The Sacrifice (40 page)

Koesler rose, took his Bible from the shelf, and returned to his chair. He didn't open the book, but just sat, holding it in his hands, as if expecting an answer through some sort of literary osmosis.

He set his memory to scanning a stream of consciousness. What biblical incidents would come to mind relating to conflict between husband and wife? Between father and son? Father and daughter? Father-in-law and daughter-in-law?

The first thing that came to mind was Jesus' story of the Prodigal Son. The young profligate who demanded, then squandered, his inheritance. Wiped out financially and emotionally, he returned, shamefaced and groveling, to his father. The father was overjoyed at his son's return—so overjoyed that he ordered a feast in celebration.

Koesler could find no compelling connection between fact and fiction here. Not even in the hostile reaction of the faithful son, who resented the forgiveness and undeserved reward accorded his repentant brother.

Next, Koesler's scanning mind stopped at another story told by Jesus, about two brothers, directed by their father to work in the family enterprise. One brother agreed readily, but, in the end, loafed all day long. The other brother at first refused to work, then had a change of heart and did as his father had bade him.

Again, this parable seemed irrelevant as far as whoever it was George Wheatley suspected. George did have two sons, but Koesler was not aware of any such similar or analagous reaction on the part of Ron or Richard to any of George's commands.

Koesler's memory slipped into the Old Testament.

David the King.

David surely had a most serious conflict with his son, Absalom. Both David and George Wheatley were noteworthy for a great ability to love. Both loved their sons dearly. Absalom tried to overthrow his father and usurp the kingship. So much and so deeply did David love his son that he lost all interest in what was happening to himself—and the kingdom. His sole concern was for Absalom.

But David came out of battle unscathed, whereas Absalom was killed. George Wheatley could, or should, have been killed in the explosion. But neither Ronald nor Richard had been physically harmed.

Nevertheless, Koesler felt he might be getting closer to the core connection.

The characters who next came to mind were Abraham and Isaac, the two participants in possibly one of the most moving stories in the entire Bible.

Isaac was the only child of Abraham and Sara. The child was born in Sara's great old age and Abraham's decline. All of Abraham's hopes for the future were concentrated in Isaac.

But God demands that Abraham sacrifice his son as a burnt offering. God is testing Abraham's faith. And Abraham almost superhumanly proves his faithfulness. The Bible tells how Abraham, Isaac, and some servants collect the ingredients for the ritual holocaust. But something is lacking—an animal to be the sacrificial offering. Isaac asks about that. Abraham assures his son that God will provide the sacrifice. When they reach the site, the wood and the altar are prepared and—undoubtedly to Isaac's horror—the son is bound as the sacrificial animal. Abraham is about to kill his son when, at the last moment, an angel intervenes.

Koesler sat very still. He felt he was getting closer. Yet something—some things—were missing; for a perfect analogy it needed other elements.

He thought very deeply until another possibility came to mind. And, for the first time in Koesler's ruminations, this example included a young woman.

The story was in the book of Judges. It involved the illegitimate son of Gilead, an Israeli chieftain. The son's name was Jephthah. Gilead had other sons, all legitimate. These forced Jephthah into exile because he was the bastard of the litter.

Jephthah became a mercenary warrior who attracted some like-minded lowlifes. As a group, they were very successful, and profited from many raids.

Jephthah had pretty much forgotten his previous life. And then the tribe of Ammonites went to war against Israel. The leaders of Israel came begging to enlist the aid of the man they had expelled. Their mission was crucial.

At length, Jephthah agreed to lead them into battle, under the condition that should he win the war he would become undisputed leader of all Israel. His terms were accepted.

Jephthah counted as much on God for victory as on his troops. He promised God that should He grant victory, Jephthah would offer up as a sacrifice the first person who came to meet him when he returned in victory. His vow was a pretty safe one; after all, he had but one child, and certainly no way would she be the first person he would set eyes on after the battle.

