I've found a heart to call my home
Like a Phoenix, I have risen from the flames

I. The Burn

In order to rise from its own ashes
A Phoenix first must burn

December 7, 1984
Golden Beach, Florida

Special Agent Daniel R. Mangan stepped carefully through the debris and ash of what had been the resplendent Dupont Plaza Hotel while looking for bodies or possible evidence. It was believed that the hotel had been torched by angry union workers wanting to send a message to owners, and in doing so, had killed at least twenty-five people, injured another one hundred, and reduced a massive building to rubble and ash. Dan was now walking through the crime scene searching for bodies and possible evidence.

The building was still burning when he'd arrived several hours earlier. Just as he got out of his vehicle, a giant fireball blew out the front windows, almost immediately turning the site into what looked like the ruins of Pompeii.

When the agents finally were allowed to enter, many had been unable to handle what they saw but Dan was among the few who persevered. As a teen living on the streets of New York City, later surviving a tour in-country during the Vietnam War, as well as his years working undercover for the U.S Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, Dan had perfected emotional detachment and he was able to focus entirely on completing assigned tasks. The carnage here was unlike anything he had ever seen, but if he could find one survivor or protect others from a similar fate, he felt compelled to continue.

It had seemed he was inside the building for an eternity but it had been less than an hour when Dan and the remaining agents were ordered out. Engineers had decided that what was left of the building was in danger of collapse.

Dan removed his gear, grabbed a proffered cup of water and headed towards a shady area across the hotel's large parking lot. He sat down under a towering palm tree, thankful that the numerous emergency vehicles blocked his view of the horrifying sight, if not the sounds and smells, of what was once a luxurious hotel.

"I tought you was Joe fum Chicago." Dan felt a gun poking his side. He glanced up and recognized a familiar face from his past.

"Hello Matteo," Dan acknowledged the well-known arsonist, "Matchstick" Matteo Ricci, whom he'd pursued for years as an undercover agent, but never been able to nail. "I thought you lived in Boston."

Dan's team and dozens of other law enforcement people were only yards away, but he doubted he could make them aware that he was at gunpoint without having a bullet, most likely deadly, being unloaded into his abdomen. He decided his only hope of survival was to stay exactly where he was until someone noticed his predicament.

Hoping he might postpone his imminent death; he made a comment about the gun. Most thugs loved their weapons. "Why do you have that .45 in my side?" Dan knew that Matchstick always carried a Glock 45 that was loaded with hollow point bullets. "Somebody is going to see it. You should be carrying something smaller." Dan forced himself to remain cool and not show that the gun concerned him.

"If you're going to keep the gun on me, put it in my back," he continued. "Nobody will see it there." Dan was trying to keep Matteo talking. "If either of us moves, someone is going to see that gun. Damn, they can see it from over there." Dan pointed towards the hotel and away from the movement he'd seen to his right, hoping it was good guys and not some of Matteo's compatriots.

"They can't see nothin'," Matteo remarked as he looked towards the hotel to be sure he was correct. "Now I want you to stand up slowly and..."

THUMP!

Matteo fell forward onto Dan. He was quickly pulled off, thrown to the side, and cuffed by two of Dan's biggest, burliest teammates, while other agents searched the area to be certain Matteo was alone.

Dan stood up and grabbed Matteo by the collar of his shirt. He put his face close enough to Matteo's to be sure that any spittle landed on the arsonist's face. "It might have taken years, but the ATF always gets their man." He turned and walked away.

"Hey Mangan," one of the agents called out as he walked away. "Don't you know that it's the Royal Canadian Mountain Police who always get their man?"

Dan shrugged as he headed back toward the hotel. "If the shoe fits..."

II. From the Ashes

To rise from your own ashes
Believe in yourself
And love yourself
To become a new person

December 22, 1984
Financial Square, 32 Old Slip
New York, New York

Dan closed the conference room door and walked past the door of the adjacent office. John P. Underwood, he read the name on the closed door and cursed silently. Special Agent in Charge Underwood had to be behind his problems. Dan was certain SAC Underwood had been undermining his attempts to transfer and not one of his underlings had the guts to admit it to him, even when asked directly. Dan had misunderstood some instructions during his first month with the bureau when Underwood had been his supervisor in the Albany office. He had tried to issue Dan a reprimand when it had been his instructions that were at fault. Dan had contested it and been cleared but Underwood had never forgotten that a rookie questioned his authority. Dan knew he now had given his adversary the opportunity for payback and feared that he'd be under the bus if his threat to resign was accepted.

Dan smiled at the play on words; then realized the irony of smiling at the prospect of throwing away over twenty years of education, training, and dedication to become unemployed. Underwood didn't attend the meeting Dan had just left. He had no direct supervision over undercover agents but Dan was certain he would know about his ultimatum before Dan got home, if not before he left the building.

Dan had just met with one of Underwood's Assistants as well as the Chief of the Special Operations and his staff who had come up from Washington. This was their fourth meeting in less than a year; each one at Dan's request. Each meeting began with the others swooning at Dan's work record and the announcement he was receiving another commendation or medal. At each of the meetings, he'd thanked them before reminding them that he had long ago requested a transfer from permanent undercover work to something more stable with the Special Response Team stationed in Washington, D.C. or, preferably, in New York City. An assignment in New York would allow his wife to remain at her current job and pursue the opportunities for advancement that she deserved, while, if a move was necessary, she should have no trouble finding employment in D.C.

At the time of his initial request and each time since, he'd been assured that, based on his exemplary work with the Bureau, he could expect a positive response in a short time. Each time, he heard nothing. His recent experience in Southern Florida was the proverbial final straw and Dan decided he had been more than patient waiting for a decision. He had decided that he would no longer request but would demand a transfer.

While preparing for bed the prior evening, he'd felt he was channeling his wife; fretting over what to wear, rehearsing what to say and in what intonation, practicing facial expressions in the mirror, and finally taking a long and very hot shower to ease the tension in his neck and shoulders. All his resolve almost disappeared when he spilled coffee onto his shirt ten minutes before the meeting, but he'd quickly recovered.

Once in the meeting, he had not only demanded that he be transferred to New York, but he'd also stated that he would resign if his request wasn't honored. He'd pulled an envelope from a jacket pocket and offered to submit it on the spot. It was obvious to him that the others at the table were not happy with his behavior but no one took the proffered missive. After a few moments of awkward silence, Dan stood up and left the room.

He'd spent over ten years with the ATF, most of that time in undercover operations, and had earned enough commendations and citations to fill a large file cabinet. He'd been told repeatedly he was the best of those "in the field" and he'd come to accept that he was. But such work always comes with a price.

The ATF proudly claims that their agents are a "different breed of man". Unlike other law enforcement agencies, the ATF never uses Confidential Informers, but relied almost entirely on agents risking their lives working in the field. Most agents, like Dan, came to the Bureau seeking action with no desire to push papers in an office like the one he now was leaving.

Dan had never met any other agent who'd been undercover for almost ten years, sometimes so deep he had no communication with the Bureau or his family for weeks or more. He'd spent so much time cavorting with criminals and witnessing violence and brutality, he'd become unsure who he was; a brutal criminal or the hard-working respectable citizen he'd once worked so hard to become. It was past time to stop pretending to be a sociopath and become the loving husband and respectable citizen he truly desired to be.

While she protested adamantly whenever he mentioned it, he knew his wife had bypassed opportunities to advance within the New York Police Department because of the uncertainties of his own career. She originally had joined the NYPD as a stepping stone towards a childhood ambition to become a private investigator. After a short time, she began to realize that her true calling was to become a Police Detective. She'd accomplished that in record time and he knew that she was anxious to advance to greater challenges within the department.

Dan nodded to the guard manning the door as he put on his gloves and straightened his scarf before stepping outside. "What's done is done, he thought. "Now how do I tell Trixie?"

Dan left the building and headed up Old Slip, barely aware of a brisk wind blowing off the East River or the commuters spilling out of the buildings he passed. He was focused on what he would do if his offer of resignation was accepted.

He knew his work record was unblemished and he was a valued employee. But they valued him as an undercover agent and not much else. He'd taken every training offered during his ten years with the Bureau and received multiple certificates and citations to add to the collection in a box under his bed. But he'd never been offered nor made a formal request for transfer. Transfer to anything other than undercover.

Oblivious to the rapidly growing crowd, Dan shuffled along with them through Hanover Plaza and around the curve onto William St. He stopped when he noticed the narrowing street and sidewalks crowded him even further and the speed of movement increase. Reassured that he was headed in the right direction toward the subway, he continued walking and returned to his troubling thoughts. It wasn't until he reached Pine Street that he realized he had walked right past the entrance to the Wall Street Subway Station.

