Chapter 5

In his office on the 12th floor of the Tusk, Dr Humid van Arroz sat back in his armchair and crossed his long thin legs on his desk so that his size 12 hand-tooled shoes blocked out the door to his office. There had been something about that blonde in the pants skirt and red tights, red tights of all things, who had fallen to his feet, and that something bothered him. He didn’t know why and had made his enquiries. She was a good worker, but she had an insatiable curiosity, and what was worse and did not at all fit in with the G.U.T. was her apparent ignorance, yes ignorance, of one of the G.U.T.’s most important precepts – respect for authority. He had felt it, seen it in her brown eyes, just before Ms Rena had taken her under her wing. That worried him, too. Ms Josinta Rena, the keeper of the confidentials, had protected her in a way. He would have to keep an eye out for this Philippa Sandberg. He rubbed the nails of his right hand softly over the right lapel of his jacket. He was not unknown to use charm. Yes, he would use his own brand of charm on this tousle-headed young woman who could risk disturbing his empire.

Dr Humid van Arroz’s empire had been built up carefully over years of connections – his own brand of vitamin C. He instinctively reached for the bowl of plump fresh navel oranges that he kept on a small ebony table by his desk. Still musing, he dug his fingernails into the puckered skin. A sudden knock on the door caught him bringing his long legs down from the desk and too quickly releasing the orange.

Drat. He hated being surprised like this. His fingers were sticky. He slipped his free hand into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a white Swiss cotton handkerchief monogrammed with HvA; he shook it out quickly and wiped his fingers. He had just stuffed the handkerchief into his trouser pocket when the door opened.

“Excuse me,” said Theodor Saint, his teeth gleaming white in a broad smile. He was not wearing his turban and had combed greying strands of hair from one side of his head to the other, like a tiara rimming his brown dome. “Excuse me,” he said again.

“What is it, Saint?” snapped Dr van Arroz. “I have told you not to come up here to my office. If I need you, I shall come down to yours.”

Theodor Saint kept smiling, “I thought you might desire a progress report,” he said, settling into the armchair facing Dr van Arroz’s sculpted oak desk. Theodor Saint knew that van Arroz was always interested in progress, at least the sort that was in the latter’s interest.

As an engineer, Dr van Arroz knew of The Saint’s work on telepathy, but had been unable to reconcile it with his own perception of scientific fact. His interest in achieving such reconciliation was the reason he allowed Theodor Saint to continue occupying, beyond the retirement age of 65, one of the outer half-underground offices of the G.U.T., that and the recognition that the old Indian was onto something.

“You may not like it, though,” said Theodor Saint, leaning back slowly. Dr van Arroz’s eyes stretched into slits. Taking this as a signal to continue, Theodor Saint formed a temple of his thumbs and fingers, as if lining van Arroz up, and said in a soft voice: “Telepathy is not just about power.”

“Indeed,” said van Arroz, his hand reaching for the unfortunate orange.

“No,” said Theodor Saint. “It also works with the heart.”

“The heart?” Dr van Arroz squeezed the orange. “In the G.U.T.? Nonsense. No such thing. ” van Arroz’s fingers felt sticky as a dampness seeped beneath his fingernails.

“Those oranges will rot if you keep doing that,” Theodor Saint whispered.

Dr van Arroz sat up straight and fumbled for his handkerchief. Damn The Saint, he thought as he wiped his fingers again.

“I am already,” said Theodor Saint and then thought, but things look like changing.

“But?” Dr van Arroz’s eyes ran over The Saint’s tiara of hair and then, mesmerized by his brown dome glistening in the afternoon sunlight, added: “I got the beginning.”

“Yes,” said The Saint. “But you’re not powerful enough for the rest yet.” Nor are you pure of heart, if you even have one, he thought.

Dr van Arroz scratched his ear and craned forward slightly, the movement revealing the tiniest imbalance of a dislodged toupee. How he hated the way Theodor Saint flaunted his bald spot. “Where’s your turban,” he hissed.

The Saint smiled serenely and then chuckled. “It wouldn’t do to be recognized, would it now?”

Dr van Arroz took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Well, where is all this progress you came to report?”

“My dear colleague,” said The Saint, “it seems that telepathy not only works for the one with the most power.” The Saint settled himself comfortably, like a cat that had just found the right position. “It also works for one who is pure of heart. Best of all,” he added, “when the two go together.”

“Harrumph,” said Dr van Arroz.

“I have no final proof yet, ” purred Theodor Saint, “but I’m getting there. And of course, to get there, I shall need a longer stay here.”

“Listen here, Saint,” said Dr van Arroz. “I gave you six months.”

“The project will need that much again,” The Saint said flatly, his smile fading.

Dr van Arroz’s mind raced. Three months to take over the Personnel and Social Protection Department and turn it into Human Resources. He’d seen to it that the former Chief, Antoine Picard, had succumbed to a certain weakness for bubbly, bubbly that he, Humid van Arroz had doubly, and if he might say so, cleverly spiked. It had been easy to take over, cut costs he’d proposed. And the time had been right. He had fired the Medical Practitioner and the Social Assistant, cut posts and heads, and Social Protection. He was just finishing off the financial side, and that regrettably was still a little behind, but budget cuts would be next, and it would not be long before General Services would also swallow up the Finance Department, and why not, even IT – he was, after all an engineer. When all was done there’d only remain a little cosmetic touch. What’s in a name? Administrative Services, Chief of. Ad-min-is-tra-tive. He loved the way that word rasped over his tongue. It was liberating, just like his morning tongue scraping that freed the damp appendage from those annoying toxins. As Head of Administrative Services, he would have all the power and the gift of telepathy would then come to him, home in to him. And then? Why, he could aim even higher. He sighed and then his mouth tightened into a hyphen. He was so close, and now this. But he needed Theodor Saint. He needed the reconciliation of the gift with his science. He had to give in on the six extra months. Damn Saint, he thought again.

Theodor Saint silently looked at van Arroz, then said in the measured intonation of a poker player before a Full House: “ Six more months. Take it or leave it.”

“Oh, very well then,” van Arroz said. “But midway through I want a detailed report. Facts. Figures. Persons. Male. Female.”

Sheep? Thought Theodor Saint as he rose from his chair as if ascending to heaven. “I shan’t come here again,” he said. “You know where to find me.” Then he left, quietly closing the door behind him.

Dr Humid van Arroz’s knuckles were white as he gripped the arms of his armchair. “So close,” he muttered. He stretched a hand towards the oranges and then pulled it back. “Damn The Saint!”