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It was late by the time Jason returned to his apartment so he decided to wait until morning to place a call to the ULC district office. Since it was Saturday, he half-expected to get a recorded message when he called, but instead the vid showed an attractive young woman wearing a ULC cloak with the hood pulled back.
"Blessed day to you. My name in Angela. May I ask your name?"
Jason laughed, despite his effort to stifle it. "Is your name really Angela?"
The receptionist returned his smile. "It most certainly is. It's what got me this job. Your name, please."
"Jason Joval. I’m calling to speak with Archbishop Carmiel. I'd like to set up an appointment to meet with him."
Angela continued to smile, but it had now shifted to one of mild condescension, as though she was placating a small child. "Many people would love to have an appointment with the Archbishop. Unfortunately, he is a very busy man. Perhaps someone else can help you."
"Angela. Do me a favor and just check and see. Tell him I want to talk to him about Jessie. Be sure to mention that name as well as my own."
Jason was on hold for several minutes. While he waited, a picture of the Holy Mother Church of the MED flashed on the vid-screen, and a soft, feminine voice started soliciting for a donation. At the bottom of the screen, a toll free number appeared for anyone who wanted to call in for a confession, a donation or both.
Almost five minutes later, Angela came back on with a shocked expression on her face.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Joval, the Archbishop is unable to take your call at the moment. He is in the middle of a very important meeting, but he said he would be pleased to meet with you on Monday morning if that would work for you."
Jason nodded. "That will be fine. Tell him I'll meet him in his office at 10 a.m."
"The Archbishop asked if you would meet him in the rose gardens at the east end." Angela's voice had taken on a tone of deep respect. "If you come to the main lobby, someone will be there to escort you."
"That will be fine." Jason started to hang up, then added, "Thanks, Angela."
"Oh, no, thank you, Mr. Joval," Angela replied enthusiastically.
Jason broke the connection.
––––––––
ON MONDAY MORNING, a few minutes before ten, Jason stood outside the ULC district offices. The entire block was taken up by the ULC building, which included the district offices and the main cathedral of the MED with its towering steeple that look as though it would penetrate through the dome. Throughout the MED, the Central Cathedral was considered the most prestigious place to worship.
All of the Patriarchy's bureaucrats made it a point to be seen every Sunday attending one of the five services offered that day. The main floor accommodated fifteen thousand worshipers, with another ten thousand fitting snugly in the balconies. Then, there were the auxiliary worship areas on the three basement levels where huge holo-screens displayed the Archangel in all his glory to another thirty thousand loyal followers.
This was as close to the Central Cathedral as Jason had ever been. He entered the main lobby of the district offices and walked over to a long counter where a dozen or so ULCers sat at computer terminals. As he gave his name and the purpose for his visit, the ULCer on the other side of the counter typed in the information and a moment later waved him to a row of comfortable chairs. Less than five minutes later, a cloaked attendant met him and escorted him to the rose garden.
As Jason entered the gardens, he stopped, his mouth falling open as he gazed around at the thousands of rose bushes neatly and artistically arranged in the most spectacular scene of cultivated wonder. He'd seen pictures of the rose garden, but they hadn't begun to capture the beauty and elegance, not to mention the incredible scent. He was still in the thrall of the moment when a polite cough drew his attention to a short man.
Archbishop Carmiel was dressed in a rich, burgundy robe. His hood was pulled back revealing a full head of silver-gray hair. It took Jason a moment to realize why Carmiel looked so familiar. It was like he was looking into a mirror that had added thirty years to his own face.
"Hello, son," Carmiel said in a warm, husky voice. He held out his two hands as though expecting Jason to either stoop and kiss them or hug him. Jason did neither, but instead stood frozen in place.
"So, you acknowledge that I'm your son,” Jason replied sarcastically.
"Yes, I do, Jason, although as Archbishop, I have developed the bad habit of calling most people 'son’."
"Would you be so bold if we were in a less private setting?"
"Of course not." Carmiel laughed. He glanced at his hands as though surprised to find them stretched out before him, then dropped them to his side. "Why do you think we're meeting here?" He waved one arm to take in the gardens.
"I thought, perhaps, you were taking me on our first outing. You know, a father-son bonding experience." Jason didn't try to hide the sarcasm this time.
"Touché," Carmiel's smile disappeared. "You look well." Then, realizing the awkwardness of the statement, added, "I was surprised to hear from you. How did you find out?"
"Let's just say a little computer told me and leave it at that. I didn't come here to answer questions. I came to get some of my own answered."
Carmiel stiffened at the remark. "It appears in your upbringing in the Gambling Zone, no one bothered to teach you manners."
"Maybe not, but then again, where would one go for good manners these days?"
"Why, the Church, of course," Carmiel replied with a chuckle. "This would truly be a blessed day if you were coming to give yourself to the Church. Is that the reason for this pleasant surprise?"
"Hardly," Jason said, making a face to show his contempt for such an idea. "I'm here for answers, that's all."
"Okay, ask."
