The Trinity Game

by Sean Chercover

But this time, you tell the truth…

  The next wave of muscle spasms hit.

  Tim Trinity braced his hands against the countertop and held on against the coming storm.

  Las Vegas, Nevada…

  “If you’re just tuning in, this is the scene in Atlanta today,” said Wolf Blitzer as pilgrims flooded the television screen, pitching tents in Centennial Park, waving placards in Five Points, scuffling with helmeted police outside the Westin Peachtree Plaza. “They call themselves Trinity’s Pilgrims, and their numbers are fast rising. But there are other voices, both religious skeptics and religious leaders, who charge that Reverend Tim Trinity is a false prophet at best, con man at worst.” The shot changed to a split screen: Blitzer on the left and the clusterfuck in Atlanta on the right. “Tonight, John King hosts a roundtable to break it down for us. After John, CNN’s own Soledad O’Brien hosts the one-hour special presentation: ‘Who Is Tim Trinity?’ I know you’ll want to be here for that…”

  William Lamech looked at the bespoke-suited men around the long glass table in the casino boardroom and zapped the television to silence. Zapped it to silence, but left it on. He wanted those images on the minds of these men, in this meeting.

  Lamech turned to his bodyguard, standing in the doorway.

  “Nobody gets in. No phone calls.”

  “Yes, Mr. Lamech.”

  The bodyguard left the room. Behind him, the door whispered shut.

  Jared Case shuffled through the stack of spreadsheets and bank statements and tax returns, passed them along to the next man. “My forensic accounting guy tells me there’s plenty wrong here, gives us plenty of leverage. But it’s gonna be difficult to approach Trinity now, with the whole world watching.”

  Pete DeFazio snorted. “I say we get these out to the media today. That’ll crack the halo. Then the press’ll get serious, look into Trinity’s finances…In a week, he’ll be just another grifter with a Bible.”

  “A grifter with a Bible, who predicts the future,” Case corrected.

  Lamech locked eyes, unblinking, with Darwyn Jones.

  Darwyn nodded, almost imperceptibly, swiveled his chair away to face the television screen. He spoke without turning back to the men. “Look at the television screen, gentlemen. Just look at it.” He sat for another second, turned back to the table. “Millions of Americans believe in him. His sermon tomorrow is going out live, all the major cable networks running the feed, also in the UK, Canada, and Mexico.”

  “My sources tell me reporters are flying in from France, Germany, Australia, Spain, Brazil…every corner of the goddamn planet,” added Lamech. “This story is going worldwide in a matter of days.”

  DeFazio lit a cigarette, said, “What if he does the backwards act tomorrow? For all we know, he could predict the Kentucky Fuckin’ Derby.”

  “For all we know,” said Jared Case, “he could say gambling is a mortal sin. He could say Las Vegas is an instrument of Satan.” Case gestured out the window, where the Las Vegas Strip glittered in the pale red light of dawn. “He could call for the Strip to go dark. And the people will listen. He could kill us with one word.”

  “My point exactly,” said Darwyn Jones with a switchblade smile.

  Michael Passarelli cleared his throat. “I don’t want to be the one to raise this, but we’re talking about killing a man who, well…I’m not saying he’s Christ, just that something really weird is going on with this guy. What if it has something to do with God? Sorry, but I happen to believe in God. Maybe we should just start with the financials, minimize our risk.”

  William Lamech sipped some Perrier. “Michael, if the preacher has anything to do with God, every man in this room can plan on spending eternity without need of an overcoat. The pertinent risk is that every day we waste on indecision is a day Trinity might speak out against us.”

  “And we don’t know how long it’ll take the press to expose him, even if we do feed them his financials,” added Darwyn Jones. “Looks like they’re having a good time with the whole Messiah story, maybe they’re not in a hurry to show him as a grifter.”

  Lamech stood, addressed the whole table. “Obviously Darwyn and I have concluded that we need to kill Trinity, without delay. And I think Jared may be on board.”

  Jared Case nodded. “I’m sold. I say we off the motherfucker.”

