“Of course, I realize that I’m presuming on a friendship that may not even exist any longer. Indeed, one that may not have been that close at all. But it was the only thing I could think of. And if anyone ever deserved a miracle, even a small one, it is this Josefa Flores.
“Now, come out to San Quintin some time and get away from the noise of the city and the cardinal’s griping. I’ll show you the Painted Caves and some of the most beautiful, peaceful desert country you ever saw, you old reprobate.
“Sincerely, Francisco Peralta.” The archbishop looked at the letter for a long time. Then he put it in the Answer pile. He picked up the
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A Miracle of Small Fishes
next envelope and started to slit it open, but his eyes and mind were elsewhere. Back and forth, back and forth ran the opener along the top of the fresh envelope When Mendez’s voice broke the silence, he did not look up.
“Sir, there’s a man here from the Ministry of State to see you. Something about an official briefing for tonight’s dinner.”
Estrada continued to draw lazy abstracts with the opener on the back of the envelope, staring at a point within his desk. It was quite impossible, of course. Quite.
“Tell him,” he told his secretary, “that I’ll see him in an hour.”
The mountain was in the Channel of Santa Barbara now, moving steadily south. The Point Vincente power plant initiated pumping, boosting the phytoplankton cycle twentyfold. In a little while the mountain would hit the major booster field off San Onofre. Then they would really begin to move.