The Fraternity of the Stone

  8

  Father Stanislaw used a pay phone in a supermarket on the outskirts of town, getting directions to the local Catholic church. The church had a modern design, low, long, made of concrete, with an iron statue of Christ on the Cross in front. They parked the car and entered the front door.

  A tall, balding man in a business suit sat on a chair beside the holy water fountain in the vestibule, reading a prayer book. He glanced up as they came in.

  “God be with you,” he said.

  “And with your spirit,” Father Stanislaw added.

  “Deo gratias.”

  “Amen,” the priest responded. “I must say it’s good to hear Latin spoken in a church.”

  Drew stood with Arlene in the background, watching with interest.

  “Is the suspect still being followed?” Father Stanislaw asked.

  Nodding, the businessman set down the prayer book and stood. “He doesn’t seem aware of it. As you suggested, we’re keeping a cautious distance and tailing him—is that the right word?—in shifts.” He permitted a smile. “It’s almost like taking turns for forty-hours devotion.”

  “You know where he lives?”

  The businessman nodded again. “It was difficult to learn. The university sends his mail, grades and such, to a postal box. He isn’t listed in the phone book. But our source at the phone company discovered that he did indeed have a phone, unlisted. The computer’s billing file had his address.” The businessman reached into his suit coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper, giving it to Father Stanislaw.

  “It’s a section of town where a lot of students live,” the businessman continued. “I’ve marked it on this map. Years ago, the landlord owned a rundown mansion that he divided into as many single-room apartments as he could. He made so much money that he couldn’t resist adding on to the mansion. Sections on the sides, in back, in front, each with tiny rooms. After a while, you couldn’t see the mansion for all the additions. And still not satisfied, he started buying houses along the block and in back. He built additions onto those as well until all the additions came together and you couldn’t tell one house from another. It’s as if the block imploded. Only God knows how many apartments he’s got there. The place is crammed with intersecting hallways and alleys so the students can get to the inner apartments. It’s a maze. You can get lost in there.”

  Father Stanislaw glanced at the paper. “Number eighty-five?”

  “The sequence isn’t always in a continuous line. You’ll have to do your best and then ask directions.”

  “But he’s not at home right now?”

  “Not that I know of. There’s a pay phone here in the basement. I’ve been getting reports every hour. The last I heard, he finished a class in Depression novelists and went to the library.”

  “Is there anything else I should know about where he lives?”

  “Only that the students don’t take well to strangers. They realize how unusual the place looks, and they get tired of sightseers.”

  “Perhaps they won’t object to a priest. You did good work. All of you. Your Church is grateful. Tell the others.”

  “We’re the ones who are grateful. As long as it was necessary to preserve the faith.”

  “Believe me, it was.”

  “For the honor and glory of God.”

  “And the protection of His Church.”

  Father Stanislaw raised his right hand in blessing. “Please continue to receive your reports. Periodically I’ll phone in case you have any change in the target’s status.”

  The businessman bowed his head. “God’s will be done, Father.”

  “Indeed it will. And thank you again.”

  Father Stanislaw turned, gesturing for Drew and Arlene to leave the church with him.

  The heavy door thumped behind them.

  Outside, the air was nippy, the dark sky bright with stars. A car drove by, its muffler streaming frosty exhaust.

  “Opus Dei?” Drew asked.

  Father Stanislaw didn’t answer.

  9

  Drew stood in shadows across the street from the complex. Filling an entire block, it was situated at the level top of a gentle slope, bordered by shrubs. The shrubs and the night made it almost impossible to tell where one house ended and the next began.

  But this much was sure, there were many houses. Twenty? Drew wondered. Thirty? The house had been expanded with no consideration for consistency of style or materials. A plain cinder-block structure abutted an ornate wooden chalet attached to a modernistic glass-brick tower, and these all protruded from a Victorian mansion with gables and dormer windows. The mansion in turn adjoined a two-story log cabin, and then something that resembled a castle.

