by Ted Dekker
It didn’t all make perfect sense to me yet, but I was sure that complete understanding would come. Danny had been thinking on this for much longer than me.
I hooked my hand around his elbow and stared out to the sea. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Danny?”
“Yes.” He didn’t react to my hand on his arm. “It is.”
“I used to stare out at the ocean when I lived with Lamont and dream of what it would be like to get on a boat and sail away forever.”
“Dreams are a gift,” he said.
“Like that song ‘Come Sail Away,’ by Styx.”
“Good song.”
I don’t think there’s anything quite as intimate as saving the world with another person. I wanted to hug Danny and thank him for this gift.
“Do you know what I dream about even more than sailing away?” I asked.
He hesitated. “You do know that what we did tonight was an accident. Redding was a devil, but he wasn’t properly vetted. I don’t want you to think I kill like this. It was a terrible mistake.”
“You don’t kill people like Redding?”
“Not like Redding, no,” he said. “Tell me your dream.”
“My dream is to kill the man who killed Lamont. After he’s been properly vetted.” I liked that word. Vetted.
“That’s some dream.”
“Will you help me?”
He’d been adamant about only flushing Bourque out, not killing him. Now my heart pounded with the realization that Danny was rethinking our relationship.
“It wouldn’t be easy,” he said.
“And he would have to be properly vetted.”
“You’re way too green.”
“Then make me ungreen!” I faced him, slightly wounded. “I did good tonight, didn’t I? I distracted him so you could shoot—”
“I don’t think that was intentional on your part.”
“I’m perfect for this! I have what it takes. And I know how to clean up, you can’t deny that.”
“True. You’re a very good cleaner.”
“So then you’ll take me under your wing?”
“Meaning exactly what?”
“Meaning you’ll teach me how to be like you.”
“A priest?”
“A vigilante who kills the scum of the earth.”
There, I’d said it. And I continued quickly before he could object or try to pretend he didn’t know what I was talking about.
“Even if you’re not that, I think I am. I’ve sworn to kill the man who killed Lamont, that much we both know. But also I think I’m meant to do more. With or without you, I’m committed.”
“Hmmm…” was all he said.
“I’m right about this,” I said. “Please don’t lie to me.”
“It’s that obvious?”
He was confessing? I was so honored that he would confide in me that I wanted to cry. I pulled his arm tight against my side and held on to it with both hands.
“It is to me. And I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
Danny stared out at the sinking moon and shook his head. “Listen to us. They would think we’re absolutely crazy.”
“Only because they don’t know what we know. They haven’t lost a mother, a sister, a husband. They haven’t seen what a failure the system is when it comes to justice. Like you say, they don’t even think about, much less follow, strong moral reasoning.”
He slipped his hands into his pockets and kicked at the dirt with his toe. “And do you? Or is this just revenge for you?”
“I may not be the smartest girl in California, but with Lamont’s help and now yours, I think I see more than most. And I know what I feel. Redding is dead because he signed up to be dead, and as a consequence, innocent people who didn’t sign up to be dead won’t be. And that’s a good thing.”
“You do realize that things have just gotten infinitely more complicated.”
“How so?”
Danny set his stare out to sea. “For starters, you have blood on your hands.”
“Guilty blood,” I said.
“The kind that sends people to prison for the rest of their lives.”
“I’m already in a prison. But with your help, I can avoid the kind with bars.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Which is why I need you.”
“You’ll have to move,” he said.
“Move? Why?”
“We have to assume that Redding was on to you, and that Bourque knows where you live.”
I didn’t know what to say. The thought of leaving my sacred den terrified me.
“Does Bourque know about you?” I asked.
“No. Redding was surprised to see me in the house. But when Redding turns up missing, Bourque will come after you.”
“Then you have to help me! I’m as good as dead!”
He didn’t disagree. And he didn’t say he wouldn’t help me, either. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was lost without Danny.
“So you will?” I asked, now on pins and needles.
“You’ll have a lot to learn first. You can’t just go after Bourque.”
“I’ll do anything you say.”
“And only what I say.”
“I swear!” I turned into him, pulled both of his hands out of his pockets and took them in mine. “And I won’t disappoint you. Please, Danny, teach me everything you know.”
“I deal with killers,” he said. “It can be nasty business.”
“You kill killers. I saw you kill one tonight. And I love you for it.”
“You do?”
I was so caught up in the moment, I hardly knew what I was doing. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed Danny on his lips, lightly, for maybe a second.
“I want you to teach me how to kill someone,” I said.
He stared into my eyes, then took a deep breath.
“We’ll see,” he said.
19
IT WAS ONE thing to engage in a behavior driven by a carefully crafted moral philosophy. Behavior like killing vipers for the good of humanity, for example.
It was something entirely different to lead another person into that same behavior. But faced with precisely this conundrum, the choice was fairly clear to Danny.
