“She refused to take no for an answer,” said CTC director Jesse Darst. “But nothing shocked me so much as seeing her face in the security videos. Those two destroyed millions of dollars of government property, and worse, stole information that will severely compromise our efforts in the war on terror. Because of them, the lives of American soldiers will almost certainly be at risk.”
What could have brought these two together? What is their ultimate goal? And how long can they evade a national dragnet involving every known law enforcement agency from state to federal?
“They should be considered armed and extremely dangerous,” said FBI assistant director Gordon Howard. “They are now top of the Most Wanted list. I urge anyone with any information about these two fugitives to report it immediately.”
37
“Frankly, Father Lopez, I did not expect to ever see you again.”
The bishop looked distinctly unhappy. He had always been a large man, even in his youth, but now in middle age he had become profoundly stout. Lopez had only interacted with his bishop on few occasions, one of those being the blessing for his ordination. The power structure of his church was very hierarchical and linear, and the bishop surrounded himself with a set of loyal assistants who blocked most efforts toward direct contact. Today had been different. When Lopez and Houston had walked into the office of the regional archdiocese, conversation had come to a standstill. Heads had turned and locked. It seemed that the Red Sea had parted in the room, opening up a pathway for the two fugitives. Lopez did not have the time or the concern for protocol today. He had marched straight into the bishop’s office.
“Why not?” asked Lopez, frustrated. “I have been in contact. I asked for additional time that you granted personally. You knew my schedule and activities.”
The bishop’s eyes widened. “I daresay I have not known of your activities.” He glanced disapprovingly at Houston. “I reluctantly granted you extra time to pursue matters that, frankly, this office considered to be unwise and a sign of emotional instability.”
“What?” Lopez asked incredulously.
“After which you not only find yourself in criminal matters threatening national security but risk your vows in a carnal relationship with this rogue governmental agent.”
“Risk my vows? What are you talking about?”
“As if your past transgressions were not enough!” The bishop threw a newspaper toward him. He instinctively flinched, remembering the morning’s events. On the front page were photos of him and Houston in an embrace, kissing beside a vehicle. The likenesses were perfect. Whoever had doctored the images was a professional. The headline read, “Bond or Lopez? Priest and CIA fugitive spotted in Tennessee.”
“These are fakes,” he said flatly.
“Yes, we assumed you would deny them. Deny what you have done. Just as you have denied the abuse we have too long hidden from the world.”
Lopez sat upright. “What are you talking about? Those charges are utterly false, and you know it!”
The bishop shook his head sadly. “You need help, Lopez. If you can come in here so incensed and deny before me and this Office the truth we are all familiar with, you have become completely delusional.” The bishop reached to the side, picked up a large folder, and dropped it in front of the priest. “Your file. One we have with great sadness been filling over the years with accusation after accusation. Ten years of sewage!”
Lopez flipped through several pages in a daze. “No, this is not possible.”
The bishop seemed to speak from a great distance. “We once held hope for you, Lopez, that you could find through the grace of God and the Church a cure for your perversions. But the demon of lust has you. After your criminal and sinful escapades with this whore from CIA, we woke up to the reality. No more little boys will be harmed, Lopez!”
The bishop stood up behind his desk, his ponderous mass lending an authority to his tone. “As of today, you are by degree of the Office of the Bishop, laicized — defrocked.” Lopez inhaled sharply. The bishop continued without pause. “You are forbidden to exercise ministerial functions of any kind, debarred from celebrating the Sacraments. Formal inquiry into these events, as an inquisition for excommunication, are underway, and I can say with some confidence that the result of this inquiry is not difficult to predict. Your vile actions, dishonoring the Bride of Christ, which is His Church, have rendered you anathema! Take yourself and your whore elsewhere!” He practically spat out the last words.
It was too much. Lopez felt the room spinning, his entire sense of reality becoming unglued. Defrocked? Excommunicated? Accused of child molestation, with evidence over a decade? He felt he was going mad.
There was a metallic click to his right. The sharp reality of that sound broke him out of his mental spiral, and he jerked his head toward the sound. Houston sat with a stern expression on her face, her eyes like glowing sapphires in her head. Her elbow rested on the arm of a chair, the forearm extended in front of her. In her hand was a large gun, the barrel pointed directly at the hulking form of the bishop.
“Bishop Ivy, do you know what this is?” she asked in a hard voice.
The bishop’s eyes were wide, but his tone was still authoritative. “A gun of some kind. Don’t think that you can threaten me! The police are already on their way, a phone call made the minute you arrived.”
Lopez felt his pulse quicken. It was a trap!
“A gun?” she asked derisively. “You are so dismissive. Because of firearms like this, you and the rest of the people in this nation are still free to act like assholes. This gun is a Browning 1911, single-action, 45-caliber semiautomatic. This one was issued to my father in the Korean War. Powerful son of a bitch.”
There was an ear-rupturing explosion, and the bishop screamed. Behind him, to his left, a portion of the wall had been blasted away, dust and flakes falling from the air around them. Sweat began to bead on the bishop’s forehead, and his hands shook. He looked back at Houston and the Browning. Smoke trailed upward from the barrel. Screams, followed seconds later by doors slamming, could be heard from elsewhere in the building.
“See what I mean?” she said. “Halfway through your little monologue I figured you’d called the police. But this is Madison, Alabama. We’re at least thirty minutes from the nearest station or likely patrol car. If they aren’t engaged at the moment. Plenty of time to find out what you’re up to.”
“What I’m up to?” The bishop sat down slowly, his eyes terrified.
“The second time you called me a whore, I thought to shoot you then and there, you pig. But I realized that, as much as I would like to put a hole in you, I’d be losing out on some important information. So, let’s get to the point.” She leaned forward, pointing the gun right at the bishop’s face. “Who got to you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he sputtered, his words sounding false even to Lopez.
Houston sighed and pulled the trigger. The loud blast was followed by a howl of pain from the bishop, as blood splattered the wall behind his shoulder.
“You spawn of Satan!” he gasped angrily, his eyes then turning desperate. He grasped his injured arm, sobbing. “Please. Leave me be. Torment me not for my sins.”
Houston grunted. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Your sins. No doubt that was the key, no?” The flash of his eyes, even in the mask of pain on his face, answered her question. “I don’t care what sins you or your church think you’ve committed. For all I care, this entire place can burn down. Right now, we’ve got the CIA, likely now the FBI, and something even worse hunting us down like animals, cutting off all our paths. I need some answers.” The gun was pointed back at him.