  Jammed together, the entire hodgepodge seemed the work of an architect gone insane from the wondrous possibility of choice, though the prosaic truth was probably that the owner had simply built each new addition in whatever style was necessitated by the cheapest materials he could get his hands on from year to year.

  Drew scanned the lit windows in the jumbled levels across from him. He stepped deeper into the shadows, watching silhouettes disappear among the crazily contrasting buildings.

  Nervous, he turned from the eerie glow of gas lamps up there to frown at Arlene. “Father Stanislaw should have been back by now.”

  She shrugged. “He might have had trouble finding his way.”

  “Or else … another five minutes. Then we’d better find out what happened to him.”

  “We?”

  “Okay—” he allowed himself to grin “—I mean you.”

  She grinned back.

  They both understood. Because of Drew’s resemblance to the man they were looking for, he couldn’t risk attracting attention by wandering the complex.

  Five minutes lengthened to ten.

  “That’s it. Now I’m worried, too,” she said. “I’m going in there. He should have…”

  A shadow emerged from the bushy slope across the street. Drew relaxed as he recognized Father Stanislaw.

  The priest approached, exhaling frost. “I found it. Finally. That place is like a rabbit warren. It’s astonishing how easy it is to get lost up there.”

  “The apartment?”

  “In a narrow alley. It’s got an outside entrance, with no doors on either side, and it faces a cinder block wall.”

  “So the neighbors can’t see him going in and out. And if he disappeared for a couple of days, no one would notice.”

  “Or probably care. These people aren’t what you’d call friendly. Twice, I needed to ask directions; not to his apartment, of course, just near it. They treated me as if I’d demanded their youngest child. By the way, his apartment has an opaque glass window with its curtain closed, but I could tell that the lights were on.”

  “Timers, probably,” Arlene said. “The last we heard, he was still downtown.”

  “An hour ago,” Father Stanislaw warned. “Be careful.”

  “How do I get there?” Drew asked.

  “At the top of the slope, you’ll face three alleys. Take the middle one. You’ll come to a tree carved into a totem pole.”

  “Totem pole?”

  “Turn left till you reach a statue that looks like twisted airplane propellers. Then turn right.” Father Stanislaw sighed. “I think I’d better draw you a map.”

  10

  A gas lamp hissed, barely dispelling the gloom. When Drew passed the statue, he had to stoop beneath an arch and found himself in one of the buildings. To his right, along a musty hall with pale bare bulbs dangling from the ceiling, he saw doors. To his left, a rickety wooden stairwell led down to an earthen floor. And down there, beyond in the shadows, he saw other doors. Father Stanislaw had called this place a rabbit warren. Drew’s own impression was that of an anthill, except that ants didn’t play rock music or cook onions.

  He left the building and entered a courtyard where another gas lamp revealed a One Way Only traffic sign that stood in front of three tunnels. The
map that Father Stanislaw had drawn told Drew to angle left. The tunnel led him through a further building to a courtyard that housed a chicken coop. He heard fowl clucking in there. And later in another courtyard, he saw a goat in a pen. Glancing down, he found that the long stone slabs he was walking on were tombstones. Madness. The deeper he followed the zigzagging corridors into the chaos, the more he accepted the bizarre.

  His double had chosen his lodging well. In this environment, a man who stayed to himself would hardly be noticed. Indeed, everyone here seemed to want to be alone, as if convinced that the rest of the tenants were crazy. Drew realized why Father Stanislaw had encountered suspicion when he knocked on doors to ask for directions. Here, a priest would be inappropriate.

  Several times, tenants stared suspiciously at Drew. But he didn’t give them a chance to see his face, and as he moved purposefully forward, appearing to belong here, they relaxed.

  As soon as he was out of their sight, he checked his map again, and at last he came to his destination. The narrow alley. The cinder block wall to the right. The single door on the left, and the opaque window with the curtain behind it, the faint projection of light from inside.

  He paused, his cheeks cold. From an apartment somewhere behind him, he heard muffled voices arguing about Plato and Aristotle.

