Kathleen Coogan had a lot of women friends, so there were plenty of visitors that summer. No visitors, even those who came with husbands in tow, were spared what Herb came to call Kathleen’s “Tour of the Trunk.”
Charley’s trunk now contained a black alpaca jacket, an overcoat, a raincoat, a heavy jacket, a coat-sweater, a pair of khaki slacks for summer, a pair of woolen slacks for winter, a pair of black shoes, a pair of heavy work boots, a pair of overshoes, two caps, six suits of underwear, eight undershirts (with sleeves), six shirts (white), six pairs of black dress socks, six pairs of white sweat socks, two athletic supporters, four pairs of pajamas, one pair of heavy gloves, a stocking cap, one pair of slippers, four wash cloths, and an imitation leather shaving kit containing a razor, several packs of blades, scissors, a nail clipper, a nail file and a styptic pencil.
Charley would also be taking his hockey skates, his football and baseball cleats, his swimming trunks and his sunglasses. But they’d be packed in the trunk last, just before he left for Milford.
The Society of Jesus, Kathleen explained to her visitors, would provide blankets, sheets and towels.
Herb was standing by his wife’s side when one of the husbands remarked that it looked like Charley was going away forever, not just going to college downstate.
“It’s really not a college he’s going to,” Kathleen had said with a smile. “It’s the Jesuits. What’s different is that Jesuit novices don’t get to come home for vacations or holidays.”
Herb excused himself and went to the kitchen to make some drinks. Poor Kathleen was so busy being happy that she couldn’t hear herself or fully understand what she was talking about.
C H A P T E R • 2
It was all Father Beck could do to retrieve his breviary from the top of the white metal cabinet beside his hospital bed. He had been poked and prodded, stuck with needles and X-rayed for some days now. He couldn’t get over how exhausted he was from all the examinations, interviews and tests. There was no way he had been able to say Mass, but he still had enough stamina to read his daily Office.
He tugged at the thin strip of red cloth and the book opened to the Proper for the Fourth Tuesday of August. He had marked the wrong day!
Father Beck was too tired to page backward to the correct date. God would just have to forgive him for getting ahead of the calendar. The Lesson to be read at Matins later that month was from the Second Chapter of the Book of Ecclesiasticus: “Fili, accendens ad servitutem Dei . . .”
“My son,” the Scripture whispered to him in Latin, “when you come to serve the Lord, stand firm in justice and in fear, and prepare yourself for trials. Be sincere of heart and steadfast, listen attentively to the words of understanding, and be undisturbed in time of adversity. Bear with God’s delays. Cling to Him. Forsake Him not.”
Now that was interesting, he thought. How often the Office anticipated the circumstances of days to come. The new class of novices would be arriving soon, but he wouldn’t be able to welcome the young men and their families. He would probably still be in the hospital or, at best, the novitiate infirmary. Someone else would have to ease the pain of separation and gently send the parents home without their sons. Herb Coogan would be among those parents, he knew, and he would certainly be asking to see him.
Father Beck dreaded that visit. Would he have enough strength not to blurt out all he knew? Would his soul survive this year’s Entry Day? Would the new Master of Novices really be the Russian agent? He could only hope and pray that the Provincial would find some reason not to appoint that impostor and choose a real Jesuit instead.
The book was heavy in his hands.
“Accept what befalls you,” murmured the Scripture. “In sorrow, endure. In your humiliation, be patient. For in fire are gold and silver tested, and worthy men in the crucible of humiliation. Trust God and He will help you.”
Father Beck felt a sudden pain in his abdomen, sharp enough to make him gasp.
His breviary fell onto the floor.
Dazed, he found the buzzer to summon a nurse. His hands and feet were cold. He pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and tried to get warm.
The nurse appeared at his beside. Father Beck was barely able to tell her where it hurt.
∗ ∗ ∗
Brother Krause sat down on the sofa in Father Novak’s office.
“I know you’re upset about Father Beck,” said the Provincial. “So am I, Brother Al. But I want to get your opinions on Father Samozvanyetz. What do you make of him?”
“I’m not sure, Father. I know that Father Beck thinks he’s something special.”
“Yeah, I know what Father Beck thinks. Want to know what I think?”
Brother Krause watched Father Novak unwrap a cigar.
“I think Father Samozvanyetz is a dinosaur, a Jesuit of the old school. That’s why I’m intrigued by the idea of making him Master of Novices if Father Beck has to bow out.”
The Provincial lit his cigar. He offered one to his secretary, but he declined.
“I think you’re a dinosaur, too, Brother Al. You and me and Beck and Samozvanyetz. We’re all old traditional dinosaurs and we are getting to the end of our era. Thirty years from now, our kind will be extinct. There’s a new breed about to take over and they’re going to change the Church and the Society and there’s not much we can do about it.”
One thing Brother Krause disliked more than talking about politics was talking about church politics. He hoped that Father Novak would get to his point. Finally, he did.
“Let’s assume that Father Beck has to give up his job,” said the Provincial. “It would be logical for me to appoint Samozvanyetz. As Master of Novices, he’d give the Society at least one more traditional class of novices. Wasn’t that what Father Beck said?”
