Sean Chercover - The Trinity Game

“And we don’t know how long it’ll take the press to expose him, even if we do feed them his financials,” added Darwyn Jones. “Looks like they’re having a good time with the whole Messiah story, maybe they’re not in a hurry to show him as a grifter.”

Lamech stood, addressed the whole table. “Obviously Darwyn and I have concluded that we need to kill Trinity, without delay. And I think Jared may be on board.”

Jared Case nodded. “I’m sold. I say we off the motherfucker.”

“So we vote,” Lamech continued. “If we are to be Trinity’s jury, we should be unanimous. This is, after all, a death sentence. If there’s a split vote, we talk it around some more.” He raised his right hand. “All those in favor of ending it now.”

Darwyn Jones and Jared Case raised their hands, followed by DeFazio, Babcock, Reaves…all around the table, all the way to Passarelli.

Unanimous.

Rome, Italy…

It wasn’t every day Father Nick entertained cardinals, but there was one in his office now—and for all the wrong reasons.

“How injured, exactly, is your secretary?” said Cardinal Allodi.

“Slight concussion, four stitches, and a bruised ego,” said Father Nick.

“You find this situation funny?”

It made Nick feel like a kid called to the principal’s office. “No, Eminence. I don’t. Just listing George’s injuries, as you asked.”

“And your golden boy, Father Byrne?”

“Caught a commercial flight to Atlanta. I suspect we’ll find him in the company of his uncle.”

“You assured me he was the man for the job. ‘The only man,’ you said.” Cardinal Allodi’s voice was like ice. “How could you have misjudged the situation so drastically?”

“Daniel was very bitter about his uncle, he was motivated to debunk hard and fast. We gave him a case file that undermined Trinity’s predictions, and he already knew the man was a fraud—there was no earthly reason to think he’d vet the transcripts.” Nick shook his head. “He’s a top-notch investigator. Once he learned the predictions were accurate…”

“You should have pulled him off the case sooner.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Turning into quite the debacle, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

“I think His Holiness needs to be informed.”

Father Nick nodded. “I’ll report to his office at your command.”

“No,” said Cardinal Allodi. “You’ll report to me, and I will take it to His Holiness. His Holiness does not need to be burdened with unnecessary detail.”

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

“And you need to fix this.”

“I will.”

Atlanta, Georgia…

Hartsfield-Jackson airport was buzzing with excited chatter, and it seemed the only topic of conversation was Tim Trinity. Daniel picked up snatches of it as he made his way through the crowds toward the trains to the main terminal building.

“This is just so thrilling, I can hardly breathe.”

“They say he’s taken over the whole top floor of the Westin, hiding out like Howard Hughes. You can’t get near the place.”

“When I saw the news, I just packed a bag and booked a flight. Didn’t even say good-bye to the wife.”

“Hear the latest? He predicted next Sunday’s Lotto numbers! Isn’t that awesome?”

“Dangerous, I’d say. Just a matter of time before Big Brother puts a bullet in his head.”

“I think we’re in the end times.”

“I sure hope so. If the rapture don’t come, I’m gonna have to fly home and explain myself.”

Daniel stopped at a newsstand, picked up the Atlanta Journal-Constitution . The bold headline read:

TENSIONS RISE AS TRINITY

FOLLOWERS PUT CITY IN GRIDLOCK

On the train to the main terminal, he scanned the accompanying story. The city was devolving into chaos. He was still caught up in the paper as he left the train, didn’t notice them until they were flanking him on either side, with military precision.

Two very large men in dark blue suits and sunglasses. One black, one white, both bald-headed and clean-shaven. Guns bulging beneath their jackets.

Shit.

Daniel scanned the crowd for movement patterns, looking for an opening to emerge. But he knew it was impossible. Even if he got a couple good shots in and bolted though the crowd, he wouldn’t get far. They couldn’t fire on him in this crowd, but the place was jammed, and they’d be all over him before he could get to the door.

The black guy said, “Father Byrne. We’ve been sent to pick you up.”

“Nick didn’t waste any time.”

“Who? No, we’re from Reverend Trinity. He thought you could use some help getting into the city.”

“How did he even know I was coming back to Atlanta?”

“I have no idea, you’ll have to ask him. He just told us what flight you were on.”

“Nothing personal, guys, but why should I believe you?”

The white guy grinned. “He said you were the suspicious type. Said to remind you of the time Judas got hit by a car. Said to tell you what he said to you at the time was wrong. Whatever that means.”

Judas…

When Daniel was nine, during the summer they stayed put in New Orleans, Trinity finally agreed to get a dog. They went down to the shelter on Japonica Street and adopted a scruffy little mutt that Trinity named Judas. He chose the name, he said, because every dog he’d had as a kid had run away, and he figured it was just a matter of time before this mutt did the same.

But Judas didn’t run away, and both Daniel and Trinity fell in love with him. Daniel took Judas to Audubon Park every day, and Trinity came along on weekends. Judas loved to splash around in the big fountain, biting at the water. It always made them howl with laughter.

Trinity also got a huge kick out of calling the dog’s name in public.

Judas didn’t run away, but on a rainy Saturday morning in early August, he crawled under the backyard fence and chased a cat across the road, just as a car came around the corner. Daniel ran to stop him, but it was too late.

Judas died in Daniel’s arms.

They buried the dog in the backyard, and Trinity made a little wooden cross as a headstone.

“I know it hurts, son, and I’m sorry,” he said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But you better know now, it’s the way of life. Everything you love goes away in the end.”

He said to tell you what he said to you at the time was wrong.

The white guy said, “Satisfied?”

Daniel nodded.

The black guy gestured at his partner. “This is Chris. I’m Samson.” They shook hands. “Car’s waiting, let’s go.”

Chris drove the big limo into Atlanta, staying off the highway, cruising along industrial boulevards and residential streets. Samson sat in the back with Daniel and caught him up to speed.

“Reverend Trinity’s instructions are that you get total access and full protection. So if you need anything at all, just say the word.” He handed Daniel a business card. “My cell phone’s always on.”

Daniel put the card in his pocket. “What the hell is going on, Samson?”

Samson whistled through his teeth. “You got me, Father.”

“Just Daniel, please.”

“OK, Daniel. From a security perspective, it’s a total nightmare. We had to get Reverend Trinity out of his home and into a controlled environment—the whole neighborhood was swarming with worshipers. And now the Westin is a zoo. Cops have it surrounded and nobody gets in without showing a card key.” He handed one to Daniel. “Your room is just down the hall from your uncle.”