  Read St. Augustine, Drew thought, as he shifted toward the end of the narrow alley. He stood in the dark at the corner farthest along, shifting behind a head-tall stack of boards, leaning against the crook in the wall, his insulated coat protecting his back from the chill of the cinder blocks.

  He waited.

  11

  Just before midnight a shadow came around the opposite end of the alley. The timing was right. Drew had often followed this schedule himself. Don’t head home till the neighbors have settled down. In the meantime, go to a movie. Maybe one of those retrospectives of Truffaut at the Student Union or, for a laugh, the latest James Bond movie downtown. In a college community, there were many other distractions: a lecture by this year’s notable literary critic, a touring company’s version of Measure for Measure, the music department’s Mozart concert. If you wanted soothing diversion, especially in Drew’s former line of work, a university was perfect. The next best thing to becoming a priest.

  All the same, this approaching shadow might just be a student using the alley to reach an apartment farther back. But as the figure moved closer to the door across from the cinder block wall, Drew became certain. The man approaching him was himself!

  Drew held his breath; the figure stopped. He had Drew’s proportions—the same build, the same height. The facial resemblance was uncanny, making Drew shiver. I wonder if he’s been told I’m not dead, Drew thought. Or if he knows about the monastery. Then wouldn’t he have gone into hiding?

  The shadow reached into his coat, pulling out a key. Drew hadn’t known quite how to act, but now he followed his instincts, deciding to play it casual. Good buddy time.

  “Hey, Mike.” His voice echoed.

  The shadow turned, on guard, toward this dark corner.

  “What?”

  “Hey, don’t get panicky,” Drew said heartily. “It’s your old classmate. Drew. I’ve been waiting to talk to you. Man, I’m in trouble. Please, you’ve got to listen. I need your help.”

  Mike stiffened, staring toward the darkness. “Drew?”

  “Remember those Colorado jackrabbits Hank Dalton made us use for target practice at the school? How Hank’s dog used to eat them?”

  “No. It can’t be you.” There was fear in Mike’s voice.

  “How about that coffin Hank used to keep our guns in?”

  “Christ, it is!”

  “Good to see you, man.”

  “But how did you find me?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Right now, you’ve gotta help me. Find me a place that’s safe. Man, I’m in shit.”

  “Oh, sure, I’ll help. The thing is, who else is with you?”

  “With me? Why would—? I just told you. Who’d be with me when I’m in trouble?”

  “Yeah?” The shadow glanced around nervously.

  “How many years has it been?” Drew asked. “Enough to make us wonder where our youth went, huh?” He took a chance and stepped from the darkness, holding out his hand in greeting. “For God’s sake, will you help me out?”

  “You’re sure nobody’s with you?”

  As Drew came closer, Mike’s likeness to him became more unsettling. “With me? What makes you keep asking that?”

  “Because, good buddy—” Mike held out his hand and grinned “—it’s been so long that—”

  “Yeah?”

  “—I heard you were dead.”

  Mike lunged in Drew’s direction. Heart thumping, Drew crouched protectively. Boards suddenly clattered behind him, from the end of the alley where he’d been hiding. Startled, sensing a trap, Drew pivoted sideways, ready to defend himself not only from Mike but from men who’d been guarding Mike in case Drew showed up. I walked right into it! Drew thought in alarm.

  But no one lunged from the end of the alley.

  Instead, Mike seemed as startled as Drew. Freezing in mid-attack, staring toward the clattering boards, he seemed convinced that Drew had lied about being alone. Jerking back, on guard against unseen assailants, he cursed and swung around sharply, racing toward the opposite end of the alley, unaware of the Irish setter that emerged from the dark to nose at something beneath the boards it had toppled.

  12

  Drew scrambled in pursuit. He had to keep Mike in view.

  His lungs burned, but he knew that in this maze of alleys, courtyards, and tunnels, Mike needed only seconds to make Drew lose him. Mike knew all the twists and turns. He’d no doubt scouted the place for dozens of emergency places in which to hide.

