The Regime: Evil Advances (7 page)

Rayford, on the other hand, was largely disengaged from the kids. When he was home he wanted them quiet. He spent a little time with them and was good with them when he did, but usually he begged off after half an hour or so.

Irene began mustering her courage and making a list for a confrontation. It wasn’t working this way.

Leonardo Fortunato accepted Nicolae’s invitation-- through Reiche Planchette, of course--for a late dinner on a Thursday night with Nicolae’s Aunt Viv and Reiche at the estate. This time Nicolae selected the black Bentley to pick up the guest, who was to be delivered to the front door at 10 pm.

It was arranged that Reiche and Viv would wait in the parlor and summon Nicolae when Fortunato arrived. By the time Nicolae came down from his study, wearing his most sedate and understated classy dinner jacket, Reiche had introduced Mr. Fortunato and Ms. Ivins.

Fortunato—”Please, call me Leon”—was very dark and stocky, wearing a tailored but not expensive suit and tie. He reminded Nicolae of a bodyguard in a bad movie. He looked older than his years, though his hair remained thick and black. Perhaps it was because of his jowls. His black eyes carried a world-weariness, but Nicolae thought he detected shyness as well, despite the man’s varied background.

Fortunato presented Nicolae with an expensive bottle of Italian wine, insisting that he enjoy it himself at another time. “No doubt you have already selected one for tonight.”

“More than one, actually,” Nicolae said, thanking him.

The four sat to a formal meal at a small square table,

Fortunato immediately apologizing for not speaking Romanian. “That has made it difficult to teach here, but I do my best.”

“Well,” Nicolae said, “it happens that Italian is not one of my mastered languages, so let us choose, say, English, and see if we can make that work, shall we?”

As the staff served, Fortunato stage-whispered to Planchette, “How many languages has he mastered?”

“Nine.”

“Nine! My heavens!”

“And enough of them,” Nicolae said, “are close enough to Italian that I could do the best I can.”

“English is fine,” Leon said. “And what have we here?”

“Oh, just a little
delicatete
--some
fruct
.”

“A delicacy of fruit?”

“See, you speak Italian, English, and Romanian!”

They spent a long while enjoying a multi-course meal; then Nicolae excused Viv and Reiche and ushered Mr. Fortunato into a screened-in anteroom that looked out over the mountains. A fireplace roared.

Nicolae had Cuban cigars delivered. “Do me the honor of selecting that one,” he said, pointing to one of the thickest in the humidor.

“Gladly,” Fortunato said.

Nicolae chose a duplicate. He snipped the ends and lit both cigars.

After a long, slow pull, Fortunato seemed to savor it before slowly exhaling. “I can die now,” he said, chuckling. “Thank you for a wonderful evening. You have a beautiful place, everything perfect.”

“Oh, the night is young; do you not agree?” Fortunato shrugged and smiled, as if up for anything “I thought we might talk at length,” Nicolae said. “But I would not want to be a rude host.”

“I have all the time you need, sir,” Leon said.

Rayford didn’t know what to think when Irene informed him of her plan for the next time he returned from a long trip. She had arranged for Jackie to take the kids, and she had booked a room at a local hotel. That was not new, but when she had done it before, it had been either Valentine’s Day, their anniversary, or Rayford’s birthday. This time there was no special occasion.

During his flying and idle time, Rayford tried to come to some conclusion about what this was all about. While their love life of late left something to be desired, it had not been all that bad. She was tired, stressed, overworked. He was distant, not entirely happy, clearly with something unresolved on his mind.

Maybe it was a test. Maybe she was going to ask him if he had remained faithful. For that he was grateful. He didn’t need real guilt atop what she already tried to induce in him with her looks, body language, and comments about his parenting, his responsibilities to his parents, and his fast-deteriorating Sunday commitments.

Rayford decided to take his list with him. Maybe it wasn’t fair to ambush her, to spring a confrontation on her when this was a party she had planned. There was

obviously something on her mind. He would enjoy putting her at ease, but at some point, if the timing and atmosphere were right, he was going to haul out that list.

That she had planned this at a hotel, plainly with romance as part of the milieu, meant she was not totally on the warpath. He wouldn’t be either. But it was time to be honest. He would be clear with her that he had not strayed but also that he had good reasons for the emotional distance he had allowed between them. The fact was, this was as much or more her fault than his, and she was going to have to face that and deal with it.