He started to turn back but hesitated when he realized he was standing in front of the entrance of a small bar, or pub as people were now calling them. He certainly was in no hurry to share his news with Trixie, but he knew that a bar was not the best place to gather courage for anything.

"Can't make up your mind?" A young woman, struggling to carry several boxes, was standing next to him.

Dan looked at her and smiled. "Just..."

"You'll find far better answers in there." She nodded towards the large brick edifice across the street. The traffic light changed and she started to cross the street with the other pedestrians. A heavy-set man bumped into her and she dropped several of her packages.

"Oh, drat!" She stooped to pick them up and the remaining boxes fell into the street.

Dan knew that New York City drivers would never wait for her to get everything out of the traffic lane, so he quickly started grabbing boxes off the street. They were light but he still marveled that she was able to carry so many at one time.

"How did you manage?" He asked when they were all placed along the curb.

"Oh, I used to be a juggler. I just..." She laughed out loud when she realized he thought she was serious. "I managed just fine until that buffoon almost knocked me over." She started trying to pick them up. "Drat! I'll never get these restacked right. It'll take two trips now."

Despite the young woman's protestations, Dan stacked a few boxes in her arms and carried the rest himself, following her across Pine Street and to the entrance of a church. Dan waited while she set down her boxes and opened the large white door.

This Holy Shine is dedicated to Our Lady of Victory in Thanksgiving for Victory won by our Valiant dead, our soldier's blood, our Country's tears, shed to defend men's rights and win back men's hearts to God.

"That's a quote from Cardinal Spellman's dedication of this building in 1947." The young woman had noticed he was reading the plaque next to the entrance. "The official name of the church is Our Lady of Victory but we're often called the War Memorial Church. It was founded in 1944, during The War, to address the spiritual needs of the thousands of young men who passed through New York on the way..." She hesitated.

"World War II; I guess you'd know all that." She began to gather the boxes she'd set down.

Dan started to remind her that there were many conflicts that qualified as THE war but decided it would be pointless. "Leave them. I'll come back for them. You can tell me about the church."

The young woman quickly genuflected and then led Dan across the back of the church and through a doorway to the side of the altar. Dan placed the boxes on the shelves where she indicated and shortly returned with the rest of them.

"I can't thank you enough. You really saved me a lot of trouble." She offered her hand and Dan shook it.

"It was nothing. I just carried a few feather-light boxes across the street," he protested. "What's in them?"

"Some decorations for the altar. I...I'm the Liturgy Coordinator for the Parish."

She laughed when Dan looked confused. "I do whatever necessary to prepare for each Mass; other activities too." She lifted the lid of one box and showed Dan the tiny figurines wrapped in tissue paper. "For the creche. They're very delicate and very expensive. We keep them in a vault for most of the year."

"I never got your name," she continued.

"Dan. Daniel Mangan." Dan started to leave.

"Was there a reason you hesitated going into Bailey's?"

"Bailey's Pub across the street," she clarified when Dan looked confused. "My name's Laura, by the way. It looked like you're carrying a heavy burden and, maybe, maybe you thought you might numb it a bit in there."

Dan chuckled. "I wasn't looking for numbing, just courage to share some news with my wife."

"And that's what's troubling you."

Dan paused. He never liked talking about feelings and rarely confided in anyone other than his wife. "I suppose. But it's not...I need to go. My wife will be waiting for me."

"Is someone troubled?" A tall man with thick white hair joined them in the storage room. While he was wearing jeans and a La Salle University sweatshirt, Dan assumed he was the parish priest.

"This is Dan Mangan," Laura introduced him "And Dan, this is Father Alberts."

"A rude man almost knocked me over on the street and Dan helped me carry my packages the rest of the way here."

The priest offered his hand and Dan shook it. "I need to go..."

"I'll walk you out." Dan noticed that Father Alberts nodded to Laura who smiled and nodded her head in understanding of something.

"So, you're just a good Samaritan who helped our Laura," he paused before continuing. "Or was she the Samaritan saving you from the evils of alcohol?"

Dan stopped and looked at the older man. "I...I..."

"I apologize for eavesdropping. It wasn't intentional. Laura has a tremendous gift of sensitivity to the needs of others. She definitely sensed that you have a need...some troubles maybe."

Dan wasn't sure how to respond. "We all have troubles."

"Yes." Father Alberts sat down in a pew and scooted over. "Humor me. Tell me about yourself."

Dan hesitated, looking from the priest, to the door at the back of the church, and back to the priest before sitting down.

"There's not much to tell. I was raised Catholic."

"A boy named Daniel Mangan usually is. Were you raised near here?"

"We, me, my mum and my dad, we always lived in Lincoln Park, in the Bronx, at least until..." He knew he'd been conned but the words began rolling off Dan's tongue.

One Police Plaza
New York, New York

"Your score on the Sergeant's Exam was excellent; top of all those taking it, Belden."

"Thank you, Sir." New York City Police Detective Beatrix Belden had been summoned to the office of the Commanding Officer of Manhattan South Detectives.

"Why did you wait so long to take it?" he continued. "Your record is impressive. You were eligible some time ago. I definitely would have recommended your taking it years ago."

Trixie fought the urge to grimace or squirm. "I've enjoyed what I've been doing. Working undercover was always providing new experiences and challenges, and I've strived to round out my experience with other duties over the past few years. I've only recently decided it might be a time to seek out newer challenges." She failed to share her nagging fear of failure. She had excelled while studying Criminal Justice in college, during the Police Department's Academy, and as a professional police officer. Unfortunately, after almost two decades, her unexceptional high school performance continued to nag at her self-confidence.

"Well, Belden, I have placed you at the top of the Sergeant's List and I anticipate you will be a Detective Sergeant by the end of next month. Congratulations!"

Neither Trixie's posture nor facial expression changed as she contemplated this news. She'd wanted this for some time and was furious with herself that she'd waited so long to pursue it. "Why now?" she asked herself.

"You do want this, Belden?"

"Yes Sir!" Trixie allowed herself a small smile. "Yes Sir! It's just sinking in, Sir."

"Miss Coates will have the papers ready for your signature before the end of your shift. Are you taking off for Christmas?

"Just the Christmas Eve and Day. I'm going to my parents."

The Commander nodded his understanding. "Get these to me by Tuesday and you should be a Detective Sergeant by the end of January. Thank you, Detective." He spun his chair around and began shuffling papers.

Trixie made a crisp turn and left the office. "Why now?" she asked herself again. "Why now?"

Trixie spent the rest of the afternoon completing routine paper work and waiting for Officer Coates to provide whatever she was supposed to sign. It was only a few minutes before the end of her shift when Officer Coates approached her desk with an inch-high stack of papers.

Officer Coates looked at the wall clock. "I get off in a few minutes. I'm heading out of town and won't be back until Tuesday." She looked around the half-empty office. "Just have them on my desk before 09:00 Monday, Detective, and I'll have them submitted by that afternoon."

"No problem. And thanks." Trixie flipped through them. About half way through, her eyes fell on the word pregnancy. She read the statement several times hoping it didn't say what she thought, but there in black and white she was supposed to answer the question. Three options: Yes; No; and Not Applicable. Nowhere could she check, Not Sure. She quickly stuffed the papers into her satchel, stood and put on her jacket.

After leaving the building, she navigated her way through the crowded city streets and a packed subway, making a quick stop at the pharmacy a block from her home.

Inwood
New York, New York

Once inside the miniscule apartment she shared with her husband, Trixie removed her outer-wear and headed straight to the bathroom. A short time later, she knew.

Trixie stared at the results for some time before she got up and carried the pharmacy bag and its contents into the kitchen. She buried it deeply in the trash can, not wanting Dan to see it before they could talk. Satisfied that it was well hidden, she opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the chicken she'd left to defrost that morning. Seeing that it was still rock hard she got a colander, placed the chicken pieces in it, and set both in the sink. She then began to run hot water over it. She had no idea what that might do to the flavor or texture or whatever else to the meat, but she'd served much worse than tough tasteless chicken to Dan on many occasions. The sauce she was making would disguise almost anything.

While apprehensive about her findings, she was thankful that Dan would be home that evening to hear her news. They'd agreed some time ago that they would take this leap once he'd found a work assignment without the constant risk and long separations that he currently endured. Of course, that decision had been made almost a year ago and, the way he'd been talking the past few days, she wondered if that day would ever come.

That thinking was the reason she'd finally taken the Sergeant's exam, hoping to pass, receive the promotion and be settled into a new position before becoming pregnant. Pregnant women were outright banned from taking the Sergeant's exam or being promoted. While there were no official policies or limitations regarding women with children, promotions were almost non-existent.

At least that was the plan. She wasn't sure how that so-called plan would work now. Before taking the exam, Trixie had feared she put it off to long. Now she was certain.

