by C. L. Stone
I was way too curious and distracted by all the prettiness of the building.
Blake forged ahead, checking out the columns at first and then focused on looking up. I followed his gaze. How were we supposed to get to the steeple in this place? And where was it, exactly?
Doyle’s voice echoed in the room still. “Maybe we should have brought a ladder.”
“There’ll be a stairwell,” Blake said. “The steeple should have a bell in it. There would be an access door somewhere.”
I scanned the area, seeking out anyone who might be listening. The church was open, so there had to be someone here. Who stayed so late at a church? Priests? How could we explain our need to climb the steeple?
I was walking on my toes as it was. The heels were making clicking sounds if I walked normally. I stood as close as possible to Blake.
Blake quietly reached for my hand, holding it. I allowed it, feeling stronger. I wasn’t a shy type of person, but I was completely out of my element here. I didn’t do church.
Blake circled around the room, finding a door on the left hand side. He turned to us. “I’ll go up with Doyle,” Blake said. “We’ll just turn it off and we’ll wait here in the pews. Someone will have to pass by here to fix it. We can relax until then.”
“Right,” Doyle said. “And then we flank him? Knock him out with the big cross? By the way, I didn’t bring a gun. I left mine back at the house.”
“Hopefully it’s not a gang of them,” Blake said. “If it is, we’ll have to settle for staying out of their way and following them. Otherwise, we’ll take a chance on just talking to whoever it is. They’ll want to know their phone service is being targeted.”
“They might turn it off to avoid giving it to anyone else,” I said.
“They’re not going to turn it off if we explain to them,” Blake said. “The man who runs this isn’t an idiot. He’s not going to scare off his customers by shutting the network off. Not unless he has to.” Blake motioned to Doyle to follow him and then directed me to sit in the pews. “We’ll be back.”
“You’re leaving me behind?” I whispered. I did not want to be left alone. It wasn’t like I’d be able to blend in.
“It’ll be a tight fit up here, and I need you to keep a priest busy if one starts heading this way. We shouldn’t be long.” He started to turn and then spun around, climbed down the steps and approached me.
I was backing away, wondering if he’d forgotten something and needed to get by me, when he grabbed my shoulders and kissed me roughly on the lips. It was quick but hard and then he released me.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he said. “And don’t get kidnapped.”
My heart fluttered. I nodded. Maybe I should have told him no, or backed away, but I was terrified of making another wrong move, and grateful he was taking over the fight. His strength and assurance was giving me the motivation to keep going, and not to simply run off to the hospital and feel the guilt of knowing Axel and Marc and now Brandon were out there somewhere.
It surprised me how much I realized now that I did need someone. I’d realized it before with the boys, and now, with Blake Coaltar, I was feeling it again. There was that doubt if I was making the right decision, and working together with someone made things easier. When I wasn’t sure, because it was out of my depth, someone else was there to help.
I hadn’t realized how alone I’d been, even while I had Wil and my father around. It hadn’t been enough.
Blake disappeared behind a door with Doyle. I was grateful not to be following. Even if the church was open, it was more reasonable for me to be out in the chapel than the non-public areas. It wasn’t like they’d let just anyone climb all over their church, right? I wondered if nuns slept here. Would Blake and Doyle spook a nun?
I slinked between the columns and the walls, studying the glass windows and trying to read the words. Some of it was in Latin, but some I struggled to read because of the angle and the fancy fonts, but I admired the artistry. How was it so quiet, but my heart felt like it was alive and thundering so hard?
“Good morning,” said a male voice in a whisper, but the voice was deep, so it echoed within the cavernous space. “Early morning, I should say.”
I jumped and twisted, spotting an older man with a priest’s habit, white collar and rosary, the whole getup. I hadn’t realized they still wore all that. His hair was cropped short and he had a thin frame. He stood there smiling, his eyes friendly and curious.
When my heart settled, allowing me to breathe a bit, I pressed a palm to my chest and exhaled. “Uh...”
“Sorry,” he said, again in the same soft voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Did you have any questions? Is there something I could help you with?”
“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, I didn’t mean to be here if I’m not supposed to...”
He held up a hand and smiled assuredly. “God’s children are always welcome here, no matter the hour. Please,” he said, and gestured around him, “look around as much as you’d like.”
“Oh. Okay,” I said, lowering my voice to match his whisper, although I wasn’t sure my voice carried the same as his did. My eyes cut from him, to the colored glass above our heads, meaning to turn away and let him resume...whatever it was priests did.
“Do you know this story?” he asked. He sidled up beside me. He pointed to the picture within the glass, of a man carrying a cross who I’d thought to be Jesus. “St. Dismas, the good thief.”
I smothered my initial reaction to choke and sputter. “Oh?” I said, my voice weakened, my tired brain going wild. He did know. He knew I was a thief. He knew my background. Doyle was right. Churches were evil. It’s not what I really believed, but the coincidence was spooky.
