"Is that all?" I gave a relieved laugh. "Hell, I could do that in my sleep. What do you want, Officer? Access to the department's slush fund? A peek at an Internal Affairs file? What?"
I tried, unsuccessfully, to keep my tone light. My finger stroked the lump of the receiver.
He scratched the short hairs at the back of his neck. "I want you to help me bring down the LINK-angels and expose Letourneau as a false prophet, a pretender."
His face scrunched up, as though preparing for a bad reaction.
I gave it to him. "What? Are you insane?"
"You heard me."
"The LINK-angels, fake? That's not possible," I told him flatly.
He nodded. I stared at him incredulously. The LINK-angels were
a bona fide miracle. It wasn't just that they looked like angels. After all, anyone could assume any type of avatar out on the LINK. The thing that made LINK-angels different is they broadcast emotions, feelings. As a former tech-cop, I knew sending emotions via electrons was as unlikely an alchemist's attempt to turn lead to gold. The equipment needed would fill more than just one person's head. The human mind was still enough of a mystery that even if we had the technology to link to the emotional centers, sending something coherent was another matter. All that either party would most likely receive was a garbled jumble of images, sound and smell as the bard might say, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."
Thus, all of the experts had agreed, secular and religious, what the LINK-angels did, no human could duplicate. The LINK-angels were what they claimed to be a sign from God.
"Some people might say what you're suggesting is heresy," I told Michael.
"That's why I need you. You're already excommunicated. The Pope can't threaten you." Michael leaned against the windowpane and gave me a hard stare. "Besides, if Letourneau isn't the Second Coming, it's hardly heresy. Some might even consider a hack like that God's work. Anyway, why do you care so much about heresy?"
"I care. All right? I happen to care a lot. Despite what people say about me on the LINK, I don't take this sentence lightly. I lost my job." My fingers stroked the implant with an almost feverish desperation. "More than that, I lost a friend."
"Right ... Daniel."
I wasn't surprised that Michael knew about my personal history. I had a fan-run site somewhere on the LINK, where people kept track of all my comings and goings. I was surprised at how much hearing that name out loud hurt.
"I apologize," Michael said. He dropped his gaze and stared at his chest.
"Forget about it." I shrugged. With some effort, I halted the rhythmical rubbing. To give my hands something else to do, I shuffled though the clippings and printouts on my desk. I couldn't look at Michael as I continued, "The LINK-angels are more untouchable than the Mafia, and they've picked Letourneau. The election is sewn up and people are roasting 'heretics' wherever they find them. A person can't even get a dissenting opinion printed in the Times these days without retribution." Thinking of Mrs. Rosenstone, I frowned and gestured at my monitor to empathize my point. "No. I'm truly sorry for whatever's happening to you or to whomever you represent, but count me out. I tried to go up against the New Right before and I lost ... lost a lot more than I was willing to sacrifice."
"I'm certain Daniel's soul is clean," I heard him whisper.
Something in his voice made me search out his eyes. "Clean?" I repeated, "Clean of what?"
"Sin," he said simply.
I shook my head slowly. "I wish I could be so certain, big guy."
"So do I." His voice sounded heavy with defeat. Boots scuffed against the floor, as he turned to leave. "If you reconsider, my offer still stands."
I didn't look up from the clutter on my desk. In my attempt to straighten up the mess, I'd unearthed the article about Danny's trial. Damn filing system. Between my trembling fingers read the headline: "COP CONVICTED IN POPE'S MURDER." Despite everything, I should never have turned him in like that never, I thought desperately.
"For him then," came Michael's voice at the door, startling me.
"What?" I quickly shoved the article facedown under a coffee cup. I couldn't stand the sight of Danny's accusing face. "What did you say?"
"If not for me, then take my case for him. It would clear your conscience."
"What makes you think it's my conscience that needs clearing?"
"Daniel is an innocent man."
"Everyone saw him shoot the Pope, Michael. Daniel's guilty. That case was closed a year ago. I want to leave it behind me."
"But can you?" Michael's eyes held me tightly, and my breathing became shallow.
My smile froze, and the room seemed suddenly smaller. Michael's eyes, with their molten passion, felt only inches away. I took in a deep breath to steady myself. I closed my eyes, not letting Michael's gaze drag me deeper into something I didn't want to do. 'I'm not the hero you're looking for. I can't fight anymore. I'm spent."
Michael's hand gripped the doorknob. He looked out into the hallway. "Just consider my offer, would you?"