Wouldn't you know it: When Jephthah returned to his house in a victory parade, it was his daughter who came forth, playing the tambourines and dancing. At sight of her, he rent his garments and cried, “Alas, daughter, you have struck me down and brought calamity upon me. For I have made a vow to the Lord, and I cannot retract.'”

Nor does he. After a two-month interval, during which the daughter puts her life in order, her father fulfills his vow and sacrifices his only child.

Obviously the stories that Koesler had summoned up bore certain similarities to the tragedy that had struck George Wheatley. Still, none of them came close to being a perfect match.

In the biblical narratives that Koesler could bring to mind, the father is always the principal figure. But it is the daughter, the sons, who are the victims, or near-victims.

In the real-life drama, as far as George Wheatley was concerned, the scenario was upside down: George himself was first the near-victim, then the actual victim.

So what did Koesler have for his pains? A complete washout …

He was ready to give up and call it a night. He half rose from his chair to do just that when another thought struck: If the Bible stories were upside down, what would happen if they were turned around? Koesler sat back down.

He went back over the five examples, turning them around, upside down, backward, and forward from their original biblical messages.

Then it hit.

One story did have everything. Oh, it wasn't a perfect match by any means … but the essentials were there.

Most of all, it satisfied Koesler's absorption with the mysteriously timely phone call that had caused a delay sufficient to save Wheatley's life, as well as that of Tully—and who knew how many others.

It wasn't a flawless blueprint, Koesler admitted to himself. But it was a solid hypothesis. A hypothesis that needed to be tested.

Who better? Koesler dialed the number for Walter Koznicki.

From the tone of Koznicki's voice, it seemed that the inspector had been waiting for, indeed expecting Koesler's call.

The priest explained his rationale for the conclusion he had reached.

Koznicki agreed totally. Koesler's conclusion might be no more than a theory. But it was a sounder theory than anyone else had come up with. It needed one more hearing; one more brain to run it through.

It was too late tonight, and even tomorrow might be too early for George Wheatley to be of any help. Nonetheless, the retired priest and the retired Homicide detective made a date to meet at the Intensive Care Unit of Receiving Hospital at eight A.M. tomorrow, and then go from there.

Neither Koesler nor Koznicki slept well that night.

T
WENTY-FOUR

Promptly at eight
A
.
M
., Father Koesler exited the elevator and stepped into the corridor leading to the ICU waiting room. He was amazed at the sight that met his eyes. An overflow crowd spilled out of the waiting area into the corridor. Members of the media mingled with relatives and friends of the injured man.

Koesler's clerical collar afforded him a grudging path through the crowd. Still, it was slow going as he made his way toward the waiting room. When he reached the door, once more it was his collar that gained him entree.

With Koesler's height, he had a fair chance of getting a glimpse of most of those present. Specifically, he was looking for Inspector Koznicki and/or any of the immediate Wheatley family. He located the inspector with little trouble; his height also made him easy to spot. Koesler did not spy any of the family. They must, he assumed, be seated somewhere in the far corner of the room.

The ICU door was opened by a young woman in nursing uniform. Instantly the crowd surged forward a step or two. There was no room to advance further.

“Is there a Father Koesler here?” the nurse asked.

“Yes.” Koesler waved a hand in the air.

“Please follow me.”

There was a commotion on the part of the media mostly. Of course they wanted access. Of course none would be granted them. But now that something was going on, they felt impelled to act.

Koesler followed the nurse through the door. “How is he?”

She shook her head. “His condition has deteriorated somewhat. The doctors don't want to do anything invasive at present. It's now that we count mainly on his will to live. He asked to see you. That's a good sign. But he's aware how critical his condition is. Don't stay too long. And”—she turned a steady gaze on him—”try not to excite him.”

She ushered Koesler into a fairly good-sized room that appeared smaller than it actually was. This, Koesler thought, was due to the life-support system and monitors that encompassed the patient.

There was no sound save the whisper of oxygen and the soft ping of the heart monitor.

