The Absolver: Rome (Saint Michael Thriller Series Book 1)

by Gavin Reese

  Stunned and overwhelmed, Michael nervously chuckled to himself, leaned back in his flimsy seat, and tried to predict what was about to happen. How now, brown cow?

  John mischievously smiled and nodded. “Fair enough.” He briefly looked at his watch and then back up at the students. “8-18. Let the games begin.” Letting out a loud whistle that Michael assumed would begin their misery, John calmly stepped backward to the front wall with his hands already back up above his head. “Y’all might wanna know that you’re about to be captured by federal police and held prisoner for being potential spies. If I’m in your shoes right now,” he chuckled, “I’d wanna decide just what the fuck I’m gonna do when they bust that door open again.”

  FORTY-NINE

  Training Day 181, 2038 hours.

  Rural Compound. Niobrara County.

  The late summer sun was just setting as Michael plodded back toward the main house. He didn’t believe he’d ever been so mentally and physically exhausted in his life. John was right. We should’ve had a better plan before they came back through the door. The permanent wind had been reduced to a pleasant breeze with only the slightest cool edge to it; for the first time since his arrival, Michael felt grateful for it.

  Despite the intensity of the events and his memories of the last thirty-six hours, Michael’s only concern at that moment was that he didn’t fail the assignment. He knew he would perform better the next time Johnislava authorities detained him for questioning, but, for tonight, Michael simply felt too fatigued for anything productive. I don’t even give a shit that I haven’t really eaten today. All I want is a shower and bed. Even the shower’s getting to be optional.

  He turned the corner of the house and saw John sitting alone on the front porch. Just about the last conversation I wanna have right now. A large bucket full of iced beers sat on the deck just a few feet in front of him, and John currently held one such brown bottle in his outstretched hand.

  “Evening, Andrew,” the lead instructor offered when he saw Michael’s approach. “Good to see you back. Heard you mighta earned a couple of these.” After Michael accepted the suds, John leaned forward, grabbed another bottle from the ice bucket, and opened one for himself.

  Michael drank the top half in one gulp. Best beer I’ve ever had…

  “Grab a seat, rest for a spell. Got a buncha three-two beers for tonight, so it’s basically bottled water, anyway. Figured that might come in handy after your last thirty-six.”

  “Thanks,” Michael weakly replied, “good to be seen, I guess.” He sat in an empty chair next to John and held the glass bottle to the side of his neck for a moment before draining it. Even the ice water running off the bottle’s luxurious. Hell, could be worse. There’s no death-metal guitar loop cranked up to eleven out here. That alone makes this better than my accommodations last night.

  Michael saw an empty beer box on the porch and gently tossed his empty into it and retrieved another from the ice bucket. “This one can go down a lot slower.” The short, stubby glass bottle felt wonderfully cold in Michael’s hand. He started to lift it, but realized the bottle cap remained in place.

  “I suppose you want an opener now,” John joked. He retrieved one from his back pocket and expertly freed Michael’s libation. “If you give a mouse a cookie, right?”

  Michael only nodded to express his gratitude, upended the bottle, and sipped at its neck. John just gave up some personal intel. I’ll hafta think about that tomorrow when I can form a complete thought.

  “I expect you’re wore out,” John offered and leaned back in his chair. “For most-a y’all, I figure what you just went through is likely gonna be one-a the hardest experiences of your lives. I got the bucket of beers out here, and there’s plenty of grub in the kitchen, if you’re hungry yet. Don’t think that you got some kinda obligation to sit out here and listen to me lecture you about how ya did, or what I want you to take away from all this. That’s all for another day. For now, I just want you to get whatever you think you need to put a little bit of light in your evening to make up for all the darkness you’ve just gone through.”

