Робин Кук - Intervention

Consciously suppressing his urge to drive too quickly in order to get to the residence, where he intended to begin plan B that very evening, James drove down Central Park West to Columbus Circle. From there he used Central Park South to cross to the East Side and drop off his vehicle at his garage. Then he walked quickly home to the residence, deliberately trying to be noisy when he entered the front door.

It soon became obvious that he’d not been noisy enough, as neither Father Maloney nor Father Karlin appeared. Assuming they were already settled for the night in their small gabled rooms on the fourth floor, James climbed into the residence’s small elevator, which he rarely used, and was whisked up to the top floor. Climbing out of the car on the tiny upper hallway, James banged mercilessly on the two doors, calling out that he wanted to see both secretaries in his office ASAP.

With the surprising announcement made and without waiting for a response, James returned into the elevator and descended two floors. Once in his office, he turned on the lights and then settled back behind his desk to await the surprised secretaries. Never before had James disturbed them once they’d retired for the day.

Father Maloney was the first to arrive. He’d merely pulled on his plaid robe over pajamas and to James resembled a scarecrow because of his height, the thinness of his body, and the gauntness of his face. Even his cropped short red hair sticking out in spikes added to the impression, as it looked something like straw.

“Where’s Father Karlin?” James demanded, without giving any explanation for such an unprecedented late-night meeting.

“He called out to me through his closed door he’d be here as soon as he could manage...” Father Maloney said. His voice trailed off, as he was hoping for an explanation of what was on the archbishop’s mind, but nothing was forthcoming.

James impatiently drummed his fingers on his desk. Just when he was about to pick up his phone and call Father Karlin’s room, the man walked into the office. In contrast to Father Maloney, he’d assumed the worst — namely, that he’d be up for hours — and had taken the time to fully dress, artificial white clerical collar and all.

“Sorry to interrupt your prayers,” James said to begin. He motioned for his two secretaries to sit. Tenting his fingers, he added, “We have what I consider to be an emergency. I’m not going to tell you exactly why, but you two have to find me immediately a person who is charismatic and persuasive and generally alluring in some manner. But most of all, he or she must be fanatically passionate and zealous about the Blessed Virgin Mary, the more the better, and totally committed to the Church with a sense of mission.”

The two priests glanced at each other, each hoping the other understood the assignment and how to proceed better than the other. As the senior secretary, Father Maloney spoke: “Where would we find such a person?”

In his excitement, James had little patience for what he interpreted as negativity on his secretaries’ part. He rolled his eyes at Father Maloney’s ridiculous question. “I ask you,” James said with uncamouflaged frustration, “where ultra-devoted followers of Mary, the Mother of God, might be found?”

“I suppose as members of Roman Catholic Marian movements and societies.”

“Very good, Father Maloney,” James said with a touch of sarcasm, acting as if he was teaching a Sunday-morning catechism class to preteens. “Starting at the crack of dawn, I want you to begin calling such institutions and talk to their abbots, mother superiors, or bishops, to let them know that I have called this an archdiocesan emergency to find the right person. Let them know it is a serious affair, as this individual will for a week or so work directly under me on a mission of high importance concerning the Blessed Virgin and the Church in general. And make it clear that this is not an award for someone’s past labors. It is for the here and now. I’m not looking for an old, distinguished Marian scholar. Actually, I’m looking for a young person filled with youthful zealousness who is mystically capable of expressing his or her zeal to others. Do I have full understanding here?”

Both Father Maloney and Father Karlin quickly nodded. They had never seen their usually in-control boss quite so fervid.

“Now, I would participate myself, but I have Mass to celebrate in the morning with a sermon, which I have yet to outline. I need to trust that you two will not fail me. When I return here to the residence around noon, I want there to be at least one and hopefully several candidates for me to interview. How you get them here, I do not care, nor is cost an issue. As the weather is supposed to be good, a helicopter might be necessary. Again I ask, are both of you on the same page here, or what?”

“You have not told us what this person will be actually doing,” Father Maloney said, “and you have specifically said that you would not. But I can see that question coming up from the abbots, mother superiors, and bishops. What should we answer?”

“Answer that it is my judgment that no one, except of course the individual selected, should know the problem the archdiocese is facing.”

“Very good,” Father Maloney said as he got to his feet and clasped his robe more tightly about his bony slenderness. Father Karlin stood as well.

“That will be all,” James said. “And I pray you will be successful.”

“Thank you, Your Eminence,” Father Maloney said, bowing slighting at the waist before following Father Karlin by backing out the door.

As the two priests climbed the flight of stairs from the second floor to the third, Father Karlin, who was in the lead, called down to Father Maloney, who was just starting up, “This might be the strangest task I’ve been charged with since my arrival here five years ago.”

“I guess I’d have to agree,” Father Maloney said.

At the base of the stair run up to the fourth floor, Father Karlin hesitated and waited for his colleague. “How are we going to get the phone numbers of these Marian societies?”

“There are plenty of ways,” Father Maloney said, “especially now, with the Internet. Besides, it was clear that the cardinal wants a particularly extreme individual. For that we go to the most radical organization. Maybe, if we’re lucky, one call may do the trick.”

“Are you aware of the most fanatical organization?”

“I believe I am,” Father Maloney said. “A friend of my family contacted me several years ago to try to get their child out of an organization called the Brotherhood of the Slaves of Mary. I had never heard of it, and it’s not that far away, literally up in the Catskill Mountains, although figuratively it’s on another planet. Apparently, it’s a modern revival of a seventeenth-century fanatical European Marian society, which the then Pope Clement the Tenth felt compelled to outlaw some of the practices of.”

“Good grief,” Father Karlin voiced. “What kind of practices?”

“Using chains and other enslavement instruments for penance for mankind’s sins.”

“Dear God,” Father Karlin added. “Did you manage to get the child out?”

“I didn’t. Multiple phone calls and even a visit were for naught. He apparently loved the place, as it was what he needed. I don’t know if he’s still there or not. I haven’t been in contact with the family, as they were disappointed in my efforts.”

“Do you still have the contact numbers?”

“I do. I’ll call first thing. Of course, if the cardinal knew the society existed and he visited it, he’d probably close it down.”

“That is an irony, especially if we find someone there who fulfills the cardinal’s needs.”