The nun never knew what hit her.
Zebulon, his whole body vibrating with terror, watched the two men drag the nun across the grounds and disappear with her into the crypt in the far corner of the garden. He didn’t dare leave the safety of the tree; better to perch in it all night and risk his mother’s wrath than to descend before the menacing black car had gone its way.
It was not unusual for Vincent to appear in chapel late, but she’d never before failed to arrive at all. Mary Dominic wondered fleetingly if Vincent, like others before her in this age of irresponsibility and broken commitments, had simply put on street clothes and walked off, leaving her vows and the discipline of convent life behind. To be humble, to become a grain of sand, to put the good of the community before self-interest were goals fast being wiped out by the me-first ethic, and the community that had attracted more new vocations than could be accepted, from its founding until the 1960’s, at present had only two postulants.
Vincent’s cavalier attitude towards the rules so necessary for order in the community was not helpful in the training of new entrants, and Mary Dominic had been praying for the wisdom to broach this to Vincent as effectively and lovingly as possible after evening prayers.
Even more worrisome than Vincent’s absence from chapel was her absence from supper and recreation. Mary Dominic inquired discreetly if anyone knew Vincent’s whereabouts, but no one had seen her since the retreatants had left that afternoon.
When a quick check showed that Vincent’s cell was empty, she summoned Clare Francis, a marvel of discretion, and they made a hasty but efficient search of the convent, without success.
“She might have fallen ill in one of the hermitages, mother,” Clare suggested. Together they made the rounds of the small outdoor shrines set within three-walled enclosures, all quite near the main house. No Sister Vincent.
Around them stood black night, pierced by the raucous sounds of the neighborhood come to life — shouts, scuffles, curses; blasters and stereos hurling rock and rap; men shouting obscene come-ons to girls looking for tricks, who answered with obscene suggestions of their own.
Mary Dominic found Vincent’s disappearance disturbing, especially in light of her conversation with the cardinal, who had roused all Mary Dominic’s unspoken but seldom acknowledged fears about the safety of her charges.
It was imprudent to continue searching the far reaches of the grounds by themselves in the dark. Although Mary Dominic had great faith in the providence of God, she knew He also expected people to use the common sense He’d given them.
“It’s time to ask for help,” Mary Dominic decided.
“I’ll pray to Saint Anthony,” Clare replied. “He never fails to find lost eyeglasses and keys. Surely he’ll find Vincent for us.”
No need to remind Clare Francis, so practical and circumspect, to keep Vincent’s disappearance quiet until Mary Dominic gave the word. While Clare went off to invoke St. Anthony, Mary Dominic dialed Mike McGuire again.
Zebulon’s story of the priest’s kidnapping had disturbed her more than she had been willing to admit. She had given all the information about the cocaine-filled cross and Garcia’s kidnapping to the policeman who had taken her message for Mike McGuire earlier; now she feared Sister Vincent’s disappearance and the kidnapping were related.
This time she reached Mike personally.
“I have some information on your Father Garcia,” Mike said. “He’s not a priest. Never was. Just a runner for the crime bosses who thought he could cut himself in on a little drug dealing of his own. He intended to hide the cross at the convent until it seemed safe to go back for it. Tough luck for him he was caught at it. We found him shot full of holes and left for dead.”
That news intensified Mary Dominic’s anxiety. “Our Sister Vincent is missing, Mike. She was last seen in the garden just as dusk was falling, and I’m afraid she’s come to harm. The owners of a certain cross may realize it’s now in my possession.”
“I’m on my way,” Mike promised.
Vincent awoke with a headache to find herself gagged and bound hand and foot on the floor of the crypt. Two scowling men in black, who seemed born of the noxious tide she had seen enveloping the world, were bending over her. The old Vincent would have panicked. The new one, much to her own astonishment, felt absolutely no fear and remained eerily serene.
“She’s coming to,” the tall one said.
The short one nodded. “Go tell the boss dame to hand us over our property and we’ll hand over hers. Any grief and one tall, skinny nun will be going to heaven real soon.”
The tall one left. The short one aimed the biggest gun Vincent had ever seen at her temple. She didn’t know why she hadn’t fainted at the sight of it. She was no more than a commodity to her captors, and she knew that as soon as she lost her value for them, they would kill her. Yet she remained calm. The spirits of the sisters whose bodies slept peacefully in the crypt seemed to be supporting her, speaking to her of heavenly rewards and the power of God.
As placidly as if she were in the safety of her own cell, Vincent fell into peaceful interior communion with her Savior.
Zebulon had never been more relieved than when Mike McGuire’s car turned into the convent’s parking lot. He bounced out of the tree before Mike shut off the engine, tapping his lips frantically for Mike to be quiet. Sliding into the front seat, Zeb whispered, “Two dudes from that black car out front dragged the tall, skinny sister into the crypt. One of them’s still in there with her. The other one’s in the convent.”
“Is it the same car that picked up the priest, Zeb?”
Zebulon nodded nervously. Some things were better not spoken aloud. Mike, who had an appreciation of Zeb’s powers of observation, called in a make on the license plate. When he heard it belonged to Salvatore DiPietro, he whistled and asked for backup. The DiPietro brothers were bad business.
“Time you were out of here, Zeb. I’ll cover you.”
Zebulon gratefully sprinted for home while Mike set a trap for Vincent’s abductors. Then Mike presented himself at the convent’s front door as if he had nothing on his mind but a friendly chat with Mary Dominic.
The nun who led him to Dominic’s office greeted him so cheerfully that Mike realized the community had no knowledge of what was happening. Mary Dominic, however, was a different story. She looked up from her desk brightly, but there were tension lines around her eyes and her smile was strained.
Mike recognized her visitor: Salvatore DiPietro, wanted for everything from breaking and entering to murder. DiPietro looked Mike over but didn’t recognize him as a threat.
“Why, Mike, how delightful to see you! Let me return this gentleman’s property to him and I’ll be right with you.” Mary Dominic sounded as if she’d had no idea Mike was going to drop in. The muscular, dark-browed DiPietro looming over her desk scowled as she took out the cross with the capped arms. As soon as DiPietro grabbed it, Mike read him his rights and arrested him.
Vincent told Mary Dominic every detail of her abduction as she was required to do in obedience. Mary Dominic listened in some amazement.
“Dear Sister Vincent, Our Lord must be most pleased with the confidence you showed in Him, remaining so serene in the face of danger.”
“He cannot be pleased with my disobedience, mother. Had I obeyed the bell, I would have been safely in the chapel. I deserve penance, not praise.”