The Trinity Game

improve. In five…four…three…two…”
    Julia came up fast and put a hand on Daniel’s forearm, “Sorry we’re late. Lost the satellite for a few minutes, but Shooter got it fixed.”
    Daniel looked toward the back of the crowd, saw Shooter approaching from the CNN news van with a camera on his shoulder. “Aside from giving me a minor heart attack,” said Daniel, “your timing is actually perfect.”
    “Hi, Daniel,” Shooter said, handing Julia a microphone and stepping back with his camera. “We’re on in sixty seconds.”
    Hillborn’s conversation became visibly more animated after Julia and Shooter arrived. Finally he tossed the radio mic on the seat, got out of the car, and crooked his finger at Daniel.
    “Good luck,” said Julia.
    Daniel walked through the thick, muggy air, careful not to rush, past assorted FBI agents, all the way to Hillborn. Along the way he flipped the switch, putting his walkie-talkie into transmit mode for Pat to listen in.
    Hillborn said, “The FBI’s position is as follows: Considering the bombing at his church in Atlanta, we strenuously advise Reverend Trinity against any public appearances at this time. We believe that he is acting with reckless disregard for his own life, and we are not equipped to provide for his safety. If he chooses to go forward, we will not stop him, but neither can we protect him. The only assistance we can reasonably provide is to help divert traffic ahead of the parade route.”
    “Reverend Trinity certainly appreciates the help,” said Daniel with a smile.
    Hillborn signaled to the other agents, and the drawbridge bells clanged and the bridge started coming back down as the agents returned to their cars. He let out a derisive snort. “Understand: you haven’t won anything at all. If by some miracle he’s still alive when this day is over, you’re both going to prison. I promise.”
    Daniel shrugged. “And I promised I’d get him to the podium. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
    “We’ll see.”
    Daniel flipped the walkie-talkie off transmit as he walked back toward the front of the crowd, looking for Pat’s green bowler hat. Pat’s voice crackled in his ear. “Nice job with the feds. Meet me in front.”
    Daniel wiped the sweat from his brow and walked closer as the green hat appeared in the crowd, bobbing forward. They came together at the front line and Pat said, “Full props to the man with the cockamamie plan.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Now shake it off and get your energy back up.” He broke eye contact and scanned the crowd behind Daniel. “Drapeau is still out here somewhere. We don’t find him before we get to the podium, Tim dies.”
    As the feds disappeared over the bridge, a trumpet blared and a huge cheer erupted from the crowd. Tim Trinity emerged from the protection of the throng to lead them forward, the brass band launched into “Didn’t He Ramble,” and the party resumed.

Atlanta, Georgia…
    A fter the call came in from Conrad Winter, Father Nick had no choice but to pull the plug on the operation. He summoned all of Conrad’s men back to the command center, canceled any further investigation, and ordered all Trinity files wiped from the hard drives.
    He thanked the young men working the command center for their efforts, sent upstairs for a few bottles of good brandy, and made sure everyone who wanted a drink had one.
    Then he sat back with his snifter and watched CNN.
    As far as the Vatican was concerned, the Trinity game was over. It was time to cut their losses. To Nick, the most painful loss was Daniel Byrne. A good man, gone.
    A good man, gone wrong.
    Nick told himself to stop speculating about how it all happened. No doubt Conrad was truthful about presenting his amnesty offer to Daniel. Nick had successfully sold Cardinal Allodi on the idea, and no way Conrad would disobey a direct order from Allodi. Anyway, Conrad was returning to Atlanta on a one thirty flight from New Orleans, and he would hear all the details soon enough.
    Conrad had told Nick that Daniel turned him down flat. Whatever the details, they wouldn’t change that basic fact. Nick would just have to accept it and move on.
    He sipped some brandy and focused his attention on the television screen. An aerial view of well over a thousand people walking down the middle of a wide street, through an intersection and past a large building that seemed an impossibly bright shade of pink. Then the screen changed to a ground-level