"Dammit!" She'd been so focused on going to the pharmacy, she had completely forgotten that she also needed to go to the grocery. She'd planned to get a few things for their dinner as well as the things she needed to bake the pies that were her contribution to the family's dinner. She now would have figure out what to fix for dinner and bake her pies on Sunday instead of tomorrow morning before going into work.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" she cursed as she rummaged through an upper cabinet. Her tiny kitchen had almost no storage, which worked fine for someone who hated to cook and lived alone most of the time. But she often wished she had more storage everywhere in the apartment.

"Old Mother Hubbard," she recited as she pulled out two opened bags of almost-certainly stale chips. She'd promised Dan a "home-cooked" dinner.

"Where's Moms when I need her?" Her mother, Helen Belden, could wave her hand and a delicious meal for twenty people would appear on the table. Or so it seemed.

Just as she was ready to give up, she pulled a can of Cream of Mushroom soup from the back of the cupboard, figuring she must have a recipe for using that with the chicken. Or maybe there'd be a recipe on the can. She turned the can over and saw nothing.

"Now where did I stash that recipe box?" She stood on tiptoe, trying to see what was on top of the cabinets and hoped the rest of the evening would be better.

Our Lady of Victory Church
New York, New York

"I can't believe that I talked so much, Father Alberts." Dan looked at his wristwatch.

"Steven," the priest corrected him.

"I'm sorry. I'm not used to...You are a priest!"

Father Steve waived his hand. "I want people to be comfortable around me. I'd like you to call me Steve, but I understand that you're more comfortable with using Father. How about Father Steve?

Dan smiled and nodded.

"I would like for us to talk more, Dan. You've accomplished a lot while overcoming so much. That requires tremendous intestinal fortitude."

"Intestinal what?" Dan laughed weakly.

"Guts," Father Steve explained. "I've met many people with guts but some have much more. Faith, integrity, courage; more than just guts."

"I think it's been luck as much as anything. If it's been more than that, I certainly don't feel any of it now." Dan stood up. "There's not much that I can do until Monday. Perhaps then I can...I don't know." He sat back down.

"I do know I can't return to...It's not the danger. I just can't handle the evil. I feel I've lost the person I was, or least want to be." He glanced at his watch again. "And I know I can't be who I want to be if I don't get home." He stood up again and buttoned his coat.

"You do have challenges and I hope you'll let me help you face them. But I also understand that you need to get home to your wife. She sounds like she's used to your long absences." He laughed. "But even the most magnanimous of us doesn't like to wait on dinner."

"She is understanding," Dan grinned at the thought. "Although she'd be furious that you called her magnanimous. Thanks to constant goading by an older and very verbose brother, she hates long words.

"I hope you might find out something about Father McMurtrie. I stayed in close contact with him long after I moved to Sleepyside. He and Trixie-Trixie's my wife-got me through a lot of tough times. I lost contact with him during a very long stint undercover when I was only allowed to communicate with immediate family and...when I was able to communicate, it seemed he'd disappeared." Dan choked on the words. He couldn't believe that he was so emotional. He never showed emotions. "I almost lost Trixie, too."

"I should be able to find something with what you've shared. Of course, given his age, you realize..."

"Yes. I know that; but at least I'll know."

Father Steve stood up and followed Dan up the aisle. "I'll do some research tonight and hopefully I'll have something to share when you come in tomorrow. What time did Laura ask you to come?"

Inwood
New York, New York

The smoke detector was screaming and dark smoke was pouring out of the kitchen into the living room when Dan opened the door into the apartment he shared with Trixie.

"Trixie? Trixie?"

Trixie stepped around the corner, holding a broom. "Come help. Please! I'm trying to keep the smoky smell in the kitchen. If I open the windows it will only pull the smoke out of the kitchen and into the other rooms."

Dan tossed his coat on a chair and grabbed a heavy blanket from the linen closet. "Here, hang this over the doorway while I get the window fan from storage. Did you at least turn on the exhaust fan over the stove?"

Trixie stood on a chair and tried to hang the heavy blanket on nails atop the door frame that were being used for Christmas decorations. Frustrated, she pulled the decorations off, tossed them onto the floor and, ignoring the sound of breaking glass, hung the blanket.

"Dan?" Trixie looked and saw he had already left for their basement storage bin. She stepped down and, holding her nose, ducked under the cover and turned on the fan above the stove. She then rushed over and began opening the double window in the living area. Since she already had thought to close the bedroom door, she didn't go in there.

"Good." Dan noticed the opened windows when he came in carrying a window fan. "We can use this to pull air out of the apartment. It's not that cold outside."

He placed the fan in one of the open windows, plugged it in and closed the other window. "You can..."

SLAM!

"Trixie?" He opened the bedroom door to find his wife sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the window. "Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" She turned further away from him and wiped her face. "I...the dinner...I...I don't know what to do!"

Dan was totally confused. In over twenty years he had never seen Trixie behave in such an emotional way. She was much more apt to curse, stomp her foot, or maybe throw something when upset; and then it was over. He sat down and attempted to wrap his arms around his wife. She pushed them away.

"Okay. Dumb question," he apologized. "You're not okay. Something definitely is wrong, but I'd like to know if it's more than a burnt dinner."

Trixie turned to face him. Tears were streaming down her face. This confused Dan even more since Trixie almost never cried; at least not at anything other than sad movies.

"I...no, it's not just dinner." She wiped the tears with her sleeve. "I...I'm not sure how to..."

The phone rang. They both turned towards the doorway into the living area where the only phone hung on the kitchen wall.

"Leave it," Dan urged Trixie when she started to get up. "They'll call back if it's important."

"No." Trixie walked around Dan. "Neither of us should ignore calls. It most likely is something important."

Dan waited as Trixie answered the phone and then called to him.

"I told you it was important." She handed him the handset. "It's George," she whispered.

Dan waited while Trixie went back into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. "Hey George! What's up?"

"You must have really kicked butt..."

"What's the word on the meeting?" Dan interrupted George Harris, his former partner. He wanted to know what the reactions had been after he left the meeting. "What happened after I left?"

"Well, for one, Newell ran straight to Underwood. I thought he'd crap himself he was so excited. What a fool." George paused. Newell as the Assistance SAC who had attended Dan's meeting and was always seeking Underwood's approval.

"And?" Dan knew George loved to create suspense but he wasn't having any of it that evening.

"Underwood was dancing; I mean literally dancing around his office. And it took less than ten minutes for everyone else to know the reason for his lunacy. They're saying you quit.

"Are you crazy?" George almost yelled the words.

Dan stretched the cord so he could sit on the arm of a nearby chair. "Probably. Do you know exactly what I did?"

"No one's said anything official but everyone knows you've resigned."

"No. I haven't resigned," Dan started to speak but was interrupted by George's loud sigh.

"I have given them an ultimatum. Give me a transfer or I quit."

"Then you are crazy. Dan, you're the best in our division. You're at your peak. You can't just walk away."

Dan laughed then. George was always considered half-crazy. He didn't just tolerate the evil and violence they often encountered; he welcomed it. Of course, he was considered only half-crazy, because he welcomed it so that he could, and often did, destroy it.

"I just need to get some sanity into my life." Dan wasn't sure if he should say more. He was sure that he didn't want to say more.

"Listen, George," Dan continued. "Underwood has always wanted me out."

"And now you've given him permission."

"I don't work for him. He has absolutely no say in the matter. I just happen to work out of his office. I don't even have a desk there!"

"He has a lot of power."

"I know. I know. Listen George, my dinner is waiting. I'll be in the office first thing Sunday. We'll both learn more then."

"Yeah. I just wanted to let you know. You've got a bull's eye painted right in the middle of your back," George warned.

"Thank you, George. I appreciate it." Dan hung up before George could say anything more and headed towards the bedroom. He wasn't sure why Trixie was so upset but he knew that his news was going to make it worse.

Trixie was in the shower. Dan started to pull back the curtain. "May I join you?"

She grabbed it away from him. "I'm exhausted. This has been the worst day. I want to tell you all about it but I'm even too tired to talk. Can your news wait until morning?"

"Of course, Trix."

III. The Ascent

I have cried too long
No more sorrow,
Got to carry on

December 23, 1984
Inwood
New York, New York

Trixie rolled over and reached over towards her husband's side of the bed. She quickly sat up when she realized it was empty. The room was dark, so she knew it was early. Where was Dan?

Confirming that the mattress was cold, Trixie grabbed her robe and headed towards the living room to check on Dan. Before she could open the bedroom door, she experienced a sudden wave of nausea and rushed into the bathroom instead. She sat on the edge of the tub and ran the water in the sink full-force until the nausea had passed, before going out into the living room.

