The Fraternity of the Stone (18 page)

"A couple of things," Hal said. "It started as a seminary. But candidates for the priesthood haven't exactly been lining up these past few years. So the Church decided that the empty rooms ought to be put to use. That building to the right is a dormitory. Once a month for a weekend, various Catholic men's clubs come here to have a retreat."

Drew nodded, sympathetic with the concept. The Church believed that the faithful needed to escape the pressures of the world from time to time. So for forty-eight hours, usually from a Friday to a Sunday night, parishioners had the chance for a nominal fee to go to a "retreat house," often a seminary, where they immersed themselves in Catholic rituals. A retreat master, usually an eminent priest, gave lectures on matters of dogma and spirituality. Except during discussion groups, conversation was not permitted. Abundant religious literature was available in each dormitory room as an aid to meditation.

"But that's just once a month," Hal said. "That building on the left gets the most use. It's a rest home. At the bishop's, I saw you talking to Father Hafer. I guess you know he's a psychiatrist. I wouldn't want his job for anything. He has to counsel priests who can't bear the strain of their vows."

"Well, people get weak sometimes."

"Don't I know. It's sad. You'd be surprised how many burned-out cases I've driven out here. From what I'm told, there are three or four other places like this in the country. But this is the only one I've seen. That building to the left of the seminary is where they sleep. They don't have any duties, except of course to say their daily mass. Otherwise, they get medication and therapy from the local staff."

"How long do they stay?"

"A month or two for most of them. Till they're off the booze or they realize that even saints don't have to work twenty-five hours a day. But a few of them - well, I took an old pastor out here four years ago, and he still swears that the Virgin Mary sings to him every night.

Chapter 6.

They stopped at the large middle building, the one with the crucifix on top. The angle of the sun was such that the cross's shadow fell across the Cadillac, and as Drew got out, he noted that despite the clear bright sky, the air was crisp.

He faced the building, scanning its windows. The bricks looked dingy. The concrete steps were cracked.

"The place seems deserted."

Hal shrugged. "It's almost eleven. The seminarians must be in class."

As if on cue, the voices of young men drifted out from somewhere deep in the building. "Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy. Glory to God in the highest..."

"It sounds like the Kyrie and the Gloria," Hal said. "They must be practicing the liturgy."

Drew shook his head. "Classes on Sunday? I don't think so. And mass would have been first thing this morning. No, something isn't right."

He started up the cracked concrete steps.

Hal stopped him. "Sure, but this Sunday was special. Mass was postponed till now."

Puzzled, Drew turned to him.

"We're supposed to stay away from the seminarians, The bishop told the housemaster you'd be here. But it's understood that you're not to attract attention. You'll be sleeping over there." Hal pointed toward the building on the right. "Where they hold the retreats."

Drew felt uneasy. "But if they're holding a retreat, what's the difference, if they see me or the seminarians do?"

"There's no retreat this weekend. We've got that building all to ourselves."

How much has Hal been told about me? Drew wondered. Why do I feel I've met his type before? The way he stands at attention. The way he kept checking the Cadillac's rear-view mirror.

In another line of work.

"Yeah, it'll be nice and quiet. Restful," Hal said.

A slight wind touched Drew's face. Unsettled, he came back down the steps and walked with Hal across the lawn toward the building on the right. Something else bothered him. "If we're not supposed to be noticed, don't you think you'd better move the car?"

"I will in a couple of minutes. I've got to come back anyway."

"Oh?"

"To get you some clothes. I don't have much to choose from. These seminarians don't exactly dress for style. Black shoes, black socks, black pants. Depressing. But they like to play sports, so I think I can get you a sweatshirt. Maybe a workshirt. Could be even a wind-breaker. Are you hungry?"

"Vegetables. Fresh. A lot."

Hal laughed. "Yeah, carrots, huh? What's up, Doc? You want anything to read?"

Drew shook his head. "I figured I'd exercise."

"Great! You like basketball? You feel like a little one-on-one? No, wait a minute, that's no good. The court's outside. You're not supposed to show yourself."

Drew stopped abruptly.

"Something wrong?"

"A question. I'm bursting to ask it"

"Be my guest."

"Are you really a priest?"

"Does the Pope hate Polish jokes? Was John a Baptist? You better believe I'm a priest."

"What else?"

"Beg pardon?"

"What else are - were - you? You've got military intelligence written all over you." Drew watched him soberly.

"Okay. Yeah, I used to be in military intelligence. The Navy. Like Magnum, P.I."

Drew didn't understand the reference. "What made you join the priesthood?"

Hal started walking again. "You've got your choice of rooms. Which one?"

Drew answered quickly, not wanting to change the subject. "Anything near the stairs on the second floor."

"Yeah, that's what I'd choose, too. No chance of somebody coming through your window. And the high ground's easier to defend. But it's not like on the third floor, where it takes too long to get outside."

"I asked you, why did you join the priesthood?"

"And you can keep asking."

"Then let me ask you this."

Hal stopped, impatient.

"I'm used to a pattern. Five days ago, I was forced to give it up. And now it's Sunday."

"So?"

"At the bishop's, Father Hafer heard my confession. Five days are too long. I want to receive communion."

"Hey, now you're talking. Never mind basketball. I haven't said my mass for today. But I don't have a server."

"Sure, you do. Just show me the way to an altar."

"There's a chapel in the retreat house."

"I'll fill the cruets for your water and wine. I'll serve the best mass you ever said." "Pal, you've got a deal. What's funny?" "We sound like two kids getting ready to play."

Chapter 7.

A board creaked, Drew knelt, praying, in the front pew of the chapel. He raised his head to look past his shoulder toward the shadows behind him.

