»For fuck’s sake!«
»I did not kill her, Micama faboanu.«
»What did you just say?«
»I did not kill her, Peter.« Suddenly he spoke clearly and distinctly. In the voice that was familiar to Peter. In the voice of the self-assured Kelly whom Peter had met in Turkmenistan.
»If you didn’t do it, who did?« Peter asked, gasping.
»You did. Casaremanu hoel-qo. I saw you, Peter. She screamed so badly. Odo cicale Qaa! She begged you for mercy, cahisa afefa, rain from the clouds, kissing the green grass.«
»SHUT UP!« Peter yelled and tried to kick Kelly, who managed to get out of his way. He needed a while to calm down. It was obvious that Kelly was completely insane. But perhaps he was still lucid enough to give him some answers.
»If this were true, why would I have spared you?«
»Because they need me.«
»Who the hell are they ?«
»Why do you ask? You know the answer, Peter. Vonupehe doalime. The Light-Bearers. Noco Mada, hoathahe Saitan! Hoathahe Seth.«
»I have no idea what you are talking about. The Light-Bearers? Are they the people who are holding us prisoners here? What do they want from you and me?«
Once again, Kelly became frightened and curled up in a ball, babbling under his breath. »You know it, you know it, you know it. Beware, fair little flower!«
Peter began to shake him. »Stop the shit, Kelly! I’m not in the mood for your little games. Who are these Light-Bearers?«
Abruptly, Kelly sat up and started sniffing as if he were picking up a scent.
»What now?«
»Shhh!« Kelly hushed Peter with a wave of his hand. »Micama dodasa. He is coming.«
Kelly’s entire body began to shake.
»Who is coming? Damn it, Kelly, tell me who the fuck is coming.«
» Wearily Electors !« Kelly replied, trembling from head to toe. »Oh, Wearily Electors ! Ohyo Micama, ineffable Caosagonu!«
»What are you babbling, Kelly? Wearily Electors? What kind of English is that? You mean ›Weary Electors‹.«
» Wearily Electors !« he insisted and said each syllable with the same force.
»Well, whatever. What is this supposed to mean? Tired Princes? What does that mean?«
»He is coming!«
»Who?«
But Kelly was no longer responsive. He was just whimpering and humming under his breath. Peter held the skinny Englishman in the darkness and dirt of the cell until he calmed down and the haze lifted from his eyes.
»Who is coming, Kelly? Who are these people?«
»You should – shhh, shhh – get off this cursed yolaci if you want to live, Peter Adam.«
»Do you know a way to get off the island?«
Kelly nodded.
Peter became suspicious. »If that is the truth, why are you still here?« he asked. »Why haven’t you fled?«
»Baeouibe od emetajisa laiadix. There is a reaper who is called Death. Today he whets his knife so that it will cut much better. I am too weak to do it. It is caosaji. Dangerous. Shhh, shhh.«
»Show me the way, Kelly.«
»You have to ataraahe dooainu aai. Do something for me. Hoathahe Saitan! Everything comes at a price in life.«
»What do you want me to do?«
Kelly moved closer to Peter, so close that Peter could smell his foul breath.
»Kill me!«
LVIII
ONE YEAR EARLIER …
June 26, 2010, Via Palermo, Rome
A s a child I often wondered what miracles life might hold for me, but I never thought the day would come that a Pope would make me a cup of tea.«
The man in the black suit watched in amazement as John Paul III poured hot, but no longer boiling, water into a small porcelain pot.
»You see!« replied a cheerful John Paul III. »When it comes to miracles, we are still the go-to guys!«
A weak scent of Green Sencha Tea wafted through the tidy kitchen. The man in the black suit looked around. His eyes seemed to be constantly on the move, scanning and scrutinizing everything around him. He was significantly shorter than the Pope and looked almost frail next to the German man. But John Paul III knew that this impression was deceptive.
