The Lotus Eaters

Cathedral of Santa Maria, Ciudad Cervantes, Balboa

"Pull over there," Pigna said to the driver of his command vehicle, a mottled green painted, one quarter ton, open top and sides, four wheel drive job made by a factory in Volga. The factory was partly owned by the Legion, with a local subsidiary to make spare parts. Eventually, it was intended that the parts manufactory would begin assembling entire vehicles. The troops called them "mulas," or mules.

"By the church, sir?"

"Yes, right by the church."

The driver shrugged, turned on his directional signal, motioned with his hand for the trucks following to keep on going, and turned the wheel. He eased through traffic, in itself no mean feat in the busy square in the middle of the city, made worse by the passing convoy on its way to Fort Cameron. The square was, in fact, the same square where a gringo, Patrick Hennessey, had once shot a number of Moslem, precipitating the wars that followed.

Once the mule stopped, parallel to the curb, Pigna got out and walked the dozen or so steps across the wide concrete sidewalk to the cathedral's main door. This he pulled open, then entered. Even as the door opened he could hear the choir at practice, singing something he didn't recognize but which sounded vaguely Gregorian.

The interior was dark, lit only by early morning light filtering through stained glass windows. The legate took a few moments to let his eyes adjust. Once he could see well enough, he dipped the three middle fingers of his right hand in the holy water font, used his thumb to spread the liquid out, and crossed himself.

He then walked to a rear pew, genuflected, and knelt. With his hands folded together, Pigna began to pray nervously for the success of the coup he intended to launch in a very few weeks. He began, Thank You, God, that that bastard, Jimenez, will be down in La Palma visiting his troops. Thank You, too, that . . .