“I’ll...I’ll need help.”
“Decker and Molinari will be on their way on the jet. We’ll hangar it at LaGuardia so it will be at your disposal when you secure this relic. You’ve got the credit card—charge anything you need. And if you require cash, I can wire that within minutes. Spare no expense, Emilio. This is more important to me than anything else in the world. Remember that.”
“Yes, Senador.”
He hung up. Madre! How in the world was he ever going to pull this one off?
He shook himself. Why worry about it? As long as this thing in the church remained surrounded by a crush of people twenty-four hours a day, there was no possible way the Senador could expect him or anyone else to steal it.
VATICAN: THE LADY IS OURS!
ROME (AP) The Vatican released a statement today claiming the so-called Manhattan Madonna as property of the Catholic Church.
“The object was discovered on Church property and therefore must be considered Church property unless and until other ownership can be established,” contended Cardinal Pasanante, spokesman for the Vatican.
“Too much publicity attends this object already,” the statement reads. “It has become the focus of devotion of hysterical proportions. This is of great concern to the Holy Father. The Church intends to investigate the many claims of miracles associated with the object, and to substantiate the object’s authenticity, if possible.”
When questioned about Israel’s prior claim on the Madonna, Cardinal Pasanante replied, “We are disputing that.” When asked what the Church would do if the object should be proven to be the remains of the Virgin Mary and if Israel’s claim to ownership is upheld, the enigmatic cardinal replied, “There are too many if’s in that question.”
(The New York
Post
)
IN THE PACIFIC
15o N, 136o W
Quantas flight 902 out of Sidney encounters a massive storm along its route to Los Angeles. Faced with a raging front of swirling clouds, the pilot pushes the L-1011 to another 5,000 feet in altitude and angrily radios back to Sydney. He was told there was no weather on his flight path and here he is facing a monster.
The reply comes that radar shows no sign of the slightest storm activity at flight 902’s location.
The pilot tells Sydney to get its radar fixed because the mother of all supercells is moving northeast along his course.
TEHRAN: IT’S ALL A ZIONIST PLOT!
Ayatollah Seyed Ali Khamenei proclaimed from Tehran in a message to all Islam that the conflict between Israel and the United States over the supposed remains of the Virgin Mary is “a fiction, a plot cooked up between Zionist Israel and its puppets in the United States.” He further went on to state that the miracles associated with this false relic are as fictitious as the ownership conflict. “The infidels’ pitiful attempts to confuse the faithful by presenting false miracles that call into question the great Mohammed’s place as Allah’s one true phosphate will fail. Do not listen. It is the voice of Satan speaking!”
(The Daily
News)
TWENTY
Manhattan
Carrie turned away from the steaming stove and wiped the perspiration from her face. Hot down here. She saw Dan sitting in the corner staring at the floor.
“Why so glum, Father Dan?”
He looked up at her. The usual sparkle was gone from his eyes, replaced by a haunted look.
I don’t know.” He sighed as he leaned back in the chair. “Don’t you get the feeling that everything’s spinning out of control?”
“No,” she said, and meant it. “Just because we can’t see where events are leading doesn’t mean they’re out of control. We may not be in the driver seat, but that doesn’t mean we’re on a runaway bus.”
“Is anybody in the driver seat?”
“Always.”
He jerked his thumb toward the ceiling.”I’ll tell you something. No one’s in charge up there in St. Joe’s. It’s chaos.”
“Confused, maybe, but it’s not anarchy.”
“Talk to Father Brenner about that, why don’t you. He’s got a slightly different take on the situation.”
They’d both received a dressing down for opening the church to the Mary-hunters. They’d expected that. Father Brenner had lost control of his church—he couldn’t close it at night, couldn’t say Mass for his regular parishioners, couldn’t get on with the day-to-day business of the parish. Every square inch of St. Joseph’s, from the rear of the sanctuary to the vestibule, down the front steps and into the street, was occupied by a restless, weary mass of humanity in every imaginable state of dress and health.
Father Brenner placed the blame on Dan and Carrie.
Carrie’s order had restricted her to the convent until proper disciplinary action could be taken. Carrie refused to submit to what she saw as house arrest and, much to the dismay of Mother Superior, went about her usual duties at Loaves and Fishes. She’d broken her vow of obedience so many times already she couldn’t see what difference it made if she kept on breaking it. Besides, she’d made a vow to the Virgin to protect her and always stay near—that vow superseded all others.
“Father Brenner should be honored this is happening in his church. So should you. This is the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to any of us. Or ever will “
Dan shook his head slowly and smiled. “I wish I could look at everything like you do. I wish I could work a room like you do.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I wish I could get people to respond to me like you do. You move through those people upstairs like an angel. They’re hot, tired, sick, irritable, and hurting. Yet you squeeze by, say a few words as you pass, and suddenly they love you.”
Carrie felt her cheeks reddening. “Come on...”
“I’m serious. I watch you, Carrie. And believe me, you leave a sea of happiness in your wake. Sounds corny, I know, but I see the smiles that follow you. I see the love in their eyes, and they don’t even know you. You have that effect on people.”
Carrie hesitated, trying to frame a reply, and then the phone rang. Dan picked it up.
“Hello?...Hi, Brad. Fine. Yeah, she’s right here. Hang on.”
He passed the phone over to Carrie, then waved as he took the tunnel back to the rectory.
“Hi, Brad,” Carrie said. “What’s up?”
“It’s Dad.”
Carrie groaned. “Now what?”
“He could be on his way out.”
She’d heard that before.
“What is it this time?”
“They were just getting ready to send him back to the nursing home when he had another heart attack. A bad one. They’ve moved him into the coronary care unit.”
Carrie said nothing, felt nothing.
“He’s asking for you,” Brad said.
“What else is new?”
“The doctors say he’s not going to make it this time. He’s on a respirator, Car. He looks like hell...”
That’s where he’s going.
“...and I just wish, before he dies, you could find some way to forgive—”
“How can I forgive what he did to me?” she said in a fierce whisper. “How?”
“God forgave—”
“I’m not God!”
“At least give him a chance to say he’s sorry.”
“Nothing he can say—”
Brad’s voice rose. “You’re better than he is, Carrie! Act like it!”
And then he hung up.
Carrie stared at the receiver, stunned. Brad had never yelled at her before. Never lost his temper.