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  “Now, honey, don’t get upset,” said Bill, though by the reddening of his face, he was the one to whom the admonition most applied.

  “I’m not upset,” she said. And she wasn’t. That sense of calm certainty and conviction had returned, stronger than ever. “I’m just telling you—”

  “You’re in no position to tell us anything,” Bill snapped, growing redder still, “except the name of the boy responsible.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “What do you mean, ‘can’t’? You can and you damn well will!”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. I really can’t.”

  “We’ll see about that,” said Bill.

  Glory rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

  “Go to your room,” he told her, ignoring Glory.

  “What are you going to do, Bill? Ground her for the next five months?”

  “Shut up, Glory!”

  “Oooh, that’s a snappy comeback!”

  “Children, children, please.”

  Everyone gave a start at the sudden appearance of Papa Jim. In the heat of the argument, no one had heard him arrive or use his key to enter the house. Now he stood behind Kate, his omnipresent cigar smoking between his fingers, his bald head shining with sweat as if he had run here from his house ten miles away, a restored antebellum mansion that he had christened New Hope.

  “Bill, I told you not to get all riled up,” he said. “You gotta get that temper of yours under control if you want to win in November, son.”

  It seemed impossible, yet Bill flushed an even deeper shade of red. But he said nothing in reply, accepting the rebuke in silence.

  Nor did Papa Jim wait for a response. He was already addressing Glory. “As for you, missy, what part of ‘honor and obey’ don’t you understand?”

  Even more shocking to Kate than her mother’s outbursts against her husband was the way that Glory bowed her head submissively at Papa Jim’s words. All the fight seemed to just drain out of her.

  Now her grandfather turned to her and opened his arms wide. “Papa Jim’s here, baby girl. Everything’s gonna be all right now.”

  Almost without intending to, Kate went to him and put her arms around him as far as they could go. His powerful arms squeezed her firmly against his hard, round belly. She smelled the familiar, loved scent of him. The scent of safety and security. Her grandfather sometimes infuriated her, but she had never doubted his love.

  “Shoot, I guess I can’t call you baby girl anymore, now, can I?” His chuckle rumbled in her ear.

  She pulled back, reassured, grateful for his kindness, like a breath of fresh air after the harshness of her parents’ reaction. “I’m going to have this baby, Papa Jim,” she stated, both hands resting on the bulge of her stomach.

  “Well, now, of course you are,” he said, his eyebrows lifting quizzically. “Who said you weren’t?”

  “I . . . I thought with Daddy’s campaign . . .”

  “You let Papa Jim worry about that,” he said with a warm smile, his blue eyes twinkling.

  Damn, but the old coot was charming. As a young man, with a full mane of blond hair and a physique years away from its present corpulence, he must have been well-nigh irresistible. Even today, Kate knew, he could have had his pick of women, and not only because of his wealth. But ever since the death of his wife, Angela, fifteen years ago, Papa Jim had devoted his energies to making Oz Corporation the largest faith-based prison construction and management company in the nation. That, along with his high-level involvement in the Republican Party and the Catholic organization known as The Way, which lobbied tirelessly to push back the reforms of Vatican II, didn’t leave much time for romance.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me who the father is?”

  “Why? Is that something you want to tell me?”

  She shook her head, feeling somewhat dazed.

  “Then I’m not gonna ask. Right now, the only thing I’m interested in is the health of my granddaughter and great-grandson.”

  Kate blushed. “Papa Jim!”

  “It’s about time we had a boy in this family,” declared Papa Jim.

  “I’m sorry if I disappointed you, Dad,” said Glory dryly.

  “Now, Glory, you know what I mean,” he said, with a wink toward Bill.

  Glory sighed. “I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Rickert.”

  Papa Jim shook his head. “Forget Rickert. I’m bringing in a New York man, a specialist. Dr. Finkelstein. Damn good doctors, the Jews.”

  Kate was afraid that Dr. Finkelstein would see at a glance some evidence of the botched abortion. But if he did, he gave no sign of it. He pronounced her about twenty weeks along and, to everyone’s relief, said that the pregnancy was progressing normally, without complications.

  Sonogram results showed that Papa Jim was going to get his wish.

  The baby was male.

  Meanwhile, Papa Jim had taken matters into his own hands, just as Glory had predicted. And, also as she had predicted, there was no gainsaying him.

  To spare Kate the media attention that would accompany any revelation of her condition, he decreed that she would be sent away, to a convent in Italy financed by The Way. There, accompanied by Glory, she would remain until after the election in November. She would give birth there and, at the same time, thanks to the nuns, keep up with her schooling. The cover story circulated to the media would be that she had been accepted into one of The Way’s international youth programs, with Glory going along as a chaperone. Some time later, it would be announced that Glory was pregnant and had given birth prematurely; in November, when Kate and Glory returned to Charleston with Kate’s infant son, the boy would be introduced to the world as her brother.

  Bill accepted this as the price necessary to salvage his candidacy, but Glory put up a fight. In the end, though, her protests were unavailing. As for Kate, she had given up trying to impose her will upon events. Whatever happened, she felt, was part of God’s plan, and this time around she wasn’t going to question that plan. She would embrace it humbly and submissively, putting her faith in God as she should have done in the first place.

