“Honestly, I have no idea,” she said. “I’ve only had time to go through a few of his broadcasts, but he seems to be making predictions about all sorts of things, from thunderstorms to horse races, and every one I’ve seen has been accurate.”
“You’re convinced this is real.”
“I’m not convinced of anything, Anderson. It could be the greatest hoax ever. Was Trinity tipped off to the outcomes ahead of time? Or has he somehow come into the ability to see the future? Or perhaps there’s a third explanation. We need to find out what’s going on here.”
OK, so she’s beautiful—Cut it out, and get your head in the game…
To the camera, Cooper said, “For the record, we invited Reverend Trinity on the show to tell his side of the story, but his office said he could not be reached.” Then, back to Julia, “You know, people are going to think God is talking through this guy. You think that’s possible?”
“No.” Julia shifted in her chair, clearly troubled by the question.
Of course, she would be…
“Look, I’m a reporter, not a theologian. I’m extremely skeptical of any supernatural explanation, and I’d caution against drawing any kind of metaphysical conclusions. We don’t know anything yet. We need to scrutinize and test his predictions, follow the story and see where it leads.”
“And apparently the story leads just north of Atlanta, to Highway 403?”
“That’s right. In a sermon two weeks ago, Trinity predicted that a billboard on 403 would collapse tonight—exactly twenty-three minutes after midnight—blocking two northbound lanes, but with no fatalities. Now, the fascinating thing about this prediction is that we know about it ahead of time, so it’s testable. I’ve been in contact with the Georgia Department of Transportation, and they sent structural engineers to check it out.”
“And?”
“And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the support structure. So, barring a massive earthquake, the sign should still be standing at 12:24.” Julia slid an envelope across the desk. “They asked me not to reveal the location—they’re concerned about spectators blocking the highway—but I’ve written the exact mile marker down, and the date of Trinity’s prediction, so you can verify it after we’re off the air. Whatever happens—or more likely doesn’t—I’ll be there to see it.”
In a sermon two weeks ago… Daniel reached into his briefcase, pulled out the file folder, and started flipping through the tabs, looking for the transcript that would give him the billboard’s location.
A Georgia State Police cruiser stood in the median. A state trooper leaned back against the fender, looking bored. A few yards ahead, Julia stood talking to a young man with a video camera perched on his shoulder.
As Daniel got out of the car, Julia approached and gave him a warm, platonic hug.
“Hey, stranger.”
“Guess I’m not clear on the definition of ‘off the record,’” said Daniel.
“What’s the problem? I kept you out of it.” Julia brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Danny, what did you expect me to do? This story is important.”
“You showed somewhat less interest before a hundred people died.”
Her chestnut eyes flashed fire. “Thanks for reminding me, it’s been at least five minutes since I beat myself up about that. Look, I didn’t believe you. OK? I-I thought you’d gone crazy. And my inaction cost lives, and that’s something I will have to carry for the rest of my life.”
She drew a sharp breath and looked away, and now Daniel could see the guilt she was carrying, the pain, and the effort to tamp it all down. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that wasn’t fair of me. You’re right, it was a crazy story.”
“Still, I should’ve checked it out,” she said.
“It’s not your fault, Julia. Anyone would’ve thought the same thing.”
“Regardless, I’m not about to make that mistake again. So I’m sorry for your hurt feelings, but this isn’t about you. Neither one of us has the right to suppress this thing.”
She was right about that too, and Daniel knew he was doing the same thing he’d done earlier at his uncle’s house: transferring anger at himself into anger at another. He had been the one with foreknowledge, and it was he who should’ve done more to stop the explosion. There was no dodging that responsibility.
He looked across four lanes of northbound traffic to the white van with a red CNN logo on its side, parked on the shoulder. He glanced at his watch, said, “Five minutes.”
“Shooter says this is the best angle,” said Julia, pointing up the median.
They walked past the police cruiser to where the camera guy stood mounting the video camera on a tripod. He secured the camera, aimed it at the lighted billboard standing across the northbound lanes, to the right of the highway, about fifty yards ahead.
At the left edge of the billboard was a giant peach, with the words GEORGIA LOTTERY in front. Next to the logo was a hip young white guy wearing a jean jacket. He had a Photoshop-stretched smile, and his face was comically distorted by a wide-angle lens. Across the billboard, a black woman with short gray hair held her hands to her cheeks and flashed a similarly impossible grin. Between them, dollar bills rained down from the sky.
The tag line read:
TODAY COULD BE THE DAY
Julia said, “Structure’s far from new, but the engineer said there’s nothing wrong with it. So we’re really not expecting anything, and…”
Daniel watched her face as she spoke. The same deep brown eyes, still sparkling with passionate intelligence. The same luxurious lips that used to take him to the edge of paradise. Gentle laugh lines now framed her mouth and ran from the corners of her eyes. And a vertical worry line creased the space between her eyes. They transformed her face from something merely beautiful into something seriously beautiful. The pretty girl was now a woman in full bloom, with a woman’s body to match. He felt an erection growing.
“Hello, Danny? You there?”
“What? Right, sorry, you were saying?”