Dan was stretched sideways in his favorite chair, wrapped in the blanket that she'd hung at the kitchen door the prior evening. Trixie tried not to disturb him but he stretched and yawned loudly as she headed towards the kitchen.

"Sorry. I tried not to wake you."

"Couldn't sleep; tried to read; must have passed out," Dan mumbled as he dropped the blanket onto the floor and padded towards the bathroom.

Trixie had made coffee, tossed the charred chicken into the trash and was scrubbing the burnt pot when Dan came back out. He was wearing jeans, a sweatshirt and work boots.

"I need to go out for a while," Dan said in a low voice.

"I thought we were going to stay in this morning. Just vegetate, maybe...You wanted to talk."

Dan interrupted her with a long kiss on the lips. "Mmmm," he murmured. "I love you, Beatrix Belden." He waited for her to protest but she said nothing as she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest.

"Did you get any sleep at all?" she mumbled into his chest.

"Enough. I actually slept okay in the chair. This feels really nice but I need to go."

Trixie pulled away. "Can you tell me where you're going?"

Dan started to shake his head no, but stopped and confessed. "I'm going to church. That's all I can say for now, but I'll tell you everything when I get back."

He grabbed a jacket from a hook next to the door. "I can't talk about it." He put it on and zipped it up. "It'll only be a few hours."

"But I'm working," Trixie called out as the door shut. "We need to talk!"

It was common for Dan to not be able to share where he was going but he would always say, at the least, that it was work-related. She was certain he had nothing work-related at a church. So why would her lapsed-Catholic, self-proclaimed Agnostic husband, be going to church? And on a Saturday?

Fighting back tears, she headed into the bathroom, hoping a morning alone might allow her to find some answers to her concerns: what was troubling Dan other than what she already; how was she was going to share her news and prepare for his reaction, whatever it might be; how she was going to hide her constant nausea and keep her emotions in check until she did tell Dan; and, of course, should she try to clean the burnt pot or just toss it?

Our Lady of Victory Church
New York, New York

Dan backed down the ladder and pretended to wipe his forehead. "Whew! I hope that's it for climbing ladders."

"That's it. One of our parishioners usually does all this heavy stuff and I wasn't sure what to do when he got sick. Our maintenance man is just too old, and Father Steve is recovering from hip surgery. I'm just thankful that you offered to help." Laura took a roll of wire from him. "Do you think you could help me carry the ladder into the corridor?" She motioned towards a door. "The maintenance man is capable of carrying this and he really dislikes people messing in his area."

"I'm at your service, Madam." Dan bowed exaggeratedly.

"It's very generous of you."

Dan squirmed a bit before continuing. "I needed the distraction. My shopping is done and I hate sitting around the house alone. Father, ah... Steve said he might have some information for me today and I really don't want to wait for that any longer than I have to. I'm hoping the news is good and...well Christmas and all. Spirit of giving; whatever." He backed up to observe their handiwork. "It does look nice. You have a touch."

"Speaking of Father Steve, I think I hear him talking to someone in the narthex."

They both turned to see the priest entering at the back of the church.

"Dan," he called out. "I found your Father McMurtie!"

Forgetting all about moving the ladder, Dan hurried towards him. "I hope it's good news."

Father Steve gestured for them to sit in the same pew they'd used the day before. He handed Dan a small piece of paper. "Monsignor McMurtrie lives in a rectory in Yonkers. It's not far from where you grew up. That's his phone number." The priest paused before continuing.

"He is in very frail health but his mind's very sharp. He was very excited to learn you were looking for him."

Dan looked at the street address and phone number on the piece of paper. He rolled it around with his fingers for several minutes while staring silently at the altar.

"I want to see him. I have to see him." He looked over at the priest and then down at the now ragged piece of paper in his hands.

"I'm afraid to see him," he said in a whisper.

"The Monsignor wants to see you," Father Steve offered. "He may need to see you, too."

Dan shook his head in disbelieve. He tried to speak several times but choked on the words. "I'm ashamed," he finally blurted out.

"Dan, Dan, Dan," the priest tried to encourage Dan. "After what you shared with me yesterday, you have no reason to feel ashamed. You're doing the work of God. You're an emissary of Saint Michael the Archangel."

Dan shook his head. "No, I'll admit that I went into law enforcement because of what I learned in church, but all this." He swept his hand to indicate the entire sanctuary. "I'm sorry, Father. This means nothing; it's provided nothing. I tried praying in Nam. I tried again when I came home. I do the work of the United States ATF. I hang around with evil people and, if I don't get out now, I'll become evil myself. That's it."

Dan had been rubbing the pocket that held his wallet the entire time he spoke.

"Me thinks he doth protest too much," Father Steve recited.

"Actually, I have a friend who'd be quick to correct your error." Dan smiled. "It's the lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"I never claimed to be an expert on Shakespeare." Father Steve laughed and then quickly sobered. "Despite your protests, I think you've never lost your conscience or your faith. It's hidden beneath a lot of anger; maybe fear. You need someone to help you find why and where it's hidden."

Dan stared back at the altar without saying anything.

"I'd like to help." He continued when Dan didn't reply. "But I think you really need to see Monsignor McMurtie. He's waiting for your call."

"Would you like to pray?"

Dan turned his head sharply towards the priest. "I don't pray. I told you."

"Would you allow me to pray for you?" When Dan didn't object, Father Steve bowed his head and prayed in silence. He looked at the troubled young man as he crossed himself. Despite his protests, Dan had bowed his head.

"You can use the phone in my office."

East 6^th Street and Avenue A
New York, New York

Trixie pushed aside the paper umbrella with her finger and took a sip of her drink. This was the third Coke® that she'd ordered since sitting down in front of the grimy window of a tiki bar almost two hours earlier. Once the lunch patrons had cleared out, the two waiters had stopped staring at her and begun taking turns asking if she wished to order something to eat.

Truth was that Trixie wanted to eat something. Her belly was grumbling louder than the outside traffic and her bladder was about to burst, but she was certain the Polynesian cuisine would play havoc with her delicate stomach and she didn't dare leave her post. A reliable informant had advised them that morning that a suspected serial rapist with multiple outstanding arrest warrants was visiting his mother in the Village View Housing Project across the street. He'd lived with her until he'd disappeared less than 24 hours before his first arrest warrant was issued. The tiki bar was the only warm place with a view of the Project.

Trixie could have taken a quick restroom break but she feared he'd leave while she was away from her post. She'd long ago decided that it was better to risk a UTI than to endure the laughs and crude comments she might hear about such a call.

When Trixie had graduation from the Police Academy in the first class that allowed women to take the same training as men, the only positions available for any woman were administrative, no matter what her qualifications might be. Changes were made almost immediately after Title VII of the Civil Rights Act was adopted a few months later, and Trixie was one of the first sixteen women assigned to patrol duty. In the years since, the Policewomen's Endowment Association had fought for equal assignments and equal opportunities for promotions, and Trixie had benefited from their efforts. Her natural instincts, professionalism, and courageous performance had earned her the respect of most of the officers she worked with, yet some male officers continued voicing reservations about working with women and many more shared those reservations but remained silent.

Trixie grabbed a small pair of binoculars from her purse and focused them on a tall, obese man on the opposite side of Avenue A. Trixie had been told that the suspect was an avid Philadelphia Eagles fan and the man was wearing a green and while Eagles jacket. A green ballcap partially obscured his face but, as he came nearer, Trixie confirmed his identity. No two people could have that porcine face, massive neck and missing front tooth, thanks to the determined feistiness of one of his elderly victims. She spoke into a small Motorola radio as she tossed several bills onto the table top and headed for the door.

"Suspect has just crossed 6^th Street and is walking north on the west side of Avenue A. He's wearing a green and white leather jacket and green cap. I'm following him." She placed the radio in a deep jacket pocket, slung her heavy purse onto her shoulder, and followed the Eagles fan up the street.

Fortunately, he didn't appear to be in any hurry so Trixie was able to amble along the crowded sidewalk, pretending to be window shopping, without drawing attention to herself. He crossed diagonally at the intersection of Avenue A and 7^th Street, and headed east towards the entrance to Tompkins Square Park. Trixie hesitated at the corner just long enough to report their movements and proceeded up 7^th Street. She jay-walked mid-block before going through the park entrance.

Straight ahead was the normal weekend gathering around the Hare Krishna Tree. The suspect appeared to be headed toward them when he turned and looked back. He must have realized that Trixie was following him because he broke through the chanting worshipers and began waddling at double time up one of the paths. Trixie took off behind him. She chose not to run and try to catch him, fearing she'd never be able to subdue someone at least twice her weight.

The park was lushly landscaped but it was easy to see him through the bare winter foliage. Trixie quickly closed the distance between them but continued to hold back and make a quick report on her radio.

