by Allan, Dale
TWO DAYS LATER, WHEN the staff wheeled Luke out of the hospital, there was pandemonium. Crowds lined the streets trying to get a glimpse of him. The Vatican had even sent a special investigation team to Boston. People all over the world were celebrating, with one exception: the followers of Islam.
Many pro-Muslim groups were saying that the police rescued Luke first, even though he wasn’t in imminent danger, and by doing this, Fatih stayed in the freezing water longer than he should have. He developed severe frostbite and as a result had to have both of his feet and several fingers amputated. It was insinuated that Detective Romo was the person responsible for making that decision. When Luke found out about the amputations, he reflected on the irony, considering what Fatih had done to his own mother.
Although Dr. Friedman wanted him to rest, Luke insisted that he say the funeral mass for Vincent at Saint Leonard’s. On his way to the church, he was amazed to see people lining the streets and cheering as his limousine passed. They held signs, threw flowers at the car, and blessed themselves. When his motorcade pulled onto Hanover Street, it was so crowded that they couldn’t move. Ignoring police orders, people surrounded his car and tried to get a glimpse of him through the tinted windows.
It took more than forty-five minutes for Luke to get to the church. Once inside, he sat in his wheelchair in the sacristy. Every prominent church leader was attending the service. Luke asked one of his fellow priests, “Can you please get Vincent’s sister, Trinity? I want to see her before the service.” A few minutes later, the door opened, and Trinity stepped into the room. She knelt down in front of him and cried while he bent over to embrace her.
“Thank you so much,” she said.
Confused, he replied, “For what?”
“For putting Vincent on the phone the other day. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have had a chance to talk to him before he died.”
She looked at Luke and wiped tears from her eyes. “Do you know the last thing I said to him?”
Luke shook his head.
“I told him that I loved him.”
When it was time for the Mass to start, Trinity asked if she could wheel Luke to the altar. Followed by a large procession of priests and altar boys holding candles, they made their way down the crowded aisle. People stood and struggled to get a glimpse of Luke as Trinity pushed the now even more famous priest to the front of the church, with her daughter by her side.
Once on the altar, Luke looked out at the jam-packed church. He thought about the last time he had stood there, for Brad Thompson’s funeral. So much had happened since that day. Then, against the doctor’s orders and to everyone’s amazement, Luke stood, extended his hands out to his sides, and began the service. The image of Luke standing and praying in this position overwhelmed many people in the audience, and they began weeping. Standing for the entire mass, he recounted his last days with Vincent, explaining to everyone that without his help, Luke would have never found Fatih. Luke reiterated that Vincent had helped solve one of the biggest crime mysteries in the history of Boston, and in doing so, had renewed the faith of millions. Luke ended by saying, “Because of this, I’m sure that Vincent was prepared and smiling when God welcomed him home.”
After an extremely moving and emotional service, Luke wanted to have a few minutes alone in the church. For security reasons, he couldn’t attend the burial service at the cemetery. Once the church had emptied, he slowly wheeled himself to the statue of Mary holding the crucified Christ. Finally having a minute to reflect on the events of the past few days, he started to weep. There was no denying the fact that he had put into motion the events that ultimately caused Blade’s and Vincent’s deaths. Was finding Aaron’s killers worth two innocent lives in return? And what about Fatih? Would his incarceration prevent future attacks and inevitably save the lives of many other innocent people? Knowing what he knew now, would he have made the same choices if he had to do it all over again? Looking at the statue while wiping the tears from his face, Luke knew that he would have to bear the burden of these questions for the rest of his life. After several minutes, he finally composed himself and once again thanked God for his protection and guidance in finding Aaron’s killers. Before leaving, he asked for the answer to the one thing that he still hadn’t figured out: Who was the target of the bombing and why?
Once he finished praying, Luke turned and began wheeling himself toward the back of the church. Standing near the exit were two men in dark suits. Luke recognized Mike Dempsey, the FBI agent who had questioned him at Aaron’s house, but he didn’t recognize the man standing next to him. Dempsey flashed an artificial smile and said, “Nice to see you again, Father.” Luke stared suspiciously but didn’t respond. Looking at the other man, Luke extended his hand and said, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Shaking hands, the man replied, “Joe Tanner.”
“Are you also with the FBI?”
Taken aback with Luke’s direct question, the man looked at Dempsey and stammered, “No, I’m with the Justice Department.”
Distrusting Dempsey and wanting to get to the point, Luke asked, “How can I help you?”
