Then he walked down the long pathway of steps toward the front of the statue, and then back up them.
He circled the base. He looked at the sky. It was growing late.
Even up the mountain, he could hear the celebrations in the city. It wasn’t dark yet but fireworks and explosions were rocking the sky.
On an impulse, he went into the chapel located at the base of the statue beneath the black granite pedestal. Many people had come in. A priest was speaking softly to a young woman who held a baby. The priest blessed the baby.
River slipped into a pew and went down on his knees. He couldn’t really remember ever praying.
That night, he prayed.
Let me find her. Let me find what I seek. Let us find truth …
Some time later, River opened his eyes to find the middle-aged priest watching him with kind eyes.
River walked over to him.
“Father,” River said. He realized he’d spoken in English, but before he could switch to Portuguese, the priest replied.
“My son. You would like a blessing.”
“I’m not—sure. I’m not Catholic, I don’t, I’m not…”
His words stumbled from his lips.
“While it may be true that the Catholic citizens of Rio de Janeiro were the ones who raised the funds for Christ the Redeemer, you don’t need to be Catholic to enjoy the chapel, my son. All are welcome.”
“Thank you.” The priest wasn’t Portuguese. He spoke with a different accent beneath his English. Priests, he remembered, went all over the world.
The man might be Irish or Scottish.
“Whether you believe or not, God is here,” the priest said. He gave River a blessing.
River smiled. “And best wishes and good luck?” he asked.
“Peace,” the priest told him. “That is the greatest gift. Inner peace.”
“And love? What about love?”
“When we’re at peace, we learn to love ourselves. Then we give love to all those around us, and find love in return. God go with you, son.”
“And you, Father,” River said, and he turned, quickly leaving the chapel. The man had been kind, very kind. What a man of God should be.
And yet …
That very kindness had made River uneasy.
It had grown late while he’d been in the chapel. The sun had begun to fall—a glorious golden globe to the west. There was nothing like a sunset—or a sunrise—here. Up in the clouds, the sun created beams of light in the most glorious colors.
People would be forced down from the statue when the park closed. He wasn’t sure about the hours; they might start asking the people to leave soon.
And it might take some time.
For many tourists, it was an amazing trek to get to the statue—some tried taking taxis to the vans in the parking lot far below to the zillion steps to get to the statue.
Some liked to take the escalators.
Once there, some of them liked to lie on the ground while their friends tried to get them into pictures that placed them beside the statue, which was so much larger. There was plenty of space for that, but …
River preferred the trees. The area where no one else went, from which he could watch the main path.
At any other place here where he might find a place to rest for the night, he just might be seen.
He wondered if others had hidden out at the statue before, anxious to enjoy its mysticism and beauty on their own.
It didn’t really matter, he thought, amused. It was Natal’s place. It was his place.
But they were both happy to share.
He picked his time and leapt over the wall again. He was glad that he’d gotten food. He found himself a safe place to bed down among the trees and listened to people as they left, and to the sounds of the city, rising all the way up the mountain.
Then he realized he and Natal would not spend the last night of the year’s Carnaval celebrations together. He wasn’t depressed. He wasn’t worried. He should have realized that she would wait until tomorrow.
Tomorrow, the city would be quieter. People would be sleeping.
Many of them would be nursing hangovers.
Tomorrow, she would come.
He lay awake a long time, studying his map of Brazil with the penlight he kept in his backpack. He took in the enormity of the country and figured different ways of going to the cities on the Amazon—and into the rainforests.
Eventually, he slept.
He thought about the soft-spoken priest in the chapel with his lilting accent.
Peace.
That was the greatest gift. Loving oneself, then giving love, receiving love …
He wasn’t sure he loved himself. He was sure that he loved Natal. When she was with him, he was at peace. The encounter with the man of God, though, had been a nice one. River dozed off at last, thinking about the priest, about his words. They let him sleep well.
When he woke, the sun was just beginning to rise. He wondered if any of the park employees had arrived at the statue yet.
Standing, he watched the sun again. It was beautiful. There was a soft layer of clouds; the rising sun played upon them as if they were cotton in the air. Rays of pink and violet and gold shot through, while a streak of magenta stretched across the horizon.
River headed to the wall, leapt up to get a hold, and crawled over it. Then he ran up the steps and circled around to the front.
For a moment, he looked down at the city of Rio. Then he turned. The sun dazzled down upon her. She appeared almost as an angel, cast in a golden ray of brilliant light.
“Natal!” he cried, taking a step toward her.
The light shifted as he did so—and Natal was gone.
But he wasn’t alone.
No.
He was staring at one of the men in the blue suits. The man with the blue hat. The man he had seen the night he’d been forced to stab another. Who had seemed to lead those other men who had been following him as well.
And the man was staring directly at him.
River looked around swiftly; Natal had been there. He had seen her. He knew that she was there.
He didn’t draw his gun at first; there were other people coming up to the statue now. Not so many yet—but there were other people.
“Where is she?” he shouted to the man.
“River, please, don’t run. I need to speak with you.”
His heart skipped a beat. How did this guy know his name? Angrily, he shook his head. “You will not speak to me until I know where she is. I demand to know where she is.”
“River, if you’ll just calm down—”
He wasn’t about to calm down. He drew his service revolver from his backpack and pointed it at the man in the blue suit.
The man lifted his hands. River saw him shake his head—and then he realized that the two of them weren’t alone. The other two suits had arrived.
One was by the wall; the other was angled at the edge of the statue’s base. He thought that they’d been about to draw their weapons and aim them at him.
But the first man had stopped them.
“River, my name is Ted. Ted Henley.”
“I don’t care what your name is. Where is she?”
“No one wants to hurt you, River.”
“And I really don’t give a damn about me. Where is she?”