  “I appreciate that, John.” Michael wanted to take the instructor at his word, but the last six months had mostly taught him to suspiciously examine everything that happened around him. I should be grateful for his unusual kindness, but it’s the words and actions of other people that I can trust the least, followed by my own. He looked at the beautiful, refreshing beer in his hand. “Last time you gave me a cold beer, I got woke up by a trash can lid at 0-400, got stalked through the darkness, and my lead instructor lacerated my stomach. Any such plans for tomorrow?”

  “Not that I know of,” John dryly replied. “Shit can change at a moment’s notice, though.”

  Michael took another gulp, careful not to overdue his celebration. “I suppose it’s an all-pork buffet in there, as well?”

  John laughed aloud and sipped from his beer. “No, not at all, but I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Would’ve been a good chance to get rid of some of it, mosta y’all would probably eat road kill about now.”

  Michael immediately grew more attentive and felt much of his fatigue drain away for the moment. Did he just give up more intel? He can’t count on another hog farmer to abandon his animals during a future training class. Did he lie to us about the hog’s fate then to force us into the decision he wanted, or is he joking with me now?

  “Jane’s done playin’ ‘the good cop,’ so she’s got mashed potatoes with garlic and butter, ribeyes, and roasted green beans on the stove whenever you’re ready.”

  Michael’s stomach growled as he thought about the meal that awaited him just inside the house. Guess I’m hungrier than I thought. When was the last time I ate? Breakfast, yesterday? No, I got half a bologna sandwich last night. “Yeah, it seemed like there wasn’t much need for a ‘good cop’ in there. Her role didn’t last very long.”

  “Well, in all fairness, Andrew, we didn't figure she was the best way to get to you,” John offered. “All the Op-For in this exercise stuck to the tactics that morally flexible cops in the third-world’d use. We use the same principles here as the military’s SERE School, but you won’t ever face those kinda interrogation tactics. That pretty much makes this a ‘SERE-Light,’ or, maybe more accurately, a ‘SERE-like Experience.’ Calling your last thirty-six hours a ‘SERE School’ is kinda like callin’ the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland a Navy SEAL BUD/S course. For the most part, cops across the world are there to uphold the law, even if it’s a corrupt law. They’re not there to torture or kill you, and they’re not gonna pull your fingernails out if you don’t tell ‘em what they think they wanna know.”

  And, there’s the trainer I’ve grown to expect, Michael thought. Every hurdle and accomplishment have to be minimized. Screw it, it’s time to eat. Michael stood up, stiffly walked to the bucket, and retrieved a third beer. “Anyone else inside yet? No way I’m the first one out.”

  John didn’t respond to the question at all. Did he even hear me, Michael thought.

  “You wasn’t the first one out,” John explained. “Ain’t no one else inside.”

  Oh, shit, did someone quit over this? “What happened?”

  “Z’s gone.” John’s emotionless statement revealed nothing about the cause or fault for the unexpected outcome.

  “What happened to Z, John?”

  The instructor met his gaze and glared back at him. “He’s, gone.”

  “Why?” Michael heard the anger in his voice and didn’t care if John heard it, as well.

  “Because, I said so, Andrew,” John curtly explained, “and I’m gonna give you some slack here because-a the rough times you think you had recently. All that matters is that he didn’t make it and he’s been sent back home, wherever the hell that is.”

  “But, John, what’d he—”

  “Why the fuck does it matter,” John growled and set his jaw. “I don’t owe you or anyone else a single goddamned word of explanation f
or anything I do around here! This program is my ship and I run it as I damned well please! I don’t answer to anybody but God Himself, and that includes you and any other asshole that thinks they got an opinion about it! Z was no different than you, or any other shithead here! You stay until I say you can’t, and when I say you go, that’s it! He’s gone, and you’re welcome to join him any time you want! Just say the word and I’ll have that bus back en route!” John finally broke eye contact with Michael, gulped his beer, and stared off toward the sunset. “Go get some supper and get outta my sight before I decide you need a second effort at your last training evolution.”

  Fuck you, Michael thought. He took the beers into the house, but bypassed the kitchen and everything Jane had prepared. Michael barely noticed the pain in his legs as he descended the stairs to confirm John’s statement. There was now an empty, tightly-made bed where Z had last slept. All his friend’s personal belongings were gone.