Julia smiled. He knew that smile.
You’ve been busted, he thought.
She glanced at her watch, turned to the camera guy. “We rolling, Shooter?”
“Yup.” Then Shooter jerked his head back from the camera and flicked a toggle switch back and forth. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Chip just blew.”
“Goddamnit,” said Julia. “We’re ninety seconds away.”
Shooter snatched a ring of keys from his pocket. “Got another camera in the truck.” He grinned. “College state champion, two hundred meters. Time me.” He turned to the road and took off.
Daniel glanced to the right as Shooter sprinted out across the empty northbound lanes. The headlights of a car swept fast around the curve in the far lane, an eighteen-wheeler just behind it in the second lane.
“Wait!” he yelled, but the kid was already committed, didn’t stop.
The car jerked to the left, tires squealing.
The semi’s air-brakes locked up its massive wheels.
The truck veered, blasting its horn, missing the car by inches.
The car veered into the third lane, straightened out, flew past.
The big rig skidded, jackknifed, and went over on its side, showering sparks, slewing—right through Shooter—off the road, and slammed into the billboard structure.
Silence. Then the billboard groaned, shuddered, and came crashing down. Blocking two northbound lanes of Highway 403.
The state trooper jumped into his cruiser and took off across the highway, siren wailing, roof lights flashing blue and red. Daniel and Julia followed in his car and skidded to a stop beside the overturned truck. The trooper was out of his car and peering through the windshield of the truck’s cab. He smashed the windshield with his Maglight.
The truck driver climbed out, stood up, and brushed himself down.
Daniel ran behind the trailer, searching the ditch for the remains of Shooter in the dark.
“Dude, that was some crazy shit!”
Daniel spun around as Shooter jumped down from his perch on the truck’s spare tire. “I’m OK, I’m fine,” Shooter said, shaking his head and grinning like a little kid. “Wild, man!”
“But how—”
“That big spare tire came at me, I just grabbed it and held on for the ride, prayin’ for a fuckin’ miracle.”
“Looks like you got one.” Daniel turned on his heel and headed back to the car, thinking: And a shiny new polyester prophet walks amongst us. Goddamnit.
“I cannot believe what we just witnessed.” Julia shook her head again, sipped her double rum and Coke in the dim light of the bar.
“Uh-huh,” said Daniel.
“I mean, that is not something you could know was gonna happen ahead of time. It just isn’t.”
“Nope,” said Daniel.
“Your uncle actually predicted the future.”
“Sure looks that way.” Daniel swallowed some beer.
Julia looked at him for a moment, her eyes filled with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Julia. Am I being interviewed by a reporter? Are we two friends talking? What?”
“OK. That’s a fair question.” Julia’s cell vibrated on the table. She held up a finger, answered the phone. “Yes, Herb. When, tomorrow? OK, all right, I’ll be there. Six thirty, fine. Fine, gotta go.” She put the cell down, made a sorry about that face. “My editor. They want me on Good Morning America.”
“Congratulations.” Churlish.
“Come on, don’t be that way. Look, you’re right, I agree, we need an understanding…” Julia sipped her drink again, then reached across the table and put her hand on top of Daniel’s. She spoke with gentle authority. “You phoned me, remember? You brought me into this, and I have a job to do. But everything you say is completely off the record. I’ll use what you tell me to help guide my investigation, but I won’t report what you say. OK?”
Daniel needed to believe her. He needed to talk about the chaos now swirling around his head. He also needed to get his fucking hand out from under hers.
Her phone vibrated again, and her hand left his. She pushed a button, and the phone went silent. “That’s what voicemail is for,” she shrugged. “Now talk to me, Danny.”
“OK,” said Daniel. “Truth is I’m having a tough time with all this. I came here to debunk his tongues act, and the thing turns out to be…” He drank some beer. “I’ve been to see him, actually spoke with him. First time in twenty years.”
“Must’ve been hard.”
“And he’s still a con man, same as ever, only…only this thing is really happening. His tongues act has become real. God has actually chosen this scumbag as his messenger. And what the hell does that imply?”
“You know I’m an atheist, right?” Like it was something he might’ve forgotten.
“I didn’t figure that had changed,” he said. “But the science you worship can’t explain this phenomenon either.”
“The fact that human understanding is limited is not evidence of a deity.” She sipped her drink. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to make this about me.”
Daniel sipped some beer. “All my life I’ve been searching for a miracle…and now I’ve found one. And it’s happening to Tim Trinity, if you can believe that. It’s like some cosmic practical joke.”
“I think it’s a little early to be calling this a miracle.”
“Really? I don’t think so. You saw what happened tonight. Not only isn’t it something you could know about in advance, it wouldn’t have even happened if Shooter hadn’t run into the highway. Which means it wouldn’t have happened if the camera hadn’t broken down or if you hadn’t set up in the median for a better angle or if…Bottom line, our presence there tonight caused that billboard to come down. Just think about that for a second. So many unforeseeable and seemingly random events had to occur in order for Trinity’s prediction to come true, there’s just no way to explain it without the hand of God. And we wouldn’t have been there tonight if I hadn’t called you about the refinery…” He shook his head. “I mean, how far do we want to follow this chain? You wouldn’t have been called about the refinery if my boss hadn’t assigned me to this case…and that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been Tim Trinity’s nephew…and I wouldn’t have even been there for my boss to assign if I hadn’t become a priest.”
