Sean Chercover - The Trinity Game

If it was meant to be… Would he end up with Julia after all? While Trinity was still sleeping, Daniel had only managed five hours, jolted awake by the realization that today he would go to the prearranged meeting place.

Today he would see her again.

And then what?

No use getting ahead of himself. He had more practical matters to focus on. Like keeping his uncle alive.

Trinity had vowed to resume preaching in public and to share the tongues whenever they came upon him. He’d also vowed to share what he’d learned about what he was calling God’s Only Commandment.

Daniel told him it was suicide and suggested that Trinity send his messages to the world on television, from a secure location. “You don’t deliver a sermon on love from the safety of a bunker,” Trinity had insisted, “you do it out in the open, embracing the world.” He would not be dissuaded.

Worse, he planned to announce the time and place of his next sermon in advance, during an interview with Julia on CNN. Daniel was happy to be able to make good on his promise of an exclusive to Julia, but the announcement was not going to make the task of keeping his uncle alive any easier.

Keeping Trinity alive… But how, when they didn’t even know the source of the threat? Samson Turner had worked for a large, high-end security company. That told them nothing about who was behind the attacks. It could be any well-heeled entity with a vested interest in maintaining the status quo.

And what about the Vatican? What would be their next move? Father Nick would never sanction murder, but was it beyond Conrad Winter? Was there any line Conrad wouldn’t cross for the greater good as he saw it? Hard to say.

Daniel unleashed a flurry on the heavy bag as Father Henri walked into the gym.

“You’re still dropping your left,” said Father Henri, as if Daniel had only been gone a week. “How many times I gotta tell ya?”

Daniel grabbed the big leather bag, bringing it to rest. “Never woulda won the Golden Gloves without you,” he said.

“You got that right,” said Father Henri.

This meeting with Julia wasn’t a date, but you couldn’t tell that by the butterflies in Daniel’s stomach. Pat had arrived in New Orleans and was looking after Trinity at the athletic club, and Father Henri had been getting ready to serve them leftover red beans and rice as Daniel headed out to the French Quarter, freshly showered and shaved, dressed in clean clothes, chewing on minty gum.

Daniel entered the Quarter off Rampart, walking down Conti and then turning left onto Bourbon Street. The crowds on Bourbon would help him get lost if he were being tailed. He crossed the street every block or so, checking behind, but didn’t spot a tail.

Walking down Bourbon, heading for this non-date with Julia, felt like walking backwards through time…

Their first real date did not begin well. In those days, Daniel’s relationship to time was somewhat loose, and he was usually ten or fifteen minutes late for anything. When he arrived at the bar where they’d arranged to meet, he spotted Julia at a table in back, scowling into a book. As he approached, she took a long look at her watch and said, “An hour and fifteen minutes , Daniel. You better have a hell of an excuse.”

She’d misremembered their agreed meeting time and had been sitting in the bar for an hour and a half. He protested, she checked her planner, and they’d finally laughed about it. The date was salvaged.

It became a private joke between them. Whenever Daniel arrived slightly late, and he usually did, Julia would glare at her watch, add an hour to his lateness, and say, “An hour and eight minutes, Daniel. Your usual punctual self.”

So when Daniel told Julia to meet him at the location of their first date at three o’clock and said he’d be his usual punctual self, they both knew he meant four o’clock at The Abbey bar. Unlikely that the FBI had tapped his cell phone so quickly, but better to be safe, so he’d used the code only she would understand.

He turned right on Governor Nicholls, circled the block to be absolutely sure he wasn’t being tailed, and then headed on down to Decatur.

He ducked inside the darkened bar. Dusty old stained glass windows lined one wall, and the little Christmas tree lights on the ceiling fought to cut through the cigarette smoke.

Julia was sitting at a table near the back wall—the same table where she’d been sitting on their first date—and as Daniel approached, she looked at her watch. And frowned.

“You’re on time,” she said. “I don’t get to say my line.”

“I’ve changed,” he said.

She stood and hugged him hard, whispered in his ear, “I’ve been so worried about you.” She kissed his cheek and they sat. There were two drinks on the table. “Ordered Sazeracs,” she said, “for old times.”

“Here’s looking up your old address,” said Daniel. They clinked their glasses together and drank.

He told her about the journey from Atlanta to New Orleans. He didn’t go into detail about what happened at Pat’s place, simply said that there’d been another attempt on Trinity’s life, and they’d gotten away unscathed. And he told her about their astonishing meeting with Angelica Ory, the voodoo ritual, and Trinity’s epiphany of God’s only commandment at the ruins of his soup kitchen in the Lower Nine.

Julia smiled. “That’s what secular humanists have been saying for ages, minus the God part.”

Daniel smiled back at her. “Well, you can ask Tim all about it. On camera.”

Her eyes went wide and she let out a small gasp. “Really? When?”

Daniel knew how important this story was to her, felt a thrill at being able to deliver it. “He wants to sit down with you for an interview, as soon as you can arrange it.”

“Oh my God.” Her face flushed and she looked a bit embarrassed, perhaps at having revealed such naked ambition, such elation at the prospect of bagging her prey. She put her hand on his. “Thank you.”

Daniel’s excitement turned decidedly sexual, and he didn’t know exactly what to do with it. This is not a date, he reminded himself, crossing his legs. “I told you you’d get the scoop,” he said. “But he won’t tape it. It has to go out live.”

“Not a problem.” She picked up her cell phone, dialed. “Kathy, Julia. Great news. I’ve got Trinity.”

“Put that in your wallet,” said Pat, handing Daniel a card key. “If the shit hits the fan and we gotta split up, we rendezvous at the Pelican Motel on the Westbank Expressway across the river in Gretna. Room 104. It’s booked for the next three nights.”

“Got it,” said Daniel.

“You know I think this whole thing is a terrible idea.”

“I know.”

“I tried to talk him out of it,” said Pat. “Got nowhere.”

“He’s committed to this. He knows we can’t do much to protect him at a public rally. He just doesn’t care.” Daniel tucked the card key away. “All we can do is our best.”

“We gonna have to get very lucky, brother.”

“I know.” Daniel checked his watch. “Julia’s gonna be there with her cameraman in an hour. We should get going.”

The door from one of the back rooms opened and Tim Trinity stepped into the gym. He wore a new silk suit, royal blue to match his Bible, crisp white shirt, matching pink silk tie and pocket square. His boots gleamed white. His hair was back to silver.