The Trinity Game (33 page)

He was big all right. Conrad was not used to looking up at other men and guessed this one at about six-seven. But he drank
too much beer and ate too much barbecue, and he’d seen Doug’s gun.

“You boys a little early for Halloween,” said the big country boy. But his delivery lacked confidence.

Conrad smiled, said, “My name is Father Carmine, and my associate is Father David. I need you to tell me everything you remember about the two men who came here in that truck. Every detail exactly as it happened, and everything they said. You can keep the truck, by the way. We’re here for information.”

The man looked uneasy. “Why you chasin’ after them?”

“Their lives are in danger, my son, and we are trying to save them.” Conrad put no effort into selling the line. Now he dropped the smile. “And every minute I spend explaining things to you is a minute I am not getting closer to them.” He scratched his right earlobe, signaling Doug to loom a little closer, and heard him take a few steps forward, then stop. “Now let’s start again. I need you to tell me everything you remember about the two men who came here in that truck. Every detail exactly as it happened, and everything they said. Do you understand me clearly?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Good. Understand this also: If we later discover that you lied to us, I will be displeased. And you will feel the wrath of God.”

Father Nick picked up the camera that Conrad had liberated from Daniel’s hotel room and, for the third time, scrolled through the photos of Tim Trinity snorting cocaine. Thinking:
He had the pictures the whole time and led me to believe he didn’t...

The betrayal stung.

Their relationship was a true double-edged sword, and it cut both ways. It had allowed Nick to experience something like paternal love, but was also a constant reminder of the road not taken. He’d have been a good dad, far better than his father had been to him. He never regretted giving his life to God, but he was occasionally visited by crushing loneliness. The love he felt for Daniel was both laceration and salve.

And now there was the betrayal.

If Daniel lived through this case, he would surely be excommunicated for his actions against the Vatican. Unless.
Unless what, exactly?

Nick thought about how he would pitch it to Cardinal Allodi. Taking Daniel back in was the best way to keep him quiet. Of course, he would first have to help them with Trinity and return to the fold in a state of pure contrition. He would have to willingly submit himself to the punishment of the Church and then live a monastic life of manual labor and rigorous spiritual retraining, maybe for a year, maybe five. But once through, he could make a life as a priest again, albeit never in a sensitive position. He was multilingual, could teach at Catholic schools all across central Africa and parts of Asia.

Nick could probably sell it to Allodi and the inevitable disciplinary tribunal…
if
he could get to Daniel and
if
he could turn him around.

And those were two very big ifs.

The young priest who’d run the computer earlier approached at a near jog.

“Father Conrad on line three, sir.”

Nick held up a finger to tell the young priest not to walk away and picked up the phone. “What’ve you got?”

“Daniel traded the Cadillac to a country boy who lives off the grid,” said Conrad, “and I don’t think Country Boy has any idea who Trinity is. They left here about eight fifteen this morning—I gave Bryan details of the truck they’re now driving—but when they left, they didn’t indicate what direction they were heading.”

“It’s all over the television,” said Nick. “Trinity showed up at a tent revival outside Greenville, Arkansas. Tried to confess his past sins. Didn’t go over too well with the locals.”

“When?”

“About two o’clock.”

“Greenville,” said Conrad, and Nick could hear him unfolding a map. “That’s between here and New Orleans. What do you think?”

“I think Daniel knows better than to let him run home,” said Nick.

Conrad said, “Also knows better than to let him be seen in public, but there they are on television.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Maybe Daniel’s not calling the shots.”

“Maybe not,” said Nick. “All right, you head for Greenville, then on to New Orleans. Stay on the rural highways, and keep your eyes open for any tents. Maybe he’ll feel compelled to stop at another one.”

“Call me if anything develops,” said Conrad. He broke the connection.

Nick put the receiver down, turned to the young man still waiting, and handed him the camera. “Bryan, I want you to keep track of the news channels. When the Greenville story loses steam, get the photographs on this camera to the media. Anonymously, of course.”

“Of course, sir.”

“W
hat the hell is wrong with you?” said Daniel as they passed a MISSISSIPPI WELCOMES YOU sign. “Are you insane?”

“Stop,” said Tim Trinity.

