Blazer: Return of the Troubles: A Cop Thriller

by G. C. Harmon

  “I kind of sensed some animosity from one of your former co-workers back there. What’s that all about?”

  “Oh, son, that’s a story for another time.”

  “So this whole thing was winding down by the time you married Mom.”

  “Nay, it carried on for awhile. At first, she was a good distraction from the doldrums of a government babysitting job. But when we fell in love, I knew it was a matter of time before I’d have to leave State. I kept so much from her about me job, and I hated that part of it.”

  “So this went on for the first few years of your marriage and when you had me.”

  “Aye.”

  “And this is why I rarely saw you for the first ten years of my life?”

  In his peripheral vision, he saw this statement stab his father in the heart. “Oh, son, I do regret—”

  “No,” Steve said, “I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean to accuse you. Dad, I had a great childhood, I don’t hold any grudges. I never, ever felt neglected by you. You were there when it mattered. I’m glad we got close when we did, and obviously we’re still close to this day. Don’t ever think I’m harboring any anger about my childhood. I love you very much, and you’ve taught me more than you’ll know.”

  He glanced over and saw the broad smile on his father’s face.

  “You do me proud, son. You do me proud. I love you.”

  Behind them, Scot and John exchanged a glance and a knowing smile. Such a positive emotional moment was a rarity for the likes of Steve Blazer, and they had both resolved to not interrupt and let it play out.

  Ahead of them, cityscapes began to thin, and the terrain faded to the rolling grasslands of the coastal mountains.

  As the drive stretched into its third hour, Scot once again looked on his cell phone for the location of the monastery. As they entered the town of San Miguel, Steve placed a call to the other vehicles to give them the road where they would turn off. In minutes, the convoy pulled off the freeway onto a two lane road leading deeper into the hills.

  The day was overcast and there was a late winter chill outside, but the hillsides were lush with green grass that told of spring being just around the corner. The greenery was dotted with patches of bushes and the occasional oak tree and natural rock formation. Every piece of property seemed to be some kind of working ranch, everything from cattle, to horses to vineyards.

  Just a couple miles into the hills, the building came as a surprise as they rounded the base of a hillside and found it nestled in a small canyon and surrounded by an oak forest. It was more of a large wall built of old gray stone, weathered with time and grown over with moss and vines. At places within the structure of the wall, they found buildings built in, and they could see a couple of red tile rooftops inside the wall, including the steeple of a small church. The grounds surrounding the building were dotted with small structures, such as a mechanics shop and a couple of storage sheds. As they approached, they saw a small vineyard that stretched up part of a hillside behind the building. Steve also noted a tall structure of wood, its white paint faded, that he deduced was likely used for making wine. There were no vehicles outside. Steve knew what this probably meant. This was not a tourist attraction. This was where the Catholic faithful came to get away from earthly life and do penance for perceived sins.

  The other vehicles in the convoy stopped in a sort of arc along one side of the wall. Steve and his father stepped out, both surveying the place. Behind them, car doors slammed as everyone got out to stretch their legs.

  Drew spotted a large wooden door that seemed to be as good an entrance as any. “Lads, why don’t you all wait out here? If he’s here, I don’t want to scare him off. My son and I will go in and find him.”

  Birdsong nodded for everyone else.

  Elder and younger Blazer shared a glance, and they started toward the door.

  Just miles away, Conner and his crew of four, Deirdre, Liam, Devon and Will, were just entering the city limits. Liam was in the back seat on his phone, and he ended his call. “Thomas and the lads just left Oakland. It seems the ship’s Captain had a change of heart. It will cost us that extra ten grand, but we can bring the guns to him tonight. They’ll be joining us soon.”

  Conner sat in the front seat, his mind deep in his own thoughts, relishing the revenge that lay ahead. Seeing the signs of some civilization among all the agricultural properties, he asked, “How far away from the Castle are we?”

  Liam consulted a map on his cell phone. “Maybe forty-five minutes.”

  Behind the wheel, Deirdre read a decorative sign that announced, “Welcome to San Miguel.” The sign had a drawing of a church on it, and she added, “This town is named after a Catholic Mission.”

  Conner suddenly looked over at her. “What?”

  “Aye. Mission San Miguel.” She pointed at a tan and brown historical landmark sign as they passed it. “It’s a working church, but they made it a historical monument and a bloody tourist attraction.”

  Conner caught a brief glimpse of the sign as they passed it. He turned and scanned the town off to their left. “Get off,” he said, seeing an exit up ahead. “Get off the highway, now. We’re going to check this Mission. Maybe that damnable priest is hiding out there.”

  Both Conner and Deirdre scanned the town as they turned off the Highway. They found their way to a road appropriately named Mission Street. They pulled into a small parking lot and parked in front of a row of bushes. A two foot concrete wall divided the grounds from the parking lot. The buildings beyond were of white Mexican-style adobe, a tall church, and a long building with a series of white adobe and red brick arches that wrapped around a large courtyard. There were a handful of vehicles around them in the lot, so they knew there were a few people they would have to contend with. But they could see that this was a working church. A few tourists walked the grounds, and he saw a couple coming out the front entrance to the church.