“I’ll have a bag packed for you, hon,” she had said. “You don’t even need to get out of the car unless you want to. I’ll be ready to go, and we can head straight for the hotel as soon as you pull into the drive. How’s that sound?”

“Suspicious,” he said.

“I’m sure glad you said that with a smile,” she said. “There can’t be anything wrong with a woman wanting to seduce her husband, can there?”

“I’ll rack my brain,” he said.

Nicolae Carpathia couldn’t help but be intrigued by the dichotomy that was Leonardo Fortunato. During the meal he had listened to the man but had not really taken him in visually. Nicolae was always more concerned with how he looked than how others did.

But now, trying to get to know the man, he surveyed him more carefully.

Fortunato was probably five inches shorter than Nicolae, and yet was so thick and compact that he appeared a solid mass. The little things were not lost on Carpathia. The suit, dark and conservative, was plainly inexpensive and yet tailored. French cuffs with diamond links protruded from the sleeves. Fortunato wore two rings on one hand, one on the other.

His tie was an iridescent red and seemed to pulsate, even in the dim light of the screened-in anteroom.

When he crossed his legs—no small feat—socks that matched the suit showed a red stripe that almost matched the tie. Nicolae decided this was a man who had to fight flamboyancy.

A soft breeze kicked up and Carpathia edged closer to the fire. Fortunato did the opposite. Not only did he lean away, but he asked if his host minded if he shed his suit coat.

“Not at all,” Nicolae said, snapping his fingers and calling out, “Peter!”

A valet appeared.

“Oh, I’ll just drape it over the back of the chair,” Fortunato said, “if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” Nicolae said. “Peter, please hang Mr. Fortunato’s suit jacket and bring him a smoking jacket just in case.”

Peter soon returned with a burgundy felt-and-satin number and draped it over the arm of a divan near Fortunato.

Leon leaned toward Carpathia, spreading his feet and resting his elbows on his knees. In the low light Nicolae noticed sweat rings under the man’s arms. Nervous or truly overheated? He never touched the smoking jacket.

The men talked for hours, and by about three in the morning, Carpathia began to feel a strange bond. Fortunato seemed to know a lot about a lot. In fact, he seemed to know everything about everything. Had Nicolae enjoyed such a wealth of experience and exposure, he believed he would have long since been one of the most revered men in the world.

“I need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Fortunato, and I beg you to not take offense.”

“Please.”

“How is it that you have remained so anonymous? Why have I never heard of you before?”

Fortunato smiled as if Carpathia could have paid him no higher compliment. “That, my young friend, is by design. I like to think of myself as a kingmaker.”

Nicolae sat back. A kingmaker? “You get great satisfaction in giving others the tools they need to excel.”

“Exactly!” Fortunato said. “I don’t know why myself. I don’t even understand it. Many have asked me why I am not a leader, why I don’t seek the limelight for myself. I don’t know, but I’ll tell you this: my life is a calling. I can’t tell you that the heavens opened and a light appeared or that I heard voices. All I know is that I come alive when my behind-the-scenes work results in the elevation of someone I have discovered, someone I admire and trust. At times like that, when my candidate wins or my client gets the promotion, I couldn’t feel more fulfilled if I were king of the world.”

“Fascinating.”

“Thank you, Mr. Carpathia. Frankly, it fascinates me.”

Nicolae asked Peter to bring the humidor, and he chose a smaller, milder cigar. “Mr. Fortunato?”

Leonardo declined.

Carpathia lit up. “You will tell me if I keep you too long.”

“No, please. I am a night owl, and who doesn’t like to talk about himself?”

Nicolae chuckled. “I am curious about your spiritual background. Mr. Planchette tells me you were raised Catholic and studied for the priesthood.”

“Well, I was a religion major in a Catholic university not far from the Vatican, but I don’t believe I was ever truly priest material. I loved the church and all the trappings, but I was not humble enough.”

“Not humble enough?”

“I am a transparent man, Mr. Carpathia. I will tell you the truth. What appealed most to me about my inherited religion was the formality and the pageantry. I never felt close to Christ, the object of the church’s worship. Many of my classmates and colleagues did, and I respected that and envied them. And yet I knew why I fell short in that regard as well.”

