Procession of the Dead (4 page)

Fifteen. That was The Cardinal’s floor, hence the security measures. Hellfire. No underlings on the fifteenth. I was being taken to the top man himself.

The elevator arrived. We got out. It slid back down.

Two Troops stood to either side of the doors, guns cocked. Three more were opposite. Apart from them, the place was deserted.

The air conditioners were set a couple of degrees lower than normal—I felt goosebumps creep across the back of my neck from the chill. The carpets were scented but lightly, the smell of fresh washing. I wriggled my toes in the plush material. Pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

Ford Tasso started ahead of me but I wasn’t ready to move yet and stood my ground. He stopped. Looked back. Raised a speculative eyebrow. “Well?”

“What’s happening?” I asked. “An hour ago I was on my way to a run-of-the-mill meeting. Now my uncle’s dead, my future’s in tatters and I’m on the fifteenth floor of Party Central, presumably about to meet with The Cardinal himself. What the fuck’s going on?” I felt it was a reasonable question.

Tasso shrugged indifferently. “Don’t know, kid. The Cardinal said to bring you in and that’s what I’m doing. Why he wants you, I neither know nor care. I don’t question the ways of The Cardinal.”

“But he must have said something. There must be some—”

He shook his head. “If you live long enough, you’ll realize The Cardinal don’t need a reason for anything. And he certainly doesn’t have to explain himself. Now come on and quit with the questions. You’ll find out the answers soon enough.”

He led me down long corridors, past war chambers, function halls and several computer rooms. The fifteenth floor was an office building of its own, independent and self-supporting, geared to meet all The Cardinal’s needs. People moved in the various rooms that we passed, but silently and unobtrusively, like shadows. There was a sense of the sacred to the place.

Tasso led me to a room marked
BASE
. A secretary sat outside, busy at her PC. There was always a secretary on hand. The Cardinal often worked right around the clock, in touch with contacts in all the different time zones the world could offer.

She knew who we were without looking up. “Hello, Ford,” she said, fingers never slowing.

“Hi, Mags. He ready for us?”

“Yes. But it’s just the guest. You’re to stay here with me.” She looked up and winked. “Maybe he’s trying to push us together. We’d make a good match, huh?”

He chuckled gruffly. “OK, kid,” he said. “You heard the lady. In you go.”

I walked over to the door, raised my hand to knock, paused, looked to Tasso for a guiding word.
“In!”
he barked. I took a breath, opened the door and entered the dragon’s den.

hatun pocoy

A
s the door closed I looked around with wide eyes. I hadn’t known what to expect, so I should have been ready for anything, but I was still taken by surprise.

The room was black with puppets. They were everywhere, dangling from the walls, slumped over on the floor, lying drunkenly on the huge desk in the middle of the room. Apart from the puppets it was sparse. No pictures hung alongside the marionettes. No computers, plants, water coolers or statues. There was the desk—at least twenty feet long—and several plastic chairs were lined against the wall to my right. Two more chairs by the window, one plastic, the other plush, ornate leather. Little else of any note.

Apart from The Cardinal.

He was stretched out in the leather chair, feet crossed, sipping mineral water. He waved a gangling arm, inviting me over. “Sit,” he said pleasantly, indicating the plastic chair. “Do you like my display?” he asked, nodding at the puppets.

“Nice,” I gasped without looking around. My mouth was dry, but I managed to force out a few more words. “Very… decorative.”

He smiled. “Your eyes betray your lack of interest. You should learn to control them. Now,” he said, lowering the glass, “take a long look at me. You must be full of curiosity. Give me the once-over, Mr. Raimi, and tell me what you think.”

He raised his arms and posed. He was tall, six-five or more. Thin to the point of emaciation. A large nose, hooked like a boxer’s. His hair was cropped, shaved to the bone at the sides. He had a protuberant Adam’s apple. His head was small for a big man’s, narrow and pointed, with too wide a mouth. His cheeks were little more than taut, paper-thick flesh. His skin was a dull gray color. He was dressed in a baggy blue tracksuit and scuffed running shoes. He sported a cheap digital watch on his right wrist. No jewelry. He had long fingers, bony and curved. His fingernails were chewed to the quick. The smallest finger of his left hand bent away from the others at the second knuckle, sticking out at a sixty-degree angle. He was in his late sixties or early seventies but I wouldn’t have pegged him for a day over fifty.

After I’d scanned him, he lowered his hands. “My turn,” he said and examined me closely. He had hooded eyes, like Uncle Theo’s, but when he focused they opened wide and it was like staring into twin pools of liquid death.

“Well,” he said, “you’re not what I’d expected. How about you? What do you think of me?”

“You’re thin,” I said, matching his own nonchalant tone. I didn’t know what the game was, but if he wanted to play it cool, that was fine by me. “I thought you’d be fatter.”

He smiled. “I used to be plump, but with running the city and everything, I don’t have time to worry about small matters like food anymore.”

He lapsed into silence and waited for me to speak. Trouble was, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I held his gaze and tried not to fidget. In the end he put me out of my discomfort.