  Later, she would think back to those months at the convent of Santa Marta in Tuscany as among the most idyllic of her life. She and Glory grew closer, taking long walks and picnicking in the Tuscan hills, basking in the glorious light, which seemed to have more of Heaven in it than any other sunlight she knew. Kate even struck up friendships with the nuns, some of whom were scarcely older than she was. They were under a strict vow of silence, which made communication somewhat difficult, but each day, one nun was appointed to interface with the public, so as the days and weeks went by, Kate spoke with them all in turn. An exception was also made for her school lessons, though the nuns proved stern taskmistresses, delivering their lectures and answering her questions but avoiding every attempt she made to draw them into more personal discussions.

  Kate had known her grandfather was an important and powerful man, but the veneration with which the nuns regarded him was truly eye-opening. They praised him as their benefactor and said prayers for him daily; on those occasions when he visited Glory and Kate, which he did at least once a month, the nuns welcomed him with an enthusiasm reminiscent, as Glory put it, “of prepubescent girls greeting some boy-band heartthrob.” It was weird to think of Papa Jim as a kind of rock star for nuns, but though he laughed off the attention, he plainly enjoyed it.

  On Sundays, a grizzled local priest, Father Rinaldi, came to take the nuns’ confessions and to perform the Mass. He was a kindly, grandfatherly man, somewhat absentminded, who might have been anywhere from seventy-five to eighty-five. He spoke English with an Australian accent, and he moved with grave dignity, as if his bones were made of china.

  Meanwhile, back home, Bill was steadily climbing in the polls. Papa Jim seemed confident that he would win. When Glory’s pregnancy was announced, his numbers shot through the ceiling.

  But all of this was external to the world in which Kate was real
ly living at that time. Her real world was an internal one, populated by two people: her and her baby. She could feel him growing inside her. Feel his movements as he shifted position or kicked out suddenly. He was strong, active. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she felt as though she could sense his curiosity, his intelligence.

  Who are you? she asked him silently. What is your name? What have you been sent here to do?

  He never answered, but she never grew tired of asking.

  Glory pestered her constantly with suggestions for names, but Kate was in no rush. She felt that she’d know what to call him when the time was right. God would provide.

  The birth itself was nothing like she’d imagined. It was midmorning on the ninth of August, about a week before the “official” due date. Glory was gone, on a shopping trip to Rome. Papa Jim was en route from the airport. Her dad was at a campaign fundraiser in Marion.

  Once her water broke, there was no pain, as she’d feared there would be. The baby came sliding right out, already squalling, as though eager to begin whatever task God had set for him. Seeing him in the arms of Sister Immaculata, the nun who served as a local obstetrician, Kate was so taken by his wrinkly beauty that it was a moment before she realized that she knew his name.

  “Ethan,” she said wonderingly “His name is Ethan.”

  There were no choirs of angels. No wise men from the East bearing gifts. No shepherds come from the fields to rejoice.

  There was nothing like that.

  But Kate didn’t care. She felt something imprint itself in her heart. It was as if she’d never known until this instant what love really was. Up until now, she’d been like a color-blind person who used the words for colors without knowing the truth behind the words. Now she knew. And nothing else mattered.

  She held out her arms for the baby, but Sister Immaculata, with a grim look on her face, bore the child from the room.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Kate. “What’s wrong?”

  Another nun stepped close. “I’m sure everything’s fine.”

  “I want to see Ethan. I want to see my baby!”

  “Hush, now.”

  Something stung her arm. The nun had given her a shot.

  Her vision blurred, dwindled to a point, then winked out into darkness.

  When she awoke, it was dark outside the windows.

  A single lamp at her bedside cast a soft golden glow over the room, making the sheet that covered her appear gilded, like the raiment of a queen.

  Papa Jim and Glory were sitting close by.

  One look at their anxious faces sent a jolt of terror through her as she remembered how Sister Immaculata had bustled Ethan from the room. Suddenly awake, she bolted upright. “Where’s Ethan?”

  Glory dissolved into tears.

  “He’s gone, honey,” said Papa Jim gently. “The doctors say there was a defect in his heart. A hole.”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s not possible . . .”

  “He went peacefully,” Papa Jim went on. “He just went to sleep and didn’t wake up. He’s with God now.”

  Kate didn’t know how to process what she was hearing. She remembered the pain she’d felt following the Procedure, when she was convinced there was a hole in the center of her being that could never be filled, but that was nothing compared to the searing hurt that was hollowing her out now, eating away at her insides until it seemed her whole body must be consumed by it. It hurt too much even to cry. “He’s dead?”

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” said Glory, tears streaming down her face. For once, she looked her age. Or even older. “I should have been here for you!”

  “I want to see him.”

  Papa Jim nodded and stood. “I thought you would.” He bent down and kissed her. She smelled cigar smoke and whiskey. Then he left the room.

  Glory reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said again.

  Kate pulled her hand away. “This is because of what we did. The Procedure.”

  “What? No . . .”

