Sanctuary Creek

by John Patrick Kavanagh

  “Geoff, I’d like to elaborate on some of the other problems facing those who live inside and control this four square mile, exquisitely designed compound sitting out here in the lush, rolling landscape of Barrington, Illinois, as preparations continue for both a private funeral for one of its fallen, bringing together all of the major players for a series of meetings which might just dictate the future of the Catholic Church and the futures of the over one billion faithful spread across the planet who pledge allegiance to its yellow and white flag.”

  “Go ahead, Pam.”

  “Prior to the death of Cardinal Castro, the focus here at the Creek was directed to a 700 page document discovered in Israel known as The Diaries of Sebastian. The journal supposedly contains a number of references to Jesus of Nazareth, the founder of the Catholic Church, including an eyewitness account by its author of both the crucifixion of Christ and a conversation with him after he reportedly rose from the dead. Included with the diaries was a small stone, known as the Pebble, which supposedly contains the image of a cross of unknown origin. An announcement concerning the authenticity of both the diaries and the pebble was expected from the Church last week but that announcement was never made. Sources close to the investigation and research into the authenticity of these artifacts have indicated to me that the announcement has been delayed, perhaps indefinitely, while the Church examines its options.”

  “Are you saying it’s been determined that the artifacts are not what they purport to be?”

  “What I’m saying, Geoff, is that they evidently have not been proven to be what they purport to be.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “The Church believes there is a difference between proving something is not what it purports to be and not proving something is what it purports to be. They are trying to put the best face on their failure to establish definitively that the diaries and the pebble are actually real.”

  “Geoff, if I may, I think what Pam is attempting to say is that the Church simply doesn’t have enough solid evidence to proclaim the diaries are beyond reproach.”

  “My sources tell me the decision has been reached that they’re forgeries.”

  “And my source tells me no conclusion has been reached.”

  He adjusted the center nozzle, then the front, then the back and stood at the intersection of the trinity of artificial waterfalls, the hiss and sensation just as it was when she’d playfully begin pouring the soap onto the pair of sponges in his hands.

  “Ladies, let’s move on to a different topic: pop singer Angelique Caulfield. Pam?”

  “Controversy continues to surround Angelique, who is probably the most visible and influential member, aside from Cardinal Martin Elliott, of the American Conservative Party. Although her current album and her current single are at the top of the music charts, rumors have once again surfaced that she acted in an X-rated video before her rise to fame and that a print of that video has subsequently been found. Supposedly, it was produced privately, sort of a home movie, but that it has now fallen into the hands of parties who may be using it in some sort of blackmail scheme, either directed at the singer or at the Conservative Party or at the Church itself. One rumor is that the video is in the possession of the Sanctuarian Party and that they will use it in an attempt to influence the upcoming primary elections, perhaps to discredit one or more of the candidates. There is a rumor that Angelique will soon make an appearance at Sanctuary Creek to discuss this matter.”

  “Morgan?”

  “This story about the video has been around as long as Angelique has been making records and if it were true, I’m sure it would have surfaced by now. The latest wrinkle now is that it features her cavorting with a high-ranking member of the Sanctuarian Party. I’ll give you the fact she’s a very attractive woman, but the premise that a Sancter, let alone a major member, would one, get involved with her and two, preserve it for prosperity, is a far-fetched fairy tale.”

  “I’ve been told that Angelique is currently a guest at the Creek but I’m certain it has nothing to do with any video. No one would be naive enough to participate in such a venture, or if they did, you can be sure they wouldn’t value their position within the Party. As to something like that being used within the Church for any reason, that’s also far-fetched.”

  “We’ve been waiting to get a camera up near the sight of yesterday’s helicopter crash and get Sam Jackson’s report on it but as so often happens in this business, we are going to have to use our excuse of technical difficulties and for that we apologize. What have you heard about this part of the story, Pam?”

  “The helicopter was stolen from Palwaukee Airport in nearby Wheeling yesterday afternoon. It crashed here at the Creek, in the Residential Quadrant, a short time later. The identity of the hijackers has not been discovered by government officials and the identity has not been revealed by Church authorities who are conducting their own investigation into the crash.”

  “Are they being assisted by the government?”

  “The two parties have been in contact, I am told, but as yet no government investigators have been allowed into the Creek to assist.”

  “Does the Church know the identity of the hijackers?”

  “No.”

  “There were reports yesterday that there were three passengers in the helicopter when it crashed and that the additional person or persons were seen running from the site of the crash. Any new information on this aspect?”

  “The reports of additional passengers were erroneous. I have confirmation that there were only three and that reports concerning people running from the sight of the crash may have been based on a witness observation of people already on the ground running, as anyone would if a helicopter crashed near them.”

  “Morgan?”

  “That’s about what I’ve heard.”

  “It’s nice to see you and Pam able to agree about something.”

  “I suppose.”

  And then they’d retreat, naked, soaked and pruned, to the California king for well-deserved naps.

  “We’ll be updating you on further developments from Sanctuary Creek throughout the day as they occur, but right now we’re going to switch to Dean Bradford who has just arrived at the scene of the tanker truck mishap on 355 in CCNN Skycopter 1. Dean?”