They were nearing the Temperance Fountain and Trixie knew he was headed for the Avenue A exit. Fearing she would never catch him among the Christmas shoppers crowded along the sidewalks, she knew she had to catch him before he left the park, so she took off.

She was surprised at how fast she could run on a full bladder and empty stomach but it was actually fairly easy to catch up with a grossly over-fed and over-indulged Mama's boy. She caught up just as he was going past the fountain. She managed to jump up and propel herself off a fountain pillar, landing on the suspect's back.

She should have knocked him flat except his massive size. Instead, he twirled around screaming and trying to knock her off. She wrapped her legs around his torso as best she could and held on to his beefy neck. In his uncontrolled spinning, he hit the same pillar that Trixie had just used and knocked both of them into the small fountain.

The water icy cold and slimy with some kind of mold or fungus, but Trixie held on while he continued to squeal and beat at her arms. Her legs were beginning to lose their grip around his midsection and the suspect was beating at the arms wrapped around his beefy neck when two patrolmen ran up and pulled them out of the fountain. It took all three of them to hold him still long enough to get handcuffs on his wrists.

Trixie sat on the fountain's stone rim and wiped her hair from her face. She twisted around to fish her purse from the water when she realized that while she was soaked in freezing cold water, her crotch and upper legs were warm.

"Damn," she muttered to herself. "I should have taken a potty break."

Our Lady of Victory Church
New York, New York

Dan hung up the phone and opened the office door to find Father Steve sitting in a small chair, obviously waiting for him.

"You were in there a while. I guess you got the Monsignor?"

"Yes," Dan answered softly. "You were right, Father Mac does sound frail. He said he's living in a monastery. Private room, three squares and all the time he needs for prayer and contemplation. Still sounds like the man I knew."

Father Steve gestured towards the other chair and Dan sat down.

"I spoke to another priest before I contacted him this morning. The priest said that he has to be helped to the front of the room but he teaches a few classes at the high school there. Sharp as a tack and the kids love him."

"He had a remarkable sense of humor," Dan interrupted.

"Apparently still has."

The two men sat in silence until Dan finally spoke. "I'm meeting him for lunch tomorrow."

"Good. Good." Father Steve nodded his approval.

"I'm beginning to think I'm being coerced into something." Dan glanced at the priest before continuing. "I helped a young woman in distress and now I'm decorating a church, praying with a priest, and facing...I dunno...facing my past?"

"I wouldn't call it facing your past. I'm hoping you're rediscovering it."

"He encouraged me. Damn him. He encouraged me."

Father Steve waited for Dan to continue.

"He encouraged me to look into law enforcement. I imagined being a cop on a beat. Nothing more. Sure; no matter where I worked, here in the city or a quiet burg like Sleepyside, I'd encounter bad dudes, but I'd lived with them when...

"I thought I needed to atone. I did some bad stuff when I ran with that gang."

"Were you told that?"

"No. I just couldn't get past the guilt. I'd never hope to have money for college so law enforcement seemed a good choice."

"But you went to college."

"Community college and GI Bill. Only good thing that came out of Nam.

"So, thanks to a lot of encouragement from my wife-we weren't married then, just-well she encouraged me to go back to school even though I was an emotional mess at the time. Focusing on school allowed me to get my act together; forget about Nam. I was recruited by the ATF before I'd graduated. They came to me. Sounded a whole lot more exciting than walking a beat or getting fat in a patrol car. I don't know if you'd call what I've done since exciting but it is what it is." Dan shrugged as if trying to shake off bad memories.

"I guess I should have walked a beat. I never would have had to...to become one of them."

"Them?"

"Murderers, drug dealers, arsonists. My specialty was gun dealers." Dan easily lapsed into a perfect Irish brogue. "Me lad, we needed those guns to fight the bloody British. Reclaim our land."

"Saw some bad stuff, I guess."

"Worse than bad." Dan realized he had shredded the piece of paper with Father Mac's directions.

"And what role did Monsignor McMurtie play in all this?"

"He didn't," Dan corrected himself. "I mean, it was my decision to do those things. In Nam; with the ATF. But he encouraged me to pursue law enforcement; helped me get my juvenile record expunged to do it. Then when college appeared to be possible, he almost forced me to go." Dan smiled at the memory.

"Actually, he urged me to go. It was my wife who commanded me to go."

"So, she's been a big force in your life, too." It was a statement and not a question.

"Nam was different. Trixie, my wife, refused to speak to me for months after I enlisted and I didn't even tell Father Mac, I mean Monsignor McMurtie, until I finished basic training. While I was in Nam, Trixie wrote me-almost every day-and I got all kinds of mail and things from Father Mac.

"Trixie and I went to school together and then," Dan hesitated before telling a priest they had lived together in sin. "Anyway, things were okay with her and Father Mac until I went deep cover for almost two years. I wasn't allowed to have direct communication with anyone and only my uncle had a clue about my well-being." I lost Father Mac and almost lost Trixie.

"I'd missed him; hearing from him during those two years." Dan coughed and cleared his throat. "He knew I wanted nothing to do with the Church, so he'd write about baseball, the weather; Watergate was during that time; whatever. I missed that." Dan cleared his throat again. "I said he had a sense of humor."

"Still has," Father Steve corrected.

"I'll find out soon enough." Dan stood to leave. "That two years I disappeared turned out okay for me and Trixie. It forced us to do what we'd put off for years. We got married." His face broke into a huge smile. "Now she's my closest relative and we can keep in touch no matter where I am. Sometimes it's through an intermediary but she's about the only person I can..." Dan stopped abruptly. "Father Mac told me he'd been in El Salvador and then... Well, if I leave the ATF, I'll be able to see anyone I want to at any time."

Father Steve stood up and walked over to the doorway. "Are you taking her with you tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure. I think I'd like to see him alone, first. Maybe the next visit. At least I hope there will be a next visit."

"There will be if you don't wait years to go back."

"No. Now that I've found him, I'll be visiting as often as he'll let me."

Dan walked through the doorway and stopped. "Father Steve? Thank you. I wish I could repay you for..."

"We'll see, Dan. We'll see."

19^th Precinct Headquarters
New York, New York

After wrapping up in the park, Trixie returned to the Station House to complete her own paperwork. Once in the building she went straight to the locker room, grabbed the clean change of clothes she always kept in her locker, and headed for the shower. Because men and women shared the same facilities, she had to place a sign on the shower room door and wait to strip inside the stall. The door didn't lock and too many of the men in the precinct liked to walk in unannounced, ignoring the sign.

Once she got under the hot water, she realized she had left her shampoo and soap in her locker. Normally, she'd just rinse off enough to get by until she got home, but, today, she needed something to get the slime out of her hair and remove the putrid smell that emanated from every fold of her body. Hoping no one would miss or, worse, ignore the sign, she padded over to the row of sinks and lathered her body and hair as best she could with pink liquid hand soap. She then scrubbed and rinsed in the shower as best she could, toweled off, dressed and headed back to her locker.

"Damm. Did you hear what that crazy Belden did this time?"

"You mean Batshit Belden?"

"I never heard that but she flew through the air like a bat shot out of hell and tackled Baby Huey Wyatt. He danced around squealing like a pig, trying to shake her off. She even held on when he tried to drown her in that Temper tantrum Fountain."

"Temper tantrum?"

"Yeah, isn't that what all those women kept having until we gave the right to vote?"

The other man howled with laughter. "Temperance. It's called Temperance. But Temper Tantrum pretty much sums it up. Biggest mistake this country ever made was giving women the vote. Should've kept them where they belong. Pregnant and keeping dinner warm until their man gets home."

"Now we even have them playing cop." The second man reverted into falsetto. "Oh Mr. Bad Guy, Stop! Please stop so I don't have to use this heavy gun."

"If the bitch isn't careful, she'll end up like that Lazoda. Women should not be cops!"

Trixie had been waiting on the other side of the row of lockers and decided she'd heard enough.

"Hello, Kendall. Hello Rooney," she acknowledged them as she walked by. "Coming or going?"

She opened her locker and began to hum.

"Dada dada, Dada dada, Batman!"

"Just a break. Need to go now." Kenny Kendall grabbed his hat and jacket and scurried away. Emmett Rooney followed him as Trixie began singing.

"I am woman, hear me roar, in numbers too big to ignore, and I know too much to go back an' pretend."

"Why can't they just let me sing a few Christmas carols?" she moaned. Knowing it was useless to try to detangle her hair, she pulled it back into a band, put on a pair of dry shoes and headed into the Squad Room. She tossed her sodden, smelly clothes and shoes into the large trash can that sat by the door.

"I'm dreaming of a White Christmas, just like the ones I used to know," she tried to think about Christmas and not the hours of paperwork that she'd need to complete before she could go home.

