Christine completed a subtle assessment of the conference room. She saw that her enjoyment of deploying field operative observational skills from long ago, registering details in peripheral vision and looking without looking, discomfited those in the room surveilling her in the same manner. She pulled herself back. If the Church had any role in the tangle of events behind the missile breach, she’d find it at this meeting.

Mountain Home AFB was close enough to the Boise Diocese offices that she opted to take the meeting in person, the better to assess the situation. The Vatican lawyer on the screen looked tired, probably still jet-lagged from the trip from Rome to Portland. Here in Boise, the Bishop sat next to another lawyer, a smartly dressed woman. Christine took her measure – expensive suit, perfectly coifed hair, sparse but expertly applied make up, a discrete data pad propped in front of her; level, confident gaze; no jewelry – clearly the main adversary in this meeting.

Across from the lawyer and the Bishop sat Father Ryan. A big man, he held his hands folded in front of him on the table, superficially calm and respectful, the nervous kneading and clenching of his hands obvious to Christine. His attention seemed mostly focused on the Bishop, who bantered jovially. The Bishop’s animated enthusiasm only partially covered his own anxiety about the proceedings.

Christine sat at the end of the table, with Matt Skoberg to her left. Sahar Burhan observed remotely from Fairchild with a private channel to Christine on her retinal display.  No doubt the Bishop and his lawyer had as many sensors in the room as she did.

“Well, shall we get started?” the Bishop announced, smiling broadly around the table. “Perhaps some introductions first?  I’m Bishop Michael Chlebek of the Diocese of Boise. Welcome to our offices. Ms. Nguyen?”

The lawyer introduced herself, only addressing Christine. “I’m Sandra Nguyen from the firm Ashland, Crosby, and Summers, counsel for the Archdiocese of Portland, here representing the Archbishop.”  Christine knew the firm as one that often represented Mega interests in litigation against each other and the government. The background briefing provided by Christine’s team described Ms. Nguyen as a devout Catholic who provided her deeply discounted services to the Church as both a litigator and a canon lawyer. She was widely regarded as discreet and effective, as evidenced by her diverse oligarch client list.

The Bishop turned to the monitor and gestured. “This is Father Spadolino, the representative from the Vatican, here strictly as an observer given the unusual nature of the proceedings. He wanted to be here in person, but he missed his connection in Portland. And of course, this is Father Ryan.” Ed smiled nervously. The Bishop gestured toward Christine. “Ms. Bilyk?”

Christine noted the casual disrespect of ignoring her title and status, then introduced herself and Skoberg. She noted Skoberg kept the sensor array in his glasses directed at whoever spoke, transmitting to Sahar and recording for further analysis later.

The lawyer seized the initiative. “We must first stipulate that Father Ryan is not the subject of any investigation, and that anything he says during this interview cannot be used by you or any other government agency as part of any investigation or prosecution for any crimes in perpetuity.”

Christine sighed audibly.

“Father Ryan is not the subject of any investigation. This is a national security matter, the details of which are highly classified, and all of this…” she gestured around the room “…will remain classified at the highest levels. That includes any notes or recordings you may or may not be making with any technologies that you may or may not be using. Any disclosure of this conversation will invite the harshest of responses from the government. Are we agreed?”

 “Agreed,” the lawyer replied. 

The Bishop relaxed.

Christine turned to Fr. Ed. “Father Ryan, can you please describe your first contact with the alleged HiMEC?”

Father Ed looked confused. “The what?”

“The monster,” the lawyer interjected.

“Oh. He, um, Astyanax, approached me outside the church one evening, asking about the sacraments. At first, he only came at night and stayed mostly concealed.  It was only after the second conversation that I began to suspect he was not…not normal.”

“In what way?”

“That he wasn’t, you know, human. That he was a grendel. That’s what they call themselves.” He looked at the lawyer for permission to continue. She gave him a nod. “So I asked, and he freely admitted it.”

“And?”

“I informed the Bishop and asked for direction. The Bishop instructed me to file a contact report with the police, which I did.”

“What was his specific interest? The grendel.”

Fr. Ed took a deep breath. “He wanted to talk to me, to learn about Catholicism. He wanted to become a Catholic, to be baptized.”

A message from Sahar popped into Christine’s display. 

New behavior. Analyzing.

“And what did you say?”

“About baptism?  We talked about…”

The lawyer held up her hand.

“Don’t answer that, Father.”

Fr. Ed looked around the room for guidance, back and forth between the lawyer, the Bishop, and the government woman.

Christine turned to the lawyer. “I’m sorry, is the Church somehow involved in this national security issue?”

“The personal conversations between a priest and a…an individual are protected speech and outside the purview of state inquiry, except under special circumstances.”

“Which this constitutes. We have a compelling national security interest in understanding every detail of this conversation. Do we need to get a court order?”

The lawyer was unfazed. “Unless the government can demonstrate a specific, direct interest in Father Ryan’s spiritual counseling, it remains off limits.”

The two women studied each other, unflinching. The rest of the room watched the test of wills.

