Forbidden Sanctuary (28 page)

She picked up a tattered hymnal and fingered it idly as she watched the old ladies trudge in—kerchiefed Italian women, leaning on canes, carrying shopping bags. There were about a dozen scattered throughout the large church as the Mass began. And not a single man. West felt a stab of anger. Another waste of time. Damn Bernardi. And Bacquier. And the aliens.

She mimicked the old ladies in front of her, standing and sitting on cue while her eyes swept the church. She wished she could talk to the agents posted outside. Maybe Bernardi had sensed something and been scared away. Maybe they were following him at this moment, closing in on him without her....

West heard a noise behind her—the dull thud of a kneeler hitting the floor. She waited. No other sound. She closed her eyes. It took all her self-discipline not to turn around and look.

She was furious—at herself, mostly. If it were Bernardi, then he had the entire length of the Mass to decide that she looked suspicious. Why hadn't she stayed outside? Why had she thought that being in here would somehow help matters? He would slip out of the church, lose the other agents (who were probably asleep), and she wouldn't even realize it until it was too late. And even if he didn't lose them, he was smart enough not to lead them to Tenon.

She tried to calm down. Nothing to be done; just act natural. Why should he suspect that the old lady in the baggy coat was an FBI agent? We are the professionals, she thought, he is the amateur.

Still, she was grateful that the Mass seemed to move so swiftly. No time on weekday mornings for elaborate rituals, evidently. The priest moved about the altar with the brisk efficiency of a housewife setting the dinner table. Before West knew it the old ladies were bustling up to the front to receive communion.

Should she join them? She didn't know Catholic etiquette. It might look odd if she were the only one to remain in her pew. But if she did walk up to the altar it would offer Bernardi (if it was Bernardi) the perfect opportunity to disappear. She waited for a moment in the dim hope that the person would walk past her to receive communion himself. But that would make things too easy, she thought grimly. Finally she slid out of the pew and headed for the altar.

West had never done this before. She felt a little nervous as she stood in the short line in front of the priest. It was probably blasphemy or something, especially if you were doing it while trying to track down a priest. Maybe she would be struck by lightning as she swallowed the host. An occupational hazard.

The priest was a plump middle-aged Italian reeking of cheap after-shave. She realized as she took the host that for the rest of her life she would associate communion with that after-shave. She put the host in her mouth. It tasted like cardboard, and was difficult to swallow, but the lightning never struck. She turned quickly and walked back down the aisle.

She stopped halfway, her eyes probing the shadows. Nobody there. Had she imagined the sound? No, that was silly. Someone had been behind her. And now he was gone. "Bastard," she muttered and broke into a run, as the old ladies turned to watch in shocked disbelief.

West blinked her eyes against the bright sunlight and motioned to Callaghan across the street. She fished her phone out of her pocket and he did the same. "Was it Bernardi?" she demanded. "Did he get away?"

"Relax, chief," Callaghan replied calmly. "He just turned left onto Dunstable. Dewey's got him. Couldn't have gone more'n a couple hundred yards."

"Does he suspect anything?"

"He looked a bit cautious, but wouldn't you?"

She began to feel pretty foolish. There was nothing to worry about. They had their man. They were doing their job. "Okay, I'll catch up with Dewey. The rest of you spread out but head in our direction." She hurried down the steps of the church and turned left.

She picked up Bernardi before she spotted Dewey—good for Dewey. Bernardi was slouching along, wearing a blue ski parka with the hood up. Even from behind, though, she knew it was him. At last.

She kept her distance as Bernardi walked past boarded-up brick buildings and snow-covered empty lots strewn with frozen garbage. Not her part of town. Bernardi showed no sign that he knew he was being followed. That meant nothing, though. He would be too smart to give anything away.

He took another left turn and West lost sight of him. Dewey was up ahead on the far side of the street, though, and could still see him. Her phone crackled to life. "He just went into—looks like a little variety store. Want me to go after him?"

"Give him a minute." Dewey crossed and turned down the street. She stopped at the corner.

"Just got a newspaper," Dewey whispered. "Continuing down Eliot."

West turned the corner and the procession resumed. Eliot Street was narrow and dark with dingy apartment buildings on both sides. She had a feeling that this was where they were headed. "Let me go in first," she whispered to Dewey over the phone. "When I'm inside, get the exits covered immediately. I'll tell you when to follow me up."

"Yes, ma'am."

There was something in his tone she didn't like. She knew what he was thinking: the boss wants the glory. Well, she had earned it. Someday he would get the glory too, if he was lucky.

Bernardi turned and trudged up a set of steps. West increased her pace slightly. As soon as Bernardi was inside the apartment building she broke into a run and signaled to Dewey, who started giving instructions to the others over his phone.

She raced across the street and up the steps. Near the top she felt something give way and her knee cracked hard against the concrete. Through the haze of pain her first thought was:
it's a trap.
Then she looked down and saw the large patch of ice on which she had slipped. Fool. Too eager, too careless. And Dewey was watching her. She staggered to the top of the steps, trying to ignore the pain. Luckily, the front door wasn't locked—she knew she didn't have the composure to jimmy it. She got to the elevator in time to see its indicator stop at three. Another break. She took a deep breath and headed up the stairway.

