The Trinity Game (17 page)

He wanted to look away from the blaze, but he couldn’t even blink.

It looked to him like the fires of hell. Hell on earth. And sitting in the control room, just last night, he’d actually heard himself make the prediction.

How the fuck is this even possible?

Tim Trinity stood, unmoving, unblinking, staring at the screen, for a very long time.

And he began to believe.

D
aniel jammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop in front of his uncle’s Buckhead mansion. He pounded on the front door with the heel of his right hand. The door opened. Tim Trinity made bleary eye contact and turned back inside the house. Daniel followed him down a marble hallway, into a room with a big leather sofa facing a huge television.

The television was tuned to CNN, the volume muted.

Trinity plucked a bottle of bourbon off the coffee table, took a swig. “Yeah, I’m drunk,” he said, “and you would be too, if you had a lick of sense.”

“What did you do?” Daniel thrust an accusing finger at the television screen. “What did you fucking
do
?”

“I didn’t
make
this happen.” Trinity was indeed drunk, but still plenty lucid. “Until two days ago, I was just a guy with a mental problem. Question is what did
you
do?”

It felt like a punch in the gut. “I tried to stop it.”

“Evidently you didn’t try hard enough.” Another swig of bourbon. “Lemme ask you something. If the archbishop of New Orleans showed up at the refinery, you think he coulda convinced them there was a problem?”

Daniel didn’t answer.

“But they didn’t send him, did they? So who’s to blame here? Why don’t you take a look in the mirror, Danny?”

“No, I-I called…I tried…”

“Yeah? Well, I called too.” Trinity glanced at the television. “Wasn’t enough. And your bosses apparently didn’t share your enthusiasm, or they’d have put some muscle behind it.” He pointed the bottle at Daniel. “You may not wear the collar, but long as you work for them, you’re carrying their water. So let’s cut the bullshit, boy. What does the Vatican really want from me?”

“They sent me here to discredit you. Debunk your tongues act.”

“But they knew the predictions were coming true. So what’s really going on? Eliminating the competition? What?”

Daniel brushed past his uncle and turned the television off. He sat down, braced his hands on his knees, and breathed slowly. “They don’t believe God is working through you. They don’t think it’s Satan, but they really don’t know.”

“Oh, give me a fucking tax break, Danny.
Satan?
’Course it’s not Satan. Tell you who else it’s not. It’s not Santa Claus or the Green Goblin or the Easter Bunny neither. Satan’s a fairy tale.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s not God.” Daniel nodded toward his uncle. “You’re not exactly a poster child for faith.”

Trinity sat on the sofa beside his nephew, spoke quietly. “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said since you got here.” He put the bottle on the floor. “But you know what I think? I think the Church is worried that God
is
working through me. They’ve got a trillion-dollar business to protect, and they’re gonna start looking pretty musty-dusty, with their robes and incense and Latin incantations, if a guy like me is a miracle. Not good for their brand.”

Daniel stood. “I’m not listening to this. The Vatican is
not
a business—”

“Christ, son, everything’s a business. Thought I’d taught you at least that much.”

“And you are
not
a miracle. You’re not even a fucking believer.”

Daniel walked out without another word, his hands balled into fists.

D
aniel sat nursing a Guinness and picking absently at a Cobb salad. He didn’t feel hungry, but needed the nourishment, so he forced himself to eat. It was coming up on nine o’clock. The television screen above the bar displayed a live shot of what used to be the main refinery building, glowing like a man-made sunset in the Louisiana night.

Still burning, but now under control.

The opening graphics for
AC360
swept across the screen, and Anderson Cooper’s familiar voice said, “Tonight on
AC360
: ‘Tragedy and Mystery in Louisiana.’ Our guest is Julia Rothman, senior investigative reporter at the
New Orleans Times-Picayune
…”

Daniel’s fork clattered to the floor.

“…and she has a shocking angle on this story that you are not going to want to miss.”

Oh, no…

After a commercial break that felt like a year, Anderson Cooper gave a recap of the day’s events, voiced over a video package showing the inferno in full blaze and night shots of firefighters at work. No final figures yet, but at least one hundred dead. An interview clip of an oil company spokesman established that the fire was a freak accident, the likely culprit a faulty pressure detector that had misread an open valve as closed.

And then there was Julia, sitting right across from Cooper in the studio. She smiled, and something fluttered in Daniel’s chest.

