ways they were alike. Both pariahs. Everyone avoided the Entity, except the pope and the Secretariat of State, which had no choice but to work with it.
“What does it feel like to be alone?” he asked Spagna.
“You tell me.”
“I’m not. I have friends. Supporters. As you said, there are many who agree with me. You have no one.”
“He has me,” Chatterjee said.
“And what is your job?” Kastor asked.
“I assist the archbishop, from time to time, on matters with which I have some expertise.”
He recalled their talk at the tower. “Like scouring and stealing from archives, libraries, and newspaper morgues, doing whatever is necessary to get the job done?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then we’re lucky to have you. What about that parasailer? The Americans knew what you were doing.”
“No, Kastor,” Spagna said. “They knew what you were doing. Which is why I’m here.”
Troubling to hear for a second time.
“The Entity itself is somewhat in crisis,” Spagna said. “Many of my own people think it’s time I step aside. I have subordinates who want my job. The red vulture who’s in charge despises me. But the dead pope liked me, so there was nothing anyone could do. That may not be the case after the coming conclave, depending on who becomes pope. I don’t want to step aside. I don’t want to be forced to step aside.”
He stared at the bearlike man, a bit shambled in street clothes but definitely comfortable with his power.
“Your problem,” Spagna said, “is that you’ve always wanted things too fast. Since childhood the concept of patience has been foreign to you. That’s why you find yourself with the dubious title of patron of the Sovereign Military Order of Malta and not prefect of the Apostolic Signatura. Seven cardinals have held that patron post over the past sixty years. Seven losers. Now you’re the eighth. I was surprised, after your firing, when you requested such an innocuous job, which the pope gladly granted. But that was precisely where you wanted to be. That’s when I first became interested in what you were doing. But as always, you were impatient. You wreaked havoc inside the Hospitallers. They’re now in a state of civil war, fighting among themselves, unsure what’s happening to them. All thanks to you.”
“Which gives me a great freedom of movement. I started that chaos. I control it. So I also know how to avoid it.”
Spagna chuckled. “And there it is. The liar and the thief showing himself in all his glory. That’s why you’ll make a great pope. At least for me, you will. I can work with you, Kastor, like I did with the Pole. We’ll understand each other. I saved your hide a little while ago with that American parasailer, as a show of my good faith.”
“And what if I don’t want your help?”
“Then I’ll take my chances with another candidate. One who will appreciate the kind of assistance I can offer.”
He got the message. “I’m listening.”
Spagna retreated to the front pew and reached down, lifting up a thin sheaf of papers, bound together in a binder. The older man approached and offered them. The top sheet, visible through the clear plastic, was blank.
“I gave it no title. Perhaps you could offer one. After you’ve read it.”
He accepted the binder and started to open to the next page.
“Wait,” Spagna said.
He looked up, unaccustomed to being ordered.
“I offer this as a second show of my good faith,” the spymaster said. “By reading it, though, you agree to work with me, on my terms. If you’re not inclined to do that, hand it back and we will not speak again.”
Choice time.
He had few allies in the world. As a kid he’d been closer to his brother than any other person. And for good reason. They’d shared a womb, born identical twins, Pollux the older by a little over a minute. As kids it had been difficult for anyone to tell them apart. That similarity had carried over into adulthood, though they both now tried hard to distinguish themselves. His brown hair was short and tight to the scalp, while Pollux’s hung below the ears. He stayed clean-shaven. His brother had always sported the remnants of a monk’s beard. Though their height, size, shape, and facial features remained mirror images, he wore glasses for nearsightedness and the scarlet of a cardinal, while Pollux retained perfect vision and had never favored the priesthood. Their father had named them for the constellation Gemini, Latin for “twins,” and its two brightest stars, Castor and