‘I have something to show you-’
‘Just a minute. First check something for me.’
She went back into the bedroom, followed by a puzzled-looking Russell. She picked up the plastic sheet with its blue surround, on which the artist had drawn what according to him was The Constellation of Wrath. The drawing consisted of a series of white dots supplemented here and there with little red dots.
As Russell looked on curiously, she went to the map of New York hanging on the wall and placed the drawing over it. They matched perfectly. But whereas the white dots appeared to be placed at random, some lost in the river or the sea, the red dots were all on dry land and had specific geographical locations.
In a low voice, Vivien said to herself, ‘It’s a memorandum.’
Still holding the drawing against the map, Vivien turned her head towards Russell, who was now standing beside her. He was starting to understand, even though he had no idea how Vivien had got there.
‘This Matt Corey had no artistic ambitions. He knew perfectly well he didn’t have any talent. That’s why he didn’t display a single drawing. The only reason he did them was to conceal this map. I’m sure the red dots correspond to all the places where he hid the bombs.’
She moved the plastic sheet away, and when she looked again at the map of the city, she could feel herself turn white. She was unable to restrain an anguished cry.
‘Oh, my God!’
Vivien hoped she was wrong. But when she again placed the plastic sheet over the map, her impression was confirmed. She checked it again and again, running her finger over the sheet, going so close to it, she was almost touching the wall.
‘There are bombs at Joy.’
‘What’s Joy?’
‘Not now. We have to go. Straight away.’
‘But I-’
‘You can tell me on the way. Right now, there isn’t a minute to lose.’
Vivien was already at the door. She held it open until Russell joined her.
‘Hurry up. Code RFL.’
As they waited for the elevator, Vivienne felt more lucid than she’d ever felt in her life. She didn’t know if it was the situation, or the pill Dr Savine had given her. Right now, she didn’t care. She tried to remember the exact words the man in the green jacket had said in the confessional.
Holiness is in the end. That is why I shall not reston Sunday …
That meant that the next attack was planned for the following Sunday. That gave her a little breathing space, if her theory about the drawing proved correct. But where Joy was concerned, she couldn’t afford to run any risks. It had to be evacuated as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to lose her sister and her niece in one day.
They went out on the street and ran to the car. She heard Russell panting behind her. He seemed to be physically exhausted. He would have time to rest during the journey to the Bronx, Vivien thought.
She tried to call Father McKean but his telephone was off. She wondered why. He must surely have got back to Joy from Saint John’s by now. Maybe after what he had been through in the confessional he didn’t want the telephone to be anything but an inanimate object buried deep in his pocket. She tried calling John Kortighan’s number, but it just kept ringing.
As she drove along the streets as fast as the traffic allowed, Vivien turned to Russell, who was gripping the strap above the window with his right hand. Driving, at that moment, was a simple animal fact, a question of habitual gestures, of nerves and reflexes. Curiosity was one of the few human traits remaining to her.
‘So what did you find?’
‘Don’t you think you should concentrate on your driving right now?’
‘I can drive and listen at the same time.’
Russell tried to summarize the story as best he could. ‘I can’t really explain exactly how I did it, but I managed to discover the name Matt Corey. He was the Little Boss in the photograph we saw at Hornell. He fought alongside Wendell Johnson in Vietnam. For years, Matt Corey was believed dead, whereas in fact he’d assumed his friend’s identity.’
Vivien asked the question that interested her the most. ‘What about the son?’
‘He’s not in Chillicothe any more. His name is Manuel Swanson. I don’t know where he is now. But he used to have artistic ambitions.’ He lifted the rolled-up poster he was holding in his left hand. ‘And I managed to get hold of one of his posters.’
‘Show me.’
All the while he had been speaking, Russell hadn’t taken his eyes off the road. The Volvo was weaving in and out of the other cars, some of which had slowed down and pulled over to let them pass.
‘Are you crazy? We’re going at almost a hundred miles an hour. We’ll crash and there’ll be a pile up.’
Vivien raised her voice. ‘Show me, I said.’
Maybe she’d raised her voice too much. She had done that once before and regretted it.
Reluctantly, Russell unrolled the poster. Vivien threw it a glance, her eyes drawn instinctively to the words in red block capitals below the photograph:
THE FANTASTIC MISTER ME
She went back to concentrating on her driving. It wasn’t until they hit a stretch without other vehicles that she looked again, this time at the photograph. And her heart gave such a strong thump, she was sure that a second one would break it.
She couldn’t stop now – she had to keep driving. She found herself murmuring an invocation. ‘Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.’
Russell rolled up the poster and threw it on the back seat. In spite of the noise, he heard it falling to the floor behind his seat.
‘What’s the matter, Vivien? What’s going on? Do you want to tell me where we’re going?’
Vivien’s only reply was to increase speed, pushing the accelerator as hard as she could. They had just left the bridge over the Hutchinson River behind them, and the car was now proceeding along Route 95 with all the speed its engine allowed.
To relieve the anxiety that was tearing her chest apart, Vivien had decided to satisfy Russell’s curiosity. She still hoped and prayed she was wrong, even though she knew she wasn’t.
‘Joy is a community for drug addicts. My niece is there, my sister’s daughter. My sister who died last night. And there are bombs there.’
Now that she had finally given vent to her anguish, Vivien felt the tears coming. There was a knot in her throat and her voice cracked. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.