The God Particle

by Tom Avitabile

  “Yes, but then we lost him. I understand you are looking for him. Can I ask why?”

  “Because he walked into my office last week and knew things only the president and I should know — and of course, you.”

  “He may have been turned.” Klaven spoke into his phone thirty-five feet away from Bill’s back.

  “Wait, you said rogue? You mean the Russians or Chinese?”

  “There are other ways for an operative to turn.”

  “Look, Clay, why not save me a whole lot of time and a few mini-heart attacks with you jumping out at me from every bush, and just tell me who he is, what he’s doing and who he’s working for.”

  “Sorry, Bill, I just don’t know that.”

  “Stunning confession from you, Mr. Ultra Spook.”

  “No need to get petty, here. How did you make out with the scrambled eggs?”

  “After I did a little homework, they suddenly backed off from the big number and came in at about one hundred twenty mil.”

  “Oh, I would have loved to hear that discussion at Navy.”

  “Hey, Clay, thanks for all your help. Do you need anything from me?”

  “I’ll take a chit, payable someday!”

  “Your credit is always good here.”

  “Take care, SciAD!”

  “You too, Clay.”

  ∞§∞

  Bill looked at his watch and decided to use the car to go home and get a few things he and Janice needed during their extended stay at Camp David. He informed Steve of this new plan and asked him to hold the chopper a little longer at the CIA.

  Bill entered his house and went to the bedroom. He started going through the list of things he and Janice had talked about wanting. He couldn’t remember if it was her red outfit or the coral one, but the phone rang as he was reaching for it to call her.

  “Hello?”

  “Bling!”

  Bill knew the code word instantly. It was Bridgestone. He and Ross had used it during the Hammer of God operation to positively identify themselves and confirm that what followed was not being transmitted under duress.

  “Well, hello my friend. I just kinda met with an old Navy buddy of yours.”

  “We’ll have to finish that one on a secure line, Dr. Hiccock.”

  “Right you are. What can I do for you?”

  “A little bird told me you had a sudden interest in whales.”

  Two minutes later, Bill was on his secure phone to the U.S. Embassy in Paris. “Brooke, I need you back in Washington tomorrow.”

  “What’s up, boss?”

  “We might be able to clear the Navy captain who saved your life.”

  Brooke’s face lit up. She started packing as she called Joey in his room, but he wasn’t there so she left a message.

  ∞§∞

  The residence of the Cardinal of Paris was opulent. Although the man himself was in Rome, his staff was more than attentive to Joey and Father Mercado. The Monsignor had picked this spot for its privacy.

  Joey noticed the now familiar ‘ring of thorns’ on the finger of the septuagenarian’s liver-spotted hand. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Monsignor.”

  “I won’t know if I can help you in your quest until I know what your intention is.”

  “First off, I am not interested in anything of a criminal or illegal nature, if any were to exist. I am here to speak to Mr. Sicard because he has come into some information that could greatly aid the United States and all free nations of the world in the fight against tyranny.”

  “Are you a Catholic, Mr. Palumbo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you an American or a Catholic first?”

  “With respect, they are two separate things. One is who I am and the other is what I believe.”

  “So, you are not a man of ideals?”

  “Politically, my ideals are those of the Bill of Rights, the Constitution, and the Republic. Spiritually, my ideals are those of Jesus and the Holy Roman Church. Again, I see them as separate.”

  “Is not America a Christian country?”

  “It is based on Judeo-Christian ethics, but there is no national religion. God is apart from any one religion, but he is recognized as the grantor of certain rights, which no man or government can take away.”

  “Do you believe that Jesus is the Son of God?” As he leaned forward, the cross dangling from his neck hit the table’s edge.

  “Again, with respect, I already went through Confirmation. I don’t see how this will be relevant to why I am here.” Joey was restraining his annoyance.

  “There are loyalties that go beyond politics or nationalism,” the old man said.

  “There is no loyalty that trumps the law.” Joey was resolute.

  “But you believe in God’s law. So, if man’s law contradicts God’s law, what side are you going to align with?”

  “In my country, because we acknowledge that there is a God and affirm that our basic rights come from him, our laws strive to be consistent with God. Therefore I see no conflict. Again, I didn’t come here to have a theological discussion in the abstract. Do you plan to help me find Sicard or not?”

  “Abortion is legal in America. How do you reconcile that with the law of God?”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with…”

  “Indulge me, please,” the Monseigneur said, as sweetly as a grandfather asking for another piece of cherry pie.

  Joey resisted the urge to utter, Oy. “Okay, abortion is legal because of judicial fiat. It is not in our constitution and the whole issue is still a matter of much debate. In time, America may go another way. But yes, in that instance it is not God’s law. But it is the will of the people and God gave the people not only will, but the gift to exercise that will.”

  “Everything you said then is irrelevant because you can arrest a priest who obstructs an abortion.”

  “Look, where are you going with this? Am I wasting my time here?”

  “I will not help you. I find you to be not of a proper Catholic mind.”

  Joey went where he didn’t want to go. “If that’s your final answer, then I am going to have to ask you where you got that ring.”

