“That night after I buried them, I looked into the sky and saw so many stars, something I never did before, and wondered if there was something beyond this.” He then raised his hands in indication of his surroundings. “And then I looked for the face of God, looking for any sign or suggestions that He truly existed. The only thing I saw was the stardust glitter of designs and constellations. And then it occurred to me that I had become what the government made me out to be — something without conscience, remorse, and without feeling. It was a label I was proud of until that very moment.”
“Perhaps the face of God came in the essence of enabling you to confront the truth about yourself by discovering your conscience. After all, the true design of God is not how we actually see Him, but how we imagine Him to be,” said the monsignor. “For it is said that God has many faces, but only one voice. In you, Kimball, your epiphany was God’s embracement of you, don’t you see? You did not see Him, but your soul heard Him.”
Kimball didn’t answer.
“Sometimes, Kimball, epiphanies come in the strangest ways. The killing of the children was the enlightenment to your true nature.”
“Then tell me this,” said Kimball. “How can God condone the killing of children?”
The monsignor stared back for a moment before answering. “Do you feel repentant for that action?”
“Of course.”
“Then that’s your answer. God forgives those who are truly repentant for their sins. And because of your true repentance, He embraced you on that night.”
Kimball gnawed on his lower lip. It was amazing how such a heinous act could be so easily explained away and justified. It was no different than the mindset of suicide bombers.
“Kimball?”
Hayden met the monsignor’s gaze.
“Do you feel that saving the pope on your last mission was in the interest of the Catholic nation?”
“I do.”
“Do you feel that Pope Pius is a good man?”
Kimball didn’t know where the monsignor was going. “Yes, of course.”
“And those who took him, do you consider them to be good men?”
“Not in my opinion.”
The monsignor nodded. “So you took action against these men” —The monsignor lifted his hands with a cigarette still burning between the fingers of one hand, and with his middle and forefingers of both hands flexed the digits in a gesture of italics when emphasizing the word ‘these’— “to save the life of the pontiff who has nothing but peace as his primary goal, yes?”
Kimball sighed. “Are you coming to a point?”
“My point, Kimball, is a simple one. Before the incident in Iraq with the two shepherd boys, you killed men because it was obligatory and because you wanted to. Am I right so far, at least from what I know of your past as a government assassin?”
Kimball hesitated, then, “So far.”
“But in killing those men to save the pope’s life, was it because you wanted to? Or was it because you had to?”
Kimball considered this for a moment as the monsignor honed in with careful study, his spectacled eyes reminiscent like the lenses of a microscope, his demeanor that of scientific appraisal.
While working as a black-op assassin for a group attached to the CIA, Kimball killed out of commitment. In the sense of Vatican convention, however, he killed if a peaceful solution was not soluble and self defense his only option.
“And there’s the difference,” the monsignor intuited. “You used to kill because you were amenable to the opportunity. But the moment you became an emissary of the Church as a Vatican Knight, and staying true to your epiphany and remaining repentant for past sins, you now take a life not because you want to… but because you have to. Saving the life of the pope can only be viewed as a necessity borne from goodness, despite the harsh methods taken to achieve the means. Even God sees the right of good men to champion the cause as savior for those who cannot defend themselves against uncontested evil.”
For a brief moment Kimball’s emotions vacillated from gratefulness to subdued anger. Gratefulness because the monsignor justified Kimball’s actions as a necessity of the Church, if the actions were conducted in principled manner. And subdued anger because terrorists conduct their deadly missions under the same so-called principled banner of their God, easily justifying their heinous crimes the same way the monsignor was easily explaining away Kimball’s killings as justifiable. It was all in the matter of viewpoint and perspective of what one faction’s principle should be. But Kimball saw no difference since one thing was certain in war: both sides always believed to be correct, even though their principles were miles apart. How easy it was to explain things away and justify them at the same time, he thought.
“I don’t think salvation lies at my end,” he proposed.
The monsignor fell back into his seat and stamped the cigarette out in the ashtray, his gaze remaining studious as he again tented his hands in steeple fashion. “Salvation lies at everyone’s end,” he told him. “And the mystery of what lies beyond will be answered upon the moment of death for everyone. But you have to have faith, Kimball. You need to start believing in the good in yourself, rather than to dwell on a past laden with the sinful wage of pride. Now I believe you when you say you’re truly repentant for past sins, but yet you can’t seem to forgive yourself in your own eyes when you have already been forgiven in the eyes of God.”
“That, Monsignor, is because I don’t believe that anyone can justify terrible acts with simple faith in what we believe God thinks is right. I believe it goes much deeper than that.”
“And that, Kimball, is why you need to see beyond the box and realize that you need to step further away from the darkness you lived in for so long, and step closer to the Light. You may be a high-ranking member in the eyes of Vatican principals, but you are also a man who is very detached from God.”
“That’s because I have seen too much of the real world, Monsignor. And I participated in many things I’m not proud of, things that will make me a castaway on Judgment Day.”
“Perhaps, Kimball, you need to put aside your doubts and open up to Him.”
“You try to make it sound so easy, Monsignor. But it’s not.”
“At least give it a try,” he said. “Go back to your chamber and open up to Him. Pray to God and ask Him to hear you out.”
Kimball shook his head in a nonplussed manner. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Have you ever killed a man?”
The monsignor’s eyes widened, a brief flare, the question catching him off guard. “Lord no, of course not.”
Kimball leaned forward. “When you do, then you come tell me the secret of keeping the memories of those you killed buried so deep they’ll never show up in the middle of the night as horrific images while you’re sleeping, and drive a scream from your throat.”
The monsignor’s shoulders dropped. “Kimball, I can’t perform magic. And I’m obviously not going to make you see a new direction within a few sessions. That’s understandable. But you have to help yourself as well. Although repentance is the first step, you need to open yourself up to Him and embrace Him.” He undid the steeple of his fingers and reached for a cigarette. “All I ask is that you open yourself up and pray with true conviction. That’s all I’m asking… Just for now. Let’s start with that.”
Kimball sat idle, unwilling to state whether or not he intended to make an effort. He truly didn’t know at this point.
“A week from today,” said the monsignor. “Same time as usual. And please don’t be late like you were this afternoon.”