Sanctuary Creek

by John Patrick Kavanagh

  “Thanks, Rosie.”

  As he waited for Peter to pick up he stared at the painting at the far end of the office, wondering how much Judas’s payoff would translate today into American currency, taking into account 2,000 years of inflation. What was that worth back then? If one believed the Cult, it was worth everything.

  The most notorious of the encyclicals issued by Sixtus was a convoluted dissertation on the role Judas had played in the history of the Church. Instead of making him out to be the traitorous, treacherous turncoat he was, Sixtus waxed eloquently about the life of Judas and the calling he had experienced, comparing it to those of John the Baptist, the first Peter and even the Nazarene himself. “Some are chosen to create,” Sixtus offered. “And some to destroy.”

  It was one of those insane arguments that presented in the distorted framework Sixtus excelled at made sense even though the reader knew it was literally the pontification of a madman. The premise was that were it not for the betrayal, Jesus might not have been arrested for his heresy. If he weren’t arrested, he might have never been tried and sentenced to death. With no crucifixion, there could be no resurrection. With no resurrection, there could be no conquest of death, so there would be nothing spectacularly unique about Jesus, so he probably would have ended as just a minor prophet in the books.

  A month before the Budokan speech, Sixtus beatified Judas Iscariot, the opening step toward for sainthood.

  Everything changes everything.

  “Terry?”

  “Good morning, Sir.”

  “Is the line secured?”

  “Hold on.”

  Samson pressed the button and the line whirred. “Secured.”

  “Mary Beth told me she had a wonderful time with you last night. I’m so glad the two of you enjoy each other’s company. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “It was really nice to see her again. She’s quite a woman.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way. I’ve been worried about her lately, this catacomb she’s been crawling into. From what she told me over breakfast, it sounds like you just might be drawing her out of it. I think that’s good. I think that’s good for both of you.” He paused. “Find anything about Silver Piece in Juan’s files yet?”

  “Not yet. I’m working on it, though.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably nothing. If it didn’t come up on the computer, it’s probably nothing. You did try putting it in as an access code though, didn’t you?”

  “I tried Silver Piece, two words. Then I tried Silverpiece, one word. Tried some spelling variations. Nothing.”

  “Really.”

  “I’ll give it another try, though. Maybe there’s just a gremlin. There are a couple files that seem unique, ones the rig won’t let me into.”

  “What are they?”

  “Do the abbreviations STO or IOT mean anything to you?”

  “Not off the top of… IOT could be the International Oversight Treaty. Juan is on the… he was Chair of the Securities subcommittee. STO. STO. The Saint Theresa Organization? Can’t see the connection.”

  “I’ll keep trying.”

  “Oh, Terry?”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “There’s something I want to ask you.”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “You know Angelique Caulfield, don’t you?”

  He felt as he’d been casually tossed down the garbage shoot of a high-rise, his entire being plummeting toward a massive, messy bin filled with the throwaways of residents who wanted nothing more than to have the trash out of their lives. This was the question he knew could track him like an opportunistic, illegitimate child.

  “I met her the night of the SSF banquet.”

  “Do you like her?”

  “She’s… we talked… uh… why?”

  “Just curious. Sometimes, and I know this may sound strange to you, we get reports of all kinds of crazy things that no one would ever believe. It comes in in bucketfuls.”

  “So what do you want to know?”

  “It’s nothing. One of those quirky pieces of information or misinformation or disinformation that crosses my desk so seeing I’ve got you on the line, let me run it by you.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Now don’t take this personally. You get to a point in your life like you have… Once you get up to the top of the hill, or at least near it, people start taking pot shots. Know what I mean?”

  “I think so.”

  “After a while you just don’t pay any attention to it anymore. People start with all kinds of stories and you just can’t pay any attention to them.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “So don’t take this question… I’m just asking it to clear another piece of paper off my desk.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “When you were at the SSF affair, you didn’t by chance also engage in one with Ms. Caulfield, did you?”

  Samson stared at the painting at the other end of the office, the coins being handed over to the traitor so he could save his own ass, damn anyone else.

  “No. Sir.”

  “Good. As soon as I saw that report, I knew it was too ridiculous, even for you.”

  “Anything else?”

  “That order I gave you? About Carter Sherwood and the Party gang?”

  “Yes?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “What are your plans for lunch?”

  “Hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Come over to the mansion about one. Back door. Wear a pair of jeans or something. We’ll order in Italian beefs, greasy fries and extra peppers from Chang’s Deli.”

  “Great.”

  “Maybe Clarence’ll join us.”

  “Anyone you want.”

  “I know, Terry. It’s been that way for four years now.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  As soon as Peter disconnected, Samson pressed 2124, an extension six floors below.

  “Sherwood. Partytime.”

  “I absolve you from your sins…”

  “…In the name of the Father, dear Cardinal Primovich…”

  “…and of the Son…”

  “…let’s see. Got to be Jeff Gayle…”

  “…and of the Holy Spirit.”

  “Which has to be yours truly. How come you callin’ me, Eminence? I thought I was on the Peter Piper’s infallible stab list?”