  “So we vote,” Lamech continued. “If we are to be Trinity’s jury, we should be unanimous. This is, after all, a death sentence. If there’s a split vote, we talk it around some more.” He raised his right hand. “All those in favor of ending it now.”

  Darwyn Jones and Jared Case raised their hands, followed by DeFazio, Babcock, Reaves…all around the table, all the way to Passarelli.

  Unanimous.

  Rome, Italy…

  It wasn’t every day Father Nick entertained cardinals, but there was one in his office now—and for all the wrong reasons.

  “How injured, exactly, is your secretary?” said Cardinal Allodi.

  “Slight concussion, four stitches, and a bruised ego,” said Father Nick.

  “You find this situation funny?”

  It made Nick feel like a kid called to the principal’s office. “No, Eminence. I don’t. Just listing George’s injuries, as you asked.”

  “And your golden boy, Father Byrne?”

  “Caught a commercial flight to Atlanta. I suspect we’ll find him in the company of his uncle.”

  “You assured me he was the man for the job. ‘The only man,’ you said.” Cardinal Allodi’s voice was like ice. “How could you have misjudged the situation so drastically?”

  “Daniel was very bitter about his uncle, he was motivated to debunk hard and fast. We gave him a case file that undermined Trinity’s predictions, and he already knew the man was a fraud—there was no earthly reason to think he’d vet the transcripts.” Nick shook his head. “He’s a top-notch investigator. Once he learned the predictions were accurate…”

  “You should have pulled him off the case sooner.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Turning into quite the debacle, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  “I think His Holiness needs to be informed.”

  Father Nick nodded. “I’ll report to his office at your command.”

  “No,” said Cardinal Allodi. “You’ll report to me, and I will take it to His Holiness. His Holiness does not need to be burdened with unnecessary detail.”

  “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  “And you need to fix this.”

  “I will.”

  Atlanta, Georgia…

  Hartsfield-Jackson airport was buzzing with excited chatter, and it seemed the only topic of conversation was Tim Trinity. Daniel picked up snatches of it as he made his way through the crowds toward the trains to the main terminal building.

  “This is just so thrilling, I can hardly breathe.”

  “They say he’s taken over the whole top floor of the Westin, hiding out like Howard Hughes. You can’t get near the place.”

  “When I saw the news, I just packed a bag and booked a flight. Didn’t even say good-bye to the wife.”

  “Hear the latest? He predicted next Sunday’s Lotto numbers! Isn’t that awesome?”

  “Dangerous, I’d say. Just a matter of time before Big Brother puts a bullet in his head.”

  “I think we’re in the end times.”

  “I sure hope so. If the rapture don’t come, I’m gonna have to fly home and explain myself.”

  Daniel stopped at a newsstand, picked up the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. The bold headline read:

  TENSIONS RISE AS TRINITY

  FOLLOWERS PUT CITY IN GRIDLOCK

  On the train to the main terminal, he scanned the accompanying story. The city was devolving into chaos. He was still caught up in the paper as he left the train, didn’t notice them until they were flanking him on either side, with military precision.

  Two very large men in dark blue suits and sunglasses. One black,
one white, both bald-headed and clean-shaven. Guns bulging beneath their jackets.

  Shit.

  Daniel scanned the crowd for movement patterns, looking for an opening to emerge. But he knew it was impossible. Even if he got a couple good shots in and bolted though the crowd, he wouldn’t get far. They couldn’t fire on him in this crowd, but the place was jammed, and they’d be all over him before he could get to the door.

  The black guy said, “Father Byrne. We’ve been sent to pick you up.”

  “Nick didn’t waste any time.”

  “Who? No, we’re from Reverend Trinity. He thought you could use some help getting into the city.”

  “How did he even know I was coming back to Atlanta?”

  “I have no idea, you’ll have to ask him. He just told us what flight you were on.”

  “Nothing personal, guys, but why should I believe you?”

  The white guy grinned. “He said you were the suspicious type. Said to remind you of the time Judas got hit by a car. Said to tell you what he said to you at the time was wrong. Whatever that means.”

