realization. His mind, his body, and his emotions had all undergone degrees of metamorphosis. Through the ordeal, however, his faith had remained unaltered.
'Hurry!' snapped the man who might be from France.
Father Bradbury glanced over at the European. The man's expression was agitated. He looked at his watch.
The activity all over the island, the priest thought. The European's urgency. Father Bradbury realized that these people were suddenly on an extremely tight timetable.
Despite the stiffness in his joints, Father Bradbury entered the numbers more quickly. He finished entering the number. Then he turned and rested against the table. Dhamballa stood directly beside him. The priest's own sweat fell on the black receiver. As he waited for someone to answer, Father Bradbury wondered what the European was doing here. His language and demeanor did not suggest that he was a holy man. His reasons for being in Botswana had to be political or economical. Power and wealth were the only other reasons faithless men embraced religion. Even in his own Church.
A lay secretary answered the phone. Father Bradbury introduced himself and asked to be put through to the archbishop as quickly as possible.
'Of course, Father!' the young man practically shouted into the receiver.
In less than half a minute, the archbishop was on the phone with his heavy, distinctive Afrikaner accent.
'Powys, is it truly you?' Archbishop Patrick asked.
266
OP-CENTER
'Yes,' Father Bradbury replied.
'Praise to God,' the archbishop sighed. 'Are you well?'
'I am-'
'Have you been released?' the archbishop pressed.
'Not yet, Your Eminence,' Father Bradbury said. 'My captors are with me, in fact,' he added. The priest wanted the archbishop to know that they were not free to speak.
'I see,' the archbishop replied. 'Gentlemen, if you can hear me, please talk to me. What must we do to secure the release of our beloved brother?'
Dhamballa did not respond. He stood still, glaring impatiently at Father Bradbury.
'Your Eminence, my freedom is not why I've called,' said the priest. 'I have been asked to tell you something.'
'All right,' the archbishop said. 'I'm listening.'
'My hosts insist that they were not responsible for the death of the American archbishop,' Father Bradbury said.
'Do you believe them?' the archbishop asked.
'I have no reason to doubt what they have told me,' Father Bradbury replied.
'Do you have reason to believe them?' the archbishop pressed.
The priest regarded the dark-eyed Vodun leader. 'They have fed me and given me shelter and water,' Father Bradbury said. 'They do not seem to want blood upon their faith.'
'I see,' said Archbishop Patrick. 'If they are good men, as you say, then when may we expect your safe return?'
The priest was still looking into Dhamballa's eyes. There was no hope, no answer to be found in them.
'Soon, I pray,' the clergyman replied.
Dhamballa took the handset from Father Bradbury. He hung it up.
'Thank you,' Dhamballa said. But the hardness in the Vodun leader's eyes was unchanged.
'Good,' the European said. 'Since that is done, I'm going out to see about the preparations.'
The French-sounding man left. Father Bradbury turned away from Dhamballa. The priest leaned on the table, his
MISSION OF HONOR
267
shoulders slumping. He shook his head sadly. After a moment, he slipped his hands into his pockets and turned back. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but firm.
'Please,' Father Bradbury said. 'I do not know what you're planning. I do not want to know. But I recognize fear, Dhamballa.'
The Vodun leader said nothing.
'You're afraid, and so is your friend,' the priest said as he cocked his head toward the departing European. 'Talk to me. Not as a prisoner but as a friend,' he implored.
'As a confessor?' Dhamballa asked.
'If you like.'