  “Yes. It’s my fault—I killed my baby . . .”

  “Honey, no! Don’t say that. Don’t even think it!”

  “It’s true.”

  Papa Jim returned, bringing with him Sister Immaculata, who was holding a bundled form in her arms. So still. So quiet.

  Ethan.

  With a groan, Kate opened her arms to receive her child. He looked so much like he was sleeping that she couldn’t believe he was dead. His little face was slack, peaceful. How could he be gone? Her heart didn’t want to believe it. She wept over his tiny form, crooning wordlessly.

  No one said a word.

  After a time, she glanced up. “I want to see Father Rinaldi.”

  Sister Immaculata nodded silently and left the room. A moment later, she was back with the priest.

  The old man made the sign of the cross. “God be with you in your loss, child.”

  “I need to talk to you, Father. Alone.”

  “Of course.”

  Sister Immaculata made to take Ethan’s body, but Kate wasn’t ready to give him up. Right now, she felt like she never would be. At a look from Papa Jim, the nun bowed her head and left the room. Then Papa Jim took Glory by the arm and led her out, though it was plain that Glory didn’t want to go.

  “I’ll be right outside,” she said.

  Once they were alone, Father Rinaldi lowered himself into one of the vacant chairs with a sigh. “I baptized him before he died,” the priest told her. “And I gave him the last rites.”

  “Thank you, Father,” she managed.

  “Would you like to make your confession, child?”

  Kate nodded. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned . . .”

  Later, Father Rinaldi paid a visit to the room where Papa Jim was staying. Papa Jim was sitting at the window, smoking a cigar and staring out into the night. He turned as Father Rinaldi entered. “Well, how did it go?”

  The priest took a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face with a trembling hand. “I didn’t even have to suggest it to her. She brought it up herself. The poor girl is wracked with guilt. She blames herself for the death of the child. That unfortunate business in New York.”

  “Unfortunate, yes, but it worked in our favor in the end. The Lord works in mysterious ways, as they say.”

  “I’m concerned about the parents. Are you sure they won’t object to her entering the convent?”

  “Leave them to me.”

  The priest nodded, moistened his lips with his tongue. “And the boy?”

  “The boy is dead, Father. You administered the last rites yourself.”

  The priest nodded again. “Yes, of course. May God forgive us.”

  Papa Jim drew on his cigar and smiled through a cloud of pungent smoke. “He already has, Father. He already has.”

  CHAPTER 5

  1997

  With a sigh, Gordon Brown laid down his pencil and listened to the sounds of high-pitched laughter and squeals of delight emanating from the living room, where Lisa, his wife, was playing with their son, whose first birthday they had just celebrated. He would much rather be out there with them than stuck here in the study, writing the weekly report that was required of him. But he’d already put off the unpleasant duty for too long.

  It wasn’t the report itself that he hated, but the layer of carefully bland abstractions and code words he had to employ in order to render the message meaningless in case of interception. Encrypting the details of each report into this precisely overdetermined yet unexceptional language was tedious and painstaking work, especially since, although he was right handed, he transcribed every report with his left hand, yet he understood its necessity. The Congregation had eyes and ears everywhere, human and electronic. The slightest slipup would draw unwanted attention.

  Gordon didn’t know who was reading his reports. He sent them to post office boxes in different cities and towns all across the country, never the same one twice. These addresses
were communicated to him by ads placed on eBay, which in turn led to postings on Craigslist in certain cities. That was the only contact he’d had with his superiors in the last year, though he knew he was under constant surveillance by field agents, highly trained operatives ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice if his family should be exposed or threatened. Of course, he and Lisa were quite capable of protecting themselves and their son from ordinary dangers. They had received the equivalent of Navy SEAL training. But even they would find it difficult, if not impossible, to prevail unaided against the kind of firepower the Congregation could bring to bear. But so far, at least, there was no sign that their cover was blown. To all intents and purposes, he and Lisa were proud young parents starting a family in the town of Olathe, Kansas, where they blended right in with other young couples drawn from around the country by the promise of a better life. He worked as a software developer at a start-up called Garmin, a manufacturer of personal-use navigational devices that tapped into the network of global positioning satellites, and she was a homemaker who made a little extra money by selling collectibles on eBay.

  But their real jobs were quite different.

  Gordon and Lisa had been entrusted with the upbringing of a high potential.

  The reality of it still made Gordon tremble with awe. To think that such responsibility had been placed in his hands! He prayed to be worthy of what had been asked of him.

  Of what would yet be asked of him.

  There was a secret history of the world. A perpetual struggle that the vast majority of men and women were blind to. But some, because of their faith, were chosen to learn more, to play an active part in the battle of good and evil that would determine the future of the human race for all eternity.

  Gordon had always been a believer, a staunch Roman Catholic who had considered becoming a priest before falling in love with Lisa and understanding that God had a different plan for him. How different, he could never have imagined.

  It was Lisa herself who had approached him. Later, she’d told him that she had been assigned to sound him out for possible recruitment but had ended up falling in love with him. Her family had been involved with Conversatio for generations, but he had never even heard the word.