by Jones, Rick
Aided by the archdiocese staff, Pope Pius XIII climbed the stairs and waved his hand in loving gesture. Once inside Shepherd One, the door closed behind him and the mobile stairway pulled back from the Boeing.
Along with Cardinal Medeiros, Shari turned and walked away from the jet and made her way back to the terminal.
#
Kimball Hayden had been sitting inside Shepherd One looking out the window watching the pontiff being wheeled from the terminal to the plane. Shari accompanied the pope and became his focal point of interest as the pontiff’s party made their way toward the Boeing. Since Kimball knew the pope would never allow her passage on board, he pressed his hand against the window, and with the tip of his forefinger traced the outline of her body against the pane, the closest thing to actually saying goodbye.
As the pontiff made his way up the stairway, Kimball thought Shari looked as pleasing as always, the way she smiled, the point of her widow’s peak and the way her hair shined in the sun, a mental picture he would carry with him for the rest of his life. Perhaps, he thought, if I do right, then maybe He’ll grant me the right to love someone openly.
But if anything was taught and learned, it was the fact that Shari Cohen made him see through their affinity that he was not the painted monster without feeling or remorse, but someone fully capable of loving.
Nevertheless, he knew he had a long way to go.
EPILOGUE
Venezuelan Coast Line
October 11, Mid-Afternoon
Somewhere off the shore of a Venezuelan beach, a luxury home situated within a heavy copse of palm trees surrounded by jungle vegetation bloomed in riots of bright colors. On the wraparound porch sat two men, both drinking specialty liqueurs and talking leisurely as the day worked toward twilight.
Hector Guerra sat in a lounge chair with his bright flower-patterned shirt unbuttoned, exposing a huge and hairy paunch. Although a breeze blew off the ocean, it barely moved his perfectly styled hair. Next to him sat a man who seemed comfortable in these surroundings. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and dark sunglasses. His most distinguishing feature was the wedge of pink scarring beneath his chin. On his arm he wore a bandage from a recent battle, with another wrapping around his chest from a fall that had broken three ribs.
“Unfortunately,” said Guerra, “our economies will have to wait to see better times.”
The man who was Abraham Obadiah lifted his drink in the air, then sipped from it before placing it back on the table beside his chair. “For now,” he answered. “But I’ll never give up the cause for my people.”
“You know we could never risk another venture as we did with the pope.”
“There will always be opportunities, my friend. We’ll simply learn from our mistakes and better prepare from them.”
“But never at the risk of placing myself in jeopardy.”
“There will always be risks, Mr. Guerra, always. What you do is prognosticate the problems before they happen and plan for them.”
“Which is what you did with Kimball Hayden?”
“Kimball Hayden came out of nowhere.”
“My point exactly. Sometimes you just can‘t prepare for everything.”
“Next time we’ll know better.”
“And how does one prepare against somebody who does not exist?”
“Kimball Hayden has a background. We all do.” And then more to himself. ”I will find him.”
Both men remained quiet for the moment, each enjoying the light breeze coming off the surf as well as the scenery of creamy waves lapping the shoreline. Guerra queried him further.
“And when you find this Kimball Hayden, what will you do?”
Obadiah paused to think before answering. “That‘s my business,” he finally answered. “Right now I have far more pressing matters to deal with.”
Hector Guerra chortled. “What? Disrupting the firm balance of national psyches by using terrorism as a vehicle to promote fears? Isn’t that wonderful?”
“It’s what the Lohamah Psichlogit does best,” he said. “It’s what I get paid for.”
“Then if you meet this Hayden, just make sure that you live to see another day.”
“I would have to,” he returned. “If I am to make a better life for my people, then I have to make progress. And the price for progress, my friend, is destruction. And the destruction of Kimball Hayden would surely remove any future nuisances from my life.”
For a moment both men stared at each other, neither of their features betraying any thought or emotion, and watched the incoming waves.
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