  Conner gestured at the group. “Devon, Will, you two, check the grounds. Liam, Deirdre, let’s check the church.”

  They split up. The men with them headed toward the arches to seek a doorway to beyond the walls. Conner led his entourage to the main entrance.

  Their footsteps echoed as they crossed the threshold. Conner scoped out the church. Pews lined both sides with an aisle up the center. Elaborate paintings and other décor hung from the walls, harkening back to the time when the church was built. There were a couple of people sitting in the pews, facing the altar up front. The altar sat at the top of three steps, with paintings and sculptures of angels all around. The entire stand was roped off to keep the tourists from wandering up there.

  Conner stopped at the back of the church to examine the people inside. He glanced back at Deirdre as she stopped at the holy water font just inside the door. She dipped her fingers in the water and crossed herself, letting the droplets sprinkle her face. Liam solemnly did the same. They both made the half-hearted attempt to dip to a knee at the back of the chapel, never quite making it all way down.

  Conner watched the ritual performed with a mixture of emotions. Part of him saw this as weakness, letting the religion and dogma cloud the quest for revenge. But another part of him felt that typical catholic guilt for not observing the ritual he’d been taught was so important. He had to acknowledge that the whole Irish Republican Army had been started because Catholics did not feel free to live their faith without consequence.

  In his years fighting for that cause, he had come to realize that the fight was more important to him than the reasons for it. Let the Catholics, the “papists” as the Protestants referred to them, have their faith. After what he’d witnessed as a child, and the violence he’d seen coming up in the cause…he’d lost his faith a long time ago.

  He turned away from his faithful companions.

  Conner strode up the center aisle, stopping to scrutinize each face. The looks he received in return were probing, even fearful. Everyone was looking at the angry man in the jeans and bla
ck jacket. He wondered in the back of his mind if these people thought for that moment they might be in danger.

  If he found the priest, they might be.

  Near the front, he spotted a priest standing off to the side. He was a young man, mid-thirties. He saw recognition in the priest’s face—the man had seen how his guests were reacting to the suspicious men that looked out of place in the chapel, and he was starting to feel that apprehension as well. Conner stopped and eyed the young priest. He thought about asking if they had welcomed any overnight guests recently, but this did not appear to be that kind of establishment. Conner suddenly turned and marched back up the aisle. He nodded to Liam and Deirdre, and they headed for the door.

  He stopped at the threshold. Something to his left caught his eye. There was a table with several pamphlets and brochures laid out, and one caught his eye, with a picture of a gray stone structure on a green background. The brochure identified the place as the Benedictine Refuge Monastery.

  Could it suit the purposes of a man on the run?

  He grabbed Liam’s shoulder as the man started to walk outside. He held up the brochure and said, “Only a few miles away.”

  Outside, they met Devon and Will, who approached with shrugs. Conner motioned them to the SUV, and they hurriedly boarded. As he climbed in, Conner said to Deirdre, “We need to find Refuge Road.”

  “That’s just across the freeway,” she said. “I remember seein’ the sign.”

  “Then get us there!”

  Steve and his father stepped onto a small stone porch that lay before a heavy wooden door. The door was held up by ancient rusted metal hinges, and sported a large knocker that was just as rusted. Drew reached for it. The knocker creaked quietly as he knocked four times.

  It was but a moment before the door rattled with locks being thrown on the inside. The door creaked open. Inside, in a dimly lit foyer, stood a thin man just shy of six feet tall. His dark hair was shaved almost to his scalp and was little more than five o’clock shadow. He wore a long flowing robe of brown and dirty white. He regarded them for a moment, then said with a smile that was both curious and courteous, “Good morrow. I am brother Belton. May I be of service to you?”

  “We’re hoping so,” Steve said. “My name is Steve Blazer, and this is my father, Andrew. We’re looking for someone who may have taken refuge here.”

  “We have many residents here who seek solitude and sanctuary from the perils and horrors of the outside world.”

  “This man may have arrived within the last forty-eight hours,” Drew said. “He is a priest, and he may be in danger.”

  Belton raised a single eyebrow, noting the Scottish accent. To Steve, he said, “Do you wish harm on anyone here?”

  Steve smiled. “Not at all, sir. I’m a policeman.” He offered over a flip wallet with his police star and ID.

  Belton accepted them, but kept his eye on the cop. “In this day and age…the question stands.” He must have seen hurt and frustration on Steve’s face and added, “An unwarranted reputation, to be sure. But I do have several guests who came here seeking sanctuary and safety.”

  “At the moment,” Drew said, “we wish only to speak with him.”

  Belton stepped back and gestured. “You are our guests, and we are at your service.” The Blazers stepped within the walls of the monastery.

  The foyer was lit by a single light fixture hanging from the ceiling two stories up. It revealed a staircase that led to a second story, which was likely living quarters. Hallways stretched out on either side of them, the hallways a drab eggshell white and free of any décor, which added to the humbleness of the monastery. Belton started down the corridor to their right. “Please, come this way.”

