After all, what could be more important than seeing the Blessed Virgin safely to her new Resting Place—wherever that may be?
They hadn’t made love since finding the Virgin, and she sensed that was what was bothering Dan the most. In New York they suffered through much, much longer intervals without so much as touching hands, but that was different. Here they’d been sleeping in the same bed every night and Carrie had put him off again and again. She wasn’t sure why.
After they were resettled in New York, Carrie was sure things would get back to normal. At least she hoped so. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she didn’t feel quite the same about Dan. She still loved him fiercely, but she didn’t want him as she had two weeks ago when they’d left New York for Israel.
Because right now, it just didn’t seem...right.
“We’re taking her back to the hotel with us.”
“What?” She could see his body stiffening with tension. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not? We’re paying for the room and there’s nothing that says we can’t keep a crate in it. Besides, it’s only for two nights.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
She gave him a long, level look. “I assure you, Dan, I am not kidding.”
‡
Dan slipped his arms around her waist from behind and nuzzled her neck. Carrie felt her whole left arm break out in gooseflesh.
“Not now, Dan,” she said, pulling free and stepping away from him. She pointed to the crate. Her voiced lowered to a whisper of its own accord. “Not with her here.”
Two bellmen had lugged the Virgin’s crate up to their second-floor room and left it on the floor by the window. Beyond the window the River Lee made its sluggish way to the sea.
Dan returned her whisper, Elmer Fudd style. “We’ll be vewy, vewy quiet. She’ll never know.”
Carrie had to laugh. “Oh, Dan. I love you, I do, but please understand. It just wouldn’t be right.”
He stared at her a moment. Was that hurt in his eyes? But he seemed to understand. She prayed he did.
He sighed. “All right, then, how about we go down to the lounge and see Hal Roach? He’s only down from Dublin for one night.”
“I don’t think so.” She wasn’t really in the mood for Ireland’s answer to Henny Youngman.
“How about we just go for a walk?”
Carrie shook her head. “I think I’d rather just stay here.”
Dan’s expression tightened. “Watching over her, I suppose.”
She nodded. “In a way, yes.”
“Don’t you think you might be getting just a little carried away with this, Carrie?”
Yes, she thought. Yes, I might.
But the Virgin was here, and so here is where Carrie wanted to be. Simple. She’d waited all this time on tenter hooks for the Virgin’s arrival from Haifa, and she wasn’t about to let her out of her sight until her crate was safely on board the ship in Dublin Harbor.
“I just want to stay here with her, Dan. Is that so bad?”
“Bad? No. I can’t say it’s bad. But I don’t think it’s healthy.”
He stared again, then shrugged resignedly. “All right. This is your show. We’ll do it your way.” He stepped closer and kissed her forehead. “But I do need to get out of this room... stretch my legs... maybe cross the river and grab a pint. I’ll be back soon.”
Before Carrie could think of anything to say, he was out the door and she was alone in the room.
Well, not completely alone. The Virgin was here. She knelt beside the crate and rested her head on its lid. For one shocking, nerve-rattling moment she thought she heard a heartbeat, then she realized it was her own.
“Don’t worry, Mother Mary,” she whispered to the crate. “I won’t leave you alone here. You’ve given me comfort through the years when I needed it, now I’ll stand by you.” She patted the lid of the crate. “Till death do us part.”
‡
The Judean Wilderness
“Why?”
Kesev stood atop the tav rock with the thieves’ rope knotted around his neck and screamed out at the clear, pitiless night sky. “Why do You torment me like this? When will You be satisfied? Have I not been punished enough?”
But no reply came from on high, just Sharav’s ceaseless susurrance, whispering in his ears. Not that he’d expected an answer. All his countless entreaties down through the years had been ignored. Why should this one be any different?
The Lord tormented him. Kesev was not cut out to be a Job. He was a fighter, not a victim. And so the Lord took extra pains to beleaguer him. Not that he was without fault in this. If he had been at his post when the errant SCUD had crashed below, he could have chased off the Bedouin boys when they wandered into the canyon, and hidden the scrolls before the government investigative teams arrived.
And then the Mother would still be safely tucked away in the Resting Place instead of...where?
Where was she?
Gone. Gone from Israel. Kesev had exhausted all his contacts and what limited use he dared make of his Shin Bet resources, but she had slipped through his fingers. He’d sensed the Mother’s slow withdrawal from their homeland. He didn’t know how, or in which direction she’d been taken, but he knew in the core of his being that she was gone.
He also knew it was inevitable that soon she would be revealed to the world and made a spectacle of, a sensational object of scientific research and religious controversy. Why else would someone steal her away?
The Lord would not stand for that. The Lord would rain his wrath down upon the Earth.
Perhaps that was the meaning behind all this. Perhaps the theft of the Mother was the event that would precipitate the Final Days. Perhaps...
Kesev sighed. It didn’t matter. He’d failed in his task and now he could see no need to prolong further the agony of this life. Since his usefulness on Earth was at an end, surely the Lord would let him end his time on earth as well. He would not see the Final Days, and certainly he did not deserve to see the Second Coming. He did not even deserve to see tomorrow.
He checked once more to make sure the rope was securely tied around the half-sunk boulder about thirty feet back. Then he stepped to the edge of the tav and looked down at his Jeep parked below. He’d left plenty of slack, enough to allow him to fall within a dozen feet of the ground. The end would be quick, painless. If he was especially lucky, the force of the final jolt might even decapitate him.
Without a prayer, without a good bye, without a single regret, Kesev stepped off the edge and into space.
He kept his eyes open and made no sound as he hurtled feet first toward the ground. He had no fear, only grim anticipation and...hope.
‡
Cork City, Ireland
Monsignor Vincenzo Riccio wandered through the thick, humid air near Cork City’s waterfront. He’d turned off St. Patrick’s Street and was looking for a place to have a drink. His doctors had all warned him against alcohol but right now he didn’t care. He’d had a long hard day of crushing people’s hopes and fervor, and he needed something. Something Holy Mother Church could not provide. He needed a different kind of communion.
All the pubs on St. Patrick were crowded and he didn’t feel like standing. He wanted a place to rest his feet. He spotted a pair of lighted windows set in dark green wood. “Jim Cashman’s” read the sign, and there was a Guinness harp over the slate where the dinner menu was scrawled in chalk.
Vincenzo peeked through the open door and saw empty seats.
Bono! He’d found his place.
He made his way to the bar and squeezed into a space between two of the drinkers—a space that would have been too narrow for him just a year ago.
Amazing what cancer can do for the figure.
The bartender was pouring for someone else so Vincenzo took a look around. A small place, this Jim Cashman’s—hardwood floor and paneling, a small bar tucked in the corner, half a dozen tables arrayed about the perimeter, a cold fireplace, and two TVs playing the same rugby match.