Six days had come and gone since he’d killed Redding, cut up the man’s body, and tossed the remains over the cliff, all with the fervent aid of his new protégée.
During that time he had focused every waking hour outside of his religious duties on helping Renee grasp the fundamentals, which would help her stay alive and out of prison. When his confidence in her solidified, he finally yielded to her demands that he show her how to do what he did. She meant killing, of course, but, as he repeatedly explained, “what he did” had more to do with remaining free than pulling a trigger. His was not a suicidal mission, but truth be told, she was less concerned about staying alive.
Dressed in black clerical clothes and a white collar, Danny passed through the vestibule, considering the fact that it was harder to reconcile his double life of priest and killer than it once had been. His lying, like his killing, was justified by the results of his actions, but his intricately laced web of deceit had grown so tenuous that he found himself avoiding the church so that he didn’t have to account for himself.
If he was ever found out, Saint Paul Catholic Church in Long Beach, California, would draw the world’s attention like a desert fire attracted hyenas. He had no desire to see the church thrown into scandal. Perhaps it was time to back out of the priesthood gracefully.
Not that he intended to get caught. If anything, his attention to remaining free was more acute now with Renee under his wing. But taking on the responsibility of a collaborator also focused his attention on the consequences of getting caught. He was more concerned with the price the church would pay than any he would pay.
“Mother Evelina is asking for you, Father.”
He turned and saw that Regina had walked into the vestibule. “Oh?
”
“Yes. I told her you were still here. I hope that’s okay.”
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was just past six. He had agreed to pick up Renee at seven outside the Diamond Shamrock three blocks from the Super 8 motel she’d moved to the day after Redding’s death. He’d set her up with a new identity under the name Mary Wilcox, complete with a driver’s license, and set her on a path of legitimacy. She was unabashedly delighted.
Today was the day Renee was going to finally do something on her own. Knowing her, she was probably already waiting near the gas station, pacing in anticipation.
“Do you know what she wants?” Danny asked.
“I’m sorry, no. She’s waiting for you by the confessional.”
“Thank you.”
He turned into the sanctuary and looked across the pews at the dark wood confessional with its twin black curtains both pulled open. Mother Evelina stood in her white coif and habit with her back to him, arms folded in her sleeves, staring at the large cross bearing a crucified Christ. She was a slight woman who walked with the timid steps of one whose legs were wearing out. Eighty years on concrete would do that to a person, Danny thought.
The reverend mother had come to them only yesterday from a community in Nepal where she served the blind, maimed, and all who were physically disadvantaged. She had come to California on behalf of a charity for cataracts and blindness, then planned to visit her sister in San Francisco before returning to Nepal. She had spent the day with Father Lombardi, an old acquaintance from days they’d spent in Rome.
Danny had talked to her twice, briefly, and found her both genuine and kind.
She heard him approach and turned, perpetual smile fixed on her small face. Her eyes spoke only kindness, understanding, and empathy.
“There you are, Father.”
He dipped his head. “Here I am.” He clasped her ancient hand and returned her smile. “And here you are, Reverend Mother.”
“I was wondering if you might do me a favor, Danny.”
The ease with which she said his name took him aback for a moment; then the surprise passed. He preferred the simple name, and here was a woman who seemed to know this about him already.
“May I call you Danny?” she asked, one brow arched in a face wrinkled from decades of smiling. Her light blue eyes were like passageways to God himself.
“Of course. What is it?”
“I would like you to hear my confession.”
Danny expected someone of her stature to seek out a more senior priest such as the pastor, Father Lombardi. But Danny couldn’t deny her request, and he certainly wasn’t about to beg off because he had to get to his apprentice. Dreadfully sorry, Mother Evelina, but I have someone to kill tonight.
“Your confession?”
“Yes. You do know how to hear an old lady’s confession, don’t you?”
He had to smile. “Of course. I would be honored—”
“Because I can see the darkness in your eyes, and I would understand your reluctance.”
“No,” he said. The remark made him ill at ease, and he couldn’t hold her eye contact. “Yes, that’s fine. Fine.”
Danny entered the confessional, closed the curtain, and opened the sliding door to the small square screen that masked his view of the adjacent booth.
He cleared his throat. “Please, you may begin.”
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been seven days since my last confession. Generally I like my position before God, but coming to this country has filled my heart with temptations that I fear could destroy me.”
She stopped.
“It can be a frightening place,” Danny said.
“Yes. They tell me you came from Bosnia. You must know.”
But this was about her, not him. “Please, continue.”
“Yes, well it’s not the kind of temptation you might normally associate with the West. I’m too old to want young men and too wise to covet luxuries. My sin is far more sinister than either of these.”
“Go on.”
“Well, Danny…” Danny again, not Father. “Everywhere I look, people seem to be made of porcelain and wood, like dolls engineered to do all the right things. Have you ever noticed this?”
Interesting observation. “Yes. I doubt that God takes issue with your observations, Reverend Mother.”
