It was a simple, hateful equation—one from which Luther removed himself as soon as he was of age to join the Marines. There, he prospered the moment he transferred into intelligence, rising in rank more quickly than his fellow recruits. But in time he came to realize that the Marines had too narrow a focus for his ambitions. Declining to re-up, he set sail for wider horizons and came ashore at the NSA, where the flag he raised was both recognized and greatly valued. His freedom, in turn, allowed him to pursue personal agendas with a minimum of questions and no interference.

He pulled up at Mary Immaculate in hazy sunlight, got out, and went through the main entrance. He spoke for a few moments with Sister Margaret, who updated him on Lucy’s condition. Astoundingly, she had not backslid one iota. This was so astonishing for a recovering addict that he wouldn’t believe Sister Margaret until she showed him the doctor’s chart. The blood work confirmed the sister’s report.

“We’re dealing with a remarkable young lady,” Sister Margaret said, struggling to keep up with him as he strode along the corridor. “She must have superlative willpower. It’s a crime that she wasted years on drugs and sinful degradation.” Just before they stopped in front of Lucy’s door, she said, “What will happen to her now? There’s really no earthly reason for her to remain here; the doctor’s given her a clean bill of health.”

“That will be up to her, I imagine,” St. Vincent said. “She’ll need to find a line of work.”

“Which you could help her with, yes?”

He smiled thinly. “I try to follow your suggestions at all times, Sister.”

The nun made the sign of the cross. “Bless you, my son.”

St. Vincent rapped on Lucy’s door, then stepped into the room, as usual leaving the door open.

“Hello, Lucy,” he said amiably. “How are we feeling today?”

“I don’t know about you, Luther, but I’m feeling fine.” She shrugged. “But I imagine Sister Margaret told you as much.”

“I’d prefer to hear from you.”

“De boca del propio interesado.”

He laughed. “Yes, from the horse’s mouth.”

She liked to make him laugh, knowing it was not an easy thing to do, that not everyone could manage it. Today she was dressed in jeans and a red-and-white-checked cotton shirt. Very patriotic. It seemed to her that he liked her outfit, especially the way she had left open the top three buttons of her shirt, allowing her cleavage to peek through. She was justifiably proud of her breasts, high and firm. The nipples were sensitive and so almost always erect. She wore no bra, not needing one.

“Shall we sit?”