“I believe I stated at the beginning the urgency and seriousness of this matter. We will not hesitate to bring the full weight of federal resources to bear. I hope we can resolve this without resorting to extraordinary means of compulsion.”

“The Archdiocese of Portland retained me to ensure their rights and prerogatives are respected and protected from overzealous government intrusion. The First Amendment provides ample protection, and in this instance, the privileged conversation of Father Ryan cannot be compelled. I suggest that if you have a pressing need for details, we focus on what can be shared, and leave the rest for later.”

Christine turned to Fr. Ed. “The creature was not confessing to you, was he Father?”  Ed’s eyes flicked to the Bishop and the woman, who made no response.

“No, he wasn’t, he….”

“In fact, he’s not even Catholic; not yet, at least.” She turned back to the lawyer. “This puts this into the category of casual conversation, and not subject to penitent confidentiality.”

“I disagree. Father Ryan and the subject were alone, and thus in private conversation. The topic of conversation was a spiritual matter, regarding sacramental counseling, thereby placing it within the scope of explicit clergy exemptions, and well within both State and Federal definitions in the Rules of Evidence.  Father Ryan was clearly speaking with the subject in his capacity as a spiritual adviser.”

Christine changed tack. “Other than baptism, what did you discuss?”

“His family, his life, where they live.  His travels in the mountains, the things he’s seen and experienced. His descriptions of the physical beauty of the wilderness were quite moving.”

“Let’s start with the first conversation. Where were you, how did he approach you, and what did you discuss?”

“It was in the parking lot, in front of the church, at night. I just finished hearing confessions and was locking up. He spoke from the shadows at the entrance. I couldn’t really see him. He asked me about conversion…”   The lawyer raised her hand.

“Stop there, Father.”

Christine nodded.

“What did you discuss other than conversion? Any mention of who he was with, why he was in the area, where he was going?”

“Not that time. It was quite brief. Someone pulled into the parking lot, and he disappeared before we could talk any further. The second time, though…”

The lawyer held up her hand and turned to Christine. “Any further questions about the first encounter, Ms. Bilyk?”

Christine glanced at her tablet and saw nothing from Sahar. “No, continue. Again, anything other than the discussion of conversion.”

 “The second time was also at night. I was at the Salvation Army Warehouse in Bonner’s Ferry, transferring a load of children’s clothing and food for the community. He spoke again from the shadows, next to the truck. No one was around, so he helped me load the truck, then we spoke for quite a while.”

“About what? You can leave out the specifics of his spiritual situation. And how did he know you would be there? Did you arrange this meeting?”

The lawyer prompted Fr. Ed to continue.

“I don’t know how he knew I would be there.  But he did. He really scared me when he first spoke. Other than conversion, we talked about Church history, who Jesus was, why I was at the warehouse and the role of charity and compassion in Christian belief. He said things that lead me to believe he was Sam, the unknown person in the community doing good deeds.”

“Sam?”

“Short for The Good Samaritan. It’s just a nickname. People in the community have been talking about a mysterious helper, they call the person Sam.”

“He’s been in the community, interacting with people?”

“No, not directly. He’d do good deeds, help people, without them knowing it.”

“Anonymously.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Anything else?”

“He surprised me with his knowledge of scripture. For example, he knew the story of the good Samaritan, and the connection to Christ’s message of compassion. What he didn’t seem clear on was the timing of things, the history. He asked questions about…”

The lawyer raised a cautionary hand. “Nothing about his personal spiritual questions, Father.”

“He asked questions about when things happened, both in the Bible and other religious traditions, but also American history. For example, he knew about both the Kootenai War and Ruby Ridge, and asked questions about the government’s response, and also what the Church thought of these kinds of struggles.”  The Bishop leaned forward, staring intently.

“In 1974? That Kootenai War?  Hardly a war.” 

“I didn’t really know anything about it. Had to look it up while we spoke.”

The Bishop shook his head, then turned to the lawyer. “May I?” She assented. “Edward, how does a creature living in the mountains have the wherewithal to learn about comparative religions and American history? This doesn’t make sense.”

Christine knew exactly where the creature learned these things. She saw messages from Sahar flashing.

New data. Suggests interest in insurgency and rebellion. Aligns with HiMEC role as intermediaries and collaborators with the Tribal militias. We have no indication from the Entity of anything like this. All current comms indicate continued cooperation. This also correlates with the DHS and CBP intel from detainees at the border.

The breach?

Seems unlikely. Modeling.

Did any of this come up in your HiMEC interviews

 with the Epsilon teams?

No.

Look at possible intersections between 

the Catholic Church and the separatists.

The Bishop doesn’t seem to like where this is going.

“What did you tell it about the Church’s position on these issues?” the Bishop inquired with an intensity that warned Ed to tread carefully.

“Um, well, I initially told him that the Church didn’t involve itself in these kinds of political activities, and that we focused on comforting those in need, and helping with salvation.”  The Bishop nodded approvingly.  Ed continued. “However, he didn’t accept that, and appeared to be familiar with both the history of the Church, as well as current challenges with, uh, certain factions, and their, um, activities, and so I…”

This time it was the Bishop who interrupted and held up his hand. “That’s enough.”  Both he and the lawyer looked at Christine.

