worrying. When she had read enough she went to Google and entered her search word. She scrolled down the first four pages, dismissing each hit.
Then something caught her eye.
She paused, coffee in hand, but remained calm: she had found encouraging items before, all of which had come to nothing. She clicked on the entry and studied the website. Then she placed her untouched coffee on the desk. As she read, her heart beat faster and her palms moistened. She reached up and loosened her wimple, suddenly short of breath. Struggling to control her rising excitement, she visited two more websites, gaining more background information, then sent the relevant pages to the printer. Next she accessed the Banque Geneve secure site, then entered her password and account number. She barely glanced at the large balance. The money was a means to an end. Nothing more. She paid for a plane ticket and transferred funds to the nearest bank, in Jinja. Finally she stood up, settled her bill and rushed out, leaving her coffee on the desk.
When she returned to the hospice it was quiet. Most of the nuns were in the chapel or tending the abundant crops in the small garden of fertile red earth. She went straight to her spartan room and packed everything she owned into a small suitcase. Before closing it she retrieved an old wooden box and undid the padlock. She took out a smaller, ornately carved box, opened it and examined the contents. The leather drawstring pouch was almost empty. A rush of relief and elation flooded her. It had once been full to bursting but it no longer mattered that her supply was almost exhausted. Her wait would soon be over.
A hesitant knock made her spin round and slam the box shut. Two small, painfully thin boys stood in the doorway. 'What are you doing, Sister?'
She smiled at them. 'Jambo, Samuel, Joshua.' Samuel and Joshua Jarimogi were twins, born with Aids. After a long struggle, their mother had died six months ago and, according to the doctors, it was inevitable that the boys would soon join her. Sister Chantal tried not to get too involved with the patients - over the long years she had seen too many die. But Samuel and Joshua were her favourites.
'Can we play?' asked Samuel.
Sister Chantal glanced at her case, then at the box. She should leave, before the mother superior or one of the other sisters challenged her, but her vigil was almost over and the euphoria she felt compelled her to do something reckless: a small act of rebellion after a lifetime of discipline, obedience, patience and self-sacrifice. 'Yes. Let's have a tea party.'
She took the carved box and led the boys to the deserted kitchen. She put on the kettle and told them to fetch two cups and saucers. She opened the leather pouch and emptied most of its contents into the box, saving only the barest minimum for her final task; she was growing weak and would need her remaining strength to complete her vigil and pass on her burden. She had been forced to see so many die. What harm could this do now? She prepared the contents and tilted the box so they collected in one corner, shook half into one cup, half into the other, then poured in the boiling water. As she put the box down, Samuel reached for it, fascinated by the unusual carvings.
'Can we have it?' he asked.
Her first instinct was to take it back, but as she had no more need of it, she pocketed the leather pouch and nodded. 'Yes, Sam, you can share the box. But it's very old and very precious so take care of it.' She added sweet condensed milk to the cups and waited for the liquid to cool. 'Now drink your tea.'
Chapter 10.
Rome, three days later
Breathing in the soothing fragrance of pine and orange trees, Marco Bazin looked down on the dome of St Peter's, rising above the dawn mist of the eternal city. At such an early hour the Aventine Hill was deserted and he enjoyed the illusion that he was alone in the world. Then a man appeared in the distance. Bazin recognized his gait instantly. As
Then something caught her eye.
She paused, coffee in hand, but remained calm: she had found encouraging items before, all of which had come to nothing. She clicked on the entry and studied the website. Then she placed her untouched coffee on the desk. As she read, her heart beat faster and her palms moistened. She reached up and loosened her wimple, suddenly short of breath. Struggling to control her rising excitement, she visited two more websites, gaining more background information, then sent the relevant pages to the printer. Next she accessed the Banque Geneve secure site, then entered her password and account number. She barely glanced at the large balance. The money was a means to an end. Nothing more. She paid for a plane ticket and transferred funds to the nearest bank, in Jinja. Finally she stood up, settled her bill and rushed out, leaving her coffee on the desk.
When she returned to the hospice it was quiet. Most of the nuns were in the chapel or tending the abundant crops in the small garden of fertile red earth. She went straight to her spartan room and packed everything she owned into a small suitcase. Before closing it she retrieved an old wooden box and undid the padlock. She took out a smaller, ornately carved box, opened it and examined the contents. The leather drawstring pouch was almost empty. A rush of relief and elation flooded her. It had once been full to bursting but it no longer mattered that her supply was almost exhausted. Her wait would soon be over.
A hesitant knock made her spin round and slam the box shut. Two small, painfully thin boys stood in the doorway. 'What are you doing, Sister?'
She smiled at them. 'Jambo, Samuel, Joshua.' Samuel and Joshua Jarimogi were twins, born with Aids. After a long struggle, their mother had died six months ago and, according to the doctors, it was inevitable that the boys would soon join her. Sister Chantal tried not to get too involved with the patients - over the long years she had seen too many die. But Samuel and Joshua were her favourites.
'Can we play?' asked Samuel.
Sister Chantal glanced at her case, then at the box. She should leave, before the mother superior or one of the other sisters challenged her, but her vigil was almost over and the euphoria she felt compelled her to do something reckless: a small act of rebellion after a lifetime of discipline, obedience, patience and self-sacrifice. 'Yes. Let's have a tea party.'
She took the carved box and led the boys to the deserted kitchen. She put on the kettle and told them to fetch two cups and saucers. She opened the leather pouch and emptied most of its contents into the box, saving only the barest minimum for her final task; she was growing weak and would need her remaining strength to complete her vigil and pass on her burden. She had been forced to see so many die. What harm could this do now? She prepared the contents and tilted the box so they collected in one corner, shook half into one cup, half into the other, then poured in the boiling water. As she put the box down, Samuel reached for it, fascinated by the unusual carvings.
'Can we have it?' he asked.
Her first instinct was to take it back, but as she had no more need of it, she pocketed the leather pouch and nodded. 'Yes, Sam, you can share the box. But it's very old and very precious so take care of it.' She added sweet condensed milk to the cups and waited for the liquid to cool. 'Now drink your tea.'
Chapter 10.
Rome, three days later
Breathing in the soothing fragrance of pine and orange trees, Marco Bazin looked down on the dome of St Peter's, rising above the dawn mist of the eternal city. At such an early hour the Aventine Hill was deserted and he enjoyed the illusion that he was alone in the world. Then a man appeared in the distance. Bazin recognized his gait instantly. As
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