Between the hunger pangs and grumbling of her stomach and constant interruptions by people wanting to hear every detail of Trixie's "flying" around Tompkins Square Park, it was after midnight when she finished. She started to call home but, realizing the time, decided that if he were worried he would have called her. She turned off the power to her typewriter, placed the plastic cover over it and turned to leave.

As she was walking through the underground garage, she noticed a bright yellow card laying on the concrete. She picked it up and looked to see what it was. On one side was a painting of what appeared to be an angel. She flipped it over and read:

Saint Michael the Archangel,
Defend us in battle,
Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil;
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray;
And do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host,
By the power of God, cast into hell
Satan and all the evil spirits
who prowl through the world seeking the ruin of souls.
Amen.

She knew that Michael was the Patron Saint of Police Officers but had never given much thought to anything more. While the card appeared to be new, she wiped it on her pants and stuck it into a pocket. Maybe Dan would want it.

IV. O Holy Night

For yonder breaks a new glorious morn
Fall on your knees
O hear the angels' voices

December 24, 1984
Inwood
New York, New York

"Merry Christmas darling.

"Greeting cards have all been sent. The Christmas rush is through. But I still have one wish to make; a special one for you.

"Merry Christmas darling. We're apart that's true, but I can dream and, in my dreams, I'm Christmasing with you."

"Daaaan," Trixie moaned as she pulled the covers over her head. "I was up half the night."

"It's Christmas Eve and that's OUR song." Dan set down the tray he was carrying at the foot of the bed, pulled down the covers just enough to expose the top of Trixie's head, and leaned down to kiss it.

"Oh shiiiit. What's that in your hair?" He almost knocked over the tray when he jumped back.

Trixie rubbed the top of her head and felt the slime she'd missed in her shower at the station. "Dammit. Meant to shower when I got home."

"You knew your hair was like that when you came to bed?"

"Of course! I was hoping to ruin our best sheets and gross you out." Trixie got out of bed and headed into the bathroom. She turned on the shower and called out, "And I especially wanted to add doing laundry to everything else I have to do before we head out to Sleepyside later."

Dan moved the tray and began to strip the bed. "So much for a little morning delight! Don't we have another set of sheets?"

"They're dirty. I had to take them off the other night. They were just a bit..."

Dan gathered the sheets and stuffed them with the other set in the laundry basket. He would have been fine with sheets that were soiled by vigorous love-making. He wasn't sure what that was all over the sheets now.

"You never said what that was in your hair." Dan handed Trixie a mug of fresh coffee after she had showered and joined him in the kitchen. "Is that why you were so late last night?"

"I tried to be quiet. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

"You didn't wake me. Can you tell me why you were so late?" Dan leaned against the counter, waiting for his bagel to toast.

"You'll read about it in the paper. Probably today but it might not be until tomorrow. I finally nabbed Baby Huey Wyatt."

"You're going to have to tell me all about it. Tomorrow's Christmas and there won't be a daily paper." The timer on the toaster oven dinged, Dan took out a bagel and began spreading it with butter.

"I know. I was hoping it was postponed or something."

Dan tilted his head as he handed her one half of the bagel. "I thought you love Christmas."

"I'm usually not so rushed. I have pies to bake this morning and I forgot to go to the store. So, I have to fight the crowds at the Market Basket, make the pies and, now, do laundry. All so we can get to Crabapple Farm by 6:00.

"Maybe we should skip tonight," Trixie sighed. "Head out early tomorrow morning?"

"That's fine with me but you love waking up at home on Christmas morning."

"I do, especially the times you when you aren't here. This year is different."

"We're dealing with some unknowns but it's still Christmas." Dan walked over and hugged her. "I still haven't told you about the meeting."

Trixie leaned against him. "I have to share something..."

The phone rang and Dan stepped over to where it hung on the wall.

"Hello." Neither he nor Trixie ever gave their name when answering. Dan was especially careful and Trixie wondered why he was so careless now.

"Yes, Mr. Hansen."

Trixie turned around to watch, as if she'd hear more of the conversation by staring at Dan.

"Of, course, sir. No, it's not an inconvenience." Dan glanced at the clock on the wall. "I can be there in an hour," Dan offered. "Yessir. See you then." He hung up the phone and closed his eyes for a few moments before turning to Trixie.

"That was Rick Hansen," he said as he sat down next to Trixie. "He wants to meet with me. Now."

"I could tell that. Did he say why?" Trixie took a sip of her coffee and made a face. It had grown cold. "I hope you don't have to go all the way downtown.

"No. We have a place we usually meet; especially when I'm undercover. It's not far from here. All he said was he's leaving this afternoon and won't be back until after New Year's. He wants to meet face-to-face and doesn't think it can wait."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I never told you about Friday." Dan glanced back at the wall clock. "I need to clean up and leave in just a few minutes. I'll tell you about it while I'm showering."

He tossed what was left of his bagel in the trash and rinsed out his mug before heading towards the bathroom.

Trixie poured herself more hot coffee and followed him. She sat on the toilet and watched as he stripped down and got into the shower. "So, are you going to tell me about Friday?"

"Not much to tell Trix, except..."

"Except what? You may not have much time but you can tell me what happened if you don't keep hemming and hawing."

"Quite to the point, aren't you Detective?" Dan called out over the sound of the shower.

"Okay. We've been waiting months for some response to my requests for transfer. You know that Florida was the wake-up call for me. I had planned to go in and, once again, ask for a transfer."

"And..." Trixie took a sip of coffee.

Dan turned off the water and jerked back the shower curtain hard enough that the metal rings jangled loudly.

"I." He hesitated as he grabbed a towel and began drying off. "I..." he headed to the bedroom and, once again, Trixie followed. Dan began telling Trixie about his meeting, meeting Laura and Father Steve. He left out details about his talks with the priest and his finding Father Mac.

As he talked, his voice grew louder and he began talking faster. He agitatedly walked around the room, stopping only long enough to button his shirt, put on his tie, or pull up his pants. He explained that, even without direct authority, he was certain that Underwood would do whatever necessary to have him terminated for his outburst or, at the least, have his transfer request denied outright.

"I'm committed to never going undercover again. I'll never get totally away from field work, but it's time," Dan declared. "But, damn Trix," He sat beside Trixie on the side of the bed. "What happens if I do have to quit? What will I do? How will I adjust to...?

"I've never lived a normal life. I don't know if I can. And what about money? We can't even afford this place on just your salary."

Trixie tried to conceal her own fears when he looked up. Her concerns were more about Dan's emotional state and how he'd react to her news.

When Dan began apologizing for all the sacrifices Trixie had made because of him, it became Trixie's turn to raise her voice.

"I have not made one sacrifice for you. Not one!" She stopped and smiled at him. "Okay, I gave you that Forensic Science textbook when I could have sold it for big bucks, but..."

When Dan failed even to smile at the old story, Trixie was certain that it wasn't the time to tell him about her promotion or... "I've never made any sacrifices. Never." Her voice now was barely above a whisper.

Trixie placed her hand on his shoulder. "I'm not worried about money. We'll manage. You'll find work. And do you really think life with me will be normal?"

Dan raised his head and smiled. "You're right about that, Trix. But it's more."

"I understand. But you've been through the fire countless times, Dan. You can survive almost everything. And, who knows; maybe Hansen is calling you in to give you a transfer AND a promotion."

Dan stood up. "I wish. I'll let you know after our meeting." He put on his suit jacket and brushed the lint off, then headed to the front door. He grabbed his overcoat from the closet and opened the door.

"I almost forgot, Trix. I having lunch with a friend. I'll tell you about that, too, when I get back."

"Lunch? Who with?" Trixie called out as the door closed. "Dammit, Dan. What it this? It's not work!"

Trixie had seen Dan many times in despair and always been able to support him with little more than patience and a few words of encouragement. While his dark moods weren't always easy, they were short, and Trixie saw them as a reflection of his strong character. He suffered when others suffered but he was almost incapable of displaying his pain.

During the past few months, she had seen him grow increasingly frustrated and despondent, primarily about work. While they had been apart for most of that time, when together, he would wake up abruptly, sweating and often cursing. His nightmares were the first that she'd seen since he had returned from Vietnam. He'd refused to talk about them with her and rejected any suggestions about seeking counseling; insisting they were from work-related stress and would go away once he got that elusive transfer.

Broadway and 242^nd Street
Bronx, New York

Dan glanced at his watch, noting that it would be tight, but he should be on time to have lunch with Father Mac. He was thankful that he had long ago found the perfect location for his meetings with Rick Hansen. He had often met Trixie's brother there when Brian was a medical resident at Presbyterian-Cornell University Hospital. Frequently almost exclusively by medical students, you could walk past it without noticing its presence, but it was busy enough that neither the owner nor patrons would recognize him or Rick. He was especially grateful that morning that it was across from the 168^th Street Subway Station so that he could head straight from their meeting to his lunch in Yonkers.