No one. He turned to the altar and resumed his prayers.

It was after midnight. Though the mass he'd served for Hal had been almost twelve hours ealier, he still remembered the touch of the thin stiff host on his tongue. His spirit had swelled.

The rest of the day had depressed him. He'd tried to keep busy - washed and shaved and put on the clothes that Hal had brought him. He'd paced his room, done pushups and situps, rehearsed the dance steps of martial arts, and wondered where Hal had gone.

By mid-afternoon, he knew that the helicopter would long ago have reached the monastery. The Jesuits would have found the bodies and told the bishop. The bishop would have talked to the cardinal. The cardinal would have talked to Rome. So why hasn't someone talked to me? What decisions were made? What's happening?

The irony of his nervous boredom struck him forcibly. For six years, living in solitude, he'd never felt the burden of time. And now, after five days' absence from the monastery, he couldn't keep from looking at his watch, a watch that he'd taken from a man he'd killed. Moaning, he sank to his knees and begged for this burden to be lifted from him. I know that nothing happens without a reason. I'm only an instrument. But please, Lord, pass this cup from my lips. All I want is peace.

All? He touched the bulge in the jacket pocket, remembering the urge he'd felt to seek revenge for the death of the monks. He felt the photographs in another pocket - the man and woman in flames, the young boy screaming - and prayed for his soul.

Near six, Hal entered his room. "I brought you some milk and vegetables. Raw cauliflower you said you wanted? I can't even stand the stuff cooked."

"How long am I supposed to stay here?"

"Till they tell us different, I suppose. Hey, if you're bored, they've got just one television here, and that's in the seminary building, but I can get you a radio."

"What about a phone?"

"Just relax, why don't you? Smell the country air."

"Indoors?"

"You've got a point. But not to worry. Everything's taken care of."

"Oh?"

"It's going down to thirty tonight. But I figured out how to get the heat turned on in the building."

Hal left.

Drew glanced impatiently at his watch again. Its hands were aimed precisely at six - when for years the vespers bell had rung.

He craved the satisfaction that he'd felt today during mass. He wanted to reestablish the blissful pattern of the monastery. Six o'clock. As if he heard the vespers bell start tolling, he obeyed its summons and left his room.

Chapter 8.

The retreat house was silent. A light glowed at the end of the hall, beckoning him to the stairwell. With his hand on the pitted metal railing, he descended, reached the first floor, ignored the half-lit lobby, and continued to the basement. He brushed his hand against a clammy plaster wall and proceeded through darkness toward a door to the right. The chapel where earlier he'd served at mass, where the vespers service ought to occur.

He pushed the door open and entered. Blackness. Recalling a light switch to his left, he felt for it and flicked it on. But the power for the basement must have been on a different circuit from the one for his room on the second floor, because the blackness continued to face him. Earlier, sunlight gleaming through windows high on one wall had been sufficient for him to help at mass. But now...

He imagined the hands on his watch moving farther past six. His compulsion increased.

As he groped along the wall to his left, he bumped against a chair. Then he reached another wall and felt his way past the bulky compartment of a confessional. The odor of mildew widened his nostrils. But beneath the mildew was the redolence of incense from years of services. When his waist touched the altar railing, he knew that he was almost home.

Now if only there were matches. He remembered the rows of votive candles that flanked the inside right and left stretch of the altar railing. Yes, when he straddled the altar railing, stepping forward, he felt matches in a metal cup, struck one against the cup, and smiled at the gleam. His smile persisted as one by one he lit the candles, filling the front of the chapel with a shimmering radiance. He knelt in the first pew, silently reciting the vespers prayers.

At midnight, with still no word from the bishop, he again felt compelled by the ritual, coming back to recite the matins prayers.

And heard the creak behind him.

Chapter 9.

The first time he heard it, he told himself that the sound was only wood contracting because of cold.

The second time, he told himself that the tired old building was sagging.

The third time, he pulled his Mauser from beneath his jacket and sank to the floor.

"Okay, pal, relax," a voice said in back. "I didn't mean to make you nervous."

Hal.

Drew stayed out of sight on the floor beneath the pew.

"Come on," Hal said, concealed by the dark at the rear of the chapel. "I know where you are. I saw you duck down. But first I saw you pull a gun from under your jacket. So let's be calm, all right? I'm supposed to keep an eye on you, not let you use me for target practice."

Drew didn't intend to take chances. He glanced ahead of him toward a door on his left beyond the altar railing, remembering from the mass he'd served at noon that it led to the sacristy behind the altar. Beyond it, another door opened on a stairwell. If I have to, I can jump the altar railing and get away.

Another creak, coming closer.

Drew's forehead felt slick with sweat. But the chapel was terribly cold.

"Just loosen up, okay," Hal asked, "while I explain? See, I know you came down here at six. I figured you were following the routine you had in the monastery. Vespers service. The next service is matins, at midnight. So I got here earlier. I thought I'd watch you from out of sight so I wouldn't disturb your prayers. I'm only doing my job. How was I to know that the floor back here creaks every time I breathe?"

Drew debated. Hal could be telling the truth. But why didn't he just come down here with me? I wouldn't have cared if he was in the chapel while I prayed. No, something's wrong.

Another creak. Closer.

Drew eased from the pew and began to squirm toward the altar railing. His chest felt chilled by the floor.

"We're in a bind," Hal said, a little closer. "You don't want to show yourself till I do. But I don't want to do it first, not with that gun in your hand. Hey, I made a mistake by not letting you know I was here. I admit that. But we've got to end this stand-off. I'm on your side."