The Trinity Game (11 page)

“So?”

“So I’m a wealthy man. Got everything I could possibly need. You could say God’s been very good to me.” Trinity let out a long breath. “And I don’t believe in Him.”

The girl shrugged. “We both gonna have to answer for our sins on judgment day. Don’t matter if you believe or not. It’s real, and it’s gonna happen.”

And that, to Tim Trinity, was simply awesome. That a girl like this could be so unshaken in faith. Unbelievable. “See?” he said. “That’s why I need your help. Your belief is so strong.”

“But what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to pray for me. See, some very weird shit is goin’ down in my life, and I can’t find a rational explanation. I mean, I’ve tried everything, and it’s startin’ to look like prayer’s all I got left to try. But I can’t pray for myself, ’cause I don’t believe.”

The girl stood quietly for a minute, then said, “Start to pray, and you’ll start to believe.”

Trinity shook his head.

The girl reached out, took the money. “Want me to pray for your soul?”

“No,” said Trinity. If people had souls, he knew his was way beyond saving. “I want you to ask God to please stop fucking with my head.”

N
o heavy bag in the Ritz-Carlton’s workout room. No speedbag, either. So Daniel contented himself with push-ups, crunches, and skipping rope. He spent the workout thinking about the strange contact from whoever was calling himself PapaLegba.

Probably someone who knew Daniel was from New Orleans, hence the chosen screen name. Someone with the resources to hack into Daniel’s computer and take control of his Instant Messenger program. But who? And why?

Could be Conrad Winter, tossing a wrench in the works, trying to trip Daniel up.

Or not. There was no way to know for sure, given the available evidence, and Daniel resolved to put it out of his mind, not to get distracted by it, not to let it make him paranoid. He had a job to do.

He took a quick sauna and headed back to the room for a shower and breakfast.

As he downed the last of his coffee, an e-mail came in. From Gerry, the audio engineer at Emory. The e-mail he’d been waiting for.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: What we’ve learned…

Padre,

You only asked me to do three broadcasts, but I kinda got carried away…took it on as a personal project. So I did all of ’em (transcripts and audio files attached). Bad news, though. I ran every possible test on the audio (AND video) of your fake holy man, and I gotta tell ya, there’s no electronic manipulation here. The guy is really doing it. Kinda freaking me out, but I’ve got no explanation. Never seen anything like it. If you need anything else, let me know.

-Gerry

So Trinity had figured out a trick that had never been done before. Well, why not? There were many monikers you could hang on the man—childish, egocentric, immoral—but you could never call him stupid.

Daniel double-clicked on one of the attached transcript files, and it opened on his screen. Another weather report, Trinity warning of torrential rains in Charleston.

Torrential.
Daniel couldn’t remember seeing that word in the transcripts Nick had given him. He opened the corresponding audio file from Gerry, listened.
Torrential
—no mistaking it. He checked the broadcast date, pulled the corresponding transcript from his case file. In Giuseppe’s transcript, Trinity never said torrential…because in the transcript, Trinity called for sunshine. And it was one of the predictions Trinity had supposedly gotten wrong.

But Trinity hadn’t called for sunshine; he’d called for rain.

A chill ran down Daniel’s arms as he flipped through his folder, pulling the transcript of Trinity’s next failed prediction.

Two hours later, Daniel sat stunned, trying to understand. He’d checked and double-checked, read and listened and re-listened. Surfed the Internet for weather news and sports scores and more.

Trinity’s predictions, so far, had all come true.

All of them.

Maybe Trinity had some meteorologist at the national weather service on his payroll…but how to explain the sports predictions? The games couldn’t all be fixed, could they? And what about the traffic accidents? Daniel thought about it for a long while. Then he hit “Reply” on Gerry’s e-mail.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: What we’ve learned…

Gerry,

Thanks so much for your help with this. During the week, Trinity’s show is a repeat—but there’s a new episode starting each Sunday. Could you record and decode tomorrow’s show? I can do the transcription, but if you could just send me the reversed audio file, that would be a big help.

Thanks again,

D.

Daniel shut down his laptop, trying to make sense of things. He came up with more questions than answers. But two things seemed certain:

However he was doing it, Tim Trinity was predicting the future accurately, every single time.

And the Vatican’s transcripts had been altered to hide that fact.

T
he television studio-cum-church was packed with believers in their Sunday best, and Tim Trinity stood tall on the stage, reveling in the applause and flashing his pearly whites. The canned music faded away as he slowly brought his hands together like a prayer. The crowd fell silent.