Koesler had been in many a hospital room over the years. He was no stranger to ICU facilities. The fact that George Wheatley was hooked up to a near cobweb of tubes and wires was not surprising. Nor did any of this equipment speak to a healthy person. George Wheatley was badly injured. He looked and acted it.

The nurse left the room. The whistles, beeps, and pings would keep her well informed of the patient's condition.

“George …” Koesler spoke a bare decibel above a whisper.

Wheatley opened his eyes and focused on Koesler. A quarter of a smile was all he could muster. “A … a little while ago, one … one of my … Anglican buddies … gave me … the Ministration to the Sick. I … I hope you don't mind.”

“Of course not …

“George, are you sure you want to talk? Maybe it would be better if you just rested. You did get bounced around quite a bit.”

Wheatley rotated his head slightly to the right, then to the left. Quite obviously he wanted to communicate something. No matter if it cost him dearly. “That phone call …” He spoke haltingly, effort-fully, his words barely audible.

“Maybe we'd better get into that later.” Koesler, of course, knew to what phone call Wheatley referred. But as eager as he was to test his theory, he was reluctant to cause Wheatley more grief.

“Now.” George sounded like an angry man who had run out of patience. Actually, he was just trying to conserve his energy so he could continue to communicate.

“Okay. You were called to the phone just as the ceremony was about to begin. It turns out you are notorious for not being able to ignore a ringing phone. We assumed that whoever called probably knew that. We also assumed that it was the caller's purpose to detain you long enough so that you would not be injured by the explosion.

“Since no one showed up to go to confession to you, we connected the bomber to the caller. But whoever he was, the caller did not consider the possibility of an inquisitive Father Farmer.

“You have said all along that you did not recognize the voice on the phone … that it was muffled and not distinguishable. It was clear enough to be understood, but not to be identified—”

Wheatley appeared agitated. He broke into Koesler's narrative. “I … couldn't … be … sure.”

“But you had a suspicion?”

George nodded slowly, painfully. “How … did … you … know?”

“Everytime I was with you and the question of the caller's identity came up, you seemed to grow ill at ease.”

Again a bare smile. “Yes.”

“I'll save you the trouble. Did you think it might have been Ron?”

“Might.”
George emphasized that he couldn't be certain of the caller's identity, though, of course, there was a possibility. “But … why?”

“That has puzzled all of us,” Koesler said, choosing his words carefully. “The question of who made the call began to become more important than who planted the bomb … if they were indeed not one and the same person.”

“If … Ron … why?”

Koesler, careful not to dislodge any of the tubes or wires, moved his chair closer to the bed. “Last night, on a hunch, I tried to match what happened to you with some biblical event. Almost everyone who is either related to you, associated with you, or is an actual suspect in this case has some familiarity with the Bible, to a greater or lesser degree.”

Wheatley nodded as vigorously as he was able. Koesler took this to mean that George himself had already been down this path. Unsuccessfully.

“I won't bother you with all the dead ends I ran into. But think for a moment of Abraham and Isaac.”

George was, of course, quite conversant with the famous story. But even after several moments' thought, his expression indicated that he saw no connection.

“Turn it around,” Koesler said. He allowed several moments for George to do this. “Now, pretend that the son was on a divine mission to sacrifice his father. Assume that instead of Abraham being told by the voice of God to kill and offer Isaac as a burnt offering, Isaac is told to sacrifice Abraham.

“In Abraham's case, God was testing Abraham's faith. In your case, you were about to betray your faith. Driven by the voice of God—and perhaps one other person … but we'll get to that later—Ron prepared to make of you a sacrifice.

“Once Abraham passed the test—proving beyond all doubt that his faith was strong enough to actually kill his own son, an angel stopped the proceedings, and Isaac was saved.

“Ron had one test for you. A test that would convince him that you didn't really believe in this heretical Roman Church. If you passed this test, you would be spared. Just as, if Abraham passed
his
test, Isaac would be spared.