“Seriously, is your head broken? What is it about the concept of a low profile that eludes you? Please explain how getting up in front of a dozen camcorders qualifies as
helping me keep you alive
.”

“Will you please just let it go? For the eleventh time:
I’m sorry
. OK? I just…I saw the tent and I thought God wanted me to confess. I thought…you know, I flushed the rest of my coke down the sink on Saturday. But the tongues didn’t come on Sunday and…I just thought, maybe, if I confessed my past sins to those people…if I denounced a false prophet…I guess I thought they’d come back faster.” He shook his head, smiling ruefully. “I used to cherish the brief respite periods when the voices go quiet…a couple days here, a few days there…blessed relief, for as long as it lasted. And I used to dread their return.” He gazed out the window. “Funny how things change…”

“A dozen camcorders, at least. Probably running on CNN already.” Daniel returned his focus to the road ahead, and they rode in silence for a minute.

Trinity smiled. “You see the way Preacher Bob handled the situation? Gotta hand it to him. Totally blindsided, but didn’t miss a beat when he saw his opening. Did that hypnotic rhythm thing with the hallelujahs, and then got them chanting. Yeah, Preacher Bob’s got game, he’s a real talent. He could be big on television if he smoothed out his act a little.”

“Look,” said Daniel, “
after
we get you safe, you can sit down with Julia and come clean to the whole world. But use your head. You just put a giant red dot on the map, halfway between Atlanta and your hometown. You just announced your destination to the entire world.”

“I understand, I fucked up. Can we please shift our focus to what we do going forward?”

He was right. Daniel took a long, slow breath, cleared his mind, and considered their options. “By now, everyone thinks you’re going to New Orleans. So we divert our route a little ways north. Then we hole up for the night.”

“And then what? I still need to get to the French Quarter.”

“
I know
,” said Daniel. It came out sharper than he intended. “Give me some time to think it through. I get a bright idea, I’ll be sure to share it with you.”

Atlanta, Georgia…

Julia entered the office, where Kathy Reynolds stood behind her desk, aiming the remote at the television screen. She closed the door behind her.

“Saw it on the way in,” she said.

Kathy nodded at the television. “Not this part. We just got another angle on it, but on this one, the tape runs longer.” She scanned through to where the crowd started chanting, then let it play at normal speed. The camera jostled as the crowd pressed forward, and then a man jumped onto the stage and grabbed Trinity’s wrist.

Daniel.

Kathy Reynolds paused the action on the screen. “Who is he?”

“I, uh…”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know that fine young man. Your face already established that you do. And given your little freakout yesterday when they started dragging bodies out of the place, I’m guessing you know him quite well.”

Julia dropped into a chair. “I can’t.”

“Julia, this footage goes to air after the next commercial break, and the whole world will be asking the same question. It was his choice to step in front of the cameras. He put himself in the story—his choice—not your fault.”

“If not for him, there wouldn’t
be
a story, Kathy. He’s the one who brought it to me in the first place, and I made a commitment in exchange. Beyond
off the record
, he’s my Deep Throat on this whole thing. When I promise to protect a source, I stick to it.” She looked straight at the veteran news producer. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Shit.” Kathy pressed the remote and the screen went black. “Yes, I would. Damn. You know, the answer will be found. It’ll come out.”

“But not from me.”

Julia was keenly aware of the hypocrisy. She’d already breached her professional ethics by wiring money to Daniel, just as Daniel had breached his by contacting her in the first place.

But when the ethics of your profession conflict with your ethics as a human being, well, then there’s just something wrong with your profession.

Las Vegas, Nevada…

W
illiam Lamech sat in the cabin of his private jet, drinking Perrier while his pilot waited for clearance from the control tower. He picked up the Gulfstream’s sat-phone and dialed the number of Vito Carlucci, head of all things profitable and illegal in New Orleans.

“Vito, it’s William. The conversation we had earlier? It’s happening…he surfaced, and he’s heading your way…I’m on the tarmac at McCarran, I’ll be touching down in about four hours. Assemble a team of your very best men. I want them at the Hotel Monteleone in six. We’re going to end this, now.”

He hung up, lifted the receiver again, and punched in the cell number of Samson Turner.