Suddenly, Jason was unsure where to begin. He hadn't really expected the old man to be so accommodating. "Well, to start with, how much of my luck has come from your intervention?"
"That's an interesting question with which to start," Carmiel said, as he walked over to the rose bush, bending down to smell one of the flowers. "What would make you think that I've had anything to do with how lucky you've been?"
Jason recounted his gambling experiment. "Other than a temporary drop in my winnings, it didn't make any difference how well or how poorly I played."
Carmiel shook his head as he plucked one of the roses from the bush. "You really shouldn't be fooling around like that. It won't lead to any good. Why not just relax and enjoy your good fortune?"
"Because something very evil is going on under the Dome, and I intend to find out what...and what role you play in it." Jason's anger, which had been simmering just under the surface, now boiled over. He took a step forward and slapped the rose out of Carmiel's hand.
"You've been manipulating the system to protect me. Have you also been manipulating everything else? What about the sudden periodic increases in deaths in the Commons? Have you been doing that as well?"
Carmiel’s face paled. "What do you know about it?" he blurted out, then, in a calmer voice, "Jason, don't go any further. You have no idea what you are getting into. I cannot protect you if you insist on delving into such matters."
"Is that what happened to my mother?" The words seemed to hit Carmiel like fists to his solar plexus.
His shoulders slumped and he suddenly looked like a very old man. "She wouldn't listen either. She kept probing, kept asking the wrong questions. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen. You're just like her, aren't you?"
"I don't know. She was brutally killed before I really got to know her," Jason replied, "but I suspect I am. I won't stop either."
Carmiel stooped down to pick up the broken rose from the path where it had landed. He gently caressed the bruised petals as though his touch would heal its wounds. Then, slowly, he crushed the flower in his hand. "You are as fragile as this rose, my son. You know not the power with which you are dealing." He opened his hand and the fragments of the rose fell to the ground. Jason thought he noticed a glitter of a tear in the corner of his father's eyes, but decided it was probably just the morning light's reflection. The old man turned and walked away.
––––––––
JASON DID NOT RETURN to his apartment, but instead went straight from the Central Cathedral to the Down & Under Bar in the heart of the Shades district. The D&U boasted of having the most unique and varied clientele around, which as far as Jason could tell was a polite way of saying you could always count on finding the dregs of the MED at the D&U. You could also find anything you wanted at the D&U or someone who could help you obtain it—that is, if you had enough money. Jason did, and he was ready to spend it.
As he entered the bar, he stood at the doorway long enough for his eyes to adjust to the subdued lighting of the smoke-filled room. It was rumored that you could get high just sitting in the bar for an hour or two, breathing the stale, drug infused air. Jason didn't plan on staying that long.
He strolled over to the bar. Most of the bars in the Shades used only computerized barkeeps. Few people wanted to rush their lives keeping bar in the area. The D&U was the exception, and it was all because of Jackknife, who was the exception to just about every rule. He stood over seven feet tall, and although no one could ever persuade him to step on a scale, he claimed to weigh over four hundred pounds. No one dared argue the point. He'd been the owner and bartender of the D&U for as long as anyone could remember. It was rumored that his ownership went back at least sixty years even though he didn't look a day over thirty-five.
Jackknife and Jason had a special relationship that neither man ever had the ability or interest to explain. They simply liked each other and had a mutual respect for each other's professional expertise, even though they rarely saw each other more than once or twice a year.
As Jason strolled up the the bar, Jackknife had his favorite drink waiting for him. Jackknife held one huge hand over his head and waited for Jason to do the same. The two of them slapped their palms together in their customary greeting. Jason stifled a wince of pain as Jackknife's huge mitt struck his own.
"How's it hanging, my little gambling buddy?" Jackknife asked in a booming voice.
"Staying ahead of the Sleep Stations," Jason replied with a smile. "How about you?"
"Can't complain. Besides, I don't get paid to listen to my own complaints, just my customers’. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company today?" Jackknife asked, as he took a long draught from a gallon-size jug of water. Jason had never seen the man take a drink of alcohol or indulge in any of the drugs so popular in this area. "Nothing that will cloud the mind," Jackknife often said.
"I'm looking for someone," Jason said, getting right to the point. "Have you seen Leona around?"
Jackknife downed half the jug before replying. "Yeah, she's around. What do you need with the black bitch from hell?"
Jason leaned across the bar. "I want to hire her services."
"Whoa," Jackknife whistled. "Someone must have made my gambling friend angry. Don't tell me someone failed to pay their gambling debt?"
"Something like that," Jason replied evasively.
"Well, it must have been some debt for you to hire Leona. She's the most expensive killer under the MED."
"And the most competent," Jason added.
"No question about it," Jackknife agreed. "Would you like me to see if I can find her?"
It was Jackknife's customary question.
Jason replied by sliding a stack of worth-chips across the bar, which quickly disappeared under the bartender's hand.
"I'll see what I can scout up," Jackknife said as he turned and nodded to one of his helpers to man the bar.