Project Pope (28 page)

Turning his head slowly, he scanned the room, looking for some evidence of Whisperer—a glitter in a corner, a sparkle in the air. He saw no glitter or sparkle. He searched inside himself for Whisperer, for Whisperer might still be with him. But there was no hint of him, although that was not good evidence, for in the equation world, he'd not been aware of Whisperer.

He jerked himself more fully awake, for there was a tapping. It stopped for a moment and then started up again. It seemed to have no direction, it could come from almost anywhere. Listening closely, he identified it. There was someone at the door. He swung himself easily out of bed, sitting on the edge, his feet seeking blindly for the slippers that did not seem to be there.

Jill stirred in the bed, making an inquiring sound. “It's all right,” he told her. “You stay here. There's someone at the door.”

He failed to find the slippers and stood up without them, making his way around the bed and into the living room. He closed the bedroom door behind him. The tapping on the door had stopped for a time, but now it began again, a discreet tapping, not insistent.

Without turning on lights, Tennyson made his way across the living room, skirting chairs and tables. When he opened the door, for a moment he did not recognize the man who stood outside it, then saw that it was Ecuyer.

“Jason, I am sorry. This ungodly hour …”

“It's all right,” said Tennyson. “I was just lying there and thinking. Ready to get up.”

“Could you spare a drink? Some brandy if you have it.”

“Certainly,” said Tennyson. “Sit down in front of the fire. I'll put on another log.”

He closed the door and had a closer look at Ecuyer. The man was dressed in slacks and jacket.

“Up early?” he asked. “Or didn't you go to bed at all?”

“Never went to bed,” said Ecuyer, reaching the couch before the fire and collapsing onto it.

Tennyson found the brandy and brought Ecuyer a snifter with a generous helping.

“You look all tired out,” he told him.

“I am tired out,” said Ecuyer. “Something horrible has happened. Something that's never happened before. Or I don't think it has.”

Tennyson put another log on the fire and walked back to the couch, sitting down beside Ecuyer and hoisting his bare feet up on the coffee table. He wiggled his toes. The heat from the fire felt good on them.

Ecuyer took another deep drink of the brandy. “You won't join me?”

Tennyson shook his head. “Too early in the day.”

“Ah, well,” said Ecuyer, “since I never went to bed …” He drank more of the brandy.

“There's something you came here to tell me,” said Tennyson, “and you're taking a long time getting to it. If you have changed your mind …”

“No, I'm just putting it off. It's something you have to know. It's a bit painful.”

Tennyson said nothing. Ecuyer continued working on the brandy.

“It was like this,” Ecuyer finally said. “I've been putting off having a look at the second Heaven cube. You know I have. You've been bugging me about it. Jason, did you ever get around to viewing the first Heaven cube?”

“No. Somehow I felt a strange reluctance. Maybe slightly afraid of it. Uncomfortable at the thought of it. I know I should have. I might have found something that would have helped me to treat Mary.”

“I felt the same reluctance with the second cube,” said Ecuyer. “I kept putting it off, finding reasons to put it off. Maybe I was afraid of what I might experience. I don't know. I tried to analyze my feelings and came up zilch. Then last evening I decided—forced myself to decide—I'd fooled around long enough.”

“So you finally viewed it.”

“No, Jason, I didn't.”

“Why the hell not? Shy off at the last moment?”

“Not that. It wasn't there.”

“What do you mean, it wasn't there?”

“Just that. It isn't there. It isn't where we put it. We, old Ezra and me. You know Ezra. He's the custodian.”

“Yes, I know him.”

“He followed procedure. He always follows procedure. He never misses a lick. He always does what he's supposed to do. I've worked with him for years; I'd trust him with my life.”