  The Monsignor glanced down but remained silent.

  “The Knights of the Sepulchre; you wear the ring and so does Sicard. Therefore, I will consider you a hostile witness, and I thank you for wasting my time. I’ll show myself out, come on, Frank. ”

  The Monsignor turned as Joey was walking out. “How do you know of the Knights?”

  “I think we are finished here. And based on your lack of cooperation, I intend to make sure the Knights are finished as well.”

  Joey had reached the street before Father Mercado caught up with him. “That was really intense.”

  Joey stopped and turned. “Look, Frank. Maybe you didn’t get what just happened in there, but a technical state of war now exists between the United States and the Knights; and you are in the wrong uniform.”

  “That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”

  “I am going to rain a shit-storm of American law down on him, the Knights, and the Pope if I have to. That man went too far in questioning my faith when he’s the one hiding something that could get people killed. So, you better unhook from me, Frank, or get splattered with the mess I am going to make.”

  Joey stormed off down the street leaving Frank shocked. His mind reeled with the dilemma he faced. He also thought the Monsignor had been out of line, but to say that out loud would surely mean he’d wind up in some dirt-floored hovel, teaching scripture to Aborigines a thousand miles from a telephone. He would have had no problem with that assignment when he was a young priest, but after Paris — it gave him pause. Frank watched Joey turn the corner; then looked back at the residence, then back to the corner, and finally capitulated to his religion and walked back to the residence.

  Joey’s cell phone rang. It was Bill. “Joey, I got a little present waiting for you when you get back to the embassy.”
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  ∞§∞

  Joey entered the Secure Conference room at the American embassy in Paris, which had become his and Brooke’s de facto office.

  Brooke was shaking her head as she reviewed the scanned documents on the large monitor in front of her. “Joey, between us we got forty years of investigative experience. How does Hiccock the science guy do this? Look at what he sent us.”

  Joey’s jaw dropped, because on the screen was the CIA dossier on Sicard. “Son of a bitch, he was a spook?”

  “‘Was’ being the operative word. Looks like he went rogue after the Beirut bombings.”

  As the images scrolled, it was clear he was no Lloyds of London insurance salesman. “This guy has black ops methods and training. Where did Bill get this?”

  “Someone named Clay. Do you know him?”

  Joey smiled. “I only know his reputation, and I can see it wasn’t exaggerated. Brooke, can you boil all this down into some usable intel?”

  “Actually, Joey, I was ordered back to Washington. I delayed my flight when this came in.”

  “What’s back in Washington?”

  “Naval Board of Inquiry into Mush…Captain Morton’s whale episode.”

  “Going to put on your old JAG insignia?”

  “No, but I am a witness and I can bird-dog the defense and make sure they aren’t missing something. How did it go with the Monsignor?”

  “Infuriating. We could be on the verge of a diplomatic war between the Vatican and Uncle Sam.”

  “He wouldn’t give up Sicard?”

  “He wouldn’t give up the ghost,” Joey said, noting that the document now on the screen was a scan of Parnell Sicard’s death certificate.

  ∞§∞

  Maybe it was because he was also an American, or maybe because of the way the Monsignor insulted Joey, but Father Frank Mercado of the Paris Diocese was a little less enamored with his immediate superior. Halfway back to the residence, he turned and went to back to his church instead. As he sat in the Great Cathedral he prayed to Saint Sophia for wisdom.

  Afterward, he walked down the Left Bank of the River Seine. He watched long, low-slung dinner boats glide under bridges adorned with gold-clad statuettes. Tourists breezed along the cobblestones, while above the beam of light from atop the Eiffel Tower arced across the night sky. He liked Joey. He didn’t see him as a cop, but more as a kid in the church. Frank liked the way Joey was reverential to the church, yet respectful in his career choice away from the calling to service for his country. It made him wonder how the monsignor could be opposed to a man like Joey. In theology, Frank had learned that without faith as a counterbalance, people are motivated by what they fear. It was obvious Joey’s fear was for his country. But the Monsignor’s fear must have been more personal, and that should not be. The pious shepherd should fear nothing of his personal existence; only that of the flock! Yet…

  The sound of people singing “Happy Birthday” rolled over the water and echoed off the stone walls of the river walk as a bateau slipped along the river. The half American and half heavily French accented strains, the latter obviously from the local waiters, who learned all the major language salutations of one’s anniversary of birth, made Frank smile. Especially when they sang Happy Birthday dear, Fra-ank, Happy Birthday to you. That was the trouble with single syllable names. You have to force them to be two syllables in order to fit the music of the American “Happy Birthday.” To-om, Fra-ank, Mi-ike, Su-ue. Through the curved dinner boat’s sightseeing windows, he could see a candle-festooned cake being presented to a middle-aged man who, as he had done fifty or so times before, took a deep breath and blew out the candles. Although Frank couldn’t hear it, he knew somebody said, Make a wish.

  As Frank continued his contemplative walk through the Parisian night, the little refresher on America made him dwell on his birthdays and life in Philly, which became the cornerstone of a plan he would invoke tomorrow after Friday confessions.

