(eng) Michael Flynn by In the Country of the Blind

Author:In the Country of the Blind [Blind, In the Country of the]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

IX

His caller, Kennison observed with some surprise, was Benedict Ruiz. Bettina ushered him into the office, then left, closing the door behind her.

“Brother Ruiz!” Kennison exclaimed, rising from behind the desk. “What on earth are you doing here? It’s too dangerous for any of us to meet in corpora.” And Ruiz knew that, so what was he doing here?

Ruiz planted his wiry body in the visitor’s chair. He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and began mopping his brow. With his left hand, he kept a firm grip on his malacca walking stick. Kennison could see his knuckles bulging, white and prominent, against the dark wood. “Then you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what? Can I offer you anything to drink?” He reached for the buzzer to call Karin but Ruiz held up a restraining hand.

“No. Nothing, amigo. Gracias. I came—”

“Were you followed?”

Ruiz struck the floor with his stick. “Damn it, Brother Kennison! I am trying to warn you for your own safety! And, yes, I am no fool. I was not followed.” Ruiz jutted his chin forward, daring Kennison to deny it.

Kennison sank slowly into the chair behind his desk. Something was wrong here. Ruiz was genuinely worried. Kennison leaned his elbows on the desk, clasped his hands into a ball. “Warn me,” he repeated. “Why? What’s happened?”

“Genevieve. Her car was bombed. She’s dead.”

Kennison jerked upright. A thrill ran through him. The Great Harpy, dead? He hadn’t expected Paige to move so quickly, “Do you know the details?”

“Details?” Ruiz waved an irritated hand. The handkerchief fluttered like a flag of surrender. “Why do we need details? The mob has the scent now. They will pick us off, one by one.” He resumed his face-mopping. “Santa Maria, what have we gotten into?”

“You mean, what has the Weil family gotten us into?”

Ruiz looked up and then glanced warily around the room. Then he laughed in self-deprecation. “You see? Her ghost still controls us. We are still careful what is said about her.”

There was no doubt, Kennison thought, that three generations of Weils had left an indelible stamp in how the Society thought. Their ideas had been impressed into the Society’s meme complex, sometimes ruthlessly. And yet, hadn’t he read somewhere that when Stalin died, the Russians had wept? Not, perhaps, from genuine sorrow or affection, but only because a large and permanent part of their lives was now gone. He wondered if he should feel something at this news other than sheer delight.

He tried to keep that out of his voice when he spoke. “Do you know how it happened?”

Ruiz nodded spastically. “Yes. Yes. Sister Paige had gone to see Madam Chairman. She—Sister Paige, that is—had conceived a plan to protect ourselves during these trying days. She had already been to see me about it. But Madam Chairman—I heard this from Judd, himself—Madam Chairman refused to see her. She told Judd she was going to take a drive along the Lake. The next thing Judd heard was a thud from the garage. The whole mansion shook.

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