“During that conversation, any mention of who he travelled with, other activities, why he was in the area?” Christine asked.

“No.”

“Then the third conversation? Where and when?”

“Just yesterday, in the morning. We were at a remote park near Bonner’s Ferry. I contacted the Bishop as soon as we finished, and then you contacted us.”

Christine leaned forward and encouraged him to continue.

“We spoke of, um, spiritual matters mostly. Then he left.”

“What happened?  Why did he leave?”

“He said he had…duties, that he needed to leave immediately.”

“What did he say exactly?” 

Fr. Ed thought a moment, then looked up. “’I am summoned to other duties.’”

“Did he say where?”

“No. But…there was a dog. The dog showed up while we were talking. He seemed to…talk to the dog, but it was a strange language. The dog understood, and even seemed to respond.”

The lawyer raised her eyebrows, and the Bishop leaned toward Fr. Ed.

“The dog spoke?” the Bishop asked, chuckling, and Fr. Ed blushed. Christine waited, unamused.

“No, of course not. But they were communicating. Astyanax spoke and the dog responded. Like any well-trained dog would.”  Ed felt more confident seeing some of the others, probably dog owners themselves, agreeing.

“What did the dog look like?” Christine asked.

“Sort of a shepherd mix, bigger than a standard german shepherd. Taller ears, I think.  It was very alert, stared at me in a way that made me uncomfortable.”

Christine messaged Sahar. 

That’s an amplified BCS dog, one of their companions.

Agree.

Have our clearances for local imaging been approved?

Just got them.

Search the area, see if you can track the dog.

Hold…done. We have him near Bonner’s Ferry, headed south.

Could it be the same dog as Michelle Shank reported?

Running models……  Shank’s report correlates.

Almost certainly the same dog.

The timing is right, same general area.

That’s a lot of ground to cover, but they do that…….

But there must be a second grendel.

He couldn’t be in two places at once…

… I don’t think. I have to refine.

Christine’s device beeped with a notification. An instant later, she noticed Matt glance down. She looked down as messages appeared from her team at the NMCC at the Pentagon. Her eyes went wide. She messaged Sahar as others in the room began glancing down at devices and various chirps, beeps and dings filled the room. Multiple side conversations erupted. One of the Bishop’s assistants entered the room and brought up a news feed on a second screen, fumbling with the controls to share the content with the Vatican representative without cutting him off. The breaking news was that an extremist group captured one of the “demons”, setting off waves of reactions, counter-reactions, and escalating hysteria.

Are you seeing this? Who are they?

Known separatist groups.

Running facial ID on the crowd.

Members of several factions.

The speaker is a known Christian Nationalist, Atticus Stamm.

Oh my, and that’s our girl in the background.

Bina Shank?

Yes. 

Location?

Refining. Given the attendees,

certainly western Idaho.

In the conference room, the Bishop took charge. “Unfortunately, we have to bring this to a close. I hope you have what you need Ms. Bilyk.”

Christine nodded and waved her hand dismissively without looking away from her displays. The Bishop stood and gave orders.

“Ms. Nguyen, we’ll get you to the airport as soon as possible. These things don’t usually affect us directly here in Boise, but they can wreak havoc with airline schedules.”

One of the Bishop’s aides, gestured at the screen. Everyone stopped talking and turned to look. A new story popped up about a skirmish between the Schitsumsh tribal militia and an armed group on the southside of Couer d’Alene. A convoy was heading north from the Nimipu Free State to support the Couer d’Alenes and the governor just activated the Idaho National Guard.

“Edward, we need to plan for contingencies,” the Bishop directed. Everyone stood up, gathering folders and devices, ignoring Christine. Skoberg was intent on his displays, now messaging with Christine and Sahar while the room emptied. Christine took charge.

Sahar, get things moving for a local command post out of Fairchild. Let’s get it as close as possible to the action. If the girl is important, and she’s in the Couer d’Alene area, we’ll need a presence close by. Then get back to Mountain Home. Matt, you and I will head back to Mountain Home and coordinate from there. Reach out to General Singh and see if that Epsilon team at Liberty is still available and ready. We may need the help.

Sahar jumped in. I just got notification that an Epsilon squad here at Fairchild just went AWOL. Fully equipped.

Christine cursed to herself. This was escalating quickly.

Because of this? How long ago?

Not clear. Working on it.

Matt, start working the USSOC channels to the HiMEC leadership. They will see this and react. That will get messy. I’ll get the approvals from NMCC and expedite with Col. Staley at Mountain Home. The quickest way to cool this down is to get the captured HiMEC and the girl back to us. 

Christine put her head in her hands and massaged her temples while Matt packed up, the two of them now alone in the conference room except for the Bishop’s assistant, standing at the door kneading his hands, silently urging haste. Though they still had no clear through line from the missile breach to the HiMECs, the Entity, and the girl, they were closing in on it, whatever ‘it’ was.

Scalpels, not hammers.

The President’s admonition echoed.

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