Daniel sat in the back row, taking it all in. He had to admit, his uncle wasn’t just good—he was a master. He’d seen many talented grifters at work on the tent revival circuit, many more preaching on television. But nobody
owned
the stage like Tim Trinity.

Trinity let the silence linger, then flipped a page of his blue Bible, which sat before him on the lectern. When he spoke, his voice boomed to the rafters. “
Jesus
said—Matthew 13:45—‘The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.’”

He scooped up the Bible, grinned out at the crowd, and scratched his head in mock confusion. “One pearl of great value? Now just what in the heck is he
talkin
’ about?”

The audience laughed easily.

“The pearl, my friends, is
salvation
. Salvation is the pearl of the
highest
value.” Trinity started pacing the stage as a handful of
Amens
came up from the crowd. “But some of you are like
the rich man who came to Jesus and asked what good deed he must do to get into heaven. You remember the one. The man was already virtuous, kept all of God’s laws, so Jesus told him to sell all his possessions and become a disciple. And the rich man went away, grieving, for he had many possessions. What he failed to understand—and what y’all
need
to understand—is that spiritual salvation brings with it
all
the material wealth you could ever hope for! Salvation is—
always and in all ways
—the pearl of great value.
Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.
”

Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, thinking:
Here it comes…

“So do not be afraid to give to the Lord what little you have, for it will be returned to you, one-hundred fold
.
” Trinity flipped the pages. “Luke 6:38—Jesus said, ‘Give, and it shall be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over—
running over!
—will be put into your lap; for the measure you give, will be the measure you get back.’
Amen
, and
Amen
.”

A blonde in a white pantsuit walked onstage from the wings. She looked like a beauty pageant runner-up, twenty years past her glory. She handed some sheets of paper to Trinity and flashed a smile to the audience.

“Thank you, Liz,” he said, and she left the stage. “The telephones backstage are ringing off the hook and our telephone ministers are taking your prayer requests, so I want you to call that number on the screen. We only have time to read a few on the air, but
all
of your prayer requests are brought to my personal altar after the program is over, and I pray over each and every one.” He flipped through the sheets, scanning each one and nodding, then held them against the pages of his Bible. He closed his eyes.

“Lord, we know that you hear our prayers, and prayers made in faith are answered. I ask you now,
in Jesus’s name
, to work a financial miracle in the life of Heather from Virginia Beach, who just lost her job. Bring our sister Heather a new and better job, and break the yoke of poverty off of her. And we ask you to look down upon Sarah from Minneapolis and smash that breast cancer, melt that tumor away…”

Daniel scanned the crowd as Trinity rattled off more names and misfortunes. He estimated the majority was about evenly split between black and white, with maybe 20 percent Hispanic and 10 percent Asian. He looked from face to face, searching for any sign of skepticism, but found none. These people actually believed the swill Trinity served up. More than that, they loved it, and they loved Trinity for taking their money.

Some things never change.
Daniel pushed away childhood memories of revival tents packed with dirt-poor farmers and laid-off factory workers who couldn’t afford a stick of deodorant, but somehow found the money to fill Trinity’s giant glass jars to overflowing.

Trinity stopped praying mid-sentence. “Wait!” he said. He opened his eyes and looked straight into the camera. “God has just shown me something. Some of you watching at home are wavering. Don’t deny it—I have
seen
it. My words have awakened your faith, and you want to show your faith to God with a thousand-dollar vow to this ministry, but you say,
‘Why should I sow my seed to this preacher on TV?’
I mean to tell you, that is the
Devil
sabotaging your faith, tryin’ to keep you from your rightful inheritance in Christ!” Trinity flipped some pages and gave the Bible a mighty
thwack
. “First Corinthians, the Apostle Paul says of preachers, ‘If we sowed spiritual things
in
you, is it too much if we reap material
things
from
you? So also the Lord directed those who proclaim the gospel to get their living
from
the gospel.’ Word of
God!
It is written, in
Jesus’s
name!”

The congregation called out
Amens
as the master preacher executed a side-shuffle that would’ve made James Brown proud.

“See, God has prepared a
magnificent feast
, and Jesus has reserved a seat for you at the head table.” He patted his belly and shook his head. “And you say, ‘Thanks, Lord, but I’m not hungry, I had a big lunch. Maybe next time.’” The crowd laughed right along with him, until his smile melted away and his expression became deadly serious. “My-oh-my, you had a big lunch. That is the
Devil
talking! See, the Devil’s got many tricks to play on you, my friends, and I’ll let you in on a little secret: his two favorites are
doubt
and
procrastination
. More lives have been lost, more opportunities missed, more fortunes squandered, more relationships destroyed, through
doubt and procrastination
, than by any other means. They are the Devil’s twin tools of sabotage.”