had no idea what to do with himself. But after withstanding an opening flurry, Daniel blocked a jab and drove a right hook into Sebastian’s ribs, stepped back and snappedtwo jabs off the saint’s nose. The right-cross caught only shoulder, and Sebastian came back fast. Daniel ducked a hook, pulled away from the left uppercut, circled in time and delivered a straight right to the solar plexus that stopped Sebastian’s orbital dance. Followed with two left jabs to the nose, but Sebastian took the second one on the forehead.
Daniel moved in, pinned Sebastian’s upper arms in a clinch, and sucked air. “OK, I fought you,” he panted. “Can we stop now?”
Sebastian bit off Daniel’s right ear, crimson-sprayed it to the floor, and broke the clinch.
“Faked you out with that Queensberry shit, huh?” He flashed a sympathetic smile full of bloody teeth. “Smarten up, son. Your only job here is to survive this thing. Got it?”
Sebastian set his feet and drove a fist into Daniel’s abdomen.
Daniel’s stomach spasmed, legs went out from under him, and his knees hit the canvas.
As Saint Sebastian shuffled his feet and moved in for the next attack, the bell rang, signaling the end of the first round.
T he alarm clock was ringing. Daniel slapped it off, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and planted his bare feet on soft carpet. The drapes were open, as he’d left them, and daylight flooded the hotel room.
Images from the dream lingered.
What the hell was all that?
He took a minute to shake off the cobwebs, then called room service and ordered breakfast. He said his morning prayers, then went through a set of push-ups, crunches, and Hindu squats, followed by a quick shower and shave. He ate while listening to the audio file of Trinity’s latest tongues act, which had arrived by e-mail from Gerry during the night.
It started with a new installment of Trinity’s Jimmy the Greek spiel, predicting that Mr. Smitten would win the upcoming Gotham Stakes at Aqueduct, finishing eight-and-a-half lengths ahead of Executive Council, with Sweet Revenge coming in third. Then another weather report of no consequence. But what came next robbed Daniel of his appetite.
“If you work at the oil refinery in Belle Chasse, Louisiana, do not go to work on Tuesday. Do not go to work. Anyone near the Plaquemines Parish refinery should get some distance. There will be a terrible accident, an explosion. Tuesday morning. Many lives will be lost.”
Daniel grabbed his cell phone, speed-dialed Father Nick’s private line. Nick picked up on the second ring.
“What have you got for me on the good reverend?” said Nick.
“I’m sending an audio file. Listen to it and call me back.”
Daniel hung up, forwarded the audio file to Nick’s e-mail address. Five minutes later, his cell rang.
“Did you hear it?”
“I did.”
“He said Tuesday morning. Tomorrow is Tuesday, we gotta plan our move.”
“Oh, please. It’ll just play out as one of Trinity’s swing-and-miss predictions.”
“You’re wrong, Nick. I checked the transcripts in the case file against the archived broadcasts. Trinity doesn’t miss. All of his predictions have come true. Every one.”
After a very long silence, Nick said, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. This case was compromised before you even assigned it to me. Someone at the Vatican altered Giuseppe’s transcripts to make Trinity wrong.”
Another long silence. “Interesting. I’ll look into it.”
“My guess would be Conrad,” said Daniel. “Don’t know what his game is, but—”
“I said I’ll look into it.” Nick cleared his throat. “Now tell me what you’ve learned about Trinity.”
Daniel started to speak, but nothing came out. He reached for the camera on the nightstand, flicked it on, and began scrolling through the digital photos he’d taken on surveillance two nights ago. Even on the camera’s little screen, the photos were damning. Trinity snorting coke in his
Daniel moved in, pinned Sebastian’s upper arms in a clinch, and sucked air. “OK, I fought you,” he panted. “Can we stop now?”
Sebastian bit off Daniel’s right ear, crimson-sprayed it to the floor, and broke the clinch.
“Faked you out with that Queensberry shit, huh?” He flashed a sympathetic smile full of bloody teeth. “Smarten up, son. Your only job here is to survive this thing. Got it?”
Sebastian set his feet and drove a fist into Daniel’s abdomen.
Daniel’s stomach spasmed, legs went out from under him, and his knees hit the canvas.
As Saint Sebastian shuffled his feet and moved in for the next attack, the bell rang, signaling the end of the first round.
T he alarm clock was ringing. Daniel slapped it off, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and planted his bare feet on soft carpet. The drapes were open, as he’d left them, and daylight flooded the hotel room.
Images from the dream lingered.
What the hell was all that?
He took a minute to shake off the cobwebs, then called room service and ordered breakfast. He said his morning prayers, then went through a set of push-ups, crunches, and Hindu squats, followed by a quick shower and shave. He ate while listening to the audio file of Trinity’s latest tongues act, which had arrived by e-mail from Gerry during the night.
It started with a new installment of Trinity’s Jimmy the Greek spiel, predicting that Mr. Smitten would win the upcoming Gotham Stakes at Aqueduct, finishing eight-and-a-half lengths ahead of Executive Council, with Sweet Revenge coming in third. Then another weather report of no consequence. But what came next robbed Daniel of his appetite.
“If you work at the oil refinery in Belle Chasse, Louisiana, do not go to work on Tuesday. Do not go to work. Anyone near the Plaquemines Parish refinery should get some distance. There will be a terrible accident, an explosion. Tuesday morning. Many lives will be lost.”
Daniel grabbed his cell phone, speed-dialed Father Nick’s private line. Nick picked up on the second ring.
“What have you got for me on the good reverend?” said Nick.
“I’m sending an audio file. Listen to it and call me back.”
Daniel hung up, forwarded the audio file to Nick’s e-mail address. Five minutes later, his cell rang.
“Did you hear it?”
“I did.”
“He said Tuesday morning. Tomorrow is Tuesday, we gotta plan our move.”
“Oh, please. It’ll just play out as one of Trinity’s swing-and-miss predictions.”
“You’re wrong, Nick. I checked the transcripts in the case file against the archived broadcasts. Trinity doesn’t miss. All of his predictions have come true. Every one.”
After a very long silence, Nick said, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. This case was compromised before you even assigned it to me. Someone at the Vatican altered Giuseppe’s transcripts to make Trinity wrong.”
Another long silence. “Interesting. I’ll look into it.”
“My guess would be Conrad,” said Daniel. “Don’t know what his game is, but—”
“I said I’ll look into it.” Nick cleared his throat. “Now tell me what you’ve learned about Trinity.”
Daniel started to speak, but nothing came out. He reached for the camera on the nightstand, flicked it on, and began scrolling through the digital photos he’d taken on surveillance two nights ago. Even on the camera’s little screen, the photos were damning. Trinity snorting coke in his
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