“He said that Father Samozvanyetz would probably do a perfect job.”
“Same thing,” said the Provincial. “So it would make sense to make Father Samozvanyetz the new Master of Novices. Even so, I’m not sure I should do that. There’s some stuff that puzzles me.
“For example, his visit with the President of the United States. They had a private, confidential chat. About what, we don’t know. And he can’t tell us. So, I’d say, there’s something the President doesn’t want anybody outside the government to know about. Right?”
“Could be,” said Brother Krause. “Or maybe it’s something personal, like his health or some ethical problem he doesn’t want to discuss with anybody but a priest and he made a spur-of-the-moment decision to tell Father Samozvanyetz. I doubt it was any political or national security secret.”
“You’re probably right,” said Father Novak. He took another puff on his cigar.
“So here’s where we are. One: We have a deadline. The new class of novices arrives before the end of this month. Unless Father Beck recovers from his mysterious malady which nobody has diagnosed, someone has to take over for him, at least temporarily.
“Two: Father Samozvanyetz is my logical choice to step in as Master of Novices. But there’s something going on with him and President Kennedy. It may be nothing of consequence, but it bothers me.
“Three: I have this gut feeling that everything is running wild. I’m not able to manage this situation. I’m being swept along by events and circumstances that I don’t understand and can’t control. So how can I make a rational decision?”
“I see what you mean,” said Brother Krause. “But you left something out. Father Beck said that Father Samozvanyetz would probably do a perfect job.”
“So he did,” said the Provincial. “So he did.”
∗ ∗ ∗
The nurse who responded to Father Beck’s buzzer saw immediately that her patient was experiencing something new. She shouted for help. The nurse at the desk dispatched the intern-on-call to the priest’s room. Then she alerted the Chief Surgical Resident who rushed to Father Beck’s bedside.
“I know he’s got other problems,” the intern said to the Chief Resident,
“but I think this is appendicitis. Pain and marked tenderness in the right lower quadrant of his abdomen, chills and fever, and we’ll probably get an elevated white blood count when we draw blood.”
“Let me take a look.”
The Chief Resident put his hands on Father Beck’s belly and felt around.
“Take it easy, Father,” he said when the priest cried out. “Nurse is going to give you something to ease that pain as soon as we determine what’s causing it. Okay?”
Father Beck managed a slight nod.
“Good call, Doctor,” the Chief Resident told the intern. “I think you’re right about appendicitis. We shouldn’t take any chances. Get your patient prepped while I’m getting the OR set up and notifying the Boss. He’ll probably want to observe this one. After Father’s prepped, get to the OR and scrub up.”
“Really? I’m going to assist?”
“You want to see your case through, don’t you? I’ll see you upstairs.”
Father Beck watched the older doctor leave the room and started to relax. Whatever the intern injected into his IV tube was making the pain subside.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Can you believe that this is my very first operation? At my age?”
Father Beck had just learned that his stomach would be cut open pretty soon but he didn’t feel the least bit frightened. Only curious. Imagine that! And he really wanted his new friend, the young doctor, to hear this.
“Oh, I’ve been in hospitals before, but not as a patient and never in surgery. How about you, Doctor? I guess this is just routine for you?”
“Not really, Father. You’ll be my first appendectomy, but don’t worry. The other doctor will be doing the actual operation. I’ll just be assisting him. It’s how we learn how to become real surgeons ourselves.”
“Oh, that’s very good to know,” said Father Beck. “I’ll be helping you further your education. That makes me feel I’m doing something useful. Helping to open up my stomach will help you learn how to help a lot of other people. Big day for both of us.”
Was he babbling? He should apologize to the young doctor. But he was drifting off. This wasn’t his first operation. That wasn’t true. Not completely. Forgot tonsils and adenoids. When he was boy. Be sure, tell him. Not now. Maybe later.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Just one more thing, Brother Al,” said Father Novak. “Do you know who told Father Samozvanyetz about the death of his sister?”
“Father Beck did.”
“Do you have any idea of what they said to each other?”
“I do. Father Beck told me that Father Samozvanyetz asked about his family the day he got to Milford and Father Beck told him, as gently as he could, that both his sisters had died while he was in Russia. Father Beck told me how impressed he was by how Father Samozvanyetz took the news. He just quietly accepted the fact that his family was all gone.”
“Father Samozvanyetz didn’t ask for any details?”
“Not really. He was sad to hear that they were gone, naturally, but he just accepted the news without question. Very sad, but accepting, I guess you’d say.”
“Okay, then let me ask you this,” said the Provincial. “Did you and Father Beck know that Father Samozvanyetz’s sister had been murdered? Not the nun. Mrs. Vogel. The widow who lived in Pennsylvania?”
“Hell, no! We did not! She was murdered?”
“That’s what Herb Coogan said, last time I spoke with him. Just a passing reference. I didn’t ask him for details because I assumed you and Father Beck knew all about it.”
“The word we got from the police was just that she had died. Nothing about any murder.”
“Did you talk to the police yourself, Brother Al?”
“No, I didn’t. I was away. One of the office workers took the call.”