  They followed. He led them into a darkened section of the hallway, and pushed open another wooden door, which creaked less than the previous. Sunlight dimmed by the clouds streamed in.

  Belton stepped out into a large courtyard dotted with a handful of monks. A few of them tended a large vegetable garden in the opposite corner. Steve noted two robed monks coming out the front door of the chapel, which was smaller than he had believed. With this limited group, it didn’t need to be large or elaborate. On the north side, near where the vineyard was on the hillside, a door banged open. Two monks entered there, one of them pushing a wheel barrow crudely assembled of wood, filled with freshly picked grapes.

  Belton stopped and gestured at the garden. “You will find who you seek there.”

  Steve gave him a look that conveyed appreciation for the man’s slyness.

  Drew walked across the courtyard, and then along part of the garden’s perimeter. He was scoping out the faces of the three men inside. Unaware of him at first, the three toiled away at the garden, which was lush and green and providing their next meal.

  One of them wore simple jeans and a black button down shirt instead of the robes worn by the other two. He had not yet noticed the newcomers and continued cutting zucchini squashes away from the plant.

  “Can it be you, Fitzie?”

  The stocky man suddenly straightened. “Now there’s a voice I’ve not heard in twenty years.” He turned to confront Blazer. “I guess maybe I should have guessed you would be the one to come after me.”

  “Such a bad connotation.”

  The priest turned and took in the elder Blazer. “Aye, the ravages of time.”

  “I can’t say you’re so hot yourself, boyo.” Drew said with feigned indignance.

  Fitzhugh broke into a broad smile. “Oh, it’s good to see you, cousin.” He stepped out from the garden and gave Drew a big bear hug.

  “It’s good to see you’re alive,” Drew said. When the priest broke the hug, Drew continued, “I’d like you to meet someone. This is my son, Steven.”

  Steve stepped forward and offered his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  “A very large pleasure indeed,” the priest beamed.

  “You should know, Steven is a policeman in San Francisco.”

  Steve saw the shadow of darkness flit across the priest’s face, the humor briefly leaving his smile. “You should also know,” Steve said, “we’ve been looking for you for the last thirty-six hours. I’m glad to see you’re alive.”

  The smile faded and the priest nodded. “So, you know what happened at the cathedral?”

  “We know you were attacked, but not by whom or why. And not to sound accusatory, but I’ve learned a thing or two about your IRA past.”

  Before the priest could object to anything, Drew said, “We’ve also talked to the team from the State Department. We know about the talks at Hearst Castle tomorrow.”

  Fitzhugh nodded. “Aye. We should talk. I can fill you in on everything.”

  Outside the wall, Scot wandered the grounds a bit. He walked alongside the tall building, which he deduced must be a winemaking facility. Walking past, he got a look at the hillside, and he examined the vineyard. He saw a handful of people gathering grapes from the vines. He looked closer. They appeared to be wearing robes. Must be monks living here.

  He glanced down the road they had traveled up. From the building itself, the road was a bit of a blind corner. Would they need to defend themselves if someone, say the priest’s stalker, mounted an attack from there? If they did, they wouldn’t have much reaction time—

  Jeez, I’m starting to think like Blazer.

  As he wandered back to where the team was gathered, his cell phone vibrated, and he fished it out. Blazer’s name and number showed on the screen. “Black.”

  “Hey. We found the priest, alive and well. Can you let the State guys know?”

  Scot glanced over at the two Ford Crown Vics, with the men in suits gathered around them. Birdsong glanced over and saw him on the phone, and Scot flashed him a thumbs up. “Just did. What’s the plan?”

  “My Dad and I are going to interview him first, find out what the hell is going on.”

  “Jeez, Blazer, watch your language. This is supposed to be a house of God.”
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  Steve hesitated. “Yeah. We’ll try to get some answers. I’ll come out in a bit and bring a couple of the State guys in to talk with him, make sure he’s OK to go to the talks, and we’ll get out of here.”

  When Steve hung up, Scot walked over to brief the team from the State Department.

  Steve stood outside the small chapel to make his call. He tapped the screen to hang up and walked inside to join his father and Fitzhugh, both sitting in the last couple of benches. “And how’s that lovely wife of yours?”

  “She’s good. We’re still very much in love after thirty-four years. That is to say, I’m still very much in love and she still very much puts up with me.” They shared a chuckle.

  “Father Fitzhugh,” Steve said as he joined them. “Let me disclose a few things to you before you tell us your story. Your boss, the Archbishop, was very cagey when we tried to pry information out of him yesterday after you fled. Obviously, he was trying to avoid bringing scandal onto the church.”

  “Understandable.”

  “I was then contacted by two priests direct from the Vatican. They showed me your personnel file, which included the statement you wrote for your induction into the priesthood. This is where I learned about your history with the IRA. Thing is, with all the names you mentioned in your statement, they’re all dead. This leaves the question, who is trying to kill you?”