in Mississippi, USA. That would make it easy. The message to Rome went out an hour later, over the Internet, a method of communication that lent itself so readily to intelligence operations.
In this case, the time differences worked for them, as sometimes happened when the inquiries went west instead of east. In a few hours, the dispatch was received, decrypted, and forwarded to the proper desk. From there, a new dispatch, also encrypted, made its way to New York, where Timothy Cardinal McCarthy, Archbishop of New York and the chief of the Vatican’s intelligence operations in the United States of America, received his copy immediately after breakfast. From there, it was even easier. The FBI remained a bastion of Irish-Catholic America, though not so much as in the 1930s, with a few Italians and Poles tossed in. The world was an imperfect place, but when the Church needed information, and as long as the information was not compromising to American national security, it was gotten, usually very quickly.
In this case, particularly so. Oral Roberts University was a very conservative institution, and therefore ready to cooperate with the FBI’s inquiries, official or not. A clerk there didn’t even consult her supervisor, so innocuous was the phoned inquiry from Assistant Special Agent in Charge Jim Brennan of the FBI’s Oklahoma City office. It was quickly established via computer records that one Yu Fa An had graduated the university, first with a bachelor of science degree in electrical engineering, and then spent an additional three years in the university for his doctor of divinity, both degrees attained “with distinction,” the clerk told Brennan, meaning nothing lower than a B+. The alumni office added that the Reverend Yu’s current address was in Beijing, China, where he evidently preached the gospel courageously in the land of the pagans. Brennan thanked the clerk, made his notes, and replied to the e-mail inquiry from New York, then went off to his morning meeting with the SAC to review the Field Division’s activities in enforcing federal law in the Sooner State.
It was a little different in Jackson, Mississippi. There it was the SAC—Special Agent in Charge—himself who made the call on Reverend Gerry Patterson’s First Baptist Church, located in an upscale suburb of the Mississippi state capital. The church was three-quarters of the way into its second century, and among the most prosperous of such congregations in the region. The Reverend Patterson could scarcely have been more impressive, impeccably turned out in a white button-down shirt and a striped blue tie. His dark suit coat was hung in a corner in deference to the local temperature. He greeted the visiting FBI official with regal manners, conducted him to his plush office, and asked how he could be of service. On hearing the first question, he replied, “Yu! Yes, a fine man, and a good friend from school. We used to call him Skip—Fa sounded too much like something from The Sound of Music, you know? A good guy, and a fine minister of the gospel. He could give lessons in faith to Jerry Falwell. Correspond with him? You bet I do! We send him something like twenty-five thousand dollars a year. Want to see a picture? We have it in the church itself. We were both a lot younger then,” Patterson added with a smile. “Skip’s got real guts. It can’t be much fun to be a Christian minister in China, you know? But he never complains. His letters are always upbeat. We could use a thousand more men like him in the clergy.”
“So, you are that impressed with him?” SAC Mike Leary asked.
“He was a good kid in college, and he’s a good man today, and a fine minister of the gospel who does his work in a very adverse environment. Skip is a hero to me, Mr. Leary.” Which was very powerful testimony indeed from so important a member of the community. First Baptist Church hadn’t had a mortgage in living memory, despite its impressive physical plant and amply cushioned pews.
The FBI agent stood. “That’s about all I need. Thank you, sir.”
“Can I ask why you came here to ask about my friend?”
Leary had expected that question, and so had preframed his answer. “Just a routine inquiry, sir. Your friend isn’t in any trouble at all—at least not with the United States government.”
“Good to know,” the Reverend Patterson responded, with a smile and a handshake. “You know, we’re not the only congregation that looks after Skip.”
Leary