  FIFTY

  Training Day 200, 0841 hours

  Rural Compound. Niobrara County, Wyoming.

  Michael and his flimsy white plastic chair had been moved up to the classroom’s front banquet table. The four remaining trainees now easily fit at one row of tables, so the second had mysteriously disappeared with Z almost three weeks ago. The small group had already celebrated mass with Father Harry that morning, so Michael sat and uncomfortably waited for the first class to begin. We’ve gotta be close to getting outta here. How long can this training program be?

  Michael heard the door open behind him. Well, John’s goons did such a poor job of repairing the broken door and frame that I can’t actually hear it open or close anymore. I only know it’s open when the wind noise increases. He looked back as Sergio walked in, and Michael consciously reminded himself to use his friend’s pseudonym. “Hey, Jude.” Can’t be too careful.

  “Good morning. The one day I made huevos rancheros for everyone is also the one day you skipped breakfast. Kinda hard not to take it personal, ya know?”

  Michael smiled at his friend’s facetious assessment. “Sorry, man, I’m sure they were great. Just wanted some time to think.”

  “Something bothering you?”

  “Nothing specific,” Michael lied. “Just a general funk right now.” I wanna know what happened to Z and I wanna be done with this goddamned training.

  “I’ll quietly pray for you then.”

  Michael smiled at his friend’s sincerity. “I’m already better now that you’re here. Everyone else’s gonna be back any second.”

  “See, it’s that Mexican Magic, Andrew,” Sergio joked, “my people bring great food and happiness everywhere we go.”

  Increased wind noise announced another arrival, and Michael saw Phillip and Alpha walk in just ahead of Father Harry, who had traded his clerical garbs for casual clothes. Looks like today's gonna be another ethics discussion, then.

  “Good morning, all,” Harry called out. “I’d love to finally know what happened to the door, but John’s been mum about it, and I don’t want to risk putting you in an awkward position.” He stopped in front of the banquet table and invited them to sit. “Let’s open today’s class with prayer, shall we?” He paused so the students could bow their heads. “Heavenly Father, I pray for your guidance, that we would all better understand and accept your divine mysteries, especially those that are beyond our comprehension. I pray that more of your eternal and infinite wisdom be bestowed and instilled in these men. I pray that you watch over us on our path of service to you and your people. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Michael quietly offered along with his classmates.

  “This morning, gentlemen, we’re gonna start with an examination of Euthanasia, Suicide, and Scandal. Euthanasia, as defined in 22-76 and 77 of the Catechism means bringing an intentional end to the lives of handicapped, sick, or the dying, regardless of motive. God finds it morally unacceptable, the same as any other murder, even if it’s intended to eliminate suffering. We are not to end life for convenience, with no more concern or anguish than we’d exercise in putting an animal down.

  “The next paragraph addresses the ability to legitimately discontinue medical treatments provided that it’s done to avoid over-zealous efforts, rather than to hasten death. Now, 22-79, this one is where I want to start our discussion with the previous paragraphs in mind. Andrew, can you start the reading there?”

  “In circumstances wherein a person faces imminent death,” Michael offered, “the treatments usually administered to the ill shall not be morally severed. Continued or new administration of painkillers is permissible, provided its purpose is limited to the reduction of suffering. Even if such treatments may hasten their demise, remedies that respect human dignity are admissible if not enacted to intentionally bring about death. Continued or new methods of palliative care are encouraged to lessen suffering.”

  “What is ‘palliative care,’” Harry asked.

  “Generally,” Phillip replied, “it's various medical treatments designed to improve quality of life for terminal patients. Pain medications, other things that help with appetite for chemo patients, that sorta thing.”

  “So, it includes treatments other than medications,” Father Harry asked, “perhaps things designed to relieve or reduce the physical and mental stress of an illness?”