“So you’re Capac Raimi. An Inca name, isn’t it? From the days of Atahualpa and the Ayars?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Oh, it is,” he assured me. “I read all about the Incas a few decades back. Their founding father was Manco Capac. Some group’s building a statue of him here later in the year. This city’s full of Incan links. You’ll fit in well with a name like yours.

“You know what the Incas’ motto was?” I shook my head, dazed by the surreal conversation. “
Manan sua, manan Iluclla, manan quella
. It means don’t steal, don’t kill, don’t be lazy. Totally impractical apart from the last part. But that was the Incas for you.

“Enough.” He smacked his hands together. “You want to know why I brought you here, why I had your uncle and all his men killed but not you. Right?”

“The question crossed my mind,” I admitted.

“Any guesses or theories?”

I shook my head negatively.

“Good. I hate guesswork. Never pretend to know more than you do. I’ve no time for fools like that. There’s nothing wrong with good old-fashioned ignorance. You can’t learn anything if you think you know it all.”

He fell into silence again. As before, I said nothing, but as the minutes passed I remembered something from the warehouse. I thought about it for a moment, then cleared my throat and took the chance.

“Ford Tasso said something.”

“Oh?” He looked up. “Mr. Tasso is well versed in the ways of silence. He doesn’t waste words. If he spoke, it must have been important.”

“I didn’t take much notice at the time, but now that I look back… He said something about dreams. About you dreaming about
me
.”

The Cardinal’s face darkened. “I spoke too soon. Mr. Tasso obviously hasn’t learned as much about silence as I thought. Still,” he mused, scratching his chin, “maybe it’s for the best. I was wondering how to get around to the dream without seeming like a lunatic.

“I’ll tell you about it,” he decided. “You might find it hard to believe, but this is a world of wonders, Mr. Raimi. Those who deny the impossible do the majestic magic of the universe a grave disservice.

“Last week I had a dream. I’d already made plans to kill your uncle. It was a minor matter, one I hadn’t given much thought to. Then, as I slept, I dreamed of his murder. I saw it as if watching a film, the warehouse, the unsuspecting Theo, the assassins in the aisles. He entered with his men. I heard the guns blare. I saw Theo and his team drop, mown down like lambs.

“Just as I was turning on my side and preparing to move on to a brighter dream, I noticed one of Theo’s men still standing. Bullets were exploding all around but he stood there, smiling, a cocky son of a bitch.

“He strode toward me. I was looking him straight in the face, my dream camera zooming in to an extreme close-up. Closer still, until his face filled the world of the dream, smiling and confident.

“Then I awoke. The first thing I thought was, I could do with a man like that. A man that hard to kill, that cocksure and invulnerable… he had something to offer. So I checked on Theo’s men, his confidants, the ones most likely to come with him to the meeting. Mr. Tasso provided me with a list of names which I scanned quickly, following the logic of the dream. One stood out.
Capac Raimi.
An Incan name. A name of power and portent.”

He pointed at me. “That’s why you’re here, Mr. Raimi. That’s why you’re not rotting in the warehouse, surrounded by chalk-wielding detectives. My dream and your unusual name.

“Would you like a job?” he asked politely.

“You’re joking,” I spluttered once I’d recovered from the shock. “You’re spinning me a wild tale, waiting to see if the dumb hick buys it.”

“Why should I lie to you?” he asked.

“For fun. To confuse me. To see how I’ll react.”

He chuckled quietly. “Is it so hard to believe, Mr. Raimi? We’ve all had
déjà vu
and lived out scenes from our dreams. Why shouldn’t I dream of you?”

“Because you’re The Cardinal,” I snapped. “You don’t dream about people like me. We’re not just beneath you, we’re buried a hundred miles underfoot. Even if you happened to dream of Theo and the massacre, even if you
did
see a figure walk unscathed through a rain of bullets, you wouldn’t bring him here and offer him a job. It isn’t logical. In fact it’s dumb.”

I waited for his wrath to fall. The Cardinal was a man with a huge temper, who blew up at the least provocation. I’d just called him a dumb, illogical liar. I was history.

But instead of attacking, he pondered my words, fingers crooked, lips pursed. When he finally spoke, he asked a question. “Do you know the secrets of the universe?”

“What?” I blinked.

“Are you privy to the secrets of the universe? Can you account for the workings of nature, the movements of the heavens, the advent of life? Do you have an insight into the inexplicable which the rest of us lack? If so, I would pay much for such information.”

“I don’t see what—”

“You don’t see
anything
,” he snapped. “You’re as blind to the wonders of the world as the rest of us. We know nothing, Mr. Raimi. We have theories, guesses and opinions. We hold beliefs, each as valid and ridiculous as the others. We trust scientists to delve into the pits of time and space, tinkering with great questions like children playing with sand.

“In all my years I’ve met just one man who seemed to really
know
. He was crazy, a drunk working on the docks. He had trouble tying laces and buttoning his coat. He spoke in fits and riddles, but every word struck me to the core. I listened a very short time, then had him executed. I was afraid of him. If I had listened much longer, I’d have gone mad too. Truth is too much for minds as small as ours.”