Dan looked at his watch again. If the bus didn't arrive soon, he might not be on time for lunch. He noticed one in the distance and watched as it approached. He sighed when he saw that it was the correct route. Dan held his arm up and waited for it to stop. He settled into a seat, uncertain if he was glad the bus had arrived or if it would be better if it had never come.

He was dozing off a half hour later when he realized the bus was moving very slowly. He looked out to see that there were barricades along the narrow street past a construction site. He read the sign as they crossed through an intersection and realized he was near the monastery.

He glanced at the ragged piece of paper he'd been carrying and realized he needed to get off at the next block so he pulled the rope to notify the driver.

Stepping off the bus he glanced around and then headed toward the steeple about a block further. He followed Father Mac's directions to Convent Street and the entrance to the monastery.

He was surprised when he entered to find the elderly man waiting at the entrance.

"Father Mac," he called out as he headed towards him. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Dan. Daniel." The priest reached out with his right hand and waited for Dan to take it. Dan smiled at the firmness of his grip. "I just got back from Mass and thought I'd wait here for a short while. These corridors are a maze and I don't want you to get lost."

He turned and with the help of a walker, led Dan across the foyer and into a hallway. He stopped at the third door and opened it. "This is my humble abode." He waved for Dan to enter.

Dan walked through the door to find a small sitting room. To one side of the entrance, there were two over-stuffed arm chairs facing a stand that held a television and other electronic equipment. Tall bookcases flanked the television stand. There was a small table with two chairs in front of double windows. It had been covered with a white tablecloth with a miniscule Christmas tree centered in front of the windows. Candles and what appeared to be a small altar sat atop a stand against the wall, not far from the table. Books were piled on the floor next to the stand and Dan wondered if they'd been removed for his visit.

"I thought it'd be nice to eat in here so we can talk," Father Mac spoke up when he saw that Dan was staring at the table and then the altar. "The dining hall is nice enough but it's too loud for me." He tapped the hearing aid in his left ear. "Too much of that rock and roll in my youth."

Dan smiled at the lame joke. Father Mac much preferred blues over any other genre of music and they'd often argued teasingly over music.

"Do you get out to hear good music anymore?" Dan welcomed a subject to discuss. He waited while the priest took his coat and tossed it onto the bed in the adjacent, even smaller, room.

"Sit. Please." Father Mac sat down in one chair and motioned for Dan to sit in the other.

"I have a great sound system." He gestured around the room and, for the first time, Dan noticed that there were several speakers around the room. "But it doesn't replace live music. I've managed to bribe a few of the staff here to take me to the occasional performance, but it's not often enough.

"I get around okay, he added. "That darn thing is more an insurance policy than necessity." He pointed at the walker. "But staff threatened to ground me unless I used it."

There was an awkward pause while Father Mac waited for Dan to talk and Dan tried to think of what to say next.

"You know, Dan. I met your father and mother when I caught him performing in some dark basement in the Bronx." He waited for a reaction and, when he got none, he continued.

"Your father was a gifted musician. I mean someone you're lucky to hear perform once in a lifetime. He turned down several offers."

"He did?" Dan interrupted. "What kinds of offers?"

"Mostly to go on the road. He refused to leave you and your mother. He had just signed a recording contract when he left for Korea."

"I know what happened next. Luck of the Irish."

"Dan. He had no choice. He was drafted." Father Man paused.

"I know all about that," Dan interrupted. "I did manage to find a bootleg recording of him. It's recorded live in a noisy bar, but you can hear him; singing, playing the sax...I'll have a copy made if you'd like."

"I would like that," Father Mac responded. "Now, I want to hear about your life. Father Alberts said you're still with the ATF but he didn't say much more other than you had asked about me. Are you still with Trixie? Did you ever get married? Do you have...?"

Trixie and I got married almost immediately after I came out of deep cover," Dan interrupted. "When I tried and couldn't find you. She's still with NYPD and we have an apartment in the Inwood, although I... I still spend most of my time in the field. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Father Mac nodded his understanding. "What year was that? When you tried to reach me?"

"I left New York in December '76. We met for lunch right before Christmas and then...I was told to expect to be gone two years or more, but I was able to come home the Spring of '78." Dan chuckled before continuing. "Of course, I was sent right back out on another assignment."

"I was called to El Salvador shortly after you left New York. I was there when Oscar Romero was installed as Archbishop of San Salvador." Father Mac paused to see if Dan knew about Archbishop Romero."

"I know who he was. I was in Latin America during that time. We knew all about El Salvador."

"I ended up working in El Salvador for several years. I worked with the Archbishop, other clergy, and the Maryknoll missionaries..."

"I didn't know that," Dan interrupted. "Did you know the nuns that were..."

Father Mac nodded somberly. "I was at the massacre at the Archbishop's funeral. Almost 12,000 mourners were slaughtered." He shook his head as if to remove the memory. "I accompanied Sister Maura Clark's body back to her family in Queens after...that December. I wanted to return, but I was ordered not to."

"After what I saw; after I was told by the Church that I couldn't return...I had a time when I was struggling. I came here, to the monastery, for contemplation. I spent several months isolating myself from the world." He looked over at Dan.

"That is until I was asked to teach at the high school. It wasn't the calling I'd sought, ministering to the poor and marginalized, but I love it. Teen-aged boys...I've been reminded of you countless times.

"I did try to get word to you before I left for El Salvador. Trixie was nowhere to be found."

Dan laughed. "She was in high school! She was living in some penthouse and posing as a sixteen-year-old at some posh private school." Dan interjected.

"That must have been interesting. Father Mac laughed too. "I called the number I had for your uncle and it was disconnected."

"That must have been around the time he got married and...His wife hated Sleepyside and eventually returned to Saratoga. He was spending most of his waking hours on the road between the two towns."

"And the ATF refused to even confirm you existed.

"When I returned from El Salvador...I'm sorry, Dan. I should have looked for you."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and a young woman entered carrying a large covered tray.

"Come in, Maria." Father Man turned to Dan. "Isn't this grand? Delivery of a delicious meal right to my door."

Dan helped the priest to the table while Marie placed steaming dishes on the table.

"Maria, this is my dear friend Dan. He's agreed to join me before he heads home to celebrate Christmas with his family. Would you like to join hands with us while I offer the blessing?"

Without speaking a word, Maria offered one hand to the elderly priest and the other to Dan.

Dan accepted it limply, so Father Mac grabbed the other. He quickly began to pray.

The two men thanked Maria and sat down to enjoy their meal. Neither said much at first, relishing the comfort of being together.

Eventually, Father Mac broke the silence. "Now that we've established how we lost touch with each other. I want to know how, why, you've now sought me out."

Dan set down his fork and took a long drink of water. "I can't say I sought you out. I...I was just talking to a priest, Father Alberts, and asked about you." Dan hesitated. He knew that he could have asked any priest in the area long ago.

"Then why now? Why wait this long to ask?"

"I...there was no reason, I guess. Never thought to do it."

"No reason or no need?" Father Mac pushed his chair away from the table. "Help me to my chair."

Dan helped the older man across the room and once again sat in the matching chair.

"You don't have to share anything with me, Dan. I'm enjoying just seeing you. But I think I know you well enough to know that you're troubled. I've seen you at other times..."

Dan nodded. "I know I acted like...When my Mum died..."

"An angry, mourning teen-ager," the priest completed for him.

"Then you saved me."

"No! No Dan! I found your uncle. I helped him gain custody. You saved yourself."

"With your help. With my uncle and friends."

"And your faith?"

Dan shook his head and looked away.

"Yes, I know. You claimed to lose your faith in God."

"Not then. I was still pretty young. Pretty dumb."

"And you went to college. Honors..." Father Mac waited for Dan to react.

"You told me then that you hadn't lost your faith but you wished God would find someone else to take a dump on."

They laughed together.

"I never understood why you felt compelled to join the Marines. I understand your rationale, but..."

"That's when it really began," Dan blurted out. He continued to explain that he'd accepted that losing his parents, living on the streets with a gang and sharing in their criminal activity wasn't punishment but had strengthened him.

"I don't know how or why I survived Nam. Not that I was killed but that I somehow maintained my sanity." Dan paused, trying to find the words.

"I prayed every day, often several times a day. I just wanted to survive. I wanted get away from the violence, the cruelty, the...the evil. And, Dammit, Father!" he jumped up from the chair, apologized and sat down. "The VC did bad stuff but...we did too; sometimes worse. Some of those grunts were psychopaths. They'd shoot you if you didn't go along." Dan choked on the last word.