Julia smiled. “And if you hadn’t left me, you wouldn’t have become a priest.”
Damn…
The pain of Daniel’s choice came back with full force, as if he were making it all over again. And with it, the guilt. He searched for something to say, but came up empty. Julia’s last link in the coincidence chain hung in the air between them like stale cigarette smoke.
This time it was Daniel’s phone that vibrated. The call display said Fr. Nick. He let it go to voicemail. “I, uh, I still feel…well, I’m sorry about how that worked out, Julia.”
“It was a long time ago. Wasn’t easy, but I got over you. Really, it’s OK.”
Daniel’s heart sank. But I never got over you, he thought.
Julia’s smile widened. “Anyway, here we are again. The Lord works in mysterious ways,” she teased.
Daniel forced a smile, drank some beer. “I know what happened tonight is a miracle, Julia. There’s no other explanation. I don’t want to believe that God would work through a man like my uncle, but He is. I believe in God, absolutely. But I’m starting to think my religion doesn’t describe Him very well.”
A man’s voice said, “Jesus, Julia, there you are.” It was Shooter, coming up fast. “We gotta get you back to the scene. We’re going live at the top of the hour.”
Back in the quiet of his hotel room, Daniel sipped cognac and reviewed the day’s developments, sorting his responses into two categories: personal and professional.
Start with the professional, he told himself. Put aside predictions of thunderstorms and football games, and focus on the oil refinery. Maybe the small stuff was just a way to get our attention, a way to ensure that we act on the major predictions when they arrive.
One hundred lives could have been saved had the Church taken action. Had those lives been saved, this assessment wouldn’t even be necessary. They weren’t saved, but that didn’t fundamentally change anything; the public now knew, and the next important prediction would be acted upon.
Professionally, the case was clear, and the billboard accident—which Trinity could neither have known about in advance, nor caused to happen—had sealed the deal. Professionally, Daniel concluded, the Trinity Anomaly was a miracle.
Personally, things were more complicated.
Twenty years earlier, the great and powerful Oz became a huckster jerking levers behind the curtain, Daniel’s life became a lie, and he ran away in search of a real miracle.
Now he had one.
Yes, it was happening to the huckster—and yes, that was a problem—but the larger point was it was happening. And that changed everything. Because if the priesthood is a call to faith, Daniel’s shameful secret was that he had never sincerely answered the call. There can be no religion without faith. And there can be no faith if we demand that God prove His existence.
No, that’s not right. Not existence. Daniel had no trouble believing in God, creator of the universe. That God existed for Daniel. The proof he sought was not of God-the-creator but God-the-father.
God who loves us, who cares what we do with the world, cares how we treat one another.
Daniel had always known his ersatz faith made him less of a priest. And while he prayed daily for stronger faith, the truth was he just wanted a damn miracle. Just one miracle to prove God was taking an active interest in human affairs.
And now he had one.
Daniel picked up the phone and dialed a number that was known to fewer than 120 people on the planet. The phone was answered on the first ring.
“Facilitations. Pleas
e identify.”
“Father Daniel Byrne. Devil’s Advocate, clearance code: UG-8806.”
“Go ahead.”
“I need a plane, in Atlanta. Destination is Rome, and I need to leave in”—a glance at his watch—“two hours.”
“Um, that’s pretty tight, I’m not sure—”
“Just make it happen,” said Daniel. “Priority One.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“Yeah, get a message to the DA. Tell him I’m coming in. And tell him we’ve got a positive.”
He hung up, shaved, showered, and dressed. He hadn’t worn the uniform since his last visit to the Vatican, and as he adjusted his clerical collar in the mirror, he saw a priest looking back. In recent years, he’d felt increasingly like an imposter, the uniform increasingly like a costume.
But not anymore.
The sky was still dark as Daniel walked across the tarmac to the white private jet with a gold holy cross painted on its tail. He climbed the aluminum steps and entered the lush cabin, was greeted by the smell of fresh leather. The seats were wide and soft, and could swivel, and each had a gold cross embroidered into the headrest. Side tables of polished burl wood and silk curtains on the windows. At the back of the cabin, a well-stocked bar and flat-panel television on the wall.
As they reached altitude, Daniel reclined his seat and closed his eyes.
Julia wrapped her wet hair in a towel and picked up her cell phone. The display said it was her editor at the Times-Picayune calling from New Orleans.
“Haven’t found him yet,” she said.
“Shit.”
“Left messages with his office, got his unlisted number and left messages at the house too. Nothing else I can do right now on that angle.”
“There is no other angle, Julia. Trinity is the story.”
“I get it, Herb, you don’t have to yell at me. Nobody knows where he is, what the hell do you want me to do? Anyway, you have no idea what it’s like here. Atlanta’s gone insane.”
The Trinity Game Page 11