  Judas…

  When Daniel was nine, during the summer they stayed put in New Orleans, Trinity finally agreed to get a dog. They went down to the shelter on Japonica Street and adopted a scruffy little mutt that Trinity named Judas. He chose the name, he said, because every dog he’d had as a kid had run away, and he figured it was just a matter of time before this mutt did the same.

  But Judas didn’t run away, and both Daniel and Trinity fell in love with him. Daniel took Judas to Audubon Park every day, and Trinity came along on weekends. Judas loved to splash around in the big fountain, biting at the water. It always made them howl with laughter.

  Trinity also got a huge kick out of calling the dog’s name in public.

  Judas didn’t run away, but on a rainy Saturday morning in early August, he crawled under the backyard fence and chased a cat across the road, just as a car came around the corner. Daniel ran to stop him, but it was too late.

  Judas died in Daniel’s arms.

  They buried the dog in the backyard, and Trinity made a little wooden cross as a headstone.

  “I know it hurts, son, and I’m sorry,” he said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But you better know now, it’s the way of life. Everything you love goes away in the end.”

  He said to tell you what he said to you at the time was wrong.

  The white guy said, “Satisfied?”

  Daniel nodded.

  The black guy gestured at his partner. “This is Chris. I’m Samson.” They shook hands. “Car’s waiting, let’s go.”

  Chris drove the big limo into Atlanta, staying off the highway, cruising along industrial boulevards and residential streets. Samson sat in the back with Daniel and caught him up to speed.

  “Reverend Trinity’s instructions are that you get total access and full protection. So if you need anything at all, just say the word.” He handed Daniel a business card. “My cell phone’s always on.”

  Daniel put the card in his pocket. “What the hell is going on, Samson?”

  Samson whistled through his teeth. “You got me, Father.”

  “Just Daniel, please.”

  “OK, Daniel. From a security perspective, it’s a total nightmare. We had to get Reverend Trinity out of his home and into a controlled environment—the whole neighborhood was swarming with worshipers. And now the Westin is a zoo. Cops have it surrounded and nobody gets in without showing a card key.” He handed one to Daniel. “Your room is just down the hall from your uncle.”

  “I have a room?”

  “Reverend Trinity’s orders. We’ve got the entire top floor, and we control the only elevator set to reach it. There’s a keypad in the elevator, and we change the access code daily. We have men at the stairwells and in the lobby. We can keep him safe inside. But outside… Almost a million people in the last thirty-six hours, and they’re still coming, now they’re pitching tents in Piedmont Park. At first the cops tried to clear them out, but now they’re just trying to keep people safe. The whole city’s on edge, wouldn’t take much to push it over.”

  “Jesus.”

  “They’re setting up port-a-potties at the perimeter of the parks,” Chris added from the front seat, “but it’s not enough. The Red Cross has first aid tents up, and they’re distributing water, best they can.”

  Samson said, “High today is eighty-two, eighty-eight tomorrow. People gonna be roasting out there, and there’s gonna be a riot before this thing is over. A riot, or worse. Folks don’t realize how fragile the social order is, I’m telling you.”

  Traffic ground to gridlock as they reached downtown. They turned onto Peachtree a few blocks north of Five Points, and inched through the sea of souls.

  Pedestrians packed the wide sidewalks, sometimes spilling out into the curb lanes. Vendors stood elbow to elbow, hawking Tim Trinity T-shirts, Tim Trinity posters, blue bibles, battery-powered fans, and bottled water.

  They rode on in silence as Daniel took in the scene outside the window.

  People playing drums and tambourines, banjos and guitars.

  People dancing and chanting.

  Young people, singing about peace and love and salvation.

  Old men, spewing bile about hellfire and damnation.

  Some marched slowly, amidst the chaos, carrying placards.

  PREPARE THE WAY OF THE LORD

  USA IS GOD COUNTRY

  REV. TRINITY WILL SAVE US

  Daniel just stared, thinking: Unbelievable. Un-frigging-believable.

