Sean Chercover - The Trinity Game

“We remember you, Reverend Tim!” shouted a skinny old man in the crowd.

“Good. Because I have a confession to make.” Trinity cleared his throat. “All those times I came here, I was, uh…well, no way to sugar-coat it. I was a fake.” The crowd gasped, almost as one. He nodded, “I know, it’s terrible. I was conning you, just trying to put on a good show and separate you from some of your hard-earned money. That’s the truth.” He stood up. “I believe God brought me here so I could make my confession. And I think he would want me to warn you that this man —” he thrust a finger at the Holy Roller standing to his right “— this man is a false prophet, just as I was.”

The crowd responded with a stunned silence, as if Trinity’s words hadn’t quite registered or didn’t make any sense. After a few seconds, everyone started talking at the same time, their voices running together in confusion and despair.

But some voices rose above the chaos to call out their disbelief.

“No!”

“Not Preacher Bob!”

“Why should we believe you? You just admitted you’re a fake!”

The Holy Roller jumped forward, snatched the microphone from Trinity, jabbed a finger at the air between them and bellowed, “Satan!” He swept his arm, taking in the crowd. “These good people are like family . They know me, have known me for years, and you will not turn them away from righteousness!”

“You tell him, Preacher Bob!”

Preacher Bob kicked it onto high gear. “We are the children of God— Hallelujah! —and we will not have the wool pulled over our eyes— Hallelujah! —and we will not be tricked by your black magic— Hallelujah ! In Jesus’s name , we cast you out of this place of Christian worship! Be gone! Be gone! Be gone!”

The crowd chanted along with him: Be gone! Be gone! Be gone...

Trinity stood in place, his face a portrait of bewilderment and loss. “No, no, you don’t understand. Wait, I’m trying to—I’m speaking the truth…” He closed his eyes and held his Bible to his chest. “Please,” he said.

The crowd pressed toward the stage, chanting even louder: Be gone! Be gone! Be gone…

Daniel sharp-elbowed his way through the crowd, leapt onto the stage, and grabbed Trinity’s wrist.

And dragged him the hell out of there.

Blue Ridge Mountains, Georgia…

Conrad Winter pulled to a stop behind the red Escalade with the gold rims and the bullet holes in the tailgate. He eyed the axe in the tree stump, the shabby cabin, the big man sitting on the stoop, next to a row of rose bushes. He mentally tipped his hat to Daniel. He hadn’t really expected him to mess up this early in the game, knew Daniel wouldn’t be the easiest prey he’d ever brought down, but that would just make the sweet honey of victory that much sweeter. Golden Boy was now playing in his world, and the outcome was not in doubt.

Conrad cut the engine and turned to his assistant. “Here’s the play. Get out, come around, open the door for me. Leave your jacket unbuttoned and accidentally flash your piece on your way. Then plant yourself in front of that axe over there.”

“Got it.”

Conrad watched the big man on the stoop, saw him notice the gun as Father Doug came around the fender. He got out and walked toward the man, and as he got close, the man stood.

He was big all right. Conrad was not used to looking up at other men and guessed this one at about six-seven. But he drank too much beer and ate too much barbecue, and he’d seen Doug’s gun.

“You boys a little early for Halloween,” said the big country boy. But his delivery lacked confidence.

Conrad smiled, said, “My name is Father Carmine, and my associate is Father David. I need you to tell me everything you remember about the two men who came here in that truck. Every detail exactly as it happened, and everything they said. You can keep the truck, by the way. We’re here for information.”

The man looked uneasy. “Why you chasin’ after them?”

“Their lives are in danger, my son, and we are trying to save them.” Conrad put no effort into selling the line. Now he dropped the smile. “And every minute I spend explaining things to you is a minute I am not getting closer to them.” He scratched his right earlobe, signaling Doug to loom a little closer, and heard him take a few steps forward, then stop. “Now let’s start again. I need you to tell me everything you remember about the two men who came here in that truck. Every detail exactly as it happened, and everything they said. Do you understand me clearly?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Good. Understand this also: If we later discover that you lied to us, I will be displeased. And you will feel the wrath of God.”

Father Nick picked up the camera that Conrad had liberated from Daniel’s hotel room and, for the third time, scrolled through the photos of Tim Trinity snorting cocaine. Thinking: He had the pictures the whole time and led me to believe he didn’t...

The betrayal stung.

Their relationship was a true double-edged sword, and it cut both ways. It had allowed Nick to experience something like paternal love, but was also a constant reminder of the road not taken. He’d have been a good dad, far better than his father had been to him. He never regretted giving his life to God, but he was occasionally visited by crushing loneliness. The love he felt for Daniel was both laceration and salve.

And now there was the betrayal.

If Daniel lived through this case, he would surely be excommunicated for his actions against the Vatican. Unless. Unless what, exactly?

Nick thought about how he would pitch it to Cardinal Allodi. Taking Daniel back in was the best way to keep him quiet. Of course, he would first have to help them with Trinity and return to the fold in a state of pure contrition. He would have to willingly submit himself to the punishment of the Church and then live a monastic life of manual labor and rigorous spiritual retraining, maybe for a year, maybe five. But once through, he could make a life as a priest again, albeit never in a sensitive position. He was multilingual, could teach at Catholic schools all across central Africa and parts of Asia.

Nick could probably sell it to Allodi and the inevitable disciplinary tribunal… if he could get to Daniel and if he could turn him around.

And those were two very big ifs.

The young priest who’d run the computer earlier approached at a near jog.

“Father Conrad on line three, sir.”

Nick held up a finger to tell the young priest not to walk away and picked up the phone. “What’ve you got?”

“Daniel traded the Cadillac to a country boy who lives off the grid,” said Conrad, “and I don’t think Country Boy has any idea who Trinity is. They left here about eight fifteen this morning—I gave Bryan details of the truck they’re now driving—but when they left, they didn’t indicate what direction they were heading.”

“It’s all over the television,” said Nick. “Trinity showed up at a tent revival outside Greenville, Arkansas. Tried to confess his past sins. Didn’t go over too well with the locals.”

“When?”

“About two o’clock.”

“Greenville,” said Conrad, and Nick could hear him unfolding a map. “That’s between here and New Orleans. What do you think?”

“I think Daniel knows better than to let him run home,” said Nick.