Tennyson waited and in a few moments Ecuyer resumed. “When a new cube comes in, I deliver it to Ezra and he puts it in a safe. After I have viewed it, it may go to Vatican, and when it comes back from them, it is filed in one of the cabinets. Often a cube does not go to Vatican immediately, or may not go at all if we judge it would have no particular interest, in which case it also is filed in a cabinet. Ezra has a system all his own. I don't know what it is; maybe no more than his memory. We have thousands of cubes; ask him for one and he can lay his hands on it instantly. He never falters. He goes straight to it. So far as I know, there is no actual filing system as such, but somehow or other Ezra can find anything you ask for. There's a measure of security, of course, in such an arrangement.”

Tennyson nodded. “Ezra is the only one who knows.”

“That's right. There are a few cubes, a few special ones, I can come up with without help from Ezra, but not many.”

“But until you view a new cube, it stays in a safe. The Heaven cube wasn't in the safe—is that what you're telling me?”

“Jason, that's what I am telling you. Ezra opened the safe and it wasn't there. There were three other cubes, but not the Heaven cube. Three that I hadn't got around to viewing—”

“One of them labeled wrong?”

“No. To be certain, I viewed the three of them. None of them the Heaven cube. Stuff that came in just recently.”

“Paul, who else could open that safe?”

“No one. Not me, not anyone but Ezra.”

“All right. So Ezra …”

“Impossible,” said Ecuyer. “That repository is Ezra's life. His whole existence centers on the Search Program. Without it, he'd be nothing. He'd be empty. I'd trust him further than I would trust myself. He's tied even more closely to the program than I am. He's been with it longer. He was assigned to it when it first started, centuries ago.”

“But if someone in Vatican …”

“Not a chance. Not even the Pope. Ezra's loyalty belongs to Search, not to Vatican.”

“Then someone must have learned the combination. Would that be possible?”

“I suppose so. An outside chance. An extremely outside chance.”

“The cube couldn't have been mislaid?”

“No. Ezra put it in the safe. I stood by and watched him put it in and lock the door.”

“Paul, what do you think?”

“God, Jason, I don't know. Someone stole the cube.”

“Because they didn't want it viewed?”

“I would suppose so. There's this theological faction in Vatican. The ones who advocate canonizing Mary—”

“The ones who'd like to get rid of Search. Who'd like to discredit you.”

“I can't be sure of that,” said Ecuyer, “but I assume they would—if they had a chance, that is.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment. The new log Tennyson had thrown on the fire was blazing now, crackling as it burned. Dawn light had flooded the room.

“That's not all of it,” said Ecuyer. “I haven't told you all of it.”

“What else is there to tell?”

“The first cube, the first Heaven cube, is gone as well. It also has disappeared.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

The whisper went into Vatican, across all of End of Nothing.

Mary has performed a miracle. She has cured Jill of the stigma. She put her hand on Jill's cheek and the stigma went away
.…

The nurse said she'd seen it happen. Mary had asked Jill to bend over so she could reach out and touch her. As soon as Mary touched her cheek, the ugly blemish had been no more. Her cheek no longer bore the mark.

A miracle! A
miracle!!
A MIRACLE
!!!

There could be no question of it. The few who caught a glimpse of Jill cried out the miracle, bore fervent testimony that the shameful mark was gone.

After a few people had cried out the miracle, Jill fled.

A worried band of cardinals carried the word to His Holiness, and His Holiness, not entirely happy with all their foolishness, clucked and made other derogatory noises, counseling the cardinals to assume a more skeptical attitude until more evidence was in. When one cardinal suggested that an ecclesiastical judiciary inquiry aimed at determining the advisability of beatification be convened, the Pope said it was much too early for such steps. His Holiness, somewhat upset, was essentially noncommittal, keeping his options open.

A general holiday, automatically, almost instinctively, was declared. Workers on the farms, the gardens, and the orchards dropped their tools and joined in a haphazard processional, heading for Vatican. Woodcutters came scurrying in from the forests. Many monks and other Vatican workers streamed out to join the happy throng. Vatican guards had their work cut out to prevent the mob from an indiscriminate invasion of Vatican. In the vast basilica, humans and robots fought for kneeling room to pray. At first the bells were silent, but, finally, in an attempt to placate the crowd, which had been shrieking against Vatican's apparent indifference to the self-evident miracle, pealed out and all the world was happy.