“You wanted to be pope.”

Fortunato lifted his head and roared. “Close! Close! I wanted to be Jesus!”

Carpathia laughed along. “We would make quite a pair, Mr. Fortunato. I want to be god!”

The men enjoyed a good laugh.

“Are you up for a walk, Mr. Carpathia? I feel like a rude guest suggesting it, but I’d like to get up and move.”

“Certainly, but we must both agree to drop the formalities. I can tell we are going to become friends, and so let us get on a first-name basis. Fair enough?”

Fortunato reached for and shook Carpathia’s hand, standing and pulling the younger man from his seat.

“Would you like Peter to bring your suit coat, or do you prefer the smoking jacket?”

“Frankly, Nicolae, I am fine. I love a bracing breeze in shirtsleeves.”

“Suit yourself.”

Rayford Steele was not a man to look a gift horse in the mouth. Irene had booked the honeymoon suite at the finest local hotel, and they enjoyed a late dinner served on their balcony. A couple of hours later they lounged in bed in the dark, talking.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been set up, that she had used everything she knew to soften him for something. For what, he did not know. But he had an idea. By midnight he wished she’d just get on with it. Yet she was still going on with memories, reminiscences of how they met, fell in love, courted, got engaged, married, moved, had kids.

It was fun to rehearse and grow nostalgic over years that seemed so recent and had flown so quickly. Rayford could tell Irene was easing into her real subject, the true reason for this getaway, when she waxed melancholy about Chloe.

“I’m worried about her, Rafe. She’s too much like you…. I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did, but she’s only twelve years old. I had always hoped our kids would remain tender longer than most. Tender doesn’t describe her anymore, does it?”

“No, but it describes Raymie,” Rayford said, “and that troubles me.”

“Rafe, he’s only four.”

“A very soft four.”

“He ought to be soft at four. And don’t worry; no son of yours is going to grow up soft.”

Rayford liked the sound of that.

“We’ll get to Raymie,” she said. “We need to talk about Chloe. She’s a skeptic already, challenging everything, believing nothing.”

“Not believing like you, you mean.”

“Well, there is that. A kid her age ought to have no trouble believing in and loving Jesus.”

“Unless she doesn’t,” Rayford said.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, as long as we’re getting into this—I mean, you want to, right?”

“More than anything.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Rafe, don’t do this.”

“Okay, let’s just talk. But since you’ve gone to all this trouble, let’s be frank.”

“Can we be kind at the same time?”

“Sure. I’ll try. But this is as much a hot button for me as it is for you, Irene. We’ve been dancing around this for months, and it’s time to get it all on the table.”

Irene clasped her hands behind her head and sighed. “Fire away.”

“You don’t want to hear it. I can tell.”

“No, I do. I just think I’ve heard it all before.”

“Fine. Then I won’t repeat myself.”

“No, Rayford, please. I shouldn’t have said that.

I hope you can surprise me with some new insight. Really, I do.”

He turned to face her and leaned up on an elbow. “Chloe’s okay with God and church and all that. Just like I am. We’re simply not as into it as you are. You’re the most religious person I know.”

“It’s not—”

“Irene, listen to me.” His voice had an edge of annoyance he didn’t care to blunt. “If you get into that business of its not being about religion but being about Jesus, I’m going to explode. I know, okay? I know. You say it all the time. Religion is our attempt to reach God. Jesus is God’s attempt to reach man. I’ve heard it so many times that it’s just words by now. It’s something—forgive me—that a religious person would say! Don’t you see? You come off like a nun or a saint or a Bible student or something. We all have to be as religious as you or we don’t qualify.”

For once he had silenced her, and he wasn’t so sure that was a bad thing. Now he could turn and, he hoped, sound more reasonable.

“Think of what you could have for a husband. An abuser. A womanizer. A drunk. Someone who never goes to church. I go to church, Irene. Maybe not as much as you think I should, but I go. I believe. I believe in God and I even like hearing about Jesus. That stuff’s all okay with me. I just don’t want to be a weirdo. I don’t want it to overwhelm my life, make me awkward around my friends. They have their beliefs and I have mine. It’s a free country.”