  “He said I could resume contact with Party worker bees.”

  “I’m surprised. You’re gettin’ a little too much bad press down here on the Tray.”

  “I am?” Samson asked, knowing Carter’s inflection meant it.

  “Yes, you am.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know who’s behind it. Got a feelin’ it’s the Ace Religionware boys. Like one rumor—I love this one—is that you’re getting Jeff’s job. He ain’t real happy about that one. I talked to him a little while ago and he’s real curious about where that came from.”

  “I don’t know nothing about it.”

  “Would you tell me if you did?”

  “All I know is I want to be back to Party.”

  “If you see Jeff, walk the other way, will you? I don’t want the assignment of mopping up after the evisceration.”

  “Really, Carter,” Samson protested. “I’d tell you if I knew something and all I know right now is that… Jeff must realize I don’t have the chops for…”

  “Hang on. I got another call.”

  “Right.”

  Don’t have the chops for it? He questioned himself. He’d already been placed in the Cabinet, the first noncleric to have ever held such a position. So why was being put in charge of the Party such an unlikely proposition? There had been talk over the past year, not to mention an article by Morgan Fitzgerald in RCCTW, that perhaps Gayle was no longer the choice of Archie Knight to have the top spot down on three.

  “Yeah,” Carter said as he came back on the line.

  “Anyway,” Samson
responded, “who’d think I’ve got the resume?”

  “Evidently someone with the guns. I don’t know who, but be sure and remember me when you enter your kingdom, Anthead.”

  “I will.”

  “Unless you get derailed by your dick, which wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Bein’ in close proximity to Beetsee would be a little more than I could handle. Madon! She’s a full menu. Appetizer. Entre. Dessert. I’d settle for just dessert.”

  “She’s okay.”

  “She’s okay? No. Chell is okay. Delt is more than okay. Sister Tiffany I’d tour from the top down to her very tight bottom. But Little Saint Beetsorama? She wearin’ stilettos today? Have you noticed how they enhance those incredibly long, perfect pins?”

  “No,” Samson fibbed. “What else?”

  “Other hot tips with the initials TPS all over ’em. Mary Beth Rehmer, for one.”

  “I had dinner with her.”

  “And some necking outside the greatest of Catholic cribs?”

  “We went out at the request of a certain individual who could will you out of existence if he had the inclination.”

  “Pete’s datin’ service. That’s right.”

  “Thank you. Next?”

  “How’s Angelique gonna take it, though?”

  “Angelique?”

  “Ann Gelique Call-me-if-you’d-like-to-sow-my-very-fertile Field.”

  “Remember when you were a kid and they told you not to take drugs because they’d screw up your mind?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Did you listen?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I rest my case.”

  “Don’t go takin’ a nap just yet, son. Another spicy story’s making the rounds. One Mr. Gayle is floating past anyone who’ll pay attention to his paranoidial meanderings. This vid stuff is getting a lot of play. Everybody wants to see it if it really exists.”

  “Yeah, and?”

  “Yeah, and the most often proposed male lead, the man they say be cranking Songbird is one Terence P. Samson.”

  “That’s garbage.”

  “I hope so for your sake. How about we have a java.”

  “I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”

  “No. Not here. Prince’s. Twenty minutes. Bye.”

  Samson checked his watch. “Beetsee?”

  She walked in, stationing herself directly in front of the desk, hands behind her back, a pleasant, almost flirtatious expression on her face.

  “Yes, Mr. Secretary?”

  “First of all,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not big on formalities so you can just call me Terry if you want.”

  “I’d like that very much.”

  “I’ve got to go out for a while so if anyone calls, just tell them…”

  “That I think you went down the hall to talk to somebody but I’ll certainly have you get back to them as soon as you can.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Juan and I had that drill refined to a science.”

  Juan? Not Cardinal Castro? Not His Eminence?

  “Juan?”

  “We had a very good working relationship.”

  “He always said you were the best.”

  A hand slowly moved to the top button of her blouse, lingering just long enough for him to appreciate the exclamation point she was adding.

  “I was. I am,” she said, posturing. “He was a fascinating man to work for. I’ve never met anyone who was so bright, so intelligent, so skilled. So in command of situations.” She paused. “It’s a pity he chose the priesthood. Women adore men like that. I adore men like that.”

  “Your… I guess your Ex didn’t cut it.”

  “That’s why he’s my Ex.”

  She rested her weight on one foot, her demeanor changing. “Do you want anything from me?”

  “I wanted to ask you a question.”

  She leaned forward, placing her palms on the desk. “Can I ask you a question first?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you hard at work?”

  She laughed then arched her back.

  “I… why do you… “

  “I used to ask Juan that. On Fridays.”

  Stop. Hold on. Stay in control.

  “Okay. Now let me ask you mine.”

  “Anything you want, Terry.” She resumed her earlier position, hands behind her back, eyes locked on his.

  “Does Silver Piece mean anything to you?”

  “Should it?”

  Think of a way to take that phrase back.

