II
II
From a restaurant's outdoor table situated under the shade of betel palm trees, the view of Barcelona's blue ocean and white beaches was stunning. In the harbor, ships came and went, overflowing with the bounty of the sea. Towering in the old town quarter, which resembled a stony maze, was the Santa Eulalia Cathedral, where the Barcelona bishop's seat was located.
The main street bustled with people talking and shopping. The afternoon was peaceful, especially in that little restaurant situated on top of a small hill; the southern city seemed abundant with activity and slightly exotic.
"So, the police investigation didn't find any traces of an explosive device. They say what happened was in line with the station building's age. Are you listening, Abel?"
"Of course I'm listening, Sister Noelle."
The beautiful woman wearing a pretty suit looked up from a sheaf of reports to see Abel Nightroad nod very seriously. His expression was sober, and his gaze overflowed with sincere enthusiasm.
All the same, he'd stuffed so much paella in his mouth that his cheeks puffed out. He grasped forkfuls of grilled sausages in each hand. In addition, there were five lunch sets lined up on the narrow table. (Inside the shop, the waitresses dressed in colorful folk costumes were watching him anxiously.) No matter how sincere his expression, it was very hard to take him seriously.
"I'm disgusted. Do you intend to eat all that?" Noelle asked.
"Heh heh heh. It's been a long time since I've gone on a proper business trip. If I fatten up on this expensed meal, it'll hold me over for three days after I go back to Rome. If I chew my cud, maybe it'll last a week."
"Cheapskate. You haven't improved a bit these past six months." She sighed. "Something's stuck to your face." As she picked off a grain of paella from the priest's cheek, the Saint Mercedes Convent novice, Noelle Bor, shook her head.
Beneath her knitted eyebrows, her eyes smiled kindly. From her mild expression, it was impossible to guess that until a half year ago, she'd been an agent codenamed 'Mistress' and dreaded by the enemies of the Vatican.
"Ah, thanks. By the way, Noelle, thank you very much for saving me today. You really helped." Skillfully peeling the shrimp simmering in steaming broth, Abel bowed his head to his former comrade. "I felt uneasy partnering with you considering you've retired—but because Archbishop Alfonso's trip to Rome requires so much security, the Vatican is shorthanded."
"Archbishop Alfonso, His Holiness' uncle? So, he's still alive?"
"Yeah, he's serving as the Archbishop of Cologne; now, he's returning to Rome for the first time in five years. Thanks to that, we underlings are very busy."
"I don't mind. As a person once employed by the Vatican, it's my duty to cooperate." As she picked up her cafe au lait, Noelle shook her head. Her black hair slid over her shoulder, spreading the faint scent of her perfume. "Besides, I was bored with the cloistered life; infiltration and investigation was fun, too. Maybe I'm a little vexed that I was deprived of arresting that criminal. Dominic—no, Barrie—he was a real bad guy, right?"
"At this point in time, I've confirmed he's murdered forty-eight people. In any event, he's going to receive the death penalty."
James Barrie, former Londinium University professor, was the ringleader of the Never Land Incident — a large-scale kidnapping and human experimentation program that had come to light two months prior. The incident had been resolved thanks to AX, but Barrie himself already had vanished.
AX had learned that Barrie owned a pharmaceutical company in Barcelona under a fake name, but that information was more than a month old. Because active agents could not be spared at that time, former agent Noelle, who'd retired to Barcelona six months before, infiltrated the Dominic Company. She'd ascertained that Director Dominic was Barrie. The professor had changed his face and name. After all that undercover work, she was vexed that he'd disappeared right before her eyes. All through the night, she'd been regretting it obsessively.
Abel felt the same way. I wanted to catch the man who irreversibly damaged a great many children.
He heaved an inaudible sigh and deliberately changed the subject, sporting a sunny expression. "So, how's the rebuilding of the station progressing? I heard the police and fire departments were mobilized. Is it going well?"
"Not yet. At any rate, what with the collapsed ceiling and all, isn't it completely destroyed? It'll take more than a week. Any mistakes and it might take a month."
"How many casualties?"
"There were more than two hundred people on the platform, but they all were wiped out. Will they find Barrie's corpse? I think if he survived, he won't be recognizable."
"I see."
Neither the travelers nor their families anticipated dying in place like that. Two hundred lives, two hundred minds, two hundred . . .
