“There is no loyalty that trumps the law.” Joey was resolute.
“But you believe in God’s law. So, if man’s law contradicts God’s law, what side are you going to align with?”
“In my country, because we acknowledge that there is a God and affirm that our basic rights come from him, our laws strive to be consistent with God. Therefore I see no conflict. Again, I didn’t come here to have a theological discussion in the abstract. Do you plan to help me find Sicard or not?”
“Abortion is legal in America. How do you reconcile that with the law of God?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with…”
“Indulge me, please,” the Monseigneur said, as sweetly as a grandfather asking for another piece of cherry pie.
Joey resisted the urge to utter, Oy. “Okay, abortion is legal because of judicial fiat. It is not in our constitution and the whole issue is still a matter of much debate. In time, America may go another way. But yes, in that instance it is not God’s law. But it is the will of the people and God gave the people not only will, but the gift to exercise that will.”
“Everything you said then is irrelevant because you can arrest a priest who obstructs an abortion.”
“Look, where are you going with this? Am I wasting my time here?”
“I will not help you. I find you to be not of a proper Catholic mind.”
Joey went where he didn’t want to go. “If that’s your final answer, then I am going to have to ask you where you got that ring.”
The Monsignor glanced down but remained silent.
“The Knights of the Sepulchre; you wear the ring and so does Sicard. Therefore, I will consider you a hostile witness, and I thank you for wasting my time. I’ll show myself out, come on, Frank. ”
The Monsignor turned as Joey was walking out. “How do you know of the Knights?”
“I think we are finished here. And based on your lack of cooperation, I intend to make sure the Knights are finished as well.”
Joey had reached the street before Father Mercado caught up with him. “That was really intense.”
Joey stopped and turned. “Look, Frank. Maybe you didn’t get what just happened in there, but a technical state of war now exists between the United States and the Knights; and you are in the wrong uniform.”
“That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”
“I am going to rain a shit-storm of American law down on him, the Knights, and the Pope if I have to. That man went too far in questioning my faith when he’s the one hiding something that could get people killed. So, you better unhook from me, Frank, or get splattered with the mess I am going to make.”
Joey stormed off down the street leaving Frank shocked. His mind reeled with the dilemma he faced. He also thought the Monsignor had been out of line, but to say that out loud would surely mean he’d wind up in some dirt-floored hovel, teaching scripture to Aborigines a thousand miles from a telephone. He would have had no problem with that assignment when he was a young priest, but after Paris — it gave him pause. Frank watched Joey turn the corner; then looked back at the residence, then back to the corner, and finally capitulated to his religion and walked back to the residence.
Joey’s cell phone rang. It was Bill. “Joey, I got a little present waiting for you when you get back to the embassy.”
Joey entered the Secure Conference room at the American embassy in Paris, which had become his and Brooke’s de facto office.
Brooke was shaking her head as she reviewed the scanned documents on the large monitor in front of her. “Joey, between us we got forty years of investigative experience. How does Hiccock the science guy do this? Look at what he sent us.”
Joey’s jaw dropped, because on the screen was the CIA dossier on Sicard. “Son of a bitch, he was a spook?”
“‘Was’ being the operative word. Looks like he went rogue after the Beirut bombings.”
As the images scrolled, it was clear he was no Lloyds of London insurance salesman. “This guy has black ops methods and training. Where did Bill get this?”
“Someone named Clay. Do you know him?”
Joey smiled. “I only know his reputation, and I can see it wasn’t exaggerated. Brooke, can you boil all this down into some usable intel?”
“Actually, Joey, I was ordered back to Washington. I delayed my flight when this came in.”
“What’s back in Washington?”
“Naval Board of Inquiry into Mush…Captain Morton’s whale episode.”
“Going to put on your old JAG insignia?”
“No, but I am a witness and I can bird-dog the defense and make sure they aren’t missing something. How did it go with the Monsignor?”
“Infuriating. We could be on the verge of a diplomatic war between the Vatican and Uncle Sam.”
“He wouldn’t give up Sicard?”
“He wouldn’t give up the ghost,” Joey said, noting that the document now on the screen was a scan of Parnell Sicard’s death certificate.
Maybe it was because he was also an American, or maybe because of the way the Monsignor insulted Joey, but Father Frank Mercado of the Paris Diocese was a little less enamored with his immediate superior. Halfway back to the residence, he turned and went to back to his church instead. As he sat in the Great Cathedral he prayed to Saint Sophia for wisdom.
Afterward, he walked down the Left Bank of the River Seine. He watched long, low-slung dinner boats glide under bridges adorned with gold-clad statuettes. Tourists breezed along the cobblestones, while above the beam of light from atop the Eiffel Tower arced across the night sky. He liked Joey. He didn’t see him as a cop, but more as a kid in the church. Frank liked the way Joey was reverential to the church, yet respectful in his career choice away from the calling to service for his country. It made him wonder how the monsignor could be opposed to a man like Joey. In theology, Frank had learned that without faith as a counterbalance, people are motivated by what they fear. It was obvious Joey’s fear was for his country. But the Monsignor’s fear must have been more personal, and that should not be. The pious shepherd should fear nothing of his personal existence; only that of the flock! Yet…
The sound of people singing “Happy Birthday” rolled over the water and echoed off the stone walls of the river walk as a bateau slipped along the river. The half American and half heavily French accented strains, the latter obviously from the local waiters, who learned all the major language salutations of one’s anniversary of birth, made Frank smile. Especially when they sang Happy Birthday dear, Fra-ank, Happy Birthday to you. That was the trouble with single syllable names. You have to force them to be two syllables in order to fit the music of the American “Happy Birthday.” To-om, Fra-ank, Mi-ike, Su-ue. Through the curved dinner boat’s sightseeing windows, he could see a candle-festooned cake being presented to a middle-aged man who, as he had done fifty or so times before, took a deep breath and blew out the candles. Although Frank couldn’t hear it, he knew somebody said, Make a wish.
As Frank continued his contemplative walk through the Parisian night, the little refresher on America made him dwell on his birthdays and life in Philly, which became the cornerstone of a plan he would invoke tomorrow after Friday confessions.
XV. BLOOD TRUCE
Brooke had gotten permission from the East Coast inspector general to wear her uniform during the board of inquiry. This surprised her, as she was also a witness and she wondered if her uniform, with JAG insignia, would be prejudicial to the prosecution. However, she had gotten her wish and if the IG and prosecutor didn’t have a problem, then it was moot.