  The presidential suite was a hive of activity, people assembling desks, setting up computers, running phone lines. Flat panel televisions were scattered around the room, tuned to CNN, MSNBC, FoxNews, BBC, CBCNewsworld, SkyNews, half of them running stories about Tim Trinity.

  “Danny, welcome!” Trinity called, over the sound of televisions and cordless drills and ringing phones. “Thrilled to have you back.” He gestured to the blonde woman who’d appeared on stage with him a few days earlier. “Meet Liz Doherty, our public relations director.” Daniel shook Liz Doherty’s hand. “And over there is Jennifer Bartlett,” pointing across the room where a curvaceous, pretty young woman in a conservative suit smiled and wiggled her fingers at them while talking on the phone, “my secretary.” Then he made a comic face. “I mean, my executive assistant.” He flashed his pearly whites. “My bad, as the kids say. How was your flight?”

  This can’t be happening…

  “Tim, what the hell is going on around here?”

  Trinity beamed. “We Big Time, son! We on a roll.” He pointed his cigarette at the television on the wet bar. “BBC, baby! Where’s your suitcase?”

  Daniel couldn’t think, couldn’t process the input fast enough. “I…uh, I don’t…I traveled under unusual circumstances. I don’t have it.” He held up his carry-on. “This is all I brought.”

  “Well then, you’re gonna need new clothes, supplies.” He called across the room, “Jennifer, give Danny five thousand from petty cash.”

  “I didn’t ask you for money,” Daniel said.

  Trinity waved it away. “A raindrop in the storm, don’t trouble your mind over it. Already had to hire three more phone banks to handle calls. We’re drawing a million every couple hours, ’round the clock, praise God.”

  What the fuck?

  “You can’t possibly think I find this in any way impressive,” Daniel said, keeping his voice even. Trinity’s smile lost an inch; he’d just been insulted in front of his people. “And how did you know I was on that flight?”

  The smile returned to full wattage. Trinity gestured to the floor-to-ceiling windows, to the sun-baked city, seventy-five stories down. “It ain’t just those people in tents. In the short time you’ve been gone, we have experienced a paradigm shift, my boy. I simply called my new friend, Senator Paul Guyot—who sits on the Homeland Security Committee—and asked him to let me know if your name showed up on a passenger list to Atl
anta. Piece of cake. Like I said: We Big Time, baby, we on a roll.”

  “I just flushed my life down the fucking toilet for you!” Daniel shouted. “For this?”

  The entire room fell to silence.

  The television news channels all ran together on low volume, combining to make a white noise of background blather, punctuated with words such as Trinity…Atlanta…Miracle…

  Trinity raised his hands to encompass everyone in the suite. “Ladies and gentlemen, my nephew is upset. We need some time. Please, give us the room.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Samson from the doorway. Everyone filed out quietly, and Samson followed suit, closing the door behind.

  Trinity crossed to the bar, switched the television off. He poured Blanton’s into a couple of rocks glasses, added ice from the freezer, handed one of the glasses to Daniel. He spoke quietly. “You didn’t flush your life down the toilet for me, son. You flushed it to find the truth. And the truth is, you didn’t flush it at all. Hell, you’ve been a priest for all the wrong reasons—”

  “Don’t,” said Daniel. “Just, don’t. You are the last person on earth who gets to analyze me. And while we’re on the subject, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop calling me son.”

  “Ouch,” whispered Trinity. He drank down the bourbon, nodded sadly to himself, and spoke into his ice. “OK, I laid it on a little thick when you arrived, I admit that. Just wanted you to see a lot of people believe in me. I mean, believe God is at work in me.” He looked straight at Daniel. “I know you think I’m a con man, and yes, I am…I was. But things are different now. Now I believe. Not saying I been saved or born again or any of that jazz. Just that now I know there is a God. A good God. And I don’t have a clue why, but He wants to use me for something. Something important.”

  “What, he wants you to be Big Time? On a roll? Drawing millions? Well, excuse me while I call bullshit on that.”

  “No, no, no, that’s all just the theater of it, you’re missin’ the purpose. And the money’s just a side-effect, I swear.”