Knots of people gathered around the clinic, chanting for Mary, invading the little garden, trampling the shrubbery and the flowers. Guards held back the assemblage that continued to grow larger by the minute.

Mary, wakening, heard the chanting—“Mary! Mary! Mary!”—and managed to sit up in bed, amazed that many voices should be calling out her name. The nurse was not in the room; she had stepped into another room where, leaning out the window, she could see to better advantage what was going on.

Mary, summoning all her strength, slid out of bed, holding onto a chair to pull herself erect. She tottered to the door and, leaning against the wall for support, made her way down the corridor to where the great front door stood open to let in fresh air and coolness.

The crowd caught sight of her as she came out the door, clinging to it with one hand to keep from falling. A hush fell on all those who were gathered there, all eyes turned to take in the frailty and unquestioned holiness of the woman who stood there in the door.

She raised her hand to them, fist clenched, one finger extended, shaking that one finger in their collective faces. Her voice was thin and reedy, a quavering screech, and it carried far in the awe-struck silence.

“Naughty!” she shrilled at them. “Naughty! Naughty! Naughty!”

Chapter Forty

“It doesn't look as if anyone's at home,” Tennyson told Ecuyer.

“How can you tell?”

“No smoke from the chimney.”

“That doesn't prove a thing.”

“Perhaps not. But Decker always has a fire. Sometimes, perhaps, not a large fire, but something burning so he only has to put on some wood to start it up. I've never seen the shack when there wasn't some smoke coming from the chimney.”

“Well, we'll soon know,” said Ecuyer.

They continued climbing the hill. Decker's beat-up vehicle was parked to one side of the shack. A neatly stacked rank of firewood stood between two trees, the trees serving as a crib for the wood. Off to one side was the garden, with its straight green rows of vegetables and one corner of it a riot of blooming flowers.

“It's not a bad place,” said Ecuyer. “I have never been here.”

“You've never met Tom?”

“No. He's not an easy man to meet. He makes himself somewhat unavailable. Do you think he'll talk with us?”

“Sure, he'll talk with us. He's not a savage or a boor; he's a civilized, educated man.”

“Exactly what did he say about knowing where Heaven is?”

“He only said it once, that he thought he might know where Heaven was. He made no further mention of it and I never pushed him. I was afraid to, afraid he might shy off. I let him take his time.”

“Maybe he will tell us now. If we explain to him how important it is. With the cubes gone, there is no chance at all of coming up with the coordinates we need. Maybe even with the cubes, there was not too great a chance, but now there is none at all. And now I agree with you. We damn well need those coordinates. Someone has to go to Heaven.”

“I keep hoping,” said Tennyson, “that Tom may really know. I can't be sure any longer. At one time I was fairly sure he knew, but now that we're down to the crunch, I'm not quite as sure as I was to start with. He did tell me his ship ran into trouble and he got away in a lifeboat. That's how he got here. The boat brought him here.”

They came up to the shack and Tennyson knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. “He might be sleeping in there,” he said.

“It's unlikely,” said Ecuyer. “He'd hear you. Let's take a look around.”

They took a look around. They shouted for Decker and Decker did not answer. They went back to the shack. This time Ecuyer pounded on the door. After they had waited for a time, Ecuyer asked, “Do you think we should go in?”

“Yes, let's do that. I doubt that Decker would mind. The man has nothing to hide.”

Ecuyer lifted the latch and the door opened. Inside they stood for a moment to become accustomed to the dimness.

The place was neat. Everything was picked up and put away.

Tennyson looked around. “His rifle is gone,” he said. “It hung over there on the wall beside the fireplace. His knapsack and sleeping bag were stored on the shelf above the table. They're gone, too. More than likely he is en one of his rock-hunting trips.”

“How long?”

“I don't know. Probably the time would vary. He asked me to come along on one of the trips. When you can spare a few days, he said—as if we'd be gone only a few days. I would think he'd be back soon.”