The priest nodded and smiled, directing his gaze to the window, carrying my attention there. “St. Dismas was one of two thieves sacrificed on the cross the same day as our beloved Jesus Christ. It was Dismas who, upon the day of his death, turned to Jesus and asked to be remembered. Jesus promised to be with him in heaven that very day.” He paused for a long moment, and then continued, his voice much softer. “I always liked the story. I feel it shows it’s never too late for anyone to seek forgiveness and be given a second chance. All it takes is a will, a desire to change.”
I swallowed, and hoped he didn’t notice. “Personally, I like the one where Jesus feeds a couple thousand people with a fish.” I probably got that one wrong. Honestly, it was the only one I could remember.
The priest chuckled, the bass in his voice echoing throughout the chapel. “I have to agree,” he said quietly. “That is a good one.”
“Have you been here at this church a long time?” I asked. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and at the same time, the priest was looking at me, like he desired to continue the conversation. I felt awkward and small, like a child, even though he was shorter than me and I could probably knock him over with a single punch. He simply carried himself confidently and there was something even greater than that: trust. He simply trusted me to behave and not do him any wrong.
“Oh, a long time,” he said. He turned, with his hands clasped behind his back, walking toward the next window. He did this as we talked, pausing briefly before a window and giving me a moment to look, before he continued on. “I am fifty three and I’ve resided in this church for thirty years. Charleston and even John’s Island has changed a lot in that time. I’ve been given opportunities to go elsewhere, even on missionary work in Africa. I felt compelled to stay in one place.”
“Why stay?” I asked. “Why here?”
He shrugged and his fingers moved to the rosary hanging at his waist. He fingered the beads absently. “Some people move about from place to place, learning a little about a lot of different places. I chose to remain, and learn all I can about one. I get to know the people better that way, and how I might help.”
If he’d been here a while, there was a chance he knew the Murdock family. Maybe it wasn’t appropriate, but I had
a gut feeling and I took a chance. “Do you know a Mr... Murdock? Ethan Murdock?”
“Ethan? Of course.”
“Does he attend church here?”
The priest laughed, and stopped in front of the altar with the cross and the candles. He turned to me. “Yes, I know Ethan. I’ve known him since he was young and I first started here. He’s a remarkable young man. Full of ambition, like his father. Maybe a little prideful but I don’t think a little pride is wrong. Just a smidgen. He’s earned it.”
“He has?” I asked.
The priest nodded, motioned to the front pew and encouraged me to sit. I did, and he sat next to me, looking up at the front of the chapel as he talked. “Ethan Murdock was younger than you the day he walked in. He’d been raised right, but was a hellion of a teenager, rebelling against his parents. Everyone goes through that phase, but then one day, he seemed to change. He walked in here, giving nearly half of his yearly salary to the church. Each year after that, he’s continued to make donations in hefty sums, asking that we use the money to help with children and local families. I think he suspected he’d never have any, or wouldn’t settle down, and wanted to be sure to support children that he’d never have.”
“So do you see him often now?”
“He attends nearly every church in the area, I hear. He’s not a regular to a particular one, but he does come in often.”
Because he’s got a network of underground cell phone services in your bell towers. I wasn’t sure I could admire the man that would use a church for profit. No wonder he made donations. He probably only did it because he felt guilty.
But if he started when he was a teenager, then wouldn’t that have been before the cell phone network?
“Does he spend much time here? In weird places? Like in the steeple?”
The priest’s smile warmed. “What has you curious about the steeple? Are you an architecture student?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to go with that answer, but then this was a church, and he was a priest… “I...was just...” Coming up with another answer that wasn’t an out and out lie was difficult. How could I explain it?
There was an echo of a door further down the chapel closing. My first reaction was to check the door Doyle and Blake had disappeared behind, to see if they were returning, but the sound was from the wrong direction. I turned, as did the priest.
The priest was closer to the door and blocked my view, but he straightened and smiled. “You can ask him yourself. Seems like God is intervening. Mr. Murdock just walked in.”
I stiffened. It was his wedding night, and after midnight. This couldn’t be coincidence. Did the priest call Ethan when he’d heard people coming in? Or was there an alarm on the tower up in the steeple? He was here too quickly, it seemed. Doyle and Blake weren’t even back yet.
Ethan Murdock, the same man who had shown me his observatory and had been nice to me, taking time out to entertain his fake niece amid the flurry of his own wedding reception, was now walking down the center aisle of the church toward us. He smiled and walked steadily, although there were shadows under his eyes. This was a man who worked hard and enjoyed his work. Driven.
My heart fluttered. I realized the Academy might have followed him from his house to check out what he was up to. By now they ought to know this was Ethan Murdock. Also, if he was here, that meant Alice and her goons might have followed. Eddie might have, too. Worlds were colliding.
He was a walking target and out in the open.
“Dear Ethan,” the priest said, standing. He held out his hand toward Ethan’s. “Good to see you. You’re here at an interesting time.”
“Sorry about that,” Ethan said. “I couldn’t sleep. It was my wedding day tonight. Yesterday, I mean. Is it one yet? So technically it was yesterday.”
