John felt the cold wind of reality gradually take possession of the air in the room.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave you now. We’ll talk about the other things later. They’re minor in comparison with what I’ve just said.’
‘Yes, John, you can go. I’ll be with you soon.’
‘Okay, then. I’ll wait for you downstairs.’
Father McKean watched as his right-hand man left the room and gently closed the door behind him. He didn’t like the fact that John felt so bad about the situation, but what really hurt him was the feeling that he, Michel McKean, had disappointed him.
He wasn’t God. He had no wish to be. He was only a man conscious of his earthly limits. Up until now he had been content to serve God as best he could, accepting everything that was offered him and everything that was asked of him.
But now…
He picked up the cellphone from the desk and after a brief search in the address book dialled the number of the archdiocese of New York. He waited impatiently as the phone at the other end rang a few times. When at last a voice answered, he identified himself to the switchboard operator.
‘I’m Father Michael McKean from the parish of Saint Benedict in the Bronx. I’m also the director of Joy, a community that takes in teenagers with drug problems. I’d like to talk to the archbishop’s office.’
Usually his introductions were much more concise, but he had preferred to emphasize his status to make sure his call was put through immediately.
‘One moment, Father McKean.’
The switchboard operator put him on hold. A few moments later another voice came on. A young, polite voice.
‘Hello, Father. I’m Samuel Bellamy, one of Cardinal Logan’s colleagues. How can I help you?’
‘I need to speak to His Eminence as soon as possible. In person. It’s a matter of life and death.’
He must have conveyed his own distress very effectively, because there was genuine regret in the tone of the answer, as well as a hint of anxiety.
‘Unfortunately, the cardinal left this morning for a short stay in Rome. He’ll be meeting with the Holy Father, and won’t be back before Sunday.’
All at once, Michael McKean felt lost. A week. He’d hoped to be able to share his burden with the archbishop, to get some advice or instruction. A dispensation was far too much of a miracle to even think about, but the consolation of a superior’s opinion was vital to him right now.
‘Can I do anything, Father?’
‘Unfortunately not. The one thing I can ask is that you make sure I get an appointment with His Eminence as soon as possible.’
‘As far as it’s in my power to do so, I guarantee I will. And I’ll contact you personally at your parish to let you know.’
‘I’m very grateful.’
Father McKean hung up and sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress yield under the weight of his body. For the first time since he had decided to take his vows, he felt alone. And as someone who had always taught love and forgiveness, for the first time he felt like asking God, the only true one, why He had abandoned him.
CHAPTER 20
Vivien left the precinct house and walked towards her car. The temperature had dipped. The sun, which had seemed unassailable in the morning, was now battling it out with a west wind that had appeared without warning. Clouds and shadows struggled for possession of the sky and the earth. That seemed to be the preordained fate of this city.
She found Russell Wade exactly where they had arranged to meet.
Vivien still didn’t have a clear idea of the man. Every time she had him pinned down, some new, unexpected aspect of him surfaced to muddy the picture she was building in her mind.
And that bothered her.
As she approached him, she went over the whole crazy story in her mind.
When, at the end of the meeting in the captain’s office, the three of them had realized that there was nothing more to say, Vivien had turned to Wade and said, ‘Could you wait for me a moment outside, please?’
The unfortunate winner of an undeserved Pulitzer Prize had stood up and walked to the door.
‘No problem. Goodbye, captain, and thank you.’
There was a formal politeness in Bellew’s reply belied by the tone in which the words were said.
‘Don’t mention it. If this thing leads to what we’re hoping for, there’ll be many people who’ll want to say thank you to you.’
Vivien thought.
The man went out, gently closing the door behind him, and leaving her alone with her chief. Her first impulse was to ask him if he’d gone crazy, promising what he’d just promised to a guy like Russell Wade.
‘What do you think, Alan? This story of the bombs, I mean.’
‘I think it sounds crazy. I think it sounds impossible. But since 9/11 I’ve realized that the limits of what’s crazy and what’s possible have gotten a whole lot wider.’
Tacitly agreeing with him, Vivien tackled another subject. The one that worried her the most. The weak link in the chain.
‘And what do you think of Wade?’
The captain shrugged. Which could mean everything or nothing.
‘For the moment he’s given us the only lead we have. And we’re lucky to have one, whatever the source. In normal circumstances I’d have kicked that daddy’s boy out of here. But these aren’t normal circumstances. Nearly a hundred people have died, and there are other people out there who don’t know the risk they’re running right now of meeting the same fate. As I said during the meeting, we have a duty to explore every avenue. Besides, that business of the photograph is strange. It turns what looked like a routine case is something of vital importance. And it seems genuine. Only reality could be fantastic enough to create a coincidence like that.’
Vivien had often thought the same thing. A thought her experience seemed to endorse a little more every day.
‘Do we keep this information to ourselves?’
Bellew scratched his ear, as he often did when he was thinking. ‘For now, yes. I don’t want to run the risk of spreading panic or having every local politician and every police department in the country laughing behind my back. It’s always possible the whole thing could burst like a soap bubble, though I don’t think it will.’
‘Do you trust Wade on that? It’s as clear as daylight that he’s looking for a scoop.’
‘He already has one. And that’s why he won’t talk. Because it’s not in his interest. We won’t either, for the same reason.’