Abel hid his face, grimacing. He noticed Noelle watching him. He covered up his sorrow with a fake, carefree smile. Pushing up his glasses, he reached for some baked bread. "Delicious! This will do very well. Noelle, will you have some, too?"
"Well, just one slice. Ah, delicious!" She swallowed. "What in the world do you suppose that was, yesterday? For just the train station alone—moreover, solely that platform—to fall apart."
"If it wasn't an earthquake, perhaps it was merely poor construction?" Abel wondered.
"Well, who knows? This kind of accident has happened before. That was the sixth time." Noelle stretched out her hand to pick up a newspaper sitting on a nearby ledge. The whole front page was about the previous night's tragedy. Her slender fingers didn't point to the article that reported the accident with hysterical sensationalism, but to the names of five other demolished structures listed at the bottom of the front page.
Abel said, "That happened to all these? Five incidents in two weeks—no, six if we include last night? Barcelona is an old city, but isn't that a few too many accidents?"
"You think it strange? I think so, as well. So, I've investigated a little already. I found out something interesting." Crossing her slim legs, the former agent planted her elbows on the table. She peered into Abel's face. "Each of these five buildings had some connection to Dominic Pharmaceuticals. They were either a rival company's research lab or the private home of a politician who'd been trying to investigate Dominic Pharmaceuticals. Don't you think it would be strangely coincidental if they were mere accidents?"
"So, these incidents are actually crimes?"
"Maybe." Noelle tilted her head slightly and rested her chin on her laced fingers. She spoke in an angry tone, which was rare for her. "What's the modus operandi? There were no traces of explosives, and these incidents weren't earthquakes. Whatever they used to make a single large building collapse . . ."
"And who's the criminal? The prime suspect is Barrie, but he probably died yesterday."
"There lies the problem..."
I heartily agree.
Noelle made one suggestion: "Well, I think I'll show my face at the company. If I try fishing around in the director's office, something might come up."
"Will that be okay?" Abel tilted his head, his expression disapproving. "If Barrie is connected with something strange—"
"If he was responsible, mustn't we expose that? Shouldn't we investigate?" Noelle pressed.
"Yes, well . . ." It was logical. However, Abel still seemed reluctant. "I'll scope out things in the company."
"If you loiter around the building, you'll stand out like a sore thumb," Noelle said. "No matter where I go, no one will have time to bother about me. Rather than have a strange priest wander aimlessly, it's much safer for me to go in as a secretary who knows her way around."
"Yes, but—"
"You're a worrywart, Abel."
She stroked the priest's silver-blond hair. When he involuntarily looked up, his gaze locked on her dark eyes. She smiled, but her gaze seemed a bit lonely.
"You're always worrying about somebody—especially me. You're always carrying other people's baggage and pain in both hands. Despite that, you seldom show your own struggles to anybody. Are you so distrustful of other people?"
"It's not that. I'm not tormented or anything. Whenever I think about difficult things, I get a fever." He tried to smile.
"You lie like that to explain it away. The truth is, you're very worried about the station, aren't you? You're convinced it's not just an accident, but a crime. For example, maybe a terrorist wanted to eliminate Barrie. And maybe the civilians on that platform were killed because you were pursuing him. That's what you're worried about, isn't it?" Noelle sighed. "It's written all over your face."
Abel pursed his lips and stayed silent.
Noelle smiled again. Her carefree expression was that of an older sister teasing a dull little brother. "I don't think doing that — carrying everything by yourself — is good. Aren't there a great many friends around you? You should have more faith in those people. Caterina and Kate and Tres. Now that I mention it, is that other priest still alive—the one that constantly sexually harasses people?"
"You mean Leon? Yes, he's alive and well in prison."
"He's stubborn, that one. He once tried to fondle my breasts right in the middle of a mission! My only regret during my days on active duty was that I didn't split open his fool head."
Grimacing in annoyance, Noelle glared in the direction of Rome. (Right about then, a certain priest in prison probably was feeling the heat of that glare.)
A bell rang out the hour.
"Oh, no. It's that time already. Well, I'm going now. It's okay. If something happens, I'll contact you at once by radio."
"Ah, wait!" Abel cried.
"Hm, what?" Noelle stood and picked up her handbag.
Abel opened and closed his mouth like a suffocating fish. "Um, thank you, Noelle."