  Mike ducked around the alley’s corner. Wary, Drew pulled out his Mauser. His query might continue running away—or he might stop abruptly, taking Drew by surprise as Drew charged around the corner after him. Drew had to reduce his speed, cautiously rounding the corner, using up precious seconds. He didn’t think Mike would have a handgun on him. Why would Mike take the risk of destroying his cover if someone happened to bump against a gun beneath Mike’s coat in a throng of students leaving class?

  But a knife? Mike could easily carry one. A stiletto in his boot, or a pocketknife. No one would question that. For that matter, Mike didn’t need any weapon except his hands. Like Drew, the man could kill with one sharp blow to the chest or the larynx.

  But Mike didn’t attack as Drew crept around the corner. Instead, Drew saw him racing down the continuation of the alley. His chest heaving, Drew rushed after him. Even in the shadows, he had a sufficient target to shoot at. But he didn’t dare. Not only because of the noise, the commotion it would cause, a crowd, the police. But because he might kill Mike instead of wounding him. And Mike had to be kept alive to answer Drew’s questions.

  Mike charged around another corner; Drew followed. Beyond a courtyard, its gas lamp hissing, he saw Mike veer past a greenhouse made from storm windows, then sprint inside an imitation English manor. Now Drew could rush ahead again. As he entered the building, he bumped past a man coming through a door to the left. The man toppled back inside his apartment, sprawling hard on the cracked linoleum floor. “Watch where the hell you’re—!”

  Drew didn’t hear the rest. He was already through the building’s central hallway and banging out the exit door, not worried that Mike might be lurking behind it because before the door had swung shut he’d seen his double charging ahead across another lamplit courtyard. This one had a sandbox and swing set.

  The building beyond it was a barn. But instead of darting into it, Mike swung to the right, rushed down another alley, leaped over a bicycle, raced left past a wishing well, and, with a furtive glance behind him, scurried down wooden steps to the basement entrance of a looming Victorian house.

  The door creaked as Drew stalked into the basement. He wasn’t surprised when
he faced another corridor. The floor was earthen, like the one he’d seen earlier. Doors lined the hallway. Only half the dangling bulbs were illuminated.

  At the far end, Mike lunged through another door. Rushing after him, Drew heard the crunch of broken glass beneath his shoes. He frowned. The earth floor should have absorbed his weight. The fragments of glass should have been squeezed down into the earth instead of cracking now.

  The detail troubled him, but he couldn’t become distracted. There was too much else to think about. He was gaining on Mike, and in the alley outside this house or in the next courtyard, he had a good chance of catching him. Drew neared the door through which Mike had disappeared.

  He aimed the Mauser, pushed the door open, and faced a brick wall directly in front of him. A hurried glance showed another wall on his left, behind the door. He darted right. The door swung shut. His bowels contracted as absolute darkness smothered him. Oh, Jesus, he prayed. Spiders scuttled inside his stomach. Total darkness.

  Frantic, he pressed his back against the wall, and though his lungs ached after his urgent chase, he struggled not to breathe. Because the rasp of his breath could now get him killed. Oh, Jesus and Mary. He was trapped inside a black room.

  The broken glass on the earth floor of the hallway outside made sense now. Most of the dim bare bulbs in the ceiling out there hadn’t been illuminated. Mike, in rushing along the hallway, had hit at the bulbs, smashing them. That accounted for the broken glass Drew had heard beneath his shoes.

  The extinguished bulbs had been at this end of the hallway—the approach to the door through which Drew had entered this black room. If the entire hallway had been lit, Drew might have been able to see inside this room and notice where the light switch was and turn it on to find where Mike was hiding. Or maybe Mike wasn’t even here. He might have ducked out a now-unseeable door and left Drew to think he was trapped in here with an equally unseeable opponent. Mike might be racing out of the complex by now while Drew tried to guess if he was in danger.