The Trinity Game

perfect.
    Conrad entered the church and crossed himself, walked up the aisle, genuflected and crossed himself again when he reached the altar, and turned to face the disheveled young man reading a Bible in the front pew.
    Father Peter approached and nervously introduced himself. He led Conrad to one side and spoke in a low voice. “I’m very sorry for bringing you all the way here, Father. I’ve spent some time with him, and I don’t think he has any idea where Trinity is. In fact, I think he may be insane.”
    Definitely a lost sheep.
Conrad smiled. “That’s quite all right, I’m glad you called. And I’ll be happy to minister to the young man.”
    “But sir, my call seems to have set off alarm bells in the council.”
    Conrad put a finger to his lips. “We will not speak of the council.”
    “No, of course, I’m sorry, sir. I—it’s just, I’m pretty new at this, and…” His voice dropped to a whisper, “there’s a
cardinal
in my office.”
    “I know there is.” Conrad put a reassuring hand on the nervous priest’s forearm. “Perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell His Eminence I’ll join him in a few minutes, after I talk with the young man.”
    “Yes, of course. Right away.” Father Peter scurried away.
    Conrad turned and approached the front pew. He smiled gently, put his hand on the young man’s shoulder, and spoke with the voice of a shepherd.

    The lost sheep was not insane, but was clearly headed down that road, Conrad decided. Unmoored from his former self and now drifting, desperately searching for solid ground upon which to construct a new identity.
    “I think I can work with him,” he told Cardinal Allodi, after Father Peter left the office to sit with the young man. “He was Junior Army ROTC in high school, he responds well to authority. I can whip him into shape for it.”
    “I don’t like it,” said Allodi. “The risk of exposure is too high, too many variables you can’t control.”
    “Well I don’t really like it either,” said Conrad, thinking:
“Yes, but…” always works better than “no.”
“But I’ll do everything I can to minimize the risk, tie off loose ends. And if it isn’t coming together as planned, I’ll scrub the mission.” He closed with, “Sir, the council has made Trinity a top priority, and we’re running out of options.” Then he shut up to let Cardinal Allodi think about that.
    After a full minute, Allodi said, “All right. You have a tentative green light. On two conditions. First, Father Nick must never, ever catch even a hint of this. If he had any inkling of the council’s inroads into the Holy See…” Allodi didn’t need to finish the sentence. They both understood what was at stake.
    “Yes, sir.” He waited to hear the second condition.
    Cardinal Allodi reached inside a leather briefcase and pulled out a file folder. He handed the folder across to Conrad.
    It was a personnel file. Conrad read the tab: FR. DANIEL BYRNE.
    “You’ll find details of his contacts at the seminary, his life in New Orleans before coming to Rome,” said Allodi. “You need tofind him and present Father Nick’s offer, before going ahead with this operation.”
    “He’ll reject it.”
    “That’s not for you to pre-judge, that’s for him to decide. If he takes the deal, we can avoid the risk of exposure entirely. If he doesn’t, then you may proceed. Is that understood?”
    “Yes, Eminence.”

Lower Ninth Ward – New Orleans…
    T im Trinity peered into the darkness. “Got any idea where we’re at?”
    “Not precisely,” said Daniel. “I’ll stop next time we see a street sign standing.” There was still no electricity in this part of the Ninth Ward, and Daniel couldn’t see past the beam of their headlights.
    What he did see made him feel sick to his stomach. Piles of splintered wood and smashed windows, twisted metal and scattered shingles, broken furniture and rotted mattresses. The ruins of small houses. The ruins of blue-collar lives. Row upon row of them, block after shameful block. No sign of rebuilding.
    As if reading his thoughts, Trinity said, “Looks like the aftermath of a three-day kegger in hell.”

    Ory’s sister lived in a neighborhood that was rebuilding, if slowly. Maybe four in ten houses rebuilt, three in mid-renovation, and three still in ruins. This block had electricity, and a third of the streetlights were actually working.
    Priestess Ory greeted them at the curb. In her shop, she’d been dressed