»A beautiful apartment. Do
»I did not kill her, Micama faboanu.«
»What did you just say?«
»I did not kill her, Peter.« Suddenly he spoke clearly and distinctly. In the voice that was familiar to Peter. In the voice of the self-assured Kelly whom Peter had met in Turkmenistan.
»If you didn’t do it, who did?« Peter asked, gasping.
»You did. Casaremanu hoel-qo. I saw you, Peter. She screamed so badly. Odo cicale Qaa! She begged you for mercy, cahisa afefa, rain from the clouds, kissing the green grass.«
»SHUT UP!« Peter yelled and tried to kick Kelly, who managed to get out of his way. He needed a while to calm down. It was obvious that Kelly was completely insane. But perhaps he was still lucid enough to give him some answers.
»If this were true, why would I have spared you?«
»Because they need me.«
»Who the hell are they ?«
»Why do you ask? You know the answer, Peter. Vonupehe doalime. The Light-Bearers. Noco Mada, hoathahe Saitan! Hoathahe Seth.«
»I have no idea what you are talking about. The Light-Bearers? Are they the people who are holding us prisoners here? What do they want from you and me?«
Once again, Kelly became frightened and curled up in a ball, babbling under his breath. »You know it, you know it, you know it. Beware, fair little flower!«
Peter began to shake him. »Stop the shit, Kelly! I’m not in the mood for your little games. Who are these Light-Bearers?«
Abruptly, Kelly sat up and started sniffing as if he were picking up a scent.
»What now?«
»Shhh!« Kelly hushed Peter with a wave of his hand. »Micama dodasa. He is coming.«
Kelly’s entire body began to shake.
»Who is coming? Damn it, Kelly, tell me who the fuck is coming.«
» Wearily Electors !« Kelly replied, trembling from head to toe. »Oh, Wearily Electors ! Ohyo Micama, ineffable Caosagonu!«
»What are you babbling, Kelly? Wearily Electors? What kind of English is that? You mean ›Weary Electors‹.«
» Wearily Electors !« he insisted and said each syllable with the same force.
»Well, whatever. What is this supposed to mean? Tired Princes? What does that mean?«
»He is coming!«
»Who?«
But Kelly was no longer responsive. He was just whimpering and humming under his breath. Peter held the skinny Englishman in the darkness and dirt of the cell until he calmed down and the haze lifted from his eyes.
»Who is coming, Kelly? Who are these people?«
»You should – shhh, shhh – get off this cursed yolaci if you want to live, Peter Adam.«
»Do you know a way to get off the island?«
Kelly nodded.
Peter became suspicious. »If that is the truth, why are you still here?« he asked. »Why haven’t you fled?«
»Baeouibe od emetajisa laiadix. There is a reaper who is called Death. Today he whets his knife so that it will cut much better. I am too weak to do it. It is caosaji. Dangerous. Shhh, shhh.«
»Show me the way, Kelly.«
»You have to ataraahe dooainu aai. Do something for me. Hoathahe Saitan! Everything comes at a price in life.«
»What do you want me to do?«
Kelly moved closer to Peter, so close that Peter could smell his foul breath.
»Kill me!«
LVIII
ONE YEAR EARLIER …
June 26, 2010, Via Palermo, Rome
A s a child I often wondered what miracles life might hold for me, but I never thought the day would come that a Pope would make me a cup of tea.«
The man in the black suit watched in amazement as John Paul III poured hot, but no longer boiling, water into a small porcelain pot.
»You see!« replied a cheerful John Paul III. »When it comes to miracles, we are still the go-to guys!«
A weak scent of Green Sencha Tea wafted through the tidy kitchen. The man in the black suit looked around. His eyes seemed to be constantly on the move, scanning and scrutinizing everything around him. He was significantly shorter than the Pope and looked almost frail next to the German man. But John Paul III knew that this impression was deceptive.
»A beautiful apartment. Do
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