Ashwin Sanghi - The Rozabal Line

What was common knowledge was his membership in the Priestly Society of the Holy Cross, an association of the clergy who were completely supportive of Opus Dei and its activities. What was not common knowledge was Valerio’s membership of the Crux Decussata Permuta. [14]

While a standard crucifix hung prominently around his neck, a much smaller pendant hung underneath his robes. It had a rather curious design.

He picked up the Bang & Olufsen telephone on his antique Murano desk and began to dial: +81…3…

After a few rings a female voice answered at the other end. His Eminence began ‘ Ohaya gozaimasu …’ in fluent Japanese. ‘I have an assignment for you. Can you meet me in London sometime in the next two days?’

‘ Hai, wakarimasu ,’ said Swakilki respectfully. ‘Where shall I meet you?’

‘The Dorchester. We’ll meet in my suite.’

‘ Domo arigato gozaimasu .’

‘God bless you, my child.’

Swakilki looked across the table at Takuya as she put the phone down. She absentmindedly ran her fingers over the strange tattoo on her left forearm.

The tattoo had been placed there by her mother, Aki, when Swakilki had turned five. It was identical to the one that Aki had also possessed on her own arm.

Swakilki remembered the Sisters of Charity of St Vincent de Paul who had taken such good care of her during her six years at the Holy Family orphanage in Osaka. She also remembered the jovial Santa Claus who had brought candy for all the kids in the orphanage in those years. She had always thought of him as Santa Claus ever since; his real name of course had been Alberto Valerio.

He had taken special interest in her due to his personal friendship with Swakilki’s late mother, Aki. After her adoption she had continued to receive postcards from him for the next two years, but she had lost contact with him after she ran away from her abusive adoptive father. He had somehow managed to track her down several years later. She had confessed her plight to him, revealing the most intimate details of her life. He had then said to her, ‘I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.’

Swakilki could only remember how relieved she had been to unburden herself to him. Henceforth she would no longer kill for Aum Shinrikyo.

Only for Christ.

Virgin Atlantic’s flight 901 from Tokyo’s Narita airport took off on the dot at 11am and landed at London Heathrow a few minutes before the scheduled arrival of 3:30 pm local time. On board in Virgin’s Upper Class cabin was a Japanese couple who had spent the entire twelve-and-a-half-hour flight sleeping soundly. [15]

They had not asked for any reading material, nor did they turn on the personal entertainment screens. When the elaborate dinner consisting of shrimp with fish roe, zucchini in miso paste, egg yolk crabmeat rolls, buckwheat noodles and green tea, had been served, they had continued to sleep. They were certainly the freshest passengers to emerge from the Airbus aircraft in London.

Just another camera-slung Japanese tourist couple, the immigration officer thought of Mr and Mrs Yamamoto while cursorily checking their passports. The landing cards they had filled in on the flight indicated that they were staying for a week at the Grosvenor House Hotel on Park Lane. He stamped their passports matter-of-factly and waved them through.

They had no checked-in luggage, only onboard strollers, so they did not need to wait at the conveyor belts that were being crowded by hundreds of bleary-eyed passengers. Instead, they passed through the green channel at Heathrow’s Terminal Three and walked straight through the arrival area to the taxi departure point without raising any suspicion. There were four London cabs waiting and they got into the first one in line.

‘Where to, guv?’ asked the cheerful cabbie.

‘The London Hilton on Park Lane, please,’ came the reply. Not the Grosvenor House.

At the reception desk of the London Hilton, the uninterested receptionist required their passports and a credit card. Takuya was happy to give her two false passports, one belonging to him and one to his wife, along with a Visa card.

Upon reaching their room on the Executive Floor, Swakilki took off her curly wig and Takuya removed his clear-glass spectacles and his neat little moustache. They got out of their casual travelling clothes and showered vigorously before putting on fresh formals. Swakilki then put the curly wig back on her head while Takuya once again put on his clear-glass spectacles and moustache.They then took the elevator to the lobby and walked out of the hotel onto Park Lane, turned right, and walked from the Hilton at 22 Park Lane, to 54 Park Lane, which housed The Dorchester Hotel, just a few blocks away.

Once there, they were to receive their formal assignment from His Eminence Alberto Cardinal Valerio.

On 20 July, the first television transmission from the moon was viewed by 600 million people around the world. Matthew Sinclair sat riveted on a well-worn sofa and watched Neil Armstrong become the first man to walk on the moon. Also watching the incredible spectacle was his wife Julia, along with their three-week-old baby boy, Vincent Matthew Sinclair.

Another important event had taken place a year before Neil Armstrong’s arrival on the moon and little Vincent’s arrival on earth. Terence Cardinal Cooke had become the archbishop of New York. On the day of Cooke’s installation, Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated, leading to bloody riots in many American cities. [16]

Cooke’s tenure as archbishop would be difficult. Between 1967 and 1983 the number of diocesan priests in New York would decline by around 30 per cent, infant baptisms would fall by around 40 per cent, and church weddings would decline by around 50 per cent. It seemed that Catholicism was quickly going out of fashion in New York.

In the midst of this turmoil within the archdiocese of New York, the Sinclairs, who were extremely religious, hoped that their son would eventually make them proud by entering Saint Joseph’s Seminary.

Vincent’s demeanour, even as a child, was one of piety, and the priesthood seemed preordained.

Thus it was preordained by God and ordained by his parents that Vincent would become one of the rapidly shrinking minority groups-that of diocesan priests.

Vincent Sinclair at the age of ten was just another kid. He was playing with Kate, the neighbour’s daughter, in the backyard. They were on a swing that his father, Matthew, had rigged to a sturdy branch of a strong tree in the yard. Vincent had already had a go at sitting on the swing and being pushed by Kate; it was now her turn to sit and be pushed.

Boys will be boys. A mischievous glow was on Vincent’s face as he began pushing the swing for Kate. As the momentum increased, he found that he could send her higher and higher into the air with less and less effort. The resultant effect was a look of panic on Kate’s innocent face.

Pushing was certainly more fun than being pushed.

Then the inevitable happened. The final push was too strong and Kate lost her balance. Poor little Kate fell to the ground and grazed her knee. Vincent’s mother, Julia, and his aunt, Martha, ran out to apply an anti-bacterial ointment on the little girl, who was lying on the ground with tears streaming down her rosy cheeks.

Vincent was standing next to her, feeling apologetic and offering his hand to help her up.