"You might have gone along, but you, you still carry guilt, don't you? We talked about this when you finally came home."

"No. I went along. I never...I watched. I laughed. I...was one of them.

"You came home. Your body healed. You returned to school. You became the law enforcement officer you wanted to become."

"Yeah. Came home with a bullet that was festering in my leg while I was curled up in a cage. I was told to forget it all and move on." Dan laughed. "I moved on, but I've never forgotten. I...I still fear that I'll change back to...

"I don't know what I chose the ATF, except that it would allow me to be a big, powerful Federal Agent without any Master's degree. Sounded so much more exciting than walking a beat.

"I never wanted to...I was good at undercover; too good." Dan looked over at the older man. "I've become one of them again. At first it was a game. Just how well I could act the part. After a while, especially when I couldn't contact anyone at home, it wasn't an act. I was Jimmy or Mick or Juan or...I didn't just act like them; I was them.

Dan dropped his head down, almost into his lap. "I can't do it anymore. I've seen nothing but filth, violence, hatred, evil my entire life. I...I cringe when I think that I married Trixie and brought her into this life.

"I think she understands what you do. Better than most people, anyway," the priest offered.

"Have you tried to pray, Dan? I know; I know. You tried in Vietnam and gave up. But have you tried since?"

Dan shook is head. "I don't have words. I wouldn't know what to say; even if God does exist. God existed."

"Dan. You're speaking blasphemy."

"I've never denied His existence, but it's clear He doesn't hear me. I lost my faith in Nam and now I fear I'm losing my conscience."

"It sounds to me like your conscience has allowed you to do the things you do to fight evil. As for praying; you don't have to have words. God knows your thoughts."

"Words or not, He's certainly never listened to me. I've never asked for anything except strength and guidance. Couldn't even get that."

"Were you listening? God may not speak in words but he does speak to us. We just need to listen."

Dan had nothing to say. As a youth, he had sought the indestructible faith of his parents and never found it. Father Mac had helped him understand his doubts and restored his hope in himself; in a future. But he'd been fifteen. He had WANTED to believe in God.

Father Mac had cautioned him about what he might encounter in Vietnam and said in words similar to those he'd just spoken. He knew his conscience, if not any faith had been his salvation, then. Father Mac had accepted his doubts but remained his confidant.

For the first few years with the ATF, he'd had little contact with anyone except criminals and a few other Agents and, without realizing it at the time, it had become easier to be a hardened criminal than the real Dan Mangan.

"You've been doing God's work. He's led you through those bad times. You just haven't been asking or listening to Him."

I have NOT been doing God's work?" Dan began to laugh but then choked.

"We talked a lot about Saint Michael Archangel when you decided to go into Law Enforcement."

Dan nodded his understanding and removed his wallet from his pants pocket. "I still have this." He pulled out a soiled and torn prayer card. "I carried it in Nam, and ever since. My first supervisor balked at my carrying it when undercover. Called it a death warrant. I've carried it since."

Father Mac smiled. "Do you know the words?"

Dan began to recite from memory, "Defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil..."

"Pray with me, Dan. Don't just recite it. Allow me to pray those words with you."

Dan nodded.

Once they had finished. Dan asked Father Mac if he still took confession. The priest motioned towards the table where they had their lunch. "Would you get my Rosary for me?"

Dan retrieved it, pulled a small ottoman in front of Father Mac's chair and sat on it. He crossed himself for the first time in years and began, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been, oh, years since my last confession."

"May God the Father of all mercies help you make a good Confession. In Revelations 12, we learn that war broke out in heaven," Father Mac responded. "Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back. But he was not strong enough, and they lost their place in heaven. The great dragon was hurled down-that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him."

The two men talked for some time, never finishing their meal, and ignorant of the time until Maria returned to get their dishes.

"Oh!" Dan looked at his watch. "I...Father I need to get home. "We're supposed to be in Sleepyside for dinner. My brother-in-law was..."

"Let me call around. We have several people who drive out here from Manhattan. I might be able to get you a ride. But you must promise me that if you don't go to Mass tonight, you will go first thing in the morning."

"Of course, Father."

Inwood
New York, New York

"Thanks for being so understanding Moms. Dan had a very important meeting but we thought we'd still make it out this evening. We will be there first thing in the morning."

Dan came through the front door just as she was hanging up the phone.

"Dan!" Trixie rushed over to him, not sure whether to be furious or relieved. "I thought you'd at least call. What happened with your meeting? Why did your lunch meeting go so late? Or did you have a lunch meeting?" She expressed her worst fear.

"Sit down, Trix." Dan led her into the living room. I have a lot to share." Trixie sat in a chair and Dan placed a tiny footstool in front of her before sitting down. He took her hands.

"Don't look so worried," he started. "I owe a LOT to Rick Hansen. He got me a transfer onto a Special Response Team and..."

Trixie started to leap up but Dan held her down. "Listen to the rest. It's not here in Manhattan. I'll be at the Field Office in Melville."

"Nasty commute but we can move. Should be cheaper..."

"Trix," Dan interrupted. "That's temporary. Turns out that Underwood is being forced out."

"Fired?"

"Not exactly. He's taking early retirement. It's effective January 31, so no announcement has been made. Anyway, once he's out of the Manhattan officer, my team will be working there. I still won't report to the new SAC."

"What could be better?" Trixie could barely sit still.

"You're going to love this Trix," Dan responded. "It's a brand-new team and I'm the new Team Leader. Now, I'll still be gone a lot, but nothing at all like before. I'll be back and forth during training and then on call. No more undercover, just investigations."

Trixie jumped up and grabbed Dan around the neck. "It's perfectly perfect. Perfectly."

"There's more."

"How can there be more?"

"I told you about Laura and Father Steve at Our Lady of Victory, but I didn't want to tell you that...I'm sorry I kept it from you, Trix, but I wanted to be sure about everything."

"Just tell me!" Trixie interrupted.

"I had lunch with Father McMurtrie." Dan hesitated before continuing. "We talked forever. He took my confession."

"That's good. Good." Trixie began squirming. "You...you didn't just do it for him, did you?"

"Oh, no Trix. I didn't realize how...I asked him to hear my confession."

Trixie jumped up and knocked Dan off the footstool. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began kissing him. "You...this will help you so much."

Dan struggled to sit up and then pulled Trixie onto his lap. "You know that I had to confess my sins. All of them," he whispered into her ear. "And then I have to do some sort of penance."

Trixie pulled away enough to see Dan's face. "And what will that be? Not abstinence or something?"

"I start with going to Mass."

"Makes sense," Trixie offered. "I was always sorta' in awe when you were...when you'd rush off to different services and all." She paused. "I think you've missed that. And you've needed it."

Dan nodded, then looked at his watch. "Are we going to Sleepyside? We've missed dinner. I know Mart didn't wait for us."

"I called Mart earlier. Just called Moms to tell her we'll be there in the morning."

Dan nodded his understanding. "I should go to Mass tonight. Would you go with me?"

"Of course. If that's what you want." Trixie looked down at the stained t-shirt and baggy sweatpants she was wearing. "I need to change."

"I can wear this but I want to clean up some. I think we have just enough time for you to shower or whatever and grab a cab. I want to go to Our Lady of Victory."

"I'd love that." Trixie got up from the floor and ran into the bathroom.

William and Pine Streets
New York, New York

Dan wrapped a bright blue scarf around his wife's head and neck as they left Our Lady of Victory Church and tucked his tan scarf into his overcoat. He and Trixie shared best wishes and called out Merry Christmas as they walked up Pine towards where there were several restaurants and hotels, and it would be easier to flag a cab.

"Thank you, Dan. This was a wonderful idea. What a perfectly perfect way to spend Christmas Eve." She looked up into the face of her husband and saw look of calm and relaxation that had been missing for years.

"And you did the decorations?"

Dan laughed. "I did as I was instructed by Laura. That was it." He put his arm around Trixie's shoulders and pulled her close. "It was beautiful, though."

"And the music! Laura has an incredible voice. How lucky that you bumped into her and..."

"I didn't bump into her, some fat guy did. I just helped a damsel..." Dan pulled away and tried to get the attention of a cab half a block away.

"Oh well. We can just keep walking."

"It's remarkable that a horrible Friday has led to such a wonderful Sunday," Trixie offered. "no matter how bad it might seem..."

"There's always hope," Dan finished for her as she stopped in front of a store window. "In fact, with my being around most of the time and my paltry pay raise, we might start looking for a bigger apartment." He looked to see the nursery furniture displayed in the window.

"Trixie turned to him and smiled coyly and then gestured towards the window. "No matter where we live, we're going to have to make room for this."

It took a few moments for Dan to understand what she meant but when he did, he let out with a loud, "Whoop!" He lifted his wife into the air and spun her around.

"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!"

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