‘Cosy.’
‘So you’re here to protect us from the Russians?’
‘I understand they paid you a visit.’
‘Two of them. We said “no”.’
‘The next time you mightn’t have a choice.’
‘If you do your job properly we will. Coffee?’
‘Thanks.’
‘Follow me. Cook’s off today. Jane’s at work. You’ll meet her later.’ They entered a commercial kitchen. ‘We haven’t remodelled this yet. Too hard.’ She fiddled with a mini espresso machine.
‘Powdered stuff’s fine.’
‘In that case…’ She spooned some crystals into a mug and filled it from a steaming electric urn. ‘Milk?’
‘Thanks.’
‘Cow’s milk’s bad for humans. Ideal for calves of course.’ She went to a fridge as big as a walk-in cupboard.
The sound of the rain and the hollow tick of a reproduction railway wall-clock.
‘You’ve brought guns, I suppose?’
He nodded.
‘We won’t leave, you know.’
As he took the cup, the girl walked in. She wore a floppy jumper and jeans. Long fair hair hung down her back. Her sulkily beautiful face and slim frame made her classic jail-bait.
Eve said, ‘Nina. This is our new security man, Mr West.’
‘You going to screw him?’ She spat the words.
‘Behave yourself.’
‘Suck eggs.’ She grabbed a biscuit from a canister.
Eve shrugged. ‘They’re angels at two, contentious at five, savages at ten and demons at thirteen.’
Her daughter threw the canister to the floor. Biscuits scattered over the tiles.
Her mother ordered, ‘Out. Now.’
The girl stood her ground, legs apart, holding her breath. Her eyes bulged slightly and she made a small grunting noise. The room, for no clear reason, became cold.
‘No!’ her mother cried. She clapped once and pointed at the door. ‘Out.’
The girl glared a moment longer then flounced from sight.
Eve frowned. ‘She’s so destructive. I need to go and talk to her. Excuse me.’
As he stood in the empty kitchen, sipping coffee, he noticed the ticking had stopped and glanced up at the clock. The minute hand had bent until it was touching the glass. As he watched it bent further. He stared at it, incredulous, cold sweat starting down his spine.
Stromlo came into the room, squatted stiffly, began to pick up biscuits.
Cain pointed. ‘The — clock.’
He glanced at it. ‘Yes. Like Lazarus, we are trapped in the sepulchre of time.’
‘The hands, I mean. They’re bending.’
He looked again. ‘Devil’s child. I suggest we go back to the lounge room.’
‘Why?’
‘You never know.’
‘Know what?’
The priest reached for the canister but it rolled as if retreating from his hand yet there was no draught in the room. He growled, ‘Jesus Christ rebukes you oh demon, oh deceiver,’ then lunged, caught the canister and dropped the biscuits back inside. He slammed the lid on it, stood and placed it back on a bench top. ‘Come on.’
Cain was staring again at the clock. The hour hand had fallen off and now lay against the glass.
As they moved back to the lounge, there was a crash behind them. It sounded as if the tin had fallen and the biscuits were back on the floor.
‘What’s that?’
‘The devil’s work.’
‘Shouldn’t we…’
‘Best to ignore it.’
‘How?’
‘The trouble with evil is there’s nothing easier to get used to.’ The priest hunched into a chair by the fire and stared morosely at the rain.
Cain reluctantly sat, still churning at what he’d seen. ‘How does she — do it?’
‘I doubt she knows. I’ve talked to her but our relationship’s mortified — a conversation with the dead.’
‘Christ. It’s…’
‘Unsettling.’ His wintry smile. ‘Yes, you can be briefed very well. But the actual thing. Always imprevisto. It’s not under her control, of course. It comes when she reaches a certain emotional pitch. It seems to need the force of that to appear.’
He nodded. The best defence against the unknown was to keep things to business. He pointed to the ceiling. ‘You switch the movement sensors on at night?’
‘One can’t with things flying around. I have a hard-wired seismic sensor grid that monitors the perimeter and another around the house.’
‘Ten-metre spread?’
‘Yes. Because the staff comes and goes by day, I switch it on at night.’ He pulled something out of his pocket. ‘This is the receiver. It has light, vibration or beeper readouts.’ He worked the selector switches. ‘Also shows grid and quadrant. I have a spare.’
‘Any transponders for the family?’
‘They won’t wear them.’
‘Is the Russian team still in the country?’
‘No. But from what we know, they’re making plans for the kidnap now.’
‘So I don’t have long.’
‘Perhaps a week.’
‘And you’re ready to roll?’
‘Just waiting for the duplicates.’ He leaned close. He smelt of plonk. ‘The postman, bank manager, accountant, solicitor — all transferred, paid off or changed. Eve’s doll contacts are mostly American — made by post, internet, not a problem. The sisters keep to themselves so the local situation isn’t hard.’
‘Looks like you’re on top of it.’
‘The last people to change will be the staff. The gardener and housekeeper will be leaving before the duplicates arrive.’ He poked again at the fire. His thin body still seemed wiry. ‘Try to get Jane to give notice at the chemist. Her duplicate will know general pharmacy but obviously can’t dispense.’
‘So you’re set?’
He lifted the poker, scratched at the fire. ‘As set as a candidate for the inferno can be. Corpore vili.’
‘Aren’t you confusing your cover with your vocation?’
‘Your cover, Cain, is secular. But I was ordained. Ordained! Thus I am a travesty. I long to separate the spirit from the body.’ He swayed slightly, nursing his hyper-reflection. ‘Tell me…’ A breathy whisper smelling of port. ‘What manner of priest removes the Holy Father from the Church?’
‘You were doing your job.’
‘A Judas,’ he moaned. ‘A Judas.’
Cain steered it back to business. ‘The Rinaldis were from Palermo. But the sisters are hardly good Catholics.’
‘Nothing here,’ the priest hissed, ‘is true. It’s the devil’s house.’
‘I’m not convinced the devil fits a post-modernist world.’
A hollow laugh. ‘It means you’ve never lived in Brazil.’
‘Rhonda says it’s condition red here. Seems over the top to me. How do you read it? Quando comincia lo spettacolo?’
‘Molto buono,’ Stromlo smiled, displaying gapped yellow teeth. ‘We have time. I have excellent comms. I’m almost hard-wired into their intelligence.’
‘Okay. So how do I get to the sisters?’
‘You help them violate community standards. They’re animals — cows that copulate with one bull.’ He produced a silver flask from his back pocket, unscrewed the top. ‘My medicine. Scusi.’ He swigged, gasped with relief and said, ‘Brown muscat. Very cheap.’ He put the flask away with care. ‘They tempt. They tempt.’
‘Tempt you?’
‘Punch and Judy. The twin temptations of a priest. Mi capisce?’ He moved his head as if his collar were a noose.
Cain nudged it back on track. ‘So whatever way they go, forcibly or willingly, the mechanics of the switch remain the same?’