  “Yes,” Phillip replied, “it states palliative care, so, not just medications.”

  Harry nodded and briefly searched for any dissension among the students. “I agree. Medical treatments are the first things that we think of, but we must also care for the psyche and the spirit of the afflicted. Is there anything in these sections that limits the qualifying palliative treatments available for use?”

  “Only treatments designed to end life,” Sergio surmised. “Seems like everything else is on the table, unless it conflicts with another section of the Catechism or the Scriptures.”

  Father Harry nodded again. “Keep that in mind as we move on to Suicide. I’m sure we all accept it as a grave and mortal sin.” He opened his copy of the Catechism for reference. “22-80 explains that we are mere stewards of our lives and that God has entrusted them to us, on loan, rather than granting us ownership.

  “22-81,” he continued, “explains how the act violates our love of self, as well as the societal ties with all those around us. It also declares that the act undermines and corrupts our love and gratitude for the gift God’s given us.

  “22-82, this one is especially important,” Father Harry paused and brought his text up a little closer to read it aloud. “Those who commit suicide to encourage others to follow their example take on the grave offense of scandal.” He glanced around at the four students to emphasize that statement’s significance and then continued reading. “Cooperating in suicide contradicts morality and risks scandal. Severe psychological ailments and certain diminished mental coping capacities such as terminal illness, suffering, or torture, can reduce one’s personal responsibility for the act of committing suicide.” Father Harry looked over his text at the four students. “So, even though God sees suicide as a grave moral offense, He loves us so that He’s willing to consider the reasons for the action in our judgment.

  “This next section, 22-83,” the monsignor/psychologist explained, “is among my favorites because I believe it affirmatively demonstrates God’s limitless mercy to those who would receive him.” He resumed reading from the text. “The faithful should refrain from concern or mourning for the eternal salvation of those who commit suicide. Through mysteries understood only by God, He offers them an opportunity for Reconciliation through his endless love and mercy. The Church beseeches God to grant eternal salvation to all who have taken their own lives.”

  Closing his text for the moment, he continued. “So, let’s think of someone afflicted with a terrible, incurable psychological disturbance. Their psyche and spirit, their very soul, are so damaged that they suffer with no hope of recovery or remedy. They’re otherwise in excellent physical health that would easily allow
them to live several more decades, but they cannot endure the psychological pain and anguish forced upon them. They act to end their own life. What does God say about this matter?”

  This is where he baits us with a softball question and forces into an unexpected position, Michael thought. He answered only after a prolonged silence from his classmates. “Father, the reading seems to make it clear that God takes their reasoning into account and accordingly reduces that person’s responsibility for their conduct.”

  “I agree, but,” Harry quickly replied and held up a finger to draw their attention, “what might that logically mean for someone else who knew all that same information and reasoning. Maybe they even aid or participate in the act, or merely didn’t attempt to stop the suicide itself. What might that mean for them?”

  So that’s where his real point was headed, Michael realized. “There’s nothing that directly suggests God lessens that third-party responsibility, but, logically, I would infer that it’s possible he might. Certainly, no one involved is off the hook. I suppose it might come down to the reasoning for the suicide and the third-party’s involvement in it.”

  “Does anyone contend that it’s a grave or mortal sin, under the circumstances I’ve outlined?”

  Michael saw that no one did.

  Father Harry smiled and continued. “Let’s take this a step further and give you more information. What if the party’s grave disturbance that’s ruining his life is that he is a psychopath, specifically, a serial killer. He knows absolutely, with no doubt whatsoever, that trading his life and whatever resulting sin he incurs will save the lives and suffering of others. He’s willing to respect the dignity of his fellow man and save innumerable lives by ending his own.”

  Father Harry allowed his hypothetical scenario to breath for only a moment before he continued. “What about the serial rapist? The pedophile that knows they can never be cured, never say no, never stop the evil that they do? What if they choose to die instead of taking more victims, and thereby remove the evil and suffering that they brought to the earth?”