  * * *

  Leaving the shower, Samson watched the report about an accident near the highway he’d traveled up in Chariot II not 36 hours before. That ride now seemed like it had been taken place weeks ago. After the weather report he dried his hair, dressed and then left for the office. He stopped at Dom’s Deli, choosing a café grandé and an apple fritter. He thought to take it back to Administration but instead sat at one of the tables on the sidewalk to enjoy a few minutes of solitude before getting back to the business of Silver Piece.

  Solitude didn’t last long, Donna Zitzer stepping up then sitting beside him.

  “Good morning, good morning, Mr. Terence Samson. And how are you today?”

  “Just fine. Mrs. Zitzer. How about you?”

  “I’m just fine, I’m just fine. I have a very, very busy day ahead of me. A very busy day indeed.”

  “What are you working on?”

  “I have to pick some flowers, a great many. I was asked to help with some floral arrangements that are being prepared for the Pope. They are going to be put in his house, right in his house. Evidently there are no shipments of flowers being allowed into the Creek today so some of us ladies have been asked to make some arrangements out of the flowers over in the greenhouse, over in the greenhouse behind the Cathedral. Won’t that be fun?”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  “I understand that you’ve been seeing Mary Beth Rehmer, the Pope’s sister.”

  “Really?” he chuckled. “What makes you say that?”

  “I saw it on the television this morning. I saw it on the television.”

  “Those television people seem to know everything.”

  “Yes th
ey do. Yes they do. She seems like such a nice girl, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Yeah. She is.”

  “Certainly much nicer than that other girl, that Angelique girl.”

  His ears perked at the mention. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because that Angelique girl is nothing but… she’s nothing but a little tramp who means no good for anyone.”

  “Why do you say that?” he repeated.

  “Because she’s a married woman, from what I hear, and she’s having sexual relations with someone outside of her marriage. When I was a young girl, believe me, I would never think of doing such a thing. When I was a young girl, girls who did things like that were called tramps. And to be having an affair with someone from here, someone from the Sanctuarian Party. I think it’s all just very immoral and indecent.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked a third time, hoping Zitzer was crafting another episode in her personal soap opera.

  “I saw it on the television. I saw it on the television.”

  “Kind of like you saw Cardinal Castro in the secret room under the Cathedral?”

  “Exactly like that. Although when you see people in person, they’re always much bigger than they are on the television.”

  “I know,” he smiled.

  She was so harmless. And probably lonely; the loneliness only someone who understood the meaning of the promise Until Death do we part. She loved conversation, so he had a few minutes to share in return for the daisy.

  “Tell me more about the secret room under the Cathedral where you saw Cardinal Castro.”

  “It’s not very big and it’s very strange because sometimes it’s there and sometimes it isn’t.”

  “Sometimes it’s there?”

  “And sometimes it isn’t. I went down there at three this morning. I have a difficult time sleeping, you know. I’ve heard that that happens to people who get to be my age. I went down there this morning, oh, it must have been 3:00. I went down there, I was in the catacombs, as we ladies who work at the Cathedral call them. I was looking for some candles that I keep there for times when we run out. You know, a church should never be without candles so I keep a few secret boxes down there, just in case.”

  “How do you get into the Cathedral? It’s locked at night.”

  “Do you promise you won’t tell anybody?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “I have a secret key to unlock a secret door.”

  “Where’d you get the key?”

  “From my husband, who used to be one of the Vatican Guard. He died some time ago.”

  “Yes. I was very sorry to hear that.”

  But Zitzer having access to the Cathedral without supervision seemed ludicrous. The treasures inside were so valuable that there had been talk recently to limit access to only residents and scheduled, supervised visitors. How could there be such a total lapse of security?

  “Okay, let’s see. You’ve got a secret key to a secret door that lets you into the Cathedral but the secret room you saw yesterday wasn’t there this morning.”

  “Isn’t that strange?”

  “Extremely.” He smiled. “But what was it like before it disappeared. Was it like a confessional?”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Terence Samson. It was small, but not that small.”

  “But didn’t you see Cardinal Castro hearing confessions in it?”

  “Well that’s what it seemed like to me. Maybe he wasn’t but from the sound of the voices it seemed like that was what was going on. They do hear a lot of confessions in the Cathedral. Cardinal Castro hears confessions in the Cathedral. I’ve even gone to Cardinal Castro to hear my confession. They still have to do that once in awhile, the priests in the Cabinet. I always like going to them. They don’t ask you a bunch of personal questions.”

  “Whose secret confession was Cardinal Castro hearing in the secret confessional?”

  “Cardinal Linhart’s.”

  If one chose to search the world to find a hamlet where crazy persons were allowed to walk the streets unmolested and get a job from the tribal fathers to boot, the quest could begin and end in Admin Village, Sanctuary Creek.