Dempsey took charge. “Do you know anything about the deaths of Ismail and Kamilah Abu?”
Luke’s heart raced. “What? They’re dead?”
“Yes. They were found in their compound in Riyadh when it was being searched for evidence.”
“How did they die?”
“They were assassinated. Each one had a single shot fired into the back of the head.”
Luke looked down and said a silent prayer for Fatih’s mother. Dempsey asked, “Do you know where Jamilah Raboud is?”
Ignoring his question, Luke replied, “What does she have to do with this?”
“We want to talk with her.”
Luke answered vaguely but honestly, “I haven’t seen her in a few days.”
Dismissing his answer, Dempsey asked sharply, “Did Fatih say anything to you when he was on the ice?”
Annoyed with his tone and rudeness, Luke sternly replied, “You seem to be fishing for something. What exactly are you looking for?”
“We’re trying to figure out why Fatih planted the bombs.”
Luke sensed that he was holding back information and sarcastically replied, “That’s funny; me too.”
Dempsey stared at Luke and shot back, “You don’t know what you’re getting into. You’d better stay out of this.” Composing himself, he toned down his voice and said, “Leave this investigation to us.”
Luke fired back, “If I would have done that with the bombing, Fatih would still be having fun in Saudi Arabia.”
The door of the church opened, and Detective Romo entered. Seeing Luke with the two feds, he hurried over. When Dempsey extended his hand, the detective ignored it and said, “I know who you are. My men called to tell me that you flashed your badge and ignored their orders to leave the church grounds. In case you didn’t get the memo, Father Miller’s protection is under my jurisdiction. I would suggest you leave unless you want Luke to contact his lawyer.”
Dempsey looked around, smirked, and said, “I thought we were all on the same side.”
Romo positioned himself behind Luke’s wheelchair and replied, “I doubt that.”
Dempsey motioned to his friend from the Justice Department and said, “Detective, just wanted to let you know that Joe will be stopping by the police station to talk to you about the way Fatih was handled the night Father Miller was rescued.”
Romo stopped, turned, and threatened, “If you want to prosecute me for saving a man of God before a mass murderer, I look forward to it. But please, make sure the trial takes place in Boston.”
Tanner spoke up. “All people are equal under the law.”
“Not everyone,” Romo retorted, watching them leave.
When Romo backed out of the church door with Luke, hundreds of cameras snapped and thousands of people screamed. Police officers on horseback now lined the congested street. Surrounded b
y cops, Luke was ushered into a waiting limo. Once away from the crowds and back on the main road toward Aaron’s house, he tried to relax.
He felt his phone vibrating and looked at the display. Despite the fact that it was a private number, he decided to answer it anyway.
She was in a panic. “Luke, are you all right?”
He immediately knew who it was. “Yes, Jami, what’s wrong?”
“I only have a few seconds. Fatih’s mother and father have been killed.”
“I know; two FBI agents just told me. I can’t believe that Layth had them executed. I thought they would get a fair trial. Fatih’s mother was innocent.”
She broke in. “Luke, that’s why I’m calling. Layth didn’t have them killed. He thinks it was someone in the government.”
“Why would your Saudi government want them dead?”
“Not my government. Yours!”
“The United States is not, and never will be, at war with Islam.”
—Barack Obama
“The question that needs to be asked is if radical Islam is at war with the United States.”
—Dale Allan
LUKE LOOKED THROUGH THE etched glass windows and watched the falling snow. He could see the security guards at the front gate and knew that others surrounded the entire property. Although he realized that it was for his own good, he felt like a prisoner. For the past week, police had set up roadblocks, only allowing residents who owned homes in Aaron’s neighborhood to enter the area.
This time, living at Aaron’s house was different. There was closure. Luke’s parents had moved back, and his mother babied him like an injured child. He walked with a slight limp, but his doctors assured him that over time he would walk normally again. The combination of no rigorous exercise and his mother’s home cooking had caused him to gain a little weight.
Almost overnight, Luke had become one of the most recognizable religious figures in the world. Hordes of terminally ill people traveled long distances in hopes of seeing him and being miraculously healed by the immortal priest who was anointed by God himself. This legendary status was a blessing and a curse. While it brought multitudes of people to churches all over the world, there were many Muslim extremists who wanted to see Luke dead, or better yet, kill him themselves. Trying to protect their star priest, the Vatican assigned two undercover guards to shadow him when he was in public.
