.”
Peaceable Kingdom: The Manger
Ray woke up feeling great. He had a touch of indigestion, but that was only to be expected considering the amount he’d wolfed down before staggering back to Jerry’s hotel suite. They had an extra bedroom since they hadn’t called Ackroyd yet, so he hit the sack instead of making his way back to his room in The Angels’ Bower and conked out like a baby who’d just crawled a marathon.
He had no dreams, good or bad, and when he awoke it was with a totally clear head. There was no foggy pot-induced brain-cramping residue. He just felt fit and ready for the day. Ready for just about anything, in fact. He stretched lithely, feeling all his muscles glide smoothly in place, pain free and worry free for the first time in what felt like a long, long time. He went into the living room.
Mushroom Daddy was still snoring on the couch. He watched him for a moment, regarding him like one would a favored dog, thinking that the hippie wasn’t that bad after all. Thinking that somehow this would all work out. Thinking that he’d like to see Angel again, but that would have to wait. He should, he thought, go over to the Bower and see Barnett and find out exactly where she and the kid were.
Behind him, someone cleared their throat. He turned. Jerry and Sascha had come out of their bedroom. Jerry was yawning. Sascha was frowning.
“What,” Sascha asked, “does Barnett have to do with all this?”
Yazoo City, Mississippi