“I heard,” the priest said. “It was downtown, wasn’t it? At St. John’s? Such a beautiful setting.”
“How could I possibly pick among all the lovely churches in the area?” Ethan asked. “Really, I left it up to my wife to choose.” He kissed the hand of the priest and then grinned and turned to me, looking both surprised and unsure. “Goodness. I thought you were my dear little cousin for a minute there. You look just like her.”
I realized now that perhaps he had been drunk the night before. That and with Mr. Anderson’s baggy clothes on and the way I must have looked, it was enough to not realize I was the same person.
“She had some questions for you, I think,” the priest said.
“Oh?” asked Ethan.
“Yes,” the priest said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some things to attend to. God’s work goes on.” He bowed his head and then nodded to each of us. He walked off toward the main doors of the chapel.
Ethan stood, with a dumbfounded grin and innocent eyes. He wore a dark, long coat, and leather shoes. His hair was combed, though he had a little flip in the front, making him appear younger than I’d suspected the night before. “Was there something you needed help with?” he asked.
This was it. My chance to ask him outright. He was in danger without realizing, and he might be the only one who could fix everything. My only problem was that I was a complete stranger. I could be wrong about him and he was a part of this, but somehow I doubted it. He seemed innocent. Convincing him might be tricky, especially if he was masking something that was illegal.
I nodded at him, scrambling for the words to begin. “I know you don’t know me,” I said quietly. “And you’ve got no reason to listen to me or believe a word I say but...”
He unbuttoned his coat, his smile fixed. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m not going to bite.”
I swallowed, trying again. It was a risk to start talking about it, but I had a gut feeling about Ethan. He was an innocent caught in the middle of this, and his cell phone service was killing people he didn’t even know. He had to be made aware. If he had other family members, they were at risk, too. “Your phone service,” I said. “The one connected to the church steeples.”
Ethan tilted his head, his eyes glinting with surprise. “What?” he asked.
“I know about it,” I said. “But more importantly, others do, too. And they’re all fighting to get a hold of the technology. They want to break into the core, and access it and...”
“Girl,” he said, holding his hand up to stop me. “What are you on about? What phone service?”
I blinked at him. “The...cell phone service. The antenna in the steeples. Murdock’s Core.”
“I have a core,” he said quietly. “But it isn’t a cell phone service.”
I stared at him, his confession making me unsure of my next move. “Some people believe it is,” I said. “And they want access to it. There have been deaths, murders...”
His eyes went wide. “What? Who?”
“Randall. Randall Jones. Do you know him?”
Ethan went pale. “Yes,” he said. “I’m afraid I do. He was a dear friend of the family. I thought he died in an armed robbery.”
I pulled out Mr. Anderson’s extra cell phone I’d taken from his car and pointed to it as an example. Blake and Doyle had the other one. “His phone was stolen,” I said. “And then he was shot and killed. I’ve got reason to believe the murderer wanted the cell phone because it was connected to your...your core. Using your service...or at least they thought.”
Ethan’s eyes lit up with recognition and he took a small step back, putting a palm to his cheek. “Oh dear,” he said. “The core.”
“The ones who are looking for access suspect rich people use it,” I said. “A secret underground cell network that has a security packet. My friend was kidnapped to try to break through the security packet to access the information flowing through it. To try to listen in on phone calls and internet use, I think. Listen for passwords. Use information for blackmail.”
He shook his head, standing taller now. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “That’s not what the core does.”
“What does it do?”
“It’s just a stingray finder. It’s in testing stages. It prevents hacking. It’s not something that runs a network. It just piggybacks on other cell signals, and specific numbers, and follows where it goes. It pinpoints unidentified towers in the area...computers acting as cell phone towers. The police carry some stingrays, the NSA carries them, but criminals do as well. So there are cell phone signals flowing through, but we’re not the source. We’re just a...protective coating. We redirect your signals to the right towers, block unidentified towers, and add an extra layer of encryption since it’s still experimental. And it’s only in beta at the moment, since it’s not stable. The people using it are just volunteers. The security dog packet was the key to it all, thanks to that clever man who invented it.” He squinted at me, absently rubbing at his coat sleeve. “Are you sure they’re killing people over it?”
I couldn’t believe it. Alice and Eddie and the others were chasing something that wasn’t even there. Maybe from the outside, it seemed like a cell phone carrier. An unusual signal, managed by towers, and his friends…all rich people…or in Randall Jones’s case, well off enough to be notable. “Did you tell anyone about this?”
“No,” he said. “I’ve been trying to do it in secret. To be completely honest, I’m not entirely sure it’s legal. I mean, I wish to use it for good, but I know others might use it to make any cell phone untraceable to NSA stingrays...or anyone else trying to listen in or identify.”
I pressed my fingertips to my head, rubbing and trying to figure out who knew the truth, and who was still under the belief this was a secret cell phone service for the rich that could be used to pull data. “Look,” I said. “I don’t have time to go into details, but I think we should go somewhere else.”