  XV. BLOOD TRUCE

  Brooke had gotten permission from the East Coast inspector general to wear her uniform during the board of inquiry. This surprised her, as she was also a witness and she wondered if her uniform, with JAG insignia, would be prejudicial to the prosecution. However, she had gotten her wish and if the IG and prosecutor didn’t have a problem, then it was moot.

  As she walked into the BOI chamber the old rush returned. The prep for a case, the razor’s edge on which a favorable decision balanced, the satisfaction of diligent research and inspiration of a strategy that ultimately wins the day, recharged her jurisprudence battery! In a little more than an hour the proceeding would begin. She picked out in her mind her seat in the gallery, where she was sure to have a direct line of sight to Mush as he sat at the defense table. She took one last look and headed for the attorneys’ room.

  She did a double-take as she entered the room, there he was, clean shaven in a service dress khaki uniform, hat on the table, trimmed beard, and eyes that actually seemed illuminated to her.

  He smiled broadly when he turned and saw her. He stood and extended his hand. “Lieutenant Burrell, nice to see you again,” his voice said, while his eyes screamed, Girl, I’ve missed you.

  The look in his eyes relieved Brooke’s apprehension about seeing him again and replaced it with the prickly energy of intense attraction, amplified by separation. In that one gesture, she knew her place with him was good. Now she could relax and really drill down into the case. The lead JAG officer for the defense was forty-two-year old Captain Lance Porter, who had intellectually gotten over the absurdity of a whale attack and now specifically concerned himself with preserving the career and reputation of the latest in a long line of naval heroes of the Morton clan.

  Brooke broke into the conversation. “Captain Porter, I am here personally because I have a witness who could offer exculpatory evidence in Captain Morton’s defense.”

  As expected, Porter bristled at the unexpected. “I wasn’t aware of any such witness and none has been listed with the prosecution.”

  “I apologize for the lack of procedure, but the witness just became available and is testifying out of a top secret mission under the direct orders of the president.” Brooke said.

  “I see. I’ll have my staff call in the prosecutor and the IG and we’ll get him to testify in closed session. When is he expected?”

  “Right now; he’s outside.”

  Mush was surprised to see a Japanese merchant captain enter the room with a U.S. Navy translator.

  Brooke explained the circumstances under which Captain Kasogi Toshihira came to lose his ship to pirates, his whale story and subsequent rescue by special forces, which must never be named.

  Porter was dubious. “What evidence of the whale does the captain present?”

  Brooke opened her briefcase and removed the print of a picture taken from the iPhone the helicopter pilot had used to pop his good-luck-shot of the whale frolicking in the wake of the huge vehicle transport. “The JDF helicopter pilot assigned to Captain Toshihira’s ship took ball-camera shots of the whale, but those were lost when his aircraft was scuttled to avoid letting it fall into enemy hands. He did, however, manage to text this picture to his son, who is studying whales in school, before the ship was attacked.”

  Mush looked at the photo, then spoke to Toshihira, then looked at the translator. “You were attacked in the Indian Ocean?”

  Toshihira didn’t wait for translation, “Yes, south of Java.”

  That being roughly the same area of both Brooke’s attack and the attack on the Nebraska, Mush looked to his lawyer, Porter. “That’s where the Pacific meets the Indian Ocean, Lance. And not too far from our encounter.”

  The windfall of collaborating evidence was immediately apparent to Porter, who understood that suddenly the positive outcome of this board as it related to Mush was a certainty. More importantly, the information would quickly advance into a strategic initiative to ward off a new threat by a new weapon. “Excuse me, but I think I want the IG
and prosecution in here now.”

  It took an hour and essentially the whole BOI took place in the lawyers’ room. The IG made a pro tem decision that Mush be cleared of all charges and his record reflect that he had acted in the highest traditions of the US Navy. Then the IG called Naval Intelligence and asked them to debrief both Morton and Toshihira so that tactics and defenses might be established and communicated to all commands and ships at sea. There were handshakes all around, and soon only Mush and Kasogi were left in the room awaiting the Navy intelligence guys.

  “Your English is very good!”

  Kasogi nodded, “Thank you. I get most things, but certain phrases I don’t understand. That’s why the translator was here.”

  “How long have you been at sea?”

  “Twenty years. And you?”

  “About the same.”

  “Not the same. I am merchant, you are submarine!”

  “True, but as merchant you are just as important to your country as I am to America.”

  “You are very kind, but you command an SSBN. I simply pilot a floating parking garage.”

  “And those missiles and boats cost my country trillions, but your boat makes money for Japan.”

  “I was to be a warrior, not a truck driver.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “My grandfather; he was commander of the battleship Musashi during the war against the American and English Imperialists. He personally served with Yamamoto and on many occasions had the honor of bowing before the Emperor.”

  “You are the grandson of Rear Admiral Inoguchi Toshihira! The Musashi was a noble ship of the Imperial Navy. I always liked her lines better than the Yamamoto.”

  Kasogi was impressed. “You study the war? You know of my grandfather, and of the Musashi?”

  “Yes, I did a paper on the War in the Pacific at Naval War College. I too had a grandfather who fought in World War Two.”