I rested my head against the hard shell of the plane. Between the droning of the engines and Bennacio’s soft snoring beside me, soon I was asleep too.
I dreamed I was on that plateau atop the same slag heap, under the yew tree, and my head was lying in the lap of the Lady in White. She was stroking my forehead and a light, warm breeze stirred the dark ends of her hair. She was singing something, though I couldn’t make out the words, or they were in another language. I interrupted her song to ask her where I was.
Do you not know? she asked. Have you not been here before?
“Once, but I didn’t know what it was then either.”
What do you think it is, Alfred?
“Heaven?”
She smiled like I had said something cute.
And what am I?
“An angel?”
I am the one who waits. And this is the place of waiting.
“What are you waiting for?”
You know what I am waiting for.
I would have guessed she was the Lady of the Lake from the Arthur stories—only there wasn’t a lake anywhere in this dream—and that she was waiting for us humans to stop mucking around with Excalibur and give it back.
Lying with my head in her lap, I was looking straight up at the yew tree, and the leaves were fluttering in the wind you couldn’t feel, and I noticed something funny about them: The leaves of the tree were multicolored, red and black and white, and then I saw the branches were bare and it wasn’t leaves fluttering at all, but the wings of thousands of butterflies beating uselessly in the air, because each butterfly was pinned to the branch by a long silver needle. That kind of freaked me a little, and I started to pull a needle free to let the butterfly go, but the Lady slowly pushed my hand down.
It is not time.
“Time for what?”
She had a sad, faraway look in her eyes, which were as dark as her hair and shone like she was about to cry.
When the master comes, he will free them.
“The master,” I said. “Who is the master?”
The one who remembers.
“Remembers what?”
What has been forgotten.
I stared at the butterflies fluttering helplessly above my head and thought that was my problem: I wanted to forget everything. I wanted to forget, but I couldn’t.
“What’s been forgotten?” I asked.
She leaned over and pressed her cool lips against my forehead. I caught a whiff of jasmine.
When the hour comes, you will remember.
31
I woke up, rubbing the back of my neck. These military cargo planes were not built for comfort. Bennacio was awake, staring out the window.
“You were dreaming of her again, weren’t you?” he asked.
“Is she the Lady of the Lake?”
“I do not know. She is important, whoever she is, if only to you.”
“It was one of those dreams where you never want to wake up. You don’t think she’s kind of the ghost of my mother, do you? She’s dead, you know.”
“I cannot answer that, Kropp.”
“Only my mother was never that pretty, even when she was young. I don’t think it was heaven. I mean, you don’t picture heaven being on top of a slag heap. Where are we?”
“About an hour from our destination, I would guess. You have slept a very long time.”
“What is our destination?”
“France.”
“I’ve never been to France,” I said. “I don’t have a visa or a passport or anything.”
“That will not matter.”
“Is Mogart in France now?”
He shook his head. “I do not know. It appears Mogart has offered to sell the sword to OIPEP itself. OIPEP operates a safe house in France, where we will wait for Mogart’s final instructions on the delivery of the cash.”
“Bennacio, it’s none of my business, but whose plane is this? Who’s that guy Mike?”
“Surely you have guessed the answer by now, Kropp.”
He reached into his breast pocket and handed me the same business card he had showed the guard at the border. Mike Arnold’s name was on the card. Above the name was the acronym, in bold type, OIPEP. There was an 800 number beneath Mike’s name.
“Bennacio, are you ever going to tell me what OIPEP is?”
He smiled at me. “What do you think it is?”
“Mr. Samson said it was some kind of supersecret spy outfit. You don’t trust them, do you?”
“I do not trust outsiders to resist the temptation of obtaining the ultimate weapon.”
“So that’s the deal? Mogart’s offering the Sword to OIPEP?”
“Perhaps.”
“You seem awful calm about it, Bennacio.”
“I am a man of faith, Alfred.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There is a purpose to all things.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I don’t get it.”
“Not many do, when the test comes.”
“I think I failed that test.”
“Do you? Perhaps you have. Yet it is also possible that the true test has not yet come. Who can say? I have given much thought to your words in Halifax. Indeed, Samson did think it important you knew of our fall.”
“Maybe he just wanted me to know what a mess I made of everything.”
“Have you learned so little of us, Kropp, that you would believe such a thing? This mess, as you say, does not belong to you, any more than it belongs to me. Do not concern yourself so much with guilt and grief, Alfred. No battle was ever won, no great deed ever accomplished, by wallowing in guilt and grief.”
He patted my hand and stood up. “Excuse me, I must speak with Mr. Arnold for a moment.”
He disappeared into the cockpit. I yawned. I looked out the little window and saw nothing but a lot of sky, a lot of water, and something glinting in the fading sunlight off our wing. Probably an F-16. I yawned again. I had slept for hours and I still felt sleepy.
Bennacio was gone a long time. When he came back he was smiling.
“What?” I asked.
“She lives,” he said simply, and sat down beside me.
“That’s great,” I said. “I should apologize, Bennacio. I was supposed to keep her in that back room, but she kneed me in the crotch.” My face got hot telling him that. Some kind of squire I was turning out to be.
He gave a little wave of his hand. I didn’t know what that meant.
I said, “Is she your wife?”
“She is my daughter.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I added, “She’s, um, pretty.”