  Linhart had died in a boating mishap the previous November during a fishing expedition off Little Cayman Island in the Caribbean. Although the bodies of the cardinal and two fellow deep sea aficionados had never been recovered, the funeral for the second of Peter’s three Secretaries of Internal Affairs had been one of the saddest ever held at the Creek. It was particularly poignant that he’d lost his life at sea because two months before he’d personally negotiated the release of the hundred or so hostages aboard the cruise ship Princess Melinda.

  “Cardinal Kenley Linhart?”

  “Of course. I don’t know any other Cardinal Linharts.”

  “And Cardinal Castro was hearing his confession?”

  “I don’t know if he was hearing his confession. It was just that they were very close to each other, they were whispering. I just figured it was a confession.”

  “But Cardinal Linhart has been dead a long time.”

  “That’s what I heard. In fact, Mr. Terence Samson, I thought that they had a requiem for Cardinal Linhart. I’m sure I was there. I remember that it was a long time ago but my memory has been failing lately. I just can’t seem to remember dates as well as I used to.”

  “I really have to get going, Mrs. Zitzer. I have a lot of work I have to do this morning, too.”

  “A good deal of typing, I’d imagine.”

  “Yes, ma’am. A good deal.”

  * * *

  Esposito handed him the phone messages as he passed her desk.

  Mary Beth. Peter via Rosalita. Zen Dry Cleaning.

  The dry cleaner?

  Mary Beth could wait. A call to Peter would have to wait until he checked the files more to develop a Silver Piece lead, but…

  “Beetsee? Do you know how Zen got my number here?”

  “Probably from Party,” she answered.

  Before he could dial the number, she walked into the office, stopping a few feet to the left of his desk. “Secretary Samson?”

  “Yes?”

  “Let me know if you want anything from me. Anything at all,” she smiled, brushing her hair away from her ears with both hands. “I’m just outside.”

  “Thanks.”

  Zen answered on the first ring, his voice that of a goose with a bad case of laryngitis.

  “Mr. Zen? Terry Samson.”

  “Ah, yes Secretary Samson. You are good today?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. What’s up?”

  “We be able to have job delivered by noontime lunch period.”

  “Job delivered?”

  “Yes. We have it by noontime lunch period.”

  “You’ll have to give me a little help on this one, Mr. Zen.”

  “No, Secretary Samson. We help you. You big deal now. You always good customer but now you big deal. We have it ready for you by…”

  “Noontime lunch period.”

  “We have it then, Secretary Samson.”

  Although he hadn’t the vaguest notion what Zen was talking about, Samson suddenly understood something that he’d always thought was a mirage on somebody else’s desert. Power. Influence. Position. A miniscule fragment of what it was that drove the likes of Peter and Donovan and Archie Knight. He’d spent hundreds of dollars at the man’s establishment and had never gotten a phone call from the owner, not even the time one of his best wool suits was tossed into a load of somebody else’s shirts.

  Power was a call from the dry cleaner.

  “So what is it that I’m… can pick up at the noontime lunch period?”

  “You very funny guy, Secretary Samson. You want us to deliver to you? You just say the word.”

  “The word.”

  “You very, very funny guy, Secretary Samson,” Zen chuckled. “Where you want it delivered? We deliver it to you anywhere in the Creeks.”

  “Over here to Administration? Ninth flo
or.”

  “They not let us deliver to Administration no more. Not even for the big shots. We deliver it for you someplace else, okay?”

  “Drop it off at the house. Just hang it on the light next to the door.”

  “We do that noontime lunch period. You need anything else, you just call me here.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Zen.”

  Something he’d left before going on vacation? He tossed the slip into the waste basket under the desk then booted up the CPU, entered the password and arrived at the main menu. Checking the specs info, he discovered only 98 gigs of space was taken up on the 740 drive. Not too much ground to cover. Let’s do this the easy way, Anthead, he thought as he lowered his fingers to the keyboard.

  Find Silver Piece. Nothing. Find Silverpiece. Nothing. Find SP. 256,789 possibilities, probably spelling connections, not one a folder. Find Silverpeace. Find Silver Peace. Find Silver Pieces. Find Silverpieces. Find Silverpeaces. Find Silver Peaces. Find Silver Peas. Find that fucker. Twenty one positives, all in Castro’s JCPERSONAL docs. He grinned. Maybe another day. But he switched to the primary folder anyway.

  CORRESPONDENCE ESTATE PLANNING MISC DOCS NICK DOCS

  PETE DOCS WING DOCS RECEIPTS HOUSE CAR

  “Where are you when I need you, Juan?” he said to himself as he switched to AMI SUPERNET. Eleven folders, the first WELCOME, the last PIS. “Did you mean P-I-S-S as in the poorness of my existence, amigo?” He switched to OTHER. Only one folder: IOT. He pressed on the mouse. Please Enter Password. He did. Invalid Password.

  “Secretary Samson?” Esposito buzzed through the console. “Rosalita on line two.” “Sheesh,” he sighed, lifting the phone. “Samson.”

  “Too busy to respond to the Pontiff?”

  “I was just going to return the Pope’s call.”

  “Yes, Mr. Samson. I’ll tell him…”

  “Secretary Samson, please.”

  “Yes. Secretary Samson. I’ll inform him you’ve finally gotten around to returning his call.”