  “It’s a… new band I saw on KINTV last night,” he offered. “Do you like vids?”

  “Not those kind especially. My tastes run to edgier material.”

  She stepped to the media armoire against the wall kitty-corner from the painting, opened the pair of doors, pulled out the center drawer and gestured. He walked across. It contained dozens of DVDs and CDCD7s ranging from the SC Official Tour Guide to new movies to classics to documentaries. Most interesting were boxed sets of the nine Star Wars, the eight Aliens, the three Empires of Ice, the three Angel Junctions and the three Capital Americas.

  “Man! I knew he liked science fiction, but not this much.”

  “Can I trust you, Terry?” she whispered, setting a hand at the small of his back.

  “Of course.”

  “Look in the red leather box.”

  He did. The titles on the spines made seeing the covers redundant.

  “Let’s forget I ever saw these, okay?”

  “I can forget anything if I’m asked to,” she purred. “Or ordered to.”

  I don’t know if your listening, Sir. If this is a test of some kind, I’d like to take a gentleman’s C and be done with it.

  She chuckled, eased to the facing red leather sofa. Sat in a corner then crossed her legs, rocking her ankle just enough so the back of her pump provocatively slid slightly from her heel. “You know GB Fridays?”

  Castro had originated Good Bad Fridays early on and the tradition caught quickly with all of the Secretariats: If the staff knocked out quality work Monday through Thursday, they’d be released noon on Fridays with the Cardinals and a single administrative aide left minding the store until the close of business. But if the labor of the Church wasn’t satisfactorily accomplished in the same period, everyone had to stay until 6:00 p.m. the fifth day. The incentive worked like a charm—a four and a half day work week was the norm not only in Administration but also with most of the other functions, including Party.

  “Did Juan ever tell you how… did he ever tell you the genesis of the GB part?”

  Samson thought a moment. “No.”

  She breathed, hiking the hem of her skirt just enough to reveal the clasps and lace bands securing her stockings. “I always liked them. Like the way they feel, like the way they make me feel. Liked the way they made him feel.” “I really don’t think we ought to… “

  “I wear them most days, anyway. But the rule was that I had to wear one every Friday.”

  Carter was right.

  “So then it was just a matter of waiting for noon to arrive. Then I’d lock the doors. Then we’d play.”

  His impulse was to leave but learning the mystery made it too easy to stay.

  “Have a seat,” she suggested. “Plenty of room. I won’t hurt you.”

  He took the opposite corner as she idly stretched her arm. Rested it atop the cushions.

  “Funny, but I never had a clue how he was… what he had in mind for the afternoon until I’d poured him a glass of wine,” she continued wistfully. “But like any well-tuned lovers, the subtle signals set the scene. If he asked me to turn on the stereo I would, do a nice strip then… “

  He watched as her hand dropped to her knee, a pink fingernail making small circles as she outlined four different scenarios.

  “I’ve got to get to that appointment,” Samson said, standing and stepping away. “Keep m
e covered.”

  “Terry?” she called.

  He glanced.

  “Thanks for your instructions. I’ll look forward to more. Oh, and… something Juan used to always tell me after our trysts?”

  He waited for the rest.

  “He’d say I guess we’ve all got a bit of Sixtus in us.”

  * * *

  The restaurant was unoccupied except for Carter sitting near the windows that fronted onto a small garden terrace at the back of the place, nursing a cup of coffee and reading from a folder. Samson sat down, asking a waitress for a double espresso. The man said nothing until it was delivered and the woman was gone.

  “How about we take this conversation off the record about as far as we can?”

  “Sure.”

  “Some really strange asteroids are coming down or going off or doing some other shit I’m not acquainted with. When push meets shove, I’m mostly interested in the survival of my checking account.”

  “So what else is new?”

  “Lots,” Carter replied, tossing the folder onto a chair and rubbing his eyes. “Just can’t figger… maybe you can help us both out.”

  “Off the record?”

  “Way off.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Listen. Jeff got a seriouso panico attack when all your comps started coming up…”

  “Stop,” Samson ordered. “What comps and when did they start coming up?”

  “He heard it in Washington first. He heard it from somebody he evidently feels gots de rhubarb.”

  “And?”

  “And he heard that as soon as our primo meal ticket gets the nom for term numero duce, El Directory’s gettin’ sent to the scrap heap.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s what Petie Pontiffie and the grande centavo muchachos want done.”

  “But Jeff’s done a great job.”

  “Not the issue, Eminence. Somebody heavy wants him out. Conventional wisdom says Archerio.”

  “They’ll have to figure that out between themselves.”

  “Yeah, they will. But you and I might get caught in between. When the elephants begin to waltz, the field mice get off the dance floor. Comprendo?”

  Samson nodded. He’d seen enough heads roll from the chopping block of Archie Knight to appreciate the implications of being on the wrong side of the flip.

  “And if Jeff takes a dive off Knightorama’s high board, it’s gonna be a real deep one.” Carter cautioned. “He might inflict some of that collateral damage on swimmers below him.”