“That isn’t my sin, Father. It’s the fact that I stand in judgment of them. I find myself judging everyone I see, and I find that it’s driving me mad.”
“It’s your job to understand people,” Danny said. “I don’t think God will blame you for discerning the true nature of others.”
“It’s not our place to judge. Let him without sin cast the first stone. Judge not lest you be judged. My judgment of others is my sin. If I clean my heart so that I can judge, it dirties again the first time I judge again. I am on a terrible path with so much judgment in my heart.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Are you ever tempted to think you’re better than they are, Father? Are you ever tempted to judge?”
“I think we all are.”
“Pray for me, Danny.”
20
DANNY’S HOUSE CONSISTED of three bedrooms. He slept in one of them, the master, which contained a queen bed with a quilted brown comforter imported from Bosnia, a dresser, two nightstands, and one stuffed chair next to a large window that looked out to the backyard.
He used the second bedroom for a guest room, simply but comfortably furnished with another queen bed and two decent lamps with forest-green shades purchased from Target. Renee had crashed in the room on two occasions.
The third bedroom served as his study, a private enclave that only he had ever entered. The blinds on the window had never been opened. The corduroy-covered guest chair had never been sat in. Only his feet had left prints on the brown carpet.
But now here she was, pacing in front of his desk while he eyed her. Renee wore the black shirt he purchased for her and a pair of tight-fitting yoga pants she’d found at a sporting-goods store. Watching her bounce around the room, he had to suppress a smile. She was adorable.
Tell her something once and she knew it. He repeated himself only to be cut off with, “You’ve told me that.” Her mind was a trap.
And her appetite for life was a vacuum, sucking in all it could. She had none of the caution that kept most people living vicariously through the fantasies of others rather than pursuing their own.
This was why Renee had left all and come to California.
This was why she had become a heroin addict.
This was why she had so unreservedly embraced Lamont as her savior—and now Danny as her teacher, her confidant, her soul mate.
If he wasn’t mistaken, she was falling in love with him. And in the most honest of moments, he had to admit that he was drawn to her like an unstoppable tide. He wasn’t sure what to think, except that it gave him one more compelling reason to leave the priesthood.
Absurd, of course. But there it was.
He stood by a large corkboard that covered one wall. It was the kind with side panels that folded in to form doors, which he kept locked. The board was now empty.
“I got it,” Renee said. “Reconnaissance only. I’m not going out there to kill some guy. That would compromise everything we’ve talked about. I get it. You’ve told me that three times tonight.”
“We can’t be too careful.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” She waved him off.
“There’s no indication that our target needs to be handled with any severity.”
“But he’s evil, right? It’s not like you just pulled some guy off the street.”
“As you’ll see, there’s more to my selection of this mark than the dark nature of his character.”
The reverend mother’s voice whispered through his head. Are you ever tempted to think you’re better than they are, Father?
“So he is male,” Renee said.
Danny
opened the manila file on his desk, pulled out a picture, and pinned it to the board. The image was of a middle-aged man with brown hair, short on the sides and slicked back. A dark mole stood out on the right side of his forehead, exposed by a receding hairline. Thin face, dark circles under hazel eyes.
“Meet Darby Gordon. Age thirty-four. Married with two children. Rents in a low-income tract in San Pedro.”
“This is him?” Renee stepped up to the board, eyes wide like saucers. She slowly brought her hand up to the photo. “Darby Gordon?”
“The man drives a blue Chevy pickup truck and works in the port when he’s not working muscle.”
“What’s he done?” She stared at the picture, fascinated. “I can see it in his eyes. He’s sick, isn’t he?”
“Not physically. He’s been arrested for domestic violence four times.”
“I knew it!”
“No, you can never know anything by looking at someone. You know them by their fruit, nothing else.”
“Of course.”
“That’s why you’re paying him a visit.”
“So how did you find him?”
“He was in Simon Redding’s wallet, under a list of men Redding evidently called on when he needed help. What he knows about Redding may help us learn more about Bourque. Nothing is random, Renee. Ever. Our objective here is ultimately Bourque, don’t forget that.”
“Trust me,” she said. “Never.”
She didn’t know Danny had palmed the thumb drive in Jonathan Bourque’s office, and he’d decided not to share its contents with her until she was ready. The data detailed three years of payoffs and strong-arm operations in a dozen countries. It included names and dates and, worse, recordings of conversations.
This was Bourque’s insurance. With the information contained on the drive, he could threaten anyone who tried to bring him down, including a surprising number of government officials and politicians around the world who’d turned a blind eye or pushed grants his way in exchange for favors and money.
Danny had spent two mornings poring over the data, cross-checking it with the figures made public by the Bourque Foundation. The organization raised money for many charities, and it appeared that most of those dollars were handled correctly as a cover for Bourque’s more profitable business—his own operations, which were cleverly mixed with third-party relief organizations.
