Jonathan Rabb - The Book of Q

A moment later, Pearse heard the familiar voice. “Si?”

“Padre Pearse, Padre.” Not waiting for an answer, she smiled and headed back to the kitchen.

From behind the door, Blaney bellowed. “Ian. Come in. Come in.”

Pearse opened the door and stepped inside. Blaney was seated by the empty fireplace, looking far older than when they’d last seen each other. Pearse guessed it was almost a year now.

“Hello, Ian. Hello. Please, come in.”

The large study was exactly as he remembered it-a college reading room replete with thick-stuffed maroon leather chairs and sofas amid wall-to-wall bookshelves. Blaney stood as Pearse drew toward him. The two men embraced.

“It’s good to see you, John J.” They sat.

“You look tired, Ian.”

Pearse smiled. “I’m fine, mom.”

“Just concerned, that’s all. But since you bring it up, how are they, mother and dad?”

“The same. I think they’re out on the Cape. End of summer. You were at the house once.”

“That’s right. I remember a very cold midnight swim. Less refreshing than advertised.”

“Family tradition.”

“Yes,” Blaney said. “So … you know I’m always delighted to see you, but your message … it didn’t sound like this was going to be a social visit. What’s wrong?”

“Actually, I’d love a glass of water.”

“I’m sorry. Of course.” Blaney pressed a button on the intercom next to him. “Gianetta. Puoi portarmi dell’ acqua e forse un po’ di frutta? Grazie.” He didn’t wait for a response. “They insisted I get this thing a few months ago. They’re very keen to make me feel as old as they can.”

“You look fine,” said Pearse.

“No, I don’t, and neither do you.” A look of playful concern crossed his eyes. “It’s not Ambrose, again, is it? You’re not in the midst of one of those binges without sleep? It’s not healthy, Ian.” Father as father. Pearse had gotten used to Blaney’s paternal instincts a long time ago. “You need to take a vacation once in a while. Lie on a beach. That sort of thing.”

“A few midnight swims?” Pearse was about to continue, when Gianetta appeared at the door.

“Eccellente,” said Blaney, indicating the table between the two men. “Va bene di la. Grazie.”

“Si, Padre.” She moved across the room, placed the tray on the table, and quickly poured out two glasses. She then retreated to the door.

Waiting until they were alone, Pearse inched out on his seat, taking a glass as he spoke. “I’ve found Q.”

Blaney was retrieving the other glass. He sat back and took a sip. “Q?”

“‘Quelle.’ The Synoptic Problem. I’ve found the scroll.” It took Blaney a moment to respond. “That’s … remarkable. Where?”

“‘How?’ might be a better question. Or ‘Why?’”

“You’re sure it’s Q?”

Pearse nodded as he drank.

“And it’s a collection of Jesus’ sayings?”

Pearse thought he heard the slightest hint of disappointment in Blaney’s tone. “Yes. But in a context you won’t believe. It’s the lost years, John. Jesus from twelve to thirty.”

“‘Jesus from …’ Remarkable,” he repeated.

“And that’s only the tip of the iceberg. It turns out that the ‘Beloved Disciple’ was actually a Cynic teacher who wandered with Him. There are nonparable conversations with Jesus, transcriptions of early sermons He gave, a recounting of the two years He spent in Jaipur with a group of Buddhist monks. The Eastern and Cynic influences are unmistakable.”

“Cynic? You mean the teachings are …” Blaney had to think for a moment. “You’re not telling me we’re in danger of having to rethink the entire tradition, are you?”

“No. That’s what’s extraordinary. Q gives us the same Jesus, the same faith we’ve always known, except maybe with a little expansion here and there. It’s the way we’ll look at the church that’s going to change.”

“The church?” Blaney’s enthusiasm seemed to return. “You think it might cause problems.”

Pearse sat back. “I don’t know. That’s where it gets tricky. There are things in Q, things that could rock the foundations as we know them.”

“So there is something dangerous.”

“Yes, but it’s not the real threat. That’s not why I came to you.” Again, he leaned forward. “Your connections at the Vatican are still-”

“Can I see it?” Blaney interrupted. He slowly placed his glass on the table.

“Q isn’t the problem, John. Trust me. You might find this hard to believe, but there’s a group of-”

“Still, I’d like to see it.”

Pearse hesitated, momentarily uneasy with Blaney’s insistence. “I don’t have it with me,” he said.

Now Blaney paused. “Why not?”

“It wouldn’t have been safe. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Where is it, Ian?”

“You don’t have to worry about the scroll, John.”

“The ‘Hagia Hodoporia.’” Blaney paused again. “Where is it, Ian?”

The two men stared at each other. For nearly half a minute, Pearse couldn’t move. Then, slowly, he sat back in his chair.

“I was hoping you’d just bring it to me,” said Blaney.

Pearse continued to stare.

“Not that you had too many other options, I imagine.” He waited for a response. When none came, he reached again for his glass. “Q. That’s a bit of a surprise. Although I suppose it does make sense.” He took a sip.

Another long silence. Finally, Pearse spoke. “How long?” No anger, no accusation. “Slitna? Chicago?”

Blaney held the glass in his lap. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“How long?” repeated Pearse. “I’d like to know when I stopped making decisions for myself.”

“Don’t get dramatic, Ian. You’ve always made your own decisions.”

“All that talk about the ‘purity of the Word,’ ‘faith untethered.’ Only you weren’t talking about my faith, were you?”

“Faith in the Word is faith in the Word. It ultimately amounts to the same thing. Now, where is it?”

“When?” Pearse asked again, still no sign of emotion.

“That doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Pearse didn’t answer. The two men sat in silence.

“All right,” Blaney finally said. “About … a year and a half ago. When we found the last of the ‘Perfect Light’ packets. When I knew we were getting close.”

“A year and a half? I met Salko over eight years ago.”

“Yes, you did.” Blaney nodded. “And it was completely unrelated to all of this. I wanted you to come out of that war alive. I asked Mendravic to look after you. As a friend. Nothing more. That we unearthed one of the packets while you were there … Mani’s will, I suppose. You have to believe me.”

Now Pearse waited. “So, you and von Neurath-”

“Erich? No. He has no idea who you are. That was the whole point.”

“‘The whole point?’”

“There are things going on here you don’t understand.”

It took Pearse a moment to respond. “So you were the one who sent the Austrian to the Vatican?”

“The Austrian?” Now Blaney needed a moment. “Ah,” he finally said.

“Herr Kleist.” He shook his head. “No. Not at all. In fact, it was my men who made sure you got out of there that night. Why do you think I sent Mendravic to Kukes? I’ve been trying to protect you all along.”

“Protect me?” The first hint of anger. “Did that make it necessary to involve the woman and the boy?”

“Von Neurath’s men would have tracked them down,” he answered, “used them as bait, or worse. They did it with your friend Angeli. That’s why Mendravic picked them up. Yes. In order to protect them.”