God, she looks good…

Cooper thanked Julia for flying in to Atlanta for the show.

Daniel’s heart skipped another beat.

She’s here…

Cooper told viewers that Reverend Tim Trinity was a local television evangelist, originally from New Orleans. He showed a short clip from the
Tim Trinity Prosperity-Power Miracle Hour
. Then Julia gave a succinct explanation of the Trinity Anomaly and how to decode Reverend Tim Trinity’s speaking-in-tongues routine.

Cooper asked how Julia had learned of this phenomenon.

Here it comes…

But Julia declined to reveal her source.

For now, anyway…

She cut to the chase, said that Trinity predicted the refinery explosion while speaking in tongues during his most recent Sunday sermon.

“Have we got the tape? OK, let’s roll it,” said Cooper.

Tim Trinity came on the screen. The video ran backwards, sped up by a third, and it looked like a clip from the old
Benny Hill Show
. But Trinity’s voice was clear, and hearing the prediction again, Daniel cringed.

“This is simply unbelievable,” said Cooper. He introduced CNN’s top video engineer, who came on by remote feed from the newsroom and authenticated the videotape. Cooper shook his head, astounded. “So, Julia, what do you make of this?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” she said. “I’ve only had time to go through a few of his broadcasts, but he seems to be making
predictions about all sorts of things, from thunderstorms to horse races, and every one I’ve seen has been accurate.”

“You’re convinced this is real.”

“I’m not convinced of anything, Anderson. It could be the greatest hoax ever. Was Trinity tipped off to the outcomes ahead of time? Or has he somehow come into the ability to see the future? Or perhaps there’s a third explanation. We need to find out what’s going on here.”

OK, so she’s beautiful—Cut it out, and get your head in the game…

To the camera, Cooper said, “For the record, we invited Reverend Trinity on the show to tell his side of the story, but his office said he could not be reached.” Then, back to Julia, “You know, people are going to think God is talking through this guy. You think that’s possible?”

“No.” Julia shifted in her chair, clearly troubled by the question.

Of course, she would be…

“Look, I’m a reporter, not a theologian. I’m extremely skeptical of any supernatural explanation, and I’d caution against drawing any kind of metaphysical conclusions. We don’t know anything yet. We need to scrutinize and test his predictions, follow the story and see where it leads.”

“And apparently the story leads just north of Atlanta, to Highway 403?”

“That’s right. In a sermon two weeks ago, Trinity predicted that a billboard on 403 would collapse tonight—exactly twenty-three minutes after midnight—blocking two northbound lanes, but with no fatalities. Now, the fascinating thing about this prediction is that we know about it ahead of time, so it’s testable. I’ve been in contact with the Georgia Department of Transportation, and they sent structural engineers to check it out.”

“And?”

“And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the support structure. So, barring a massive earthquake, the sign should still be standing at 12:24.” Julia slid an envelope across the desk. “They asked me not to reveal the location—they’re concerned about spectators blocking the highway—but I’ve written the exact mile marker down, and the date of Trinity’s prediction, so you can verify it after we’re off the air. Whatever happens—or more likely doesn’t—I’ll be there to see it.”

In a sermon two weeks ago…
Daniel reached into his briefcase, pulled out the file folder, and started flipping through the tabs, looking for the transcript that would give him the billboard’s location.

A Georgia State Police cruiser stood in the median. A state trooper leaned back against the fender, looking bored. A few yards ahead, Julia stood talking to a young man with a video camera perched on his shoulder.

As Daniel got out of the car, Julia approached and gave him a warm, platonic hug.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Guess I’m not clear on the definition of ‘off the record,’” said Daniel.

“What’s the problem? I kept you out of it.” Julia brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Danny, what did you expect me to do? This story is important.”

“You showed somewhat less interest before a hundred people died.”

Her chestnut eyes flashed fire. “Thanks for reminding me, it’s been at least five minutes since I beat myself up about that. Look, I didn’t believe you. OK? I-I thought you’d gone crazy. And my inaction cost lives, and that’s something I will have to carry for the rest of my life.”

She drew a sharp breath and looked away, and now Daniel could see the guilt she was carrying, the pain, and the effort to tamp it all down. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that wasn’t fair of me. You’re right, it was a crazy story.”

“Still, I should’ve checked it out,” she said.

“It’s not your fault, Julia. Anyone would’ve thought the same thing.”