“When Coogan talked to me last week, ‘murdered’ was the word he used.”
Brother Krause sank back into his chair and shook his head. “A murder is a big thing not to know about.”
“Yes, it is,” said the Provincial. “So, before I make a final decision about replacing Father Beck with Father Samozvanyetz, I want you to see what you can find out about that murder.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Father Beck, unconscious on the operating table, had no idea of the audience he had drawn for his appendectomy. The young intern, however, was only too aware. The group included one of the hospital administrators, the nursing supervisor and the head of the Department of Surgery who had scrubbed up just in case he was needed.
The Chief Surgical Resident handed the young intern a scalpel.
“Make the first cut: a McBurney incision in the lower right quadrant.”
The intern tightened his grip on the scalpel. He took a deep breath and, with one firm stroke, he made the incision.
“Very good,” said the Chief Resident. “I’ll give you ten minutes to find the appendix. It should be right behind the cecum. If you don’t, I’ll take over.”
The intern made several attempts to grasp Father Beck’s slippery large bowel before he managed to push the cecum aside. There was the appendix, right where it was supposed to be.
“Something’s wrong,” he whispered. “The appendix appears to be normal. But look at that puddle of pus around the large bowel.”
“Yeah, I see it,” said the Chief Resident. “We’ve got something more serious than appendicitis here. We have to examine the small bowel.”
“What are we looking for?
“Inflammation. Maybe he’s got Crohn’s disease. That’s an inflammation of the small bowel. Or maybe Meckel’s Diverticulum.”
Together, they examined the small bowel but found no abnormalities. The Chief Resident turned to the Head of Surgery.
“I have a hunch that the problem’s in the gall bladder or the stomach, but our incision is too small to examine them.”
“You’re right,” said his boss. “Go ahead and take out his appendix and send it to Pathology. That’s all you can do until we get more information. Maybe Pathology will find something. Or you’ll have to get some more tests. An upper G.I. series. That sort of thing. Right now, let’s see how your assistant completes this appendectomy and closes up the patient.”
“So we made the wrong diagnosis?” said the Chief Resident.
“I guess you could say that. But it got you this far. Now you know you have to keep looking beyond what his symptoms told you. But today wasn’t wasted. Our young doctor here is finding out that he can perform a perfect appendectomy.”
C H A P T E R • 3
Brother Krause found the Bellefonte police headquarters easily enough. It was in an ivy-covered brick and stone municipal building set back from the town’s tree-lined main avenue. Two uniformed officers were waiting for him in the police parking lot at the side of the building. In his clerical suit and black tie, Brother Krause felt out of place walking along the street with the two police officers. Out of uniform, actually.
“Looks like we’re on our way to a hanging,” said Cecil Moore.
Moore was about ten years younger than his partner. He had worked with Jake Pendleton for a long time, he said, but now Jake was counting the days until his retirement and Cecil wasn’t looking forward to breaking in a new partner.
At the coffee shop, Brother Krause broke some ice by talking about his years on the Detroit police force and listening to Pendleton and Moore talk about how rampant lawlessness would soon reach peaceful Bellefonte once the interstate north of town was completed and the traffic began to flow back and forth between the big cities carrying God only knew what with it.
“Jake’s getting out in the nick of time, if you ask me,” said Moore.
Pendleton pushed his coffee cup away.
“How come you’re finally interested in Mrs. Vogel’s murder, Brother Al?”
“Well, to be honest, my boss and I didn’t realize that the woman had been murdered until just a few days ago.”
“No kidding?” said Pendleton. “I rememb
er that one of our detectives talked to some woman at your office in Chicago. An office worker of some sort. The boss man was out of town, she said, so he left a message about the murder. But I never got a call back from anybody. That kind of surprised me.”
“The message the lady gave us was just that Mrs. Vogel had died. Here’s the note she gave us. Take a look.”
Police Officer Pendleton in Bellport, Penna, called to inform Father Provincial that Mrs. Natasha Vogel, sister of Father Alex Samozvanyetz, S.J., died this month. Father S. her only known relative. Said you would find Father and let him know. Have enrolled Mrs. Vogel in our Perpetual Mass Association.
“I guess she couldn’t bear to call it murder,” said Pendleton. “I seem to remember her being a little squeamish on the phone. Or dotty, more like it.”
“She’s retired now,” said Brother Krause. “Anyhow, your message slipped through the cracks.”
“It happens,” said Moore. “The FBI was asking about Mrs. Vogel just last year. They talked to our captain and they got what was in our reports. But they never talked to Jake and me. I guess that’s why you came here, to see what they missed?”
“You’re right about that,” said Brother Krause. “There’s always something that doesn’t get written down. Hunches. Educated guesses. What we suspect, but can’t prove.”
“Well, that’s true,” said Pendleton. “Cecil and I were about half-way through our shift when we got that call to look in on Mrs. Vogel. She’d missed an appointment and the nurse at the doctor’s office was worried. Could we look in on her? It’s sort of a routine call around here. People watch out for each other, especially the old folks living alone.”
Red Army Spies and the Blackrobes Trilogy Page 19
