“It’s not our concern, Maya. The rule is, we guard Travelers only in
“I don’t care about the rules. ‘Cultivate Randomness.’ Isn’t that what Sparrow wrote? Maybe it’s time to do something different, because this strategy isn’t working.”
Hollis spoke for the first time. “She’s got a point, Linden. Right now, Michael Corrigan is the only Traveler in this world, and he’s working for the Tabula.”
“Help me, Linden. Please. All I need is a name.”
The French Harlequin stood up and began to leave the room. When he reached the doorway, he stopped and shifted his weight from one foot to the other like a man trying to pick the right pathway on a dark night.
“There are several experts on the realms who live in Europe, but there’s only person we can trust. His name is Simon Lumbroso. He was your father’s friend. As far as I know, he’s still in Rome.”
“My father never had any friends. You know that as well as I do.”
“That’s the word Thorn used,” Linden said. “You should go to Rome and find out for yourself.”
Hollis was making a cup of coffee in the hidden apartment when Linden walked in from the drum shop carrying a satellite phone. “I just heard from Mother Blessing. She’s on Skellig Columba.”
“I bet she wasn’t happy when she found out that Maya was gone.”
“The conversation was very brief. I told her you had arrived in London and she requested that you come to the island.”
“Does she want me to guard Matthew Corrigan’s body?”
Linden nodded. “That’s a logical conclusion.”
“What about Vicki?”
“She didn’t mention Mademoiselle Fraser.”
Hollis poured a cup of coffee for the French Harlequin and placed it on the kitchen table. “You’ve got to tell me how to travel to Ireland, and I’ll need a boat to take me to the convent.”
“
HOLLIS QUICKLY DISCOVERED that “other arrangements” meant chartering a private helicopter to fly to the island. Two hours later, Winston Abosa drove him out to White Waltham-a small airfield with a grass runway near Maidenhead in Berkshire. Carrying a manila envelope filled with cash, Hollis was met in the parking lot by a pilot in his sixties. There was something about the man’s appearance-the short haircut and straight-backed posture-that suggested a military background.
“Are you the client going to Ireland?” the pilot asked.
“That’s right. I’m-”
“I don’t want to know who you are. But I do want to see the money.”
HOLLIS HAD THE feeling that the pilot would have flown Jack the Ripper to a girls’ school if there had been enough euros in the envelope. Ten minutes later, the helicopter was in the air and heading west. The pilot was quiet except for a few terse comments to air traffic controllers. His only expression of personality was revealed in the aggressive way he roared over of a line of hills, swooping down a green valley where each field was defined by a stone wall. “You can call me Richard,” he said at one point, but he never asked Hollis for his name.
Pushed by an eastern wind, they crossed the Irish Sea and refueled at a small airport near Dublin. As they flew across the countryside, Hollis looked down and saw haystacks, little clusters of homes, and narrow roads that rarely seemed to go in a straight line. When they reached the west coast of Ireland, Richard removed his sunglasses and began glancing at a GPS device in the instrument panel. He stayed low enough to pass a flock of pelicans flying in a V formation. Directly below the birds, waves surged upward and collapsed into white foam.
Finally, the two jagged spires of Skellig Columba came into view. Richard circled the island until he saw a white strip of cloth fluttering from a pole. He hovered over this improvised flag for a minute, and then landed on a patch of flat, rocky ground. When the propeller stopped moving, Hollis could hear wind whistling through a crack in the air vent.
“There’s a group of nuns on this island,” Hollis said. “I’m sure they’d be glad to give you a cup of tea.”
“My instructions were to stay in the helicopter,” Richard said. “And I’ve been paid a certain premium to follow those instructions.”
“Suit yourself. You might want to hang around for a while. There’s an Irishwoman who probably wants to go back to London.”
Hollis got out of the helicopter and looked down the rocky slope at the convent. Where’s Vicki? he thought. Didn’t they tell her I was coming?
Instead of Vicki, he saw Alice running toward the helicopter, followed by a nun and-several yards back-a woman with dark red hair. Alice reached him first and stepped up on a rock so that they would be on the same level. Her hair was tangled and her boots were covered with mud.
“Where’s Maya?” Alice asked.
It was the first time Hollis had ever heard her voice. “Maya is in London. She’s okay. Nothing to worry about.”