Each stair brought a stab of pain. Had to be ignored. She wondered if Dewey was pleased. Would they remember to cover the roof? Damn coat was hard to run in. Was this the third floor?

She slipped into the corridor just as a door closed on a blue parka. She limped down to the door and glanced at its number. Then she backed away. "It's 314," she whispered into her phone. "Are the exits covered?"

"Front and back are all set," Dewey replied. "Callaghan's on his way up to the roof now. You want the rest of us to come up?"

Let me give the orders,
she thought. "One in the downstairs lobby. The rest up here. Use the stairs."

"Right."

Now, she thought, rest and wait for the reinforcements. But what was the point of that? There was no danger. The sooner she got inside the better. They would think she was showboating, of course. Let them.

She went up to the door. It looked flimsy; a well-placed kick would have done the job, but that wasn't in her repertoire just now. Instead she knocked.

There were footsteps, then a muffled "Yes?"

"It's Mrs. Esposito from upstairs," she said in a strangled, gasping voice. "I dunno what to do, the radiator busted and there's hot water whooshin' all over the place and they cut off my phone 'cause I missed a month. I can't go to the super 'cause they're tryin' ta kick me out anyway so could I use your phone please, I'll pay you, honest."

The door opened a crack. The chain was still in place. Bernardi looked into her eyes, and she looked back, and he trusted her. He let her in.

"Your leg's bleeding," he said to her.

"I know it," she replied, fumbling in her pockets. "Somedays nothin' goes right." She produced her gun and ID. "You're under arrest, Father. Please don't move."

He looked surprised and hurt for a moment, and then just laughed as half a dozen agents appeared breathless in the doorway with guns drawn. "I guess you've got me," he said. "What's the charge, may I ask?"

West shrugged. "Kidnapping will do. Somebody read him his rights. Everyone else fan out and search the place."

The apartment was small, so not much fanning out could be done. West led the way into the bedroom, where someone lay sleeping face down on a messy bed. She snapped up the drawn shade and watched him stir and turn.

He opened his eyes and silently stared at her. She registered his looks: short, dark hair, dark eyes, broad ears... and, damn it, she couldn't tell. It was close, but not exact. She knew there were blood tests and so on that would be conclusive, but she didn't have time. So, was she looking at a human or an alien? It was unnerving. "Do you speak English?" she asked, idiotically, and the creature in the bed made no sign he understood.

She broke away from his puzzled gaze, finally, and shrugged in resignation. He was all she had. "Take him and let's go," she said. "We're in a hurry."

She went back into the other room. Bernardi was standing there, handcuffed, at ease, watched by an agent. "Is that him?" she demanded.

Bernardi laughed. "Tenon? Of course not. It's Pete Rigoli, works in a pizza shop on Eustis Ave."

West thought:
Does he expect me to believe that?
. She gave a few orders and limped out into the corridor. Her knee was killing her.

* * *

She found out for certain on the helicopter ride to Massachusetts. He laughed—quietly chuckling at one of Bernardi's remarks. It didn't register until she noticed his quick gaze in her direction and then she realized: Tenon doesn't understand English. Not enough to laugh at it, anyway. Therefore this isn't Tenon.

"Bastards," she muttered, and they both grinned.

West looked out the window, not wanting them to get any more enjoyment out of her reaction. Things were bad enough as they stood. Her knee throbbed dully. She hadn't had a chance to have it worked on. And she felt the beginning of a headache. Not enough sleep.

There was also a funny taste in her mouth. She couldn't place it for a while, and then she thought of the smell of cheap cologne and the connection was made. It was the lingering cardboardy aftertaste of the host she had swallowed. Her blasphemy had not been overlooked, she supposed.

It was almost enough to make you believe in God.

Chapter 27

"We have heard it stated," Clement said softly to the congregation, "that mankind's knowledge has outstripped its religions. The Church fights losing battles against Galileo and Darwin, and people's faith is shaken. Is the Church nothing more than a relic of ancient ignorance, vainly reinterpreting its doctrines in an attempt to reconcile them with modern facts?

"We would suggest that the opposite is true, that science is struggling fitfully toward truths our spiritual nature has always apprehended. And chief among these is the interdependence of all life, all matter.
As you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me.
Ask the ecologist, the physicist if that is not a scientific truth as well.

"Always our perspectives are widening, but the moral basis for our response to these perspectives has always been there.
Love thy neighbor as thyself.
Science makes the starving African our neighbor, and the homeless Indian, and the oppressed Cambodian, and we realize our actions affect them, they cannot be ignored. Now we have a new neighbor, and science struggles to understand why, and how. But the moral, the spiritual response to this knowledge already exists, and it is right. If we falter in our application of these spiritual truths, then truly religion's claim to superiority is lost. This is a crucial time for mankind, not the least because these truths are being put to the test.

"That is why we ask for God's blessing on our work, and your prayers. The truths will always be there, but men and women must always seek the strength to put them into practice. That strength can only exist with God's help. Let us stand and profess our faith.
I believe in one God..."

* * *

Collingwood hung back amid the crowd of people outside the rectory as Clement entered the limousine. Clement motioned to him. "Get in, Anthony."

Collingwood obeyed. The limousine moved off down the highway, surrounded by flashing lights and wailing sirens. Clement stared out the window.