His eyes were burning into mine. His long fingers were wrapped around the arms of the chair, biting into the soft leather.

“I gave up on truth after that,” he said. “From that day I resigned myself to a life of ignorance and blind acceptance. If I couldn’t understand the universe, I decided I’d roll along with it and make the most of its own unfathomable rules. I’d no longer seek answers. I opted to wear my ignorance like an armband.

“Do you know what the secret of my success is?” he asked, changing tack again. I shook my head numbly. “Knowing how to ride the waves of luck. Everything in this world ties together at some level. I’m sure you’ve heard the old chestnut about a bird’s wingbeat in Australia determining the weather on the other side of the globe. An exaggeration, but as good an example as any.

“It all interconnects. Everything links, sometimes neatly, more often obscurely. A Jew makes fun of a child called Adolf and millions die in the death camps. An apple falls and gravity is understood. A filth-encrusted boy has a dream and The Cardinal is born.”

He stopped, rose, walked to the window and stared down at his city. I didn’t know what he was rambling on about. He was like a mad street prophet. What the hell had I walked into?

He stood at the window for close on twenty minutes. I remained perfectly still. I sensed danger in any untoward action. I was dealing with a fanatic, but he was the most powerful man in the city.
Cautious
didn’t come close to what I had to be. Finally, after a silent eternity, he returned to his chair. Crouching forward, he said, “I’m going to tell you how I run my empire.” He looked around, leaned closer, tapped my knee and whispered, “Very carefully.”

He laughed and sat back. “Everything’s connected,” he repeated. “That is what my time on this planet has taught me. It all hooks up somewhere along the line. From the smallest man to the greatest, there are bonds. No man’s an island, if I may borrow an obvious phrase. We’re all tied to each other, the world we inhabit, maybe even the planets and stars—I’m no believer in astrology but I don’t discount it either.

“I try to manipulate the rules of chance and coincidence. I make my choices based on whims. I choose my friends and foes according to instinct. I run this city as the roll of the dice dictates. I’ve made myself a slave of fortune, Mr. Raimi, and have reaped the rewards.

“Example. Some years ago I bought a derelict tenement building near the docks. I planned to renovate it and make a vast profit. A few months later, before construction was set to go, I met with an old ganglord. He drank a few too many vodkas and began talking about this building. He’d had plans and was on the point of buying out the old owner when I stepped in. He offered to buy me out for three million. ‘I’ll give you three big notes,’ were his exact words. I declined. The building was worth much more than that.

“He went his way and I went mine. I gave it no further thought. A week or so later, I was out walking—as I did once upon a time—when a bum approached and asked for a handout. ‘You got a three-note, mister?’ he asked.” The Cardinal crossed his eyes and squeaked as he imitated the hobo. He’d never make a career out of impressions. “Have you ever heard of a
three-note,
Mr. Raimi?”

“No.”

“Neither had I. But they were almost the same words as those I’d heard a week before. Coincidence?” His face split into a smile. “I rang the old ganglord and asked if his offer still stood. He thought I was joking—like you did tonight. I assured him I was genuine. He agreed hastily, happily. He was getting a bargain. There was no catch, no hidden agenda. I was blowing millions.

“A few weeks later the building burned down. An electrical fault. The new owner wasn’t worried. He’d planned to knock the old whore down anyway. It meant he’d have to pay a bit more to clean the place up but in light of the profits to come, that didn’t matter.

“But when they were digging down to clear out the foundations, they discovered it had been built on—I shit you not—an ancient burial pit. There were thousands of corpses beneath that old wreck. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it turned out to have been a burial ground for plague victims!” He burst out laughing at that point and pounded his fists against the sides of the chair. “The fucking plague!” he gasped when he got his breath back. “Once word got out, the project was dead. The council declared it both a historical site and hygienically suspect. The press dug up rumors and wild tales, the sort any old building has attached to it—mysterious deaths, murderers and rapists who lived there, et cetera. To cap it all, my old friend had to fork out for excavation costs.

“It set him back millions. Would have done the same to anyone. Even
my
pull couldn’t have made a success of it. So, thanks to a street bum’s mumblings, I was three million to the good instead of many more to the bad. I ignored logic, put my fate in the arms of chance and emerged the stronger.

“Do you start to see, Mr. Raimi?”

“You couldn’t have known that was going to happen,” I protested. “A crazy thing like that. You couldn’t have predicted—”

“Of course not!” he interrupted. “Have you listened to anything I’ve said? I just got through boasting of my ignorance. I know next to nothing about the workings of the world and the forces which bind us together. I’m not a fortune-teller. I can’t see into the future. That’s not what my tale was meant to imply.

“I act on observed phenomena. I don’t draw conclusions, think, hypothesize or question. When something happens”—he snapped his fingers—“I jump. When I become aware of a coincidence, I look immediately to incorporate it into my plans. Everything ties together, Mr. Raimi. That is the first and only law. If you accept that—if you believe it—you can start to
use
it.”