The pope’s assistant had traveled to Boston to meet with Luke personally. Luke agreed to go to Rome for Christmas as long as his parents, Deborah, and the children could come along. Luke was scheduled to be introduced by the pope to the crowd in Vatican Square during the celebratory blessing. They would be the honorary guests of the pope himself and stay within the confines of the Vatican, where he and his family could be protected. Fearing for his safety, the Church had offered sanctuary to Luke and his family for as long as they wanted.
Luke had promised Detective Romo that he would meet with him before leaving for Rome. He now waited for a police car to pick him up. Seeing the gates open, he told Deb, “I’ll see you in an hour.”
She hugged him. “Be careful.”
This was the first time Luke had been out of the house since Vincent’s funeral. The crisp winter air felt good as he took several deep breaths, then walked deliberately with a cane toward the unmarked police car in the driveway, the snow crunching under his boots.
A young officer jumped out of the car, bowed in respect, and said, “Right this way, Father.”
He opened the door and Luke got inside. There was another, older police officer sitting in the front. After introducing himself, he said, “Detective Romo is going to meet you at the cemetery—the same place you met before.”
Luke wondered why they needed to be secretive again, but he only nodded.
Once they passed several impromptu police roadblocks, Luke was convinced that no one could have followed them. Arriving at the cemetery gate, Luke pulled up his hood and got out of the car, along with the two plainclothes officers, who remained in the street. The two Vatican guards that had followed in another car flanked Luke as he proceeded up the path. Approaching the bench, he saw Romo waiting. Luke asked the guards to stay in the distance as the detective wiped the snow away so he could sit down.
Looking straight ahead, Romo chuckled and said, “Father Luke, you’re amazing. You’re the only one who would have believed that Franklyn Hennessey had the answer to the bombing in Boston.”
Luke smiled ruefully. The detective reached under his coat and pulled out a folder. He handed it to Luke without saying a word. Opening it, Luke saw more pictures of himself on the ice with Fatih, but he hadn’t seen these particular photos before, and he wondered why not. In the first photo, Luke was standing on the thin ice pointing the gun at Fatih’s head. In the second one, he could see the smoke at the end of the barrel after he had shot, and the petrified look on Fatih’s face. The next one showed Luke passed out on the snow-covered ice in a puddle of his own crimson blood.
The detective broke his silence. “I thought you might want these. The medical photographer who took the pictures from the helicopter is a friend of mine. No one else has copies, and the chip has been destroyed.”
Luke thanked him.
Romo smiled. “I can’t believe you missed him when you were standing so close.”
Luke looked up. “I didn’t miss. I couldn’t kill him. I wanted to, but at the last minute, I moved the gun and shot into the water. How could I ever expect to be forgiven for my sins if I didn’t forgive him?”
Surprised, Romo replied, “So you’ve forgiven him?”
Luke sighed. “Let’s just say I’m working on it.”
Then Romo reached into his outside coat pocket and handed him Aaron’s gun. “This was found on the boat. I thought you might want it.”
“No thanks, you keep it.”
Turning to look at him, the detective reminded Luke of the danger he was in. “There are more death threats against you than almost anyone in the world. I think you should keep it.”
Luke thought for a few seconds and reluctantly put the gun in his coat pocket. “Thanks, I’ll hide it in the closet.”
Romo added, “But that’s not the reason I wanted to see you.”
“There’s something else?”
“Yes, I have a confession to make.”
“What’s that?”
“Luke I’m going to tell you something, but you can’t say you heard it from me.” Luke agreed, and Romo continued. “When that Muslim guy, Fatih, was brought to the police station after being pulled from the water, but before he went to the hospital, he was read his Miranda rights and he immediately refused to talk. He knew the law very well and demanded his one phone call. Well, after he made his call, let’s just say, we got the number.”
“What do you mean, you got the number?”
Romo hesitated. “Well, it’s not exactly legal, but we had a trace on the phone he used. Sometimes we use the phone numbers that criminals call to help us solve cases. We don’t record their conversations or anything like that, but we trap the numbers.” He handed Luke a piece of paper. Luke looked at it, not understanding.
Detective Romo asked, “Don’t you recognize that number?”
Puzzled, Luke read it again and replied, “No, should I?”
“Look again,” the Detective demanded.
Luke said out loud, “202-456-”
Romo interrupted. “Luke, 202 is the area code, and all of the numbers to the White House start with 456.”
Luke looked at him in disbelief. “He called the White House?”
Detective Romo nodded.
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