"It's not good to say something so formal and polite. You’re a man—can’t you say 'leave it to me' in a manly way?"
"Oh, um... leave it to me."
"Yes, well done." Snickering, the sister put a finger to her lips. Then, she leaned across the table and pressed her finger to Abel's mouth. "Bye, Abel. I'll see you later."
She smiled mischievously at the priest, who was frozen stiff with shock. Noelle turned around, masked herself with the serious expression of a capable career woman, and left the restaurant in a rhythmic, no-nonsense stride.
The priest watched her graceful figure as she disappeared.
"She's a beautiful fraulein, isn't she? Is she your lover?"
"Huh?" Abel quickly turned around.
'"A woman who embraces passion becomes as strong as bronze' — Balzac. Well, in Barcelona, women are passionate. And beautiful," said a man. He was sitting alone at a table behind Abel, quietly laughing at the priest.
How long has that stranger been there? He looked peculiar. He wore an exquisitely tailored mourning suit. His long black hair hung loose to his waist. He cradled a needle-sharp cigarillo between his fingers. And despite his striking and unusual appearance, Abel had failed to notice him. His face was unfamiliar — he was definitely a stranger — so Abel hurriedly exchanged greetings.
"Um . . . Have we met somewhere?"
"Oh, excuse me. No, this is the first time we've met." The man bowed respectfully, flashing Abel an intelligent smile. "The truth is, your face greatly resembles that of an acquaintance of mine, Father. For that reason, I spoke to you with an overly familiar tone. Please, forgive my rudeness."
"Yeah. Um, are you a tourist?"
"Nein, I'm here on business. Actually, I'm building theatrical troupe sets and props. In the near future, I'm going into the entertainment business in Rome. Hoping to check out the state of the sets before the actual performance, I came to this city. In climate and terrain, Barcelona greatly resembles Rome. It's most suitable for a rehearsal."
"Ah, indeed."
The wandering priest's budget couldn't support extravagances like tickets to see plays. Therefore, Abel merely nodded, as he was ignorant about things like rehearsals.
The man showed no sign of noticing Abel's ignorance; he continued talking in a friendly tone: "By the way, about that fraulein a little while ago: Her theory about the collapse of the building was entertaining. Although it was rude, I listened in. If it's all right with you, may I use her idea in my troupe's next scenario?"
"Ah, no, she was just talking nonsense. Please, don't mind her," Abel said hastily.
"No, apart from whether it's true, it was an exciting story. I desire to produce it. However, to make the crime theory plausible, I'll have to think of a modus operandi that the audience can accept. I mean, to swallow the idea that someone can make any building collapse without using explosives? That's a little . . ." The man flicked away ash from his cigarillo.
Neither food nor drink was on the table before the stranger. He hadn't gotten so much as a menu. And the waitresses hadn't come over at all. It was strange.
"Speaking hypothetically, what would you do to cause that kind of destruction, Father?"
"Let's see ... fire a cannon from the outside of the building?"
"Hm. However, in a crowded city like this, could you precisely fire a cannon at your target?"
"If it were from a high place, like a hill or a mountain."
"That's a good idea. Can you to look at this, Father Nightroad?" The stranger spread a piece of paper on the table. It was a tourist map of Barcelona, the kind sold everywhere in the city. Six star symbols were marked on the map in red ink.
"These are the six accident locations. Barcelona is surrounded by hills, but all the accident locations are in the center of the city. It would be difficult to aim accurately even if multiple cannons were set up on hills."
Abel glared at the map. The man spoke the truth. "Well, the aiming and firing needn't be done from a hill, right? If it were from another tall building . . ."Abel looked at the "closed district"—any empty corner of Barcelona located below the hills. It formerly had been the center of the city; after the Armageddon, however, no one had bothered to reconstruct it. The unpopulated block of land had been sealed off. Now, as the sun set, the closed district was sinking into darkness.
He could see an unusual building in the center of the district. It was conspicuously huge, with countless spires.
"If it were from there, a criminal could shoot and aim anywhere in the city. Ah, but no shells were found at the accident locations. So, there goes the cannon theory...Wait a moment... how do you know my name?"
When he turned around again, Abel's expression clouded.